A winter day, cold and clear like an autumn day. Shielded from the bending trees, the wet air, and the pavement, reminders of the morning hail. I stare outside the window, as a far observer. As the the day is lost, in nothingness, in goalless passing, I slowly grow aware of the opportunities that exist here to create a viable commercial product. Maybe I too have grown and excelled in the last months. Admitted, I am not determined by nature, maybe my late age of opportunity is a potent and clear signal of that. A silent witness of a wasted load, I realize my aim. I have always felt destined for something, I have always felt to have enough innate predestination, talent, and I also never felt ready, never felt sufficient, there was always another step to be made, there was always another day until tomorrow. I realized I was not in the right circumstances, not in the perfect moment, to reach and grasp, and to create the opportunities that were possible before me. There were too many imperfectly matching pieces in the puzzle, too many dust particles in the beams of light. Caught between these, I saw such immature possibilities. I am not a total loner, not among the notes of music at least, too one sided in my own capacity to follow a single line, my own except, and so I am in the hands of the unfinished time, unclosed circles. I am waiting for the lips to be in sync with the words that are spoken. When I am almost ready, my soul is silent. The tracks never run parallel and I wait. I wait for the musical singer to fall back in line with the choir, on the right beat, but realizing this will occur only by coincidence. Each moment that I awaited disappears again.
But now I am no longer dependent, in contrary, it is me who is the dependency, if the perfect chain breaks, it is because of my fault. My friend T. is faultless in the right opportunity to work out right. Of course I believe my own path leads me fastest to my goal. My niche is colored by its own light. My niche is to write neo-classic nihilist pamphlets that express the post war type of optimism that characterizes me, rallied by a strong will to survive the destined fate that we cannot escape, to enjoy, the seek pleasure, to undergo the experiences like a self-objectified subject, the mirror image within us. This remoteness of the self is a clear and inseparable identity of strength. In a new language, I speak, still looking to find the right words, the right tone, the logical sense for the meaning and form that will define me.