In the ruins of what once seemed a thriving life, a life with great prospects for the future, as so many would have us believe (still), i look back in time. The time when it was not completely carefree, and a shadow of abyss crept past our thoughts, a harbinger that many still prefer not to look in the eye.
We are shrouded in histories, we wade daily through the swamps of our ancestors and yet we see nothing.
Sorry for writing "we". You should distrust people who are used to speaking in 'we'. I'm trying to unlearn it. And yet. WE are not doing very well. I do my best, you say you do. Everyone thinks and says so, and yet here we are now, in this new ruin, this abyss made real from shadow, and yet. Now that we have our feet in the shit, many people cling desperately to the familiar. "We had it right, didn't we? We still have it right here in Klotestad!" and being forgotten was my thing anyway, but i tell you: never in my life was forgetting so merciless, so steadfast, so united.
I can point you to the same times, the same sentiments, the same shadows that became abyss, the abyss that we enshrined in monuments and every year we make serious remembrance and we read books about it and share stories of all those who never returned from hell. Where should we even start? How should we start? And with who?
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Here i sat, in the shadow of the ruin, feeling back in time, against the stones the cold of ages, the thirst of many, the screaming breath of the abyss overtook me on this sunlit day. But merrily i moved on, and further and further into the world, in a rhythm of work alternating with rest, away from abyss - some called it 'dancing on the volcano' but we now know 'we've ain't seen nothing yet' here in our frog tins, pouting sanctuary for tyrannical wretches who never look beyond their snotty noses.
And time is ticking.