See the roof, the windows that fell from the sky in millions of pieces reflecting your eyes.
"All together now! All together now!"
All together we're moving in the same direction (“Congratulations!”), canned food that never ends: legs, arms, bodies across the platforms, sullen looks, laughter, seeing faces in faces. I am you, are you with me?
The commuter trains. Tracks the rails. The row of dark coats opposite us in which we, they, they also sit in their telephone bubbles. Sometimes a book is read. Against the dark background, you, me, we, suddenly notice a tiny piece of fluff. Where it came from, no one knows. It was suddenly there. As it is with everything. Pain, joy, love. A cell. And even smaller, we are going back against the Big Bang. Or should we only continue to see the big picture? Forget the little ones?
The fluff moves through the train speeding at 123 km per hour in a kind of zen mode of the purest kind.
Do you know what you see? We are leaning towards the beginning of the world, while the universe floats before our weary noses. Are we seeing it right and is it getting bigger?
“Stand up against everything you once thought you loved but did not get in return, and that you are so sad about... (etcetera).” A woman in a cheap down jacket (a tear in the back, where some whitish down was bulging out - it wanted to get away, away from the coat, away from her, away from the world) falls through the train and slams the protest sign on the head of a graying man who just checks his email to see if what he ordered has already been delivered.
What did he order?
A falcon. Ten pigeons. Volcanic rock. A book about the decline of democracy. Secondhand wedding rings. Mother Superior. Lies. Elephant dung.
Everything is for sale.
