The factory and the art work

Nevertheless it can’t be so dangerous to go inside! I observe the graffiti and i can’t think of anything else than of a bunch of kids, probably not in their twenties yet: scornful of danger, they probably ignore it, they probably don’t give a damn about it. Writers seem not to worry about soft floors, broken glass, murderers, desperates and drug addictes: wherever they can find a free wall, they overcome any obstacle. They act as acrobats, climbers, ninja soldiers, and at the end they reach their aim. I should probably join to such characters in my adventures in these post-industrial landscapes. When i think of them, i feel a little envious. I cheer up if i think that 99% of them are boys, less exposed to danger than a docile provincial girl. The barbed wire doesn’t suit me so much eather, althought i used to go around till few years ago full of studs and chains, but it was just a way of yelling my sorrow and of drawing attention. Today the barbed wire is useless, right on top of the hole. Once it used to keep the not wanted away, althought the two wires are so far from eachother that almost everybody could pass through them. More than a true obstacle, it’s a warning, a fake security system. Now that the hole is there, the barbed wire is like a piece of furniture, an attraction element, not a way of warning anymore. The graffiti also annihilate the power of opposition: they invite the spectator to go inside with their colours, their apparently impossible posistion; they seem to say “come on, it’s not so terrible over here!”. The broken glass too appears less lonely, less spooky. Like the graffiti, the broken windows are also in the most absurd spots, and it makes me think who could have gotten bothered to reach such peaks! The windows, more than any other element, are the ones that give to the buildings the abandoned aura. Walking around the city it’s easy to find any kind of building with lacking coating, broken tiles, rust and graffiti. But a functioning building will never have this art work of broken windows: what used to be transparent, regular, protective, with no personality and cold, now has a very important role characterising the nature of the place. Each rusty frame has a diffrent story to tell, a diffrent moment of time passing by: unless there have been an earthquake (and there haven’t been as i know) or an axplosion, each window has been broken in different moments, maybe months or years one from the other. The only thing i can think of is that a human’s hand can have done this, or becouse of an unsuccesfull flight of a bird. I imagine a bunch of bored kids play the sad game of shattering windows, as challenge, with a drink of beer as a prize. I imagine a pigeon seeing trough the window, and not suspecting that this will be it’s last flight. And what about where the entire window frame is missing? Could it be that someone got to the trouble of taking it down? I can’t imagine time doing such thing, also because the question would come to my mind again: why that frame yes and the others not?