I was free and pure ,because,otherwise I wouldn't even have cared to glance at" the faceless gardener",as it did not "matter" to me.The man drove the lawn-mower forward with all his might.Sweat dripping from the body,steel merging into skin,he had become one with the machine.He had transcended into a state of divinity.He is just a couple of metres away from me.I can run up to him, and touch him but I can't because he lies much ,much farther,a distance my pitiable eye can't comprehend.
The motor whirred, seeking a certain kind of attention, aspiring, to rise above the din.The freshly cut shreds of grass formed a happy whirlpool above the wheels.I wished I could extend my hands and feel them brushing past my palm.I wished I could bribe the man into allowing me to mow all the lawns of the institute for one day .In that one day,I would successfully purge all ego,all ambition,all pretension,all envy,all angst,all anger.,all knowledge........till the only thing that remains is me.I wish it was that easy.
I feel like flinging the sack slung across my back into a horizon I cant even see . Maybe,I should go and tell him,how he has got the best job in the world but ,there again, I suffer ,from my ridiculous perception that this would make him happy .
Praying fervently that the walkway to the lecture hall would stretch itself to infinity is a more sensible thing to do,isn't it?More sensible than hoping that the insane clock would stop moving its hands around the same circle all the time.
I like to think of all celebrated complexity as,...hmmm.,a kind of a balloon,a giant balloon ,always on the verge of bursting.There is an urgent need to recognize the protective retreat that simplicity offers.I feel like flinging the sack slung across my back into a horizon I cant even see . Maybe,I should go and tell him,how he has got the best job in the world but ,there again, I suffer ,from my ridiculous perception that this would make him happy .
Praying fervently that the walkway to the lecture hall would stretch itself to infinity is a more sensible thing to do,isn't it?More sensible than hoping that the insane clock would stop moving its hands around the same circle all the time.
I am getting late for class,but I am already smiling.I don't know why?and I don't want to know.Because there is nothing ,like "knowing".
The sound of the motor is still there.Perhaps ,it is the only thing that can go on .Forever.
Inspired by Arthur Ganson's kinetic sculptures which draw heavily upon existentialist themes.
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