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Bunker

Il était une fois, once upon a time, there was a little old girl. This old little girl always wondered, why are there no wires anymore between the lamp posts? Why are there no rivers anymore, where have they all gone? Why such a big empty space in this dense metropolis? What lies under my feet? 

 

She decided to stop “why’’ning and went for an adventurous quest here, there and everywhere.

 

Here, an empty field. A trap door hidden in the hay hiding a stairway: she finds herself in awe, in a huge, nearly two-century-old cathedral of Holy Water.

 

There, a manhole and ladder, welcoming the rare illegal visitors to wade into an old river who still wants to live. The little old girl realizes that you can’t kill a river.
 

Everywhere she learns to keep silent, to smell, to listen, to see in the dark, to say alert, letting herself be embraced by this detachment from the crazy present above and this precious connection to oneself. To one’s heartbeat. Time doesn’t exist down below.

 

She falls in holes,  she is Alice, 

                              and she wanders and wonders in Underland.

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