{"id":47920,"title":"Moving Without Moving","description":"by Matteo Delred","content":"

Visual art by Matteo Delred<\/p>

\"smrdd4oxxhdxv8ry3mjyficcpxaxmihd0w3fgwk1bcolsnhc.jpg.jpg?w=1140&v=2\"So I\u2019m sitting there\u2014<\/p>

proper sitting,<\/p>

like you\u2019ve nowhere better to be,<\/p>

in this one-streetlight town<\/p>

that can barely manage lighting its own pavements\u2014<\/p>

and I\u2019m looking up at that outrageous, glittery mess overhead.<\/p>

It\u2019s not like I don\u2019t have options:<\/p>

I could apologise,<\/p>

I could walk away,<\/p>

I could do that thing where you pretend not to care\u2014<\/p>

but the truth is, I do care,<\/p>

and that\u2019s the problem,<\/p>

because the sky\u2019s having none of it.<\/p>

The sky\u2019s out there behaving like a gossip column,<\/p>

spilling stars everywhere,<\/p>

chucking them at me<\/p>

like loose ideas<\/p>

you can\u2019t be bothered to finish<\/p>

but can\u2019t stop thinking about<\/p>

when you\u2019re sitting with nothing else to do<\/p>

but think.<\/p>

\"ghuvrokwoa7jhurcsrqkx6zug3jv7ipvb5ohz5gmn0atms21.jpg.jpg?w=1140&v=2\"I went down\u2014<\/p>

the graceless surprise of being introduced<\/p>

to the ground without warning.<\/p>

A forward pitch, a stupid flail,<\/p>

and then that sudden intimacy with grit and dirt<\/p>

you only get when you\u2019re actually in it.<\/p>

My knees objected,<\/p>

my palms stung,<\/p>

but worse was the creeping, sock-soaking warmth in my shoe.<\/p>

Blood, apparently, has no sense of subtlety.<\/p>

And then\u2014well, there it was.<\/p>

A dead deer.<\/p>

Not tragic in the Bambi way,<\/p>

not poetic like in those country novels,<\/p>

just dead.<\/p>

Legs wrong,<\/p>

eyes like dirty marbles\u2014<\/p>

the sort of wrongness that makes you want to look away<\/p>

but also makes you keep looking.<\/p>

Nothing moved<\/p>

except a small fly doing lazy circles above its flank,<\/p>

as if even it wasn\u2019t in a rush to move on.<\/p>

The whole scene had the heavy, awkward stillness<\/p>

of a room after somebody\u2019s just said<\/p>

one of the things nobody\u2019s meant to say<\/p>

about death, politics, or religion.<\/p>

<\/p>

\"tixxgtpd9zimawsvttk9wk8yexlpvzegrjaf5rqi0dugbd4b.jpg.jpg?w=1140&v=2\"I lob a shoe her way<\/p>

just as the train doors slide shut\u2014<\/p>

no aim, no warning,<\/p>

like a hail Mary tossed from the sidelines<\/p>

of a game we played as children<\/p>

where nobody\u2019s keeping score of it.<\/p>

She catches it with that quick, startled smile\u2014<\/p>

the kind that says, \u201cWait, what?\u201d\u2014<\/p>

as if the world suddenly decided<\/p>

to hand her something unexpected,<\/p>

something late,<\/p>

like a belated birthday present<\/p>

you didn\u2019t even know you wanted<\/p>

but now, well, you\u2019re glad it\u2019s there.<\/p>

She says thanks,<\/p>

soft and almost shy,<\/p>

like it\u2019s less about the shoe<\/p>

and more about the small human connection<\/p>

that happens in that flicker between strangers.<\/p>

I mutter sorry,<\/p>

caught somewhere between<\/p>

the heat of embarrassment<\/p>

and a surprising swell of relief,<\/p>

the kind of relief<\/p>

that comes from doing something right by accident.<\/p>

\"nhvwkuysswtxywwesrlu8p7bo50hs9koau0h0jazmcfe7sht.png.png?w=1140&v=2\"One man tells the other to fuck off\u2014<\/p>

just a quick, sharp snap of words,<\/p>

like a rubber band stretched too far<\/p>

and suddenly let loose.<\/p>

And the other man?<\/p>

He does.<\/p>

No argument, no backward glance,<\/p>

just that slow, reluctant stepping away,<\/p>

like he\u2019s been sent to walk a plank\u2014<\/p>

not by choice,<\/p>

but because the ground beneath might give way<\/p>

and swallow him whole,<\/p>

like disappearing without a trace<\/p>

is the only way out.<\/p>

Still, he moves forward\u2014<\/p>

each step measured,<\/p>

heavy with a kind of passenger-observed resistance,<\/p>

saying, I\u2019m here, but maybe I shouldn\u2019t be,<\/p>

like a man caught between wanting to stay<\/p>

and needing to leave,<\/p>

like every footfall is both question and answer,<\/p>

tangled, raw, unresolved.<\/p>","urlTitle":"dead-ends","url":"\/blog\/dead-ends\/","editListUrl":"\/my-blogs","editUrl":"\/my-blogs\/edit\/dead-ends\/","fullUrl":"https:\/\/lostcampitos.com\/blog\/dead-ends\/","featured":false,"published":true,"showOnSitemap":true,"hidden":false,"visibility":null,"createdAt":1743288709,"updatedAt":1756509760,"publishedAt":1756509759,"lastReadAt":null,"division":{"id":209850,"name":"Lost Campitos"},"tags":[],"metaImage":{"original":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/ppjlbevv9i8vwknxtxfngl5uqrle2ae6kfogusutlqemohvl.jpeg","thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/ppjlbevv9i8vwknxtxfngl5uqrle2ae6kfogusutlqemohvl.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/ppjlbevv9i8vwknxtxfngl5uqrle2ae6kfogusutlqemohvl.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"metaTitle":"","metaDescription":"","keyPhraseCampaignId":null,"series":[],"similarReads":[{"id":45413,"title":"Do-Do-Le-Mal","url":"\/blog\/do-do-le-mal\/","urlTitle":"do-do-le-mal","division":209850,"description":"...","published":true,"metaImage":{"thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/vh8dwr60rgx4v79yb99aaj3yrsdogcqhjfywcvmp7rerk7u2.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/vh8dwr60rgx4v79yb99aaj3yrsdogcqhjfywcvmp7rerk7u2.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"hidden":0},{"id":31954,"title":"It Felt Wise But Was Lost on Me","url":"\/blog\/it-felt-wise-but-was-lost-on-me\/","urlTitle":"it-felt-wise-but-was-lost-on-me","division":209850,"description":"Matteo Delred explores how wisdom is not merely a product of age but, rather, a reflection of how we remember our past through the mediums of poetry and visual art.","published":true,"metaImage":{"thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/ugiypfefy1fofzfsacfzz3hqfs0nbosznijz1mnow067vzqr.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/ugiypfefy1fofzfsacfzz3hqfs0nbosznijz1mnow067vzqr.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"hidden":0},{"id":33312,"title":"Monstered","url":"\/blog\/monstered\/","urlTitle":"monstered","division":209850,"description":"A sprawling, introspective poem exploring belonging, exhaustion, solitude, and the fragile search for continuity in a transient world. Blending moments of quiet rebellion, self-awareness, and tenderness, it traces the tension between connection and isolation \u2014 a meditation on what it means to endure, to be seen, and to keep becoming in the face of impermanence.","published":true,"metaImage":{"thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/izi3owuc0ysihyaauaaxoi34dlh2b3fyuqldu2dnzg2z8yis.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/izi3owuc0ysihyaauaaxoi34dlh2b3fyuqldu2dnzg2z8yis.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"hidden":0}],"labels":[]}