You're in a forest, so weary you wedge yourself in the hollow of an old-growth red cedar tree. You sleep deeply and wake to black darkness. You hear raccoons and foxes, coyotes and bobcats--they're all commuting to work.
You climb out of the tree and stand in a city: noise, rain, crowds, stench, neon, fluorescence, larceny, fraud. You're leaning on a metal light-pole. And now you remember: it took years but the city finally broke you by revealing how absurd it is. You saw how you'd betrayed yourself by living, working, there. You began to suffer spells, every day, so that you might find yourself on a sidewalk when your mind takes off and flees to a forest, sleeps in a tree, and leaves you looking quite mad. "Disoriented," they call it, although your state has nothing to do with East.
You know none of the people passing by. They stare at you as if you were different from them. Your struggling scares them momentarily.
hans ostrom 2017
You climb out of the tree and stand in a city: noise, rain, crowds, stench, neon, fluorescence, larceny, fraud. You're leaning on a metal light-pole. And now you remember: it took years but the city finally broke you by revealing how absurd it is. You saw how you'd betrayed yourself by living, working, there. You began to suffer spells, every day, so that you might find yourself on a sidewalk when your mind takes off and flees to a forest, sleeps in a tree, and leaves you looking quite mad. "Disoriented," they call it, although your state has nothing to do with East.
You know none of the people passing by. They stare at you as if you were different from them. Your struggling scares them momentarily.
hans ostrom 2017
