Letter from nowhere
I said that I would get in touch. Why not write a letter? This is the first one I have sent. If I know that it gets through, I might send more. It’s also quite possible that this will be the last.
Truth be told, I have no idea where I am. It’s likely that I did not get far, but according to certain indications I have a feeling that I’m exactly where I thought I should be. There’s nobody here to talk to… nobody to ask… nobody to calm me down. It’s a strange feeling. There’s nothing here. Nothing happening. Nothing at all. I don’t know if I was expecting it. I wanted to be surprised. But it didn’t surprise me at all. I’m not doing anything. I wonder what other people are doing?
Probably bored, like always, right? Instead, I imagine that they are doing something exceptional. They’re talking about regular things, but in a manner as if they have discovered a new language. One starts to speak, but the other doesn’t understand him at all. There is a reply for every utterance, but again, it is all incomprehensible. In the middle of this conversation language is being born. After conversing in such fashion for a while, the people manage to catch certain words, which they begin to repeat. The words which they repeat can be translated as: drink, snail, paper, wade. It takes a while, but it seems that language is slowly being re-invented. It just takes a little practice and the choppy, stilted attempts to communicate are transformed into an easy stream of chatter. Speech for the sake of speaking.
Instead, I imagine other people being bored. They are afraid of boredom, which is why they never say they are bored. They feverishly busy themselves to hide the fact that they are bored. Action for the sake of activity. Pretending. They fake everything.