February, 25

A damp sky, wet the air, thick and heavy raindrops that fall down on our heads, all windows are steamy and the world seems to be transform itself into a giant washhouse. The day as well damp and dull, the answer I am waiting for, waiting impatiently for, does not come and might need come at all, but the questions are coming in steadily. Unsatisfied i notice my growing weariness with all these questions, a steady stream of requests, the tone sometimes neglecting, sometimes helpless but most often of a puzzling consciousness, of a frank rudeness to demand whatever comes in mind, without even thinking for themselves. The ultimate consumer consumes everything as if it were nothing, his demands mean nothing more than immediate fulfillment as soon and as efficient as possible. No matter what the costs are. On the train a woman sitting in opposite to me, sews with commitment a most ugly piece, I can not even properly describe. A mixture of bulb and a ball would come closest, on her finger sticks a silver thimble and with a small, silver pair of scissors she cuts through the thin threads and takes up her needle again. After twenty minutes or so, she is finished with ball- bulb and looks at it from all angles, turns it up and down, and seems to be most satisfied with her work done, and soon she takes up the next five pieces of garment, reaches for her scissors and starts to sew along the next astonishingly ugly ball-bulb. I try to stare not too offensive in her direction and when I got off the train, she is close to finish her second piece. The grocer’s wife tells me, who has the flu ( nearly everyone ) and only thanks to her rather mulish constitution she is not yet nearly dead. These people are making me sick, she cries and I nod, even if I think that her enormous curiosity is her best weapon against any bacteria. But she would not listen anyway, but lamenting further. When walking home I can not help to think that every word hurts, especially those, who do not come, even when we wait and wait, while already knowing that all our hope is lost, drowned somewhere deep down within the steamy and nearly invisible world, but still I ask me again and again, why this has to be the case.

2 thoughts on “February, 25

  1. Spent some time catching up with you today, and, as always, I marveled at your keen power of observation, your subtle wit, and your ability to translate both into your writing. I t is a pleasure to read your posts

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