Some people look back over their shoulder in anger, in anguish, in vain. The world is moving ahead, so marvellously wrong and wide, but how were they supposed to know? They drag themselves along the ground, licking the dust off that narrow path back to themselves. They wouldn’t trade their own little „Kingdom of Good Ol’ Days” for anything in the world.
Some other people have already set their foot on the Next Year’s shore, and set the bridge on fire. If they would ever feel like looking back, there will be nothing to see; not even a damn burnt shoe. These people are their tomorrow-s; or else, they’d be nothing.
Indeed, some march forwards, some crawl backwards. But most float aimlessly. They fill the interstitial spaces between two years, two days, two seconds, they fill whatever gap, whatever crack, orifice, pause or void, they fill whatever can be filled, they are the fillers.
There is something grand about their superfluous nature, I sense their hidden will to conquer the world by topping off its holes, by stuffing its pores, making it BURST with confusion. I fear these people. I think they possess some kind of twisted, grandiose knowledge that enables them to feel comfortable in their idleness, to float above the hard facts, to sneak between two crinkles of the world. Even when, for a moment, caught in the convulsions of life, they’ll break the chains eventually. And they’ll eternally return in that liminal zone of do-nothingness, filling the interstice between 2016 and 2017, between here and there, now and forever.
(Foto: Tabloul autoarei, ”The Comfort of being Small”, foto: Andrei Ținu/StreetLenser)
