Magic Rush and Simple Touch

Let’s imagine that Koncept 45.0 is a human being. Let’s say that it is a 30 year old woman, passionately in love with design. She works as a creative director of an urban contemporary art gallery and she lives in a space that is not very big but it gives her all she needs. The base of the interior of her apartment is very clean and minimalistic, so there is a lot of space to place numerous different details, and each detail tells its own story. Each detail that she chooses is a valuable ingredient of the visual harmony which gives her a worm little pleasure and enjoyment every day. Enjoying design is an integral part of her life, it is like a soundtrack that paints an identity of her life’s movie. She is a fan of meaningful cultural gatherings, a fan of small underground parties that spontaneously turn into unforgettable events; she collects rare vinyl records and is undoubtedly in love with fashion innovations.  All these things she cherishes and loves deeply because through them, she forms and recognises her own self. This is a story about her love.

My first conscious thoughts today rolled across my forehead like bowling balls with my eyes closed and my lips stretched in a mild blissful smile.

I feel now as if I’ve spent this entire day with you. I am washing my hands now and thinking about it. Repeating over and over again this first sentence that I would promptly write down as soon as I finish my work. I am thinking about you, about this entire day of thoughts about you, about writing about it.

I am on the edge of mystery

I browse through our old exchanges, through your old words, through your images, surroundings, through your skydives and your skyscrapers, your seas and your smiley sentences. I dissolve into it. I let myself become this imitation of life. For this day, one day, for you; to hold on to the dream’s frenzy and to warm my heart a bit. For me.

The soft, ice-creamy, breezy, thick frenzy of you in the dream.

The touch, the look, the breath, the smiles, the reflection of reflection of reflection of reflection; the warmth of the endless circle of us, the remorseful unwillingness to let it go.

I let it go and go about my daily business, and then let it pop back up, let the flashing lights of it flash before my eyes, to gleam between my eyes and the dancing words on my screen. And so I feel as if I’m spending the entire day with you.

There is this need to express; this intensity; this chaos that yearns to be placed into a form, into a shape, into order.

It is utile, it exhausts and feeds my existence simultaneously, it regenerates it, it is worth living for.

I’m trying, giving my all to it, enjoying in it, holding my breath while pouring all my energy into the composing of that puzzle; into the consuming of the existence and the beauty of your being.

I’ve been waiting and longing for this moment of peace and quetness, for some time alone and away, I’ve been feeling like I had this piece of moment rolled in a pellet and placed in my hidden pocket, waiting to put my hand in, take it out and uncurl it when alone and away. So now that the time to do it has come, I’m holding it in my fist which I don’t know how to open.