Someone told me: “I wouldn`t count on escaping this place if I were you. No matter how far you run; distance will not solve anything. Sometimes though, fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing direction. You change direction, but the sandstorm chases you. Why? Because this storm isn`t something that blew in from far away, something that has got nothing to do with you. This storm is you, something inside you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn`t get in – and walk through it, step by step.
And once the storm is over, you won`t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won`t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won`t be the same person who walked in. That`s what storm`s all about..
I`ve built a wall around me, never letting anybody inside and trying not to venture outside myself. I tried hard to keep my emotions from showing so that no one had a clue what I was thinking. A dark pool of water; it probably always was there, hidden away somewhere.But when the time comes it silently rushes out, chilling every cell in your body. You drown in that cruel flood, gasping for breath. Water and thirst, cold and heat – these opposite elements combine to assault you. The world is a huge space, but the space that will take you in – and it doesn`t have to be very big – is nowhere to be found. You seek a voice, but what do you get?
Silence. You look for silence, but guess what? All you hear are the voices of those long-past-demons hidden deep inside your brain. Your heart is like a great river after a long spell of rain, spilling over it`s banks. All signposts that once stood on the ground are gone, and carried away by that rush of water.
Even in the smallest events there`s no such thing as coincidence. After a lot of running, I came to exactly the place that I`d been looking for all my life. A little hideaway in some sinkhole somewhere. All I knew was that I was totally alone in an unfamiliair place, like some solitary explorer who`s lost his compass and his map. Is this what it means to be free? I forgot my name. I had one once, but somewhere along the line I didn`t need it anymore. So it slipped my mind.. My problem at that time was that my shadow was a bit faint – the shadow that I cast on the ground was only half as dark as that of ordinary people in those years.
I did dream though. It`s all a question of imagination. Our responsibility begins with the power to imagine. It`s just as Yeats said: “in dreams begin responsibility”. Turn this on it`s head and you can say that where`s no power to imagine, no responsibility can arise. Just as we see with Eichmann..
There were moments I felt calm, but that calm never lasted long, you know. It`s like beasts that never tire, tracking you everywhere you go. They come out at you deep in the forest. And they never give up. It`s a power beyond you, and all you can do is accept it.
Speaking of contradictions: someone once told me that when he first met me, he felt a kind of contradiction in me. Like I was seeking something, but at the same time was running away for it as hard as I could. I know now that whatever it is you`re seeking , it won`t come in the form you`re expecting. Reality must be just the accumulation of ominous prophecies come to life.
Like Aristophanes said, we all stumble through our lives desperately fumbling for our other half. Unfortunately, I have lived a great deal of my life together with my other half – until life did tear us asunder, ripping us to pieces again. I`ll always be waiting for him though, once again – because I have chosen to.
Stories happen with a turning point, an unexpected twist. There`s only one kind of happiness, but misfortune comes in all shapes and sizes. Like Tolstoj said: “happiness is an allegory, unhappiness is a story.. Even now I`m as beautiful as those days and still have got the same smart look, but there`s one thing missing: that lovely, innocent smile.
A high, invisible wall surrounds me, keeping people at arm`s length. My true feelings – assuming such things exist – remain hidden. A stylish woman wrapped in refined mystery; something about me makes it hard to approach me. The hands of the clock buried inside my soul was ground to a halt a long time ago. Time outside of course flows on as always – but I`m not affected by it. For me, what people consider normal time, is essentially meaningless.
In everybody`s life there`s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can`t go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That`s how we survive.. I`ve got a special individual wound that goes beyond the usual meaning of the term; my soul moves in mysterious ways – for me, too.
A solitary soul straying beside an absurd shore. What disgusts me are people who have no imagination. The kind of people T.S. Eliot calls “hollow men” .I don`t care what banner they rise, but what I can`t stand are hollow people!
Narrow minds devoid of imagination, intolerance, theories cut off from reality, empty terminology, unsurped ideals, inflexible systems. Those are the things that really frighten me – what I absolutely fear and loathe. As long as you have the courage to admit mistakes, things can be turned around. But intolerant, narrow minds with no imagination are like parasites that transform the host, change form and continue to thrive. They`re a lost cause, and I don`t want anyone like that even talking to me.
People build up meaning between themselves and the things around them. The important thing is whether this comes about naturally or not. If you try to use your head to think about things, people don`t want to have anything to do with you.
Sometimes, for me it feels like everything`s been decided in advance – that I`m following a path somebody else has already mapped out for me. In fact, the harder I try , the more I lose my sense of who I am. It`s as if my identity`s an orbit that I`ve strayed far away from, and that really hurts. But more than that, it scares me.
Man doesn`t choose fate, fate chooses man. That`s the basis world view of Greek drama. And the sense of tragedy ( Aristotle) does not come from the protagonist`s weak points, but ( ironically enough) from his good qualities. So people are drawn deeper into tragedy not by their defects but by their virtues (……)!
Irony deepens a person, helps him to mature. It`s the entrance to salvation on a higher plane, to a place where you can find a more universal kind of hope. The world of the grotesque is the darkness within us. Before Jung and Freud, this correlations between darkness and our subconscious, these two forms of darkness, was obvious to people.
But today things are different. The darkness in the outside world has vanished, but the darkness in our hearts remains, unchanged. This emotion I feel for my other half is more real and more intensely painful than anything I`ve ever felt before. And there`s no way out, almost half of my life already – no possibility of finding an escape. I`ve wandered into a labyrinth of time and the biggest problem of all is that I have no desire at all to get out…
Symbolism and meaning are two separate things. I try to capture words in a dream, like delicately catching hold of a butterfly`s wings as it flutters around. Artists are those who can evade the verbose. Most poetry is like that. If the words can`t create a prophetic tunnel connecting them to the reader, then the whole thing no longer functions as a poem.
So metaphors help to eliminate what separates him from me. I`ve worn away so much of my own life that at a certain point I should have stopped living – but I didn`t. I knew that life was pointless, but I couldn`t give up on it. So I ended up just marking time, wasting my life in vain pursuits. I wound up hurting myself, and that made me hurt others around me. That`s why I`m being punished now, why I`m under a kind of curse.
I had something too complete, too perfect, once, and afterwards all I could do was despise myself. That`s the curse I can never escape. So I`m not afraid of death. As I told you, I`m completely empty. Do you know what it means to be completely empty? Being empty is like an unlived-in house. An unlocked, unlived-in house. Anybody can come in, any time they want. That`s what scares me the most. Nobody can help me. That`s what love`s all about. I`m the one having those wonderful feelings, but I have to go it alone as I wander through the dark. My mind and my body have to bear it all. All by myself.
There`s another world that parallels our own, and to a certain degree we`re able to step into that other world and come back safely. As long as you`re careful. But go past a certain point and you`ll lose the path out. It`s like a Mesopotamian labyrinth
I am very different from you. I`ve overcome all kinds of obstacles – and not what you`d call normal obstacles , either. I know all kinds of things that you`re clueless about, I have experienced a range of emotions you`ve never felt. The longer people live, the more they learn to distinguish what`s important from what`s not. I had to make a lot of critical decisions, and have seen the results. But no matter how much suffering I went through, I never wanted to let go of those memories. It hurts more and more to hold on to them, but I`ll never want to let them go, as long as I`m alive. It`s the only reason I have to go on living, the only thing that proves I`m alive. I have felt as though I was living at the bottom of a deep well, completely shut up inside myself, cursing my fate, hating everybody outside. Everything passed away in an instant, with nothing left behind except the scars of things I injured and despised.
So until the bitter end, the emptiness inside me will be mine alone – because no one will be able to fill the void inside me; no one but my other half. The dark forest is essentially a part of me; the journey I`m taking is inside me. Just as blood travels down veins, what I`m seeing is my inner self, and what seems threatening is just the echo of the fear in my heart.
Why didn`t she love me? Don`t I deserve to have my mother love me? Until now that question`s been a hot flame in my heart, eating away my soul. There has to be something fundamentally wrong with me that made my mother not love me.
Was there something inherently polluted about me? Was I born only so that everyone could turn their faces from me? My mother didn`t even once hold me close; she always turned away her face, disappearing like quiet smoke.
But things in the past are like a plate that`s shattered to pieces. You can never put it back as it was.. I try to understand the overpowering fear and anger she must have experienced, and feel it as my own. The main thing is this: I`ll have to forgive her. To be with me seems to cause a pain, like a frozen knife in your chest.
A long time ago I threw away something I shouldn`t have. Something I loved more than anything else. I was afraid that someday I`d lose it. So I had to let go myself. If it was going to be stolen from me, or I was going to lose it by accident, I decided it was better to discard it myself. But the whole thing was a huge mistake, I should never have thrown it away.
My other half was discarded by the very one who never should have done that – just like my mother did to me.. Everyone of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That`s part of what it means to be alive.
Want to know what it is that always leads me to people on the borderline? We`re both on the border of this world, speaking a common language. That`s all. Luckily though, beyond any of those details of the real, there are dreams. And I am living in them…