www.lloydrobson.com
email





ESSE QUAM VIDERI — I WILL SEE HOW IT WILL BE

Viewing the huge space of the algae-green and heavenly-blue lake, pointing out that there is no ending, no limit to see.

Turning the head and seeing those dancing waves talking with the sky. I can choose if it’s boring or the only thing that might make me happy.

On the left there is a bank and a long landing stage. I’m a little black point getting bigger and bigger as the waves come closer.

Salomo. I see Salomo. I don’t see myself as Salomo. But I am Salomo. Not only in this moment. Sitting and watching. Wondering what life is about. Wondering what I am about.

I’m searching for the border, the horizon like I’m searching for happiness. I’m staring at one point diving in the water. It’s cold. Very cold. The only thing keeping me warm is this shabby and ripped jumper.

My nose is running as if it’s hunted.

I have no sense of how long I’ve been sitting here. The only thoughts I had have gone away. I threw them deep down into the water in the hope I could think something else, anything else. But my thoughts didn’t swim away. They are still here and have dropped their anchor to stay at this place as long as I remain.

Remembering the good old days not only makes me feel warm, but also puts a smirk on my face. The dirty smirk is reflected by the mirror of the water. Seeing myself happy for this moment frightens me. It´s been a long time since I’ve seen myself laughing. It’s a weird sight; not a beautiful one. So I stop smiling and turn back to my thoughts.

My thoughts?

My dreams?

I am not a dreamer. I want to dream, but I can’t stop thinking about what sense it would make to dream of happiness. In my eyes it’s useless, because my stupid life is nearly over. Gone without any feeling of being joyful in my everyday existence.

It makes me scared when I dream of better days. I am constantly fucking scared of my dreams.

Sometimes I can’t go to bed or let the dreams into my mind. I have discovered that trying to find sense in the everyday life makes me more sad than anything else.

Avoiding dreams means I’m never dissappointed with myself.

Those people want immortality, but they don’t know what to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon. People are vampires, sucking out every little part of happiness, just to satisfy themselves. Taking away my individuality. Their idea of a good living-being as they try to make me fit. But that’s exactly what I don’t want to be. One of them. One of the grey mass. One of those who sell theirselves to support the idea of uniformity.

I missed the moment when someone decided to take from me the chance to get old and happy.

It is my wildest dream to find happiness in my everyday life. What a shitty imagination of wilderness. Dreaming is not wild. Wild means unusual, unknown.

That’s right. No one knows me. Even I don’t know me.

I betrayed myself when I started to adapt to others. My life was betrayed by not staying lonely, by becoming happy and losing fears.

Nothing improved. Absolutely nothing improved. It just got worse. And continues to do so.

In the next minute I’ll get out of my clothes. I’ll stand here as naked as when I came into my life.

And I’ll jump into the mirrorly water and dive deep.

As deep as I can.

And I will never again appear in life.

And I can dream again.



© Magdalena Werner, 2007





back to sömmerda