And the dog answered: « What is the point of it all? »

Light hits the window; it escapes the curtains and creeps, making its way on the pillow.

The aftertaste, the morning after, the motivation, the longing, the senselessness, the restlessness, the angst, the compromise, the independent soul, but the dependent heart boiling inside start creeping out into the light. The skin trembles with convulsions, the mind bows under compulsion.

The rays play a soothing game, caressing the sheets.

Contradiction until the peak of absurdity, until purpose is lost, until meaning is lost and desire rules. Where indifference ends, the pathological begins. One rests on a thin line of obliviousness until a pale whiff determines the fall into the abyss. The endlessness, the superiority, the complexity and the vastity overwhelm. The abyss of knowledge, that does not end, that cannot be fully attained swallows one. The belly of the abyss is fragile, it cannot swallow too many, yet it needs to be fed. Bolting towards the end in need of a conclusion, running away from inexistence towards the unknown, into inexistence, one falls constantly. He fails to feel the fall as he fails to feel the movement of the earth. Subtlety is the tool of time, and through time we all fall. Time rules us; we cannot be entirely free for time and nature rule us. We can only control the degree of control. Will you live your life, or will your life live you? Will you use your time, or will it use you? Will you scratch each others backs? Will you loathe him in secret, for he makes up your limits? Limitation frustrates, limitation angers, but limitation creates. This it does surely, and credit must be given. Freedom creates but its creation is chaotic, ludic, erratic, promiscuous, while limitation filters, limitation gives creation order, purpose, regularity and neatness. Limitation proves to be a tool in some cases, thus breaking loose from stigmatization. Limits are needed because excess causes the loss of power of effect, like a song you’ve listened to a thousand times and which now fails to chime your perception. Excess causes disgust, the 10th meatball you feel will kill you. Excess causes absurdity and the loss of credibility, like in the case of paranoia. Still, excess is popular; limitation is so out of season.

Light bathes the maroon room. A body looks marooned on a large crimson bed.

My compulsion, beyond you my dear, is to wander. I have not known many limitations and this resulted in a complete inarticulate and confused, curious manner. Much like a jam session; liberty and improvisation feed off each other. But none bring productivity, efficiency. Discipline creates on the long term orderliness but also stiffness. I have rarely wished for this, but have often needed it. My dance is ruleless, it cannot be labeled, it is original, yet worthless, for it cannot be recreated. Its value is not quantifiable. But you, darling, you say you love my dance and you tell me your stories, and, for now, that is reason enough to bare paradoxes and time, and even deadlines.

The radio goes off, breaking the stillness of the room. Silence clears off and a dog raises his head from beneath the bed.

I have wandered enough and I always fear you’re getting tired. I rise and you’re already gone. Your slumber is fragile and you make no noise when you dream. But your calm makes me anxious. I fight in my dreams, I run, I yell, I speak and I’m exhausted when I wake. But soon enough I want to race the day, the night, the world. Your intensity is rather like suspense, whilst I burn and shiver in the open, I explode. I can’t stand going to bed early, and I can’t stand waking up to an empty flat. But I like the way our feet touch when I wake up at night.

A bark. The silhouette rises and stretches. She bows towards the dog.

Is your time ever enough?


Katie Melua - If you were a sailboat