All those new windows on our building look tempting. They can be opened or half-opened and from the outside this creates a rythm. Our windows are two pauses and three short beats. Half-closed, univiting. Have been silent for some time as the family has left and there seems to be no need or will to talk. My daughters have placed three big stones by the keyboard. One, dark one, speckled with tiny shiny particles, another one has dark but shallow holes. It would be easy to skip letters and shift to stones. It would mean silence. It would mean uninterrupted writing. The girl was so small, in her red and blue Tesco t-shirt, and carefully eyed me as I was returning the empty beer bottles. Even her eyes were small, flowers in a small front porch. I didn't look at her breasts, I always forget. She said "Here you go," gave me the coins, I said "Thank you," and returned to silence. Outside it was already getting dark and I watched the thousands of lamps bathe the displayed goods in bright light. Actors filled the stage I had just left, all perfect for their parts, the father, the mother, the sister, the brother, the lovers, the arguing couple. The shop assistants swearing and cursing, vulgar. The girl in her red and blue jersey behind the information desk, sticking her neck up. I walk slow and resist the temptation of taking a ride on the trolley filled with heavy cat litter. I drive slow and slowly I walk up the stairs. Slow and silent seem synonymous. I think of lunacy - some forms of insane behaviour must have their roots in doing what one realises is the sane thing to do.
Touched one of the stones, a white one, piece of it chipped away leaving the form of the letter V. It feels dry, powdery to the fingers.
When I look into the valley the crane is still there and the spotlight guarding the construction site reveals a part of the park climbing up the steep hill. A cancan dancer. It used to look like a pen-and-ink drawing in winter, now it is the threshold of jungle. When one realises he lives in a jungle, is that a sign of declining mental health? P. has changed one theatre for another. The light, the stage, surely they remain the same. Even the people, the audience, amazed that someone has the guts, climbs up there, has them look at her and think "Why?". If you want, I'll show you what all of us are like, stop, and sit down. We will call this "The Stage."
She said she dislikes the everyday stage.
The light can only penetrate so far into the jungle. The girl handles the bottles with disinterest, suspiciously looking at the pictures - Prague castle, smiling bearded man, brewery gate. A young woman runs after her son. "I wanna pee!" "I know, but you can't pee here." Me and my ridiculous friends. We don't even speak or meet anymore. There is a merit in that. I wrote a short summary of how we touched. "I can't read it, it's in English." Nobody can, somebody threw it out when the workmen came to put in our new windows. From the inside the rythm is difficult to discern, the contrast of red and blue, hot and cold, the air that enters the lungs should be returned to the same shelf.
Touched one of the stones, a white one, piece of it chipped away leaving the form of the letter V. It feels dry, powdery to the fingers.
When I look into the valley the crane is still there and the spotlight guarding the construction site reveals a part of the park climbing up the steep hill. A cancan dancer. It used to look like a pen-and-ink drawing in winter, now it is the threshold of jungle. When one realises he lives in a jungle, is that a sign of declining mental health? P. has changed one theatre for another. The light, the stage, surely they remain the same. Even the people, the audience, amazed that someone has the guts, climbs up there, has them look at her and think "Why?". If you want, I'll show you what all of us are like, stop, and sit down. We will call this "The Stage."
She said she dislikes the everyday stage.
The light can only penetrate so far into the jungle. The girl handles the bottles with disinterest, suspiciously looking at the pictures - Prague castle, smiling bearded man, brewery gate. A young woman runs after her son. "I wanna pee!" "I know, but you can't pee here." Me and my ridiculous friends. We don't even speak or meet anymore. There is a merit in that. I wrote a short summary of how we touched. "I can't read it, it's in English." Nobody can, somebody threw it out when the workmen came to put in our new windows. From the inside the rythm is difficult to discern, the contrast of red and blue, hot and cold, the air that enters the lungs should be returned to the same shelf.
