We are miserable alone, and we are miserable as a community; married and unmarried; we are as if hedgehogs that gather to warm up, we are uncomfortable when we are crowded and we are even more miserable when we are separated; optimism is a bitter mocking of a man's sorrow; life is ill, because life is war; the more perfect the organism, the more perfect the suffering; the motto of history: eadem sed aliter.
I was a Native Indian. Courageous and ruthless. My hands were squeezing the bloody scalps of my enemies. The waiting had to crawl through an open window.
I was a knight. A double-edged sword would slash the ceiling, crumble the light bulb, cut through the sofa. The waiting had to be chopped into pieces.
I was a cannibal. Enormous dark fumes were sizzling, in them the white were boiling. The room buzzed from fire and smoke. The waiting had to burn out or suffocate.
I was a circus clown. I performed somersaults and would elegantly fall down to the ground. I laughed with a heartrending voice. The waiting had to cheer up.
I was waiting while their hearts were beating. It was getting dark. The sky and the objects were getting grayer. I did not oppose to the waiting anymore. I would probably scream if I'd feel that there is no waiting.