A whisper inside his head. I heard it. Navahos conferring
with ancestral ghosts. A dream that both of us had when we did not know
each other yet. A woman came to me, white hair, gracefully bowing over my head.
I instantly knew - gentle persuasion - what she had to tell was of importance. Things
started tumbling, gliding, I ended up where I had never been before. Was this
part of the dream? Life doesn’t happen, it becomes true. For some it is blasphemy,
for some a deeper voice within. A thread weaving itself into beautiful reflections,
colourful layers in adamantine ice. What will happen when it starts melting? Too
many questions to answer, who can be consistent. I remember this woman who
lived next to next door. I was told she was mad, hearing voices, locking
herself into her head. Once when I was little, I rang her doorbell. She didn’t
open. She must have thought I was someone bad. She had lost her husband. I had
lost my shoe. I had brought her some food, but she wouldn’t take it. It could
have been poisoned. The street where we lived had a water canal. In winter it froze
and we skated. I had learnt it by shoving a chair. I would
skate in front of her house. We all would. We never asked questions. By now she
must be dead. Suddenly he starts believing in angels. I know it because I heard the voice inside his head. I start wondering who of us is
I like the blue in the painting. It’s not even a painting,
just an illustration. I like the blue and it doesn’t matter what it depicts. A
ferry drowned in an ocean. People hanging in rooms captured with a mobile. I didn’t watch it. I didn’t even press the play button. All I did was
scrolling slowly over the feet of those kids. Keep calm and stay where you are.
No one came for rescue. I imagine a fifty meter corridor connecting blue sky and darker blue bottom. Locked inside a giant jump. Locked inside my head. I
didn’t even press the play button. A filmstrip flickers and all I can do is liking the blue.
The biggest challenge has five letters and is almost driving
me mad - F O C U S.
Fool Osofist Crumbling Under Scrutiny.
There are these
creepy freaks with creepy smiles hiding behind shelves. How can I focus while
they are hiding? The other day I fell asleep over work. When I woke up one of
them stood next to me, watching me sleeping, watching me waking up, watching me.
I told him to back off. Now he pretends to be busy, wandering between tables,
magazines and window frames. He must be really busy, he hasn’t changed his
shirt in three days.
There is the other one who always wants more. Text,
references, conceptualisations, finish it. I gave him everything I had but it
was never enough. Then I burnt out and he complained that I was empty. Now I make
tables about cognitive dissonance, negative capability, ambiguity and
complexity. Dynamics determine the pace. I respond contingently. Blank paper is
non-boundary and … please, could someone tell those freaks to stop staring at
me?? No, I am not from France. The coffee shop is closed and if there is one
thing that is certain then that I need to focus.
The centre of
focus is a black hole and it can be nailed down in three words: Why a PhD? It
sucks me into dark dimensions. At least now I know that it is too dark for me
at the bottom of insanity. On Facebook someone tagged me in a mass hysteria. I
can choose if I want to add it. But once you are in it, there is no way out.
It’s all a question of relative direction. I could quit of course, but
is that a choice?
The other question is that of reward. There is never enough,
so what is the question. The question is how to turn never enough into a
sufficiently meaningful answer. Impactful and so on. Beyond the business case. At
least it should make some kind of sense. We all have too much anyway. Not sense
but stuff. I tried to get rid of it, downsized as much as I could, all of it
had to fit into one suitcase. But there is this void spitting things in front
of me. I don’t dare to walk over them while thinking of civil war and
innumerable innocent victims being killed and all of that being shown on TV and
youtube and spreading on timelines and being commented, liked, shared and retweeted. Creeps
Being politically correct is only switching off the TV. But
then, how to choose the right programme without zapping? It’s unlikely that at
this time of the day anything meaningful comes out of it. For that we would
have to create new channels. That does not get done by itself. Such things need
to be dug out. It requires dirty hands, sweat and brain substance.
fooling myself. About black holes and academy. It’s all the same sludge.
Someone switched on the blender and it all got mixed up. I’m trying to make
sense. I’m trying to turn sense into words and words into tables and tables
into action and action into sense and all I do is switching channels. Without a TV.