"And again I am sitting in the bus. It is at seven thirty in the morning clock, line 32 It is rainy and cold, and soon it will snow again. The moisture penetrates shoes and Hosen.Wie paralyzed I sit and see the decisions, calm faces. A young woman stifles a yawn, disfiguration of her mouth. "North Street", growls the chauffeur. Again comes over me that sense of strangeness. Incredulous, I stare through the window. "Why bother?" "Why do I have to? "" How much longer? "A machine I am facing. Disgust accumulates toMy chest. It is inexorably toward the workplace. The delay is short, time melts away from station to station. I was forcibly wrested from sleep, resigned myself devouring the daily press.
My stop comes, but I can not get up. I stay to the end. But the bus no longer holds. He goes further: through Austria, Yugoslavia, Turkey, Syria, Persia to India .... Along the way, turned the bus: He is being renovated, painted, fitted with beds, repaired, adapted to the changing climate. The twenty passengers to a close community. You are looking for jobs go to buy the fuel, spare parts and the food. All work will be shared. They tell their stories. The other face of everyday life comes to light at all: denial of service, sabotage, leaks, disease events, solidarity actions, acts of revenge against bosses, nocturnal attacks. All have their own way eventually resisted and tried to stop the machine. In vain. Five years later, returns to the bus. He is encrusted on renovations and additions, with inscriptions in unknown alphabets, has colorful curtains. No one recognizes him again, and the returnees have become strangers.
stop. Egress. The dream is over. Weekends, holidays, illusions and escape fantasies always go back to the end and we are back on the bus or tram, car or in the subway. The machine triumphed over us everyday. We are a part of it. Carving up our energies in fragments of time, channeling our energies, our crushed dreams. We are only obedient, punctual, disciplined cogs in their gear. And the machine itself is driving towards the abyss. What are we into? "
So begins the cult book of anarchism," Bolo Bolo ", which envisions an approach of a new society. It's valuable, reach out to a utopia but to live in an illusion.
who has borne not been to the feeling in itself to break out, the new venture, even if it seems crazy?
course there are many reasons to leave everything as it was, but the dignity of the innermost self will not be content with the comfortable, with the state as he was just always have.
According to the law of inertia will all stay the way it is. We! The venture to emerge from itself, "us" to leave behind us, and our full confidence the answer to all fresh and new, ultimately God to do with us how he likes it - this seems to the conditional "I" almost impossible. We defend ourselves against such an unreasonable demand (as we hurried to the voice of fear "Help") and do everything to avoid it. We prefer to get accustomed to a splinter in your finger to have as to face the pain of surgery.
It is not that we do not dare because it could be difficult, but because we do not dare, it is difficult.
0 comments:
Post a Comment