Day 1983, inside.

Daily picture, Poetry

I see you on the TV

in pieces

because he up there

seems to hate you


I always thought that we humans share our delight for emptiness and silence. Seeing a landscape while you drive trough the day, your mind goes silent and the noise of the engine disappears. I thought we share these moments, no matter who you are. So why is it that most people can’t bare the silence, and nothingness, that life is? Why does the silence and fastness, where you walk alone inside, be filled with structures, signs where to go, and not? Why don’t we appreciate the silence, and each other’s empty landscape?