März – Introductory
For now, you’d rather get in the rhythm of nodding your head repeatedly, so that the eye-contact that spurns between you and him spurns magically, a glimmer of light expounding from the clocking nodding knocking backdrops. Hans the homeless man was 15 when he found himself on a boat with the wind in his hair. His time at the helm of 30 feet of wooden vessel stirred between his heartbeats a steady tide of feeling of being released, a tide of fulfillment. Behind him were the wheels of an oil refinery, behind the oil refinery were the wheels of lorries that themselves wheeled around road after rigid road, painted in paper and circles of cigarettes. The essence of Hans’ trascending boat has nothing circly about it, despite the eddys and whirlpools it meanders so effortlessly, so repetitively, at least, it seems so, amidst the commas of the confused sentences he rustles up, upon this train platform upon which we have met. This song, I mean. I relate it to Hans as I relate it to my own simple movements from room to room, from road to parking spots, from lanterns to nightsky, from my head to hers, from her head to the window of a bus driving home, and ultimately, the future sunset that slides down our reflections.