There is a land, far away
from here although it's difficult to say how
far it is, for it is
even more difficult to indicate where „from here” is
people love to classify everything. For example they have
segregated, catalogued, grouped and named precisely all rhythms,
scales, sounds they play and connected them with parts of a day
seasons, so now everybody knows what can be played at noon and
can not. Every sphere of their live is arranged in that way –
this the reason why an awful mess is the very first thing we can
notice having arrived to this country. Of course, this can be
appearance, a bad impression caused by a variety of different,
unknown smells, shapes, colours..... Their personal lives are
arranged, too, meaning a life is composed of five stages I don't
know if there are any substages or subsubstages, but they are
probable. The first three stages seem quite obvious and
can be met
almost everywhere – they refer to childhood, youth and maturity.
The banality of these stages is not interesting. The fourth
not so banal though can't be called a revolutionary one, and it
described more or less in this way: when you can see the
your children, it means the time has come to get rid of family
go to a forest, build a shack over there, take what the forest
offer you and devote yourself to peaceful meditation. But really
fascinating is the fifth stage, the last one: and when the right
moment comes, you have to quit your shelter and go, turn into a
dried, wind-tossed leaf ......
Amazing! Although this is
an ideal too ideal for too many, so forests in this distant
are rather full of tigers than of meditating old men.
This is what I thought,
when I had learnt about this land. And I thought also: it would
nice to go away and disappear. When did I think
like that: before or
after I read about this country? I don't know. I was feeling
this thought, this vision, had been in my head for very long,
been lying somewhere on a shelf, too high to reach it, all the
it had been lying there, and finally it fell down due to some
quakes, blows and draughts.
It's so easy to write.
It's so easy to imagine. It' really easy to squander metaphors
How my disappearance might
look like? Where would I go? To a white desert or to a yellow
a white desert I would inevitable turn into an ice-cube, sooner
disappear. On a yellow desert I would die of hunger and thirst,
I would get dried like a mummy, unless something devoured me
before.... Is this the disappearing I'm thinking about? And how can
I reach a desert: just leave the house and go straight THERE?
this is the distance of several thousand kilometres – what
happen on the road and by the way? better not to think of
Each version assume I will be sufficiently fit to march vividly
bravely. And if I get a stroke before I decide to go, and I will
be able to command my legs or maybe even change into a
I would have to go early enough. Now? Does it mean right now?
it seems a bit too early.... Well, but a bit later can be too
another vision: a
desert full of vanishing old people – everywhere I go there
crowds of disappearing old men and old women..... To disappear
crowd of the disappearing? It doesn't look like fun....