The Strangeness of Life has no country

Leonid Lopez
Leonid Lopez

Do you know the sound of something breaking, over there behind you? Let me explain: you looked backwards on your life and felt that something had been irremediably lost. Your days are a series of events that you don’t recognize, once you stop to look. Someone else has been occupying your place, someone else have been wearing your clothes, working in your place, dreaming your dreams. There’s no turning back. But in fact, it’s you. With effort, feeling around, you discover that you’re the same as you were yesterday, identical, as if you have been frozen in time.

Here, I feel as if I’m trapped on a foggy island, life and drowsiness. It’s not that everything rolls downhill, but the terrible regularity which tells you your place – placid, settled. Up until now, perhaps, it’s the same here as there. The strangeness of life has no country. But, how about you, what does your hand grab to give to others and to yourself? Here is where I ought to get to the bottom of things. I stretch out my arm as far as I can.

That hand has already grabbed what the day has to offer it, and the sound of it is hollow. In this way I can escape into indifference, fatten resumes, abandon myself to the pastures of the future, and improvise plans for resistance. That’s the normal way of things here.

Grand plans disguise small dreams that end up forgotten or censored like the evils of old. The hope of glory doesn’t have to rule out the desires of the moment which accumulate like snowballs on a mountain. For now I can continue, even questioning myself on the lack of transcendence of these ideas at this moment. But even still, I believe that something has broken. Can you embrace? Can you find unity with your past? What sound is left after, the bite that you will take out of the morning’s bread when it’s time to go to work and leave yourself behind?



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