MY YOUTH IS OURS EnglishVersion

40 Young Age on Stage

I've seen the world, lit it up

As my stage now

Channeling angels in a new age now

Hot summer days, rock and roll

The way you'd play for me at your show

And all the ways I got to know

Your pretty face and electric soul

Will you still love me

When I'm no longer young and handsome?

Will you still love me

When I got nothing but my aching soul?

I know you will, I know that you will

Will you still love me when I'm no longer handsome?

All that grace, all that body

All that face, makes me wanna party

He's my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds

They say, the analytical ones:

that the young generation, from the year of 2010, can be classified, in a future anthropological study, as the first generation whose greatest concern was to record & display the moments instead of living them.

The generation where, showing what had been done and what is being done, simultaneously, is more important than the experience so to speak.

Well. I am not an anthropologist nor a "misser one" of the ancient ways of existing and to exist: without leaving our mark. Without leaving our record.

Where human relationships deteriorate faster than these brief records of one or two days in one and another social network.

It is early to evaluate the damage caused by these new addictions created at every update of every application as genius as useless, created by the human mind.

That which has always provided us with artifices which we did not know we needed before they were created.

I honestly don't care about the consequences, since my very existence will not be here to witness any damage.

Fact is, while I'm drifting through this vain philosophy. There is a group of young people at the end of the first half of the year 2016, registering their memories in the short span of time that is their youth.

They shoot each other, take pictures of each other. They don't know if a year or two will still be tuned to the same station.

MEAN PHIRAVICH & PLAN RATHAVIT

Two skinny young men, mixed up in the noisy group of others and also as thin as, laugh at posing, mocking and teasing each other. Often, the expression of one of them changes in a lapse of seconds, which in the heat of the moment and agitation, no one would notice.

The tallest young man, Attachitsataporn, feels obliged to aim at other young people as a certain form of prevention. Since, in one slip or another, they end up running and playing too much on young Kijworaluk.

Meanwhile, the boys perceive immediately when they should not have crossed a line as tenuous as invisible, especially if everyone there is occupied in their own mess and celebration.

It is not easy task to avoid such contacts, since the target of the Phiravich Attachitsataporn zeal is rightly Rathavit Kijworaluk. Someone who seems to be all over at the same time. Light like a leaf in the wind.

But everyone knows it's better to keep the "health of their own teeth."

It's not like has been signed a territorial treaty or something in that suit. But it's general knowledge.

Kijworaluk feels strangely comfortable playing the role given to him: protected.

He thinks his friend's sick jealousy is adorable. Although he knows there's no risk. It may be less tiring to say once and for all that:

"Nobody's going to rob me from you even if I stay close to someone else for a few minutes, you big jerk"

But what would be the advantage of this?

How else could he glimpse the increased vein on that young man's neck?

Knowing that, as soon as they have a second alone, they will stick their tongues in each other's throats even quickly. The watchdog's tongue is even more succulent after feeling threatened.

But...

Why is that?

Why does Kijworaluk need this "cat and rat" ritual?

When he knows that the other holds the rights to him right through the saliva.

So much of "right" that, as naturally as he landed his arm on his shoulders, Nong Guy pulls it out.

He faces the sour feature of Attachitsataporn, makes a brief reverence with his head and seeks another side of the alignment of uniformed jersey boys in royal blue.

To which Attachitsataporn, he takes for him the "landing". He rests too hard his weight there. Trying to transfer his body heat, his scent, everything from himself and beyond, to that back, shoulders, as much as possible, from that kid's body. That carries a fringe of black hair hiding the forehead, but not the dark circles that are his trademark.

All the subtle action is being recorded in photo. The motion: in video.

No one knows if so many records will survive the action of time.

Or

If the worldwide computer network will be able to save as many files produced. The volume never decreases. What cannot be said about the importance given to each GB spent.

All I can confirm in a neutral way that of those who are not or will be gathering results, is that in the photograph that keeps fleeting memory, two people are in communion: the faceted diamond preserved from an Age. That was momentary, but not random. 

Guarded in the infinity of Sky.

 Where will be eternally young and beautiful;;;