It is autumn and the day is about to end.
Writing in a small notebook, I sit in a train that goes to the sea.
I walk through the city, down to the shore.
It is a strange place.
It is as if nobody really lives here anymore.
However, there are a lot of them. All around. And again it feels very busy.
The waves of the sea seem gentle.
I hear the cries of seagulls and parrots.
And then there is a constant undercurrent of human activity with varying density.
They eat ice cream, drink things out of colored plastic bottles, they take pictures of the sun set and of themselves.
Everywhere are shops where you can buy things, and I wonder what most of these things are good for.
I take another train and leave the city.
It is packed. Everyday it is packed.
Through the train window I see masses of cars entering and leaving the city.
Inside the train nearly everyone is busy with a telephone or has passed out.
It feels very strange. I don’t want to stay here.
I sense a sort of nausea, a tension in my guts.
Again there is the sensation that there is a profound insanity. Something really off. Most of the behavior I encounter seems to be deeply driven and compulsive.
And then you look again, and you see that they are all animated by the same force.
Breath is happening. Smells and images are being registered. Thoughts are being followed.
How mysterious it all is.
You switch again and you note this endless, desperate devouring, conquering, pretending.
All over, changing colors with different cultures.
This restless agitation, passed on and on throughout a perceived childhood, adulthood and old age, that might be called search for happiness.
Raging like a forest fire, nurtured by the winds it generates.