Thursday 28 November 20:30
Plunge one’s hands into the soil, feeling the dirt under the nails, the grass that tickles the skin. The warm breath of a beast on the face. The stench. The cold sun on the mountains, the fear instilled by harsh landscapes, the desolation. Perceive one’s loneliness and, above all, perceive the passing of time. Far from any symbol. Far from any meaning.
Experiment time for what it is, undressed from any distraction. It goes by slowly, and burdens. It smashes us. Relentless in its cyclic nature, in its ongoing dance where we never get to spin enough. Here’s one who knows how to spin. Spinning in the perpetual epiphany of time throws us into the abyss of absurdity – but those who know how to spin, are they really that absurd? People that suffer and swear, and yet they go on.