8 Jan 2015
Fears of sleep, choking, not awakening, of awakening too late. It all happens as every day – bathroom pills and tablets. And a face cream. Anti-Rudi-
Gater the clothing for the day, put it on , comb the hair. Find the glasses and the pen. Sit down and wait.
Five thirty, two bells, leave house, empty lane.
Dolores at the bus stop, a heavy black coat against the winter wrapped around her. the bus driver, big and bald, gives out his tickets for the very short ride.
Activity everywhere in and around the station, there are hundreds of bicycles parked outside, resting on the towns stands, standing on their own ones, or just lying about.
That brightly dressed woman with the short white hair is there in the square, smoking in the slushy rain., Alone with her cigarette on the dimly-lit station plaza.
Yong man working at Yorma's café. These early mornings are making him suffer visibly. He takes the money, makes a stamp, puts on the coffee and, as it is making, deals with the next customer.
In the café there are two old faces, the hedgehog and the Italian. A group of orange -clad street cleaners there too, probably on account of the predicted snow.
The train is in already. Board last, sit down, there are fewer people than usual traveling, and many spaces are free today. This one is well lit, with a table, and young woman opposite listening to music on her mobile 'phone, grinning to herself whilst staring at the passing lights in the blackness outside.
Now, past the equinox, thedays are getting longer again, it will be bright again at this hour in two months, or thereabouts. This constant darkness will lighten for the summertime.
The people boarding the train in Moosburg are carrying newspapers with lead articles on the massacre of the journalists in the french satirical magazine, those mad murderers doing what their religion forbids, doing their murders in their religions name.
A repressive, non functioning worls, a world of dark horizons, close and threatening.
Fears of sleep, choking, not awakening, of awakening too late. It all happens as every day – bathroom pills and tablets. And a face cream. Anti-Rudi-
Gater the clothing for the day, put it on , comb the hair. Find the glasses and the pen. Sit down and wait.
Five thirty, two bells, leave house, empty lane.
Dolores at the bus stop, a heavy black coat against the winter wrapped around her. the bus driver, big and bald, gives out his tickets for the very short ride.
Activity everywhere in and around the station, there are hundreds of bicycles parked outside, resting on the towns stands, standing on their own ones, or just lying about.
That brightly dressed woman with the short white hair is there in the square, smoking in the slushy rain., Alone with her cigarette on the dimly-lit station plaza.
Yong man working at Yorma's café. These early mornings are making him suffer visibly. He takes the money, makes a stamp, puts on the coffee and, as it is making, deals with the next customer.
In the café there are two old faces, the hedgehog and the Italian. A group of orange -clad street cleaners there too, probably on account of the predicted snow.
The train is in already. Board last, sit down, there are fewer people than usual traveling, and many spaces are free today. This one is well lit, with a table, and young woman opposite listening to music on her mobile 'phone, grinning to herself whilst staring at the passing lights in the blackness outside.
Now, past the equinox, thedays are getting longer again, it will be bright again at this hour in two months, or thereabouts. This constant darkness will lighten for the summertime.
The people boarding the train in Moosburg are carrying newspapers with lead articles on the massacre of the journalists in the french satirical magazine, those mad murderers doing what their religion forbids, doing their murders in their religions name.
A repressive, non functioning worls, a world of dark horizons, close and threatening.
No comments:
Post a Comment