Conversations about exclusions and censors, bridges that were not bridges if not gateways to the other world. This world, terrible and soulless. From the walls you laugh years later, questioning the lies that were dropped on the bridge. By building non-predetermined places of lived experiences, repeatedly, that you only know as it is. Showing the cracks of history, analyzing the conflicts of being, letting escape somehow the states of everyday life, generating stories from yesterday. Yesterday.
We are always so tarnished, in reliving the past or anticipating the future that we do not really live our present. Yesterday, it’s just time.