news item: in venice, the number of tourists outnumber its residents , so much so that it is predicted that by 2030, venice will by a city practically devoid of venetians.

reasons include the skyrocketing prices of real estate in the city, not to mention the basic inconvenience of residents jostling through daily life with tourists. add to these the easing out of shops catering to the needs of residents to give way to shops and services aimed at visitors.

this is a story not even calvino could have dreamt of.

i've been thinking about calvino again (not that i've eased him out of my thoughts). i've certainly refrained from reading him for some time now - my literature classes are taking care of my semestral subsistence of his 'novels' and short stories.

no, i've been thinking about him, particularly the wonderful cities in invisible cities (le citta invisibili) which is, to me, one of the most beautiful and wistful books about longing. i've been thinking of invisible cities alongside chingbee cruz's dark hours and that poem where railroad tracks bisect a house.

they remind me of my own childhood dreams where something that i could only described as newly-mixed cement invades (or emanates? from where, i am not sure) my body. it finds every hollow part of my body and slowly hardens. i could still breathe, though. it is not really the breathing that is of concern for me in this case, it is the movement of the cement through crevices, holes, veins and arteries. it is a creeping force, yet it is not as alien as i first thought it to be. yet, i do not welcome it. without my knowing it, it's there. i can't see it, i can't even hear it (for how does one know the sound of gushing? rustling? seeping? cement). i can certainly feel its, well, invasion. and with its invasion, i have been eased out of my shell.

dear reader, you tell me what comes next.