|The Busy Life by Jean Dubuffet|
The train of thought never stops, does it? Standing on a vague platform, everything except me undergoes a peculiar kind of metamorphosis now and then. Bewildered, I stand in utter confusion, with a dazed expression and remain amusingly voiceless. Waving madly for the train to halt or at least lazy down a bit, I am increasingly getting ascertained about the fact that either I am powerless or I am being considered as a crazy cheerleader.
Often, no, more than often, I have successfully boarded the train. What happens then – settled quietly near the window, with a half read great novel that I have tried to finish since one year, five months and two weeks, looking old and rich in my hands, I get lost in the dream world looking through the barred window; settled quietly near the window, with a notebook in front and a pen in my hand, I write down miraculous lines, tying down the strength to move the humanity and a saleable story together, staying humble myself throughout the reverie; settled quietly near the window, but loathing everyone around me and worshiping softly to reach my destination soon…
“My destination…” I say and I am kicked out of the train, back on that floating platform which dances every second on some idiotic tune and disturbs my balance. I fall down, cry, raise questions, get answers, plan things and proudly compliment myself, with a touch of modesty of course. And then what do I do? I go off to sleep. How much can the mind take? “So long, my friend”, says my mind and dozes off. Shut down! Power off!
Click! Switch on and I am back on that platform. Trains have started passing me. I yawn, a full day of travelling to a gazillion places ahead. Busy life, what to do?