Life is too short for boring stories

It happened at a time when the flowers had already fallen, but the fruits were not yet ripe, on the trees and in the fields. At a time between receiving and giving birth. At a time when the thought ripened in me, I was pregnant with it, but it had not yet finished. It happened in an interval.

The grass stood tall, virgin unaffected. The scythe was unknown to it. In my meadow it would remain virginal. As a gift for leaving it untouched, a black chair out of the grass grew in the middle of my meadow. I accepted it, this gift, because I was pregnant and needed the peace to finish my thoughts. I sat down on this chair, which my meadow had given me as a present, set me to finish my thought.

“I’m sitting in the chair on my meadow.” I was.
“You are sitting in a chair, in the middle of the meadow, and do not do anything again.” You were.
“I’m giving my thought that he’s ready to be born.” I was.
“I tell you, you do not do anything. Never do you do anything while I am doing and scrapping. And for what? Day and night nothing but worries and problems, and you do nothing. “You were.
“I am going to give birth to my thoughts, and that is the need of peace and tranquility.”
“Oh, you need rest. Should I perhaps work quieter, so that you have your peace. “You were.
“It would be enough for you to leave. I would be very attached to you. “I was.
“That will always be more beautiful. No use in the world, but also make demands. Just sitting on a chair in the middle of the meadow. Anyway, who is coming to such a morose idea of ​​a chair in a meadow? “You were.
“You are weak-witted, only you. That is why you and I are working to put my thoughts, here on the chair that I have not created here, but who gave me my meadow. “I was.
“Now it is too colorful for me. The meadow gave it to you? I throw it. You see, nothing but a normal chair. “You were.
“You have uprooted and killed my chair. You threw me from the chair into the meadow, and drifted off the almost finished thoughts. “I was.
“I am happy. Now you can work with me, help me and support me. “You were.

I took the body-cloth to spread it over the black chair which my meadow had given me and which you had killed. I took the bodywork to spread it over my almost finished thoughts, which you had aborted. Deflowered and scorned, I left the meadow behind me as I left, away from all the dying, died, and you. I went to look for a new, virgin, untouched meadow which would give me a new chair Thoughts to bear.


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