It was a building — no, a block of buldings, suspended, with immense legs, like a mechanical spider, with its belly made of soil dragging against the ground.
It was coming through the field, about to pass by the village, as if that were a casual event.
As if a bunch of buildings on top of a thick carpet of torn earth could develop legs and walk around freely, perhaps searching for areas with cheaper property tax rates.
The guy had not seen rain for a long time. Getting wet that afternoon made him happy. And wet he became! Rain was pouring — just water, neither cats nor dogs could be seen around.
Anyway, say it as you will, it was raining a lot. A car was carried down the street by the flash flood and the guy laughed out loud because the car wasn't his. Finally a problem he didn't need to worry about.
He went into an ugly building following a pretty woman, taking advantage of the open door that had been unlocked for her. Once inside, he turned around and came out.
[Jun 28 02]
A sunny afternoon in the beginning of winter. Hard not to be influenced by such a crystalline and refreshing day. Even more so here, at the end of a narrow and long pier, surrounded by the wrinkled-marine-blue water.
If someone managed to bottle that breeze, "I'd buy it", Me thought, observing the diving of the most playful seagull of the flock.
[Jun 26 02]
Me accepted the invitation to sit down. He was in a small clearing, feeling the pain on his knees dissipate, while the little creature prepared a tea with roots, branches and flowers, about two steps ahead of him. The aroma that started to spread around was unknown to him, but soft and inviting.
"So, be a writer, you want to, hmm?" asked the small one, stirring the infusion. It kept its arm still above the cauldron and with the pulse he made the stick describe an 8 (horizontal, for itself, but normal for Myself) repeatedly.
It's 10:51 pm, Monday.
One of those Mondays. There is a peach in front of me. I'm sunk into the sofa, the light hasn't been turned on today, my name somewhere else is Jirokai and I've spoilt everything. It seems so simple, that here outside thousands of paths have become open for me... But I can't imagine a day when I'll feel well again.
There are places. And people — and beings. Many of them depended on me, but I walked and at some step I stopped believing in them. I didn't want it to happen.
What are you afraid of?
Forget that automatic silliness of answering that you only fear fear itself.
You're not a child anymore. What are you afraid of?
It's not of losing those you believe you rely on, it's not of having to tuck up your sleeves and abandon your dreams bound to stay unfulfilled for the duties that don't interest you. It's not of losing time. I don't think it's something so obvious. It's not of aging neither of death. Keep on digging, look beyond these impressions.
I believe it's universal, but I don't know why it would have to be atemporal.
"What year are we in?" the thing asked. 2008, but it wouldn't get this information from me. Not like this, so easily. That's why it will go away in 2 minutes, happy.
I asked it what time it was — a question, I said, much more pertinent. It answered. It doesn't matter if it was right, damn it if it were really 9:07 a.m. in that place (which still is this). I just wanted to know about the 2 minutes.