A hundred kilos Continue. They instructed me to think that way: ”Imagine that your life weighs a hundred kilos. Then divide it between the important tings. For example: Fourty kilos of family, thirty kilos of work, twenty kilos of friends and, maybe, ten kilos hobby? Do you understand? Try.” At that time I just stared at them, but I can appreciate the thought now, it actually makes things more easy. It accumulates to a hundred kilos Continue.
My boots keep scraping at garbage. Nature swallows most of the remains but sometimes you can hardly trust your own eyes. Like the last time I walked here and heard small jingles. I followed the sound and found a one armed bandit under a fir tree. I couldn’t resist but pulled the lever several times. Nothing happened of course, but it kept jingling. I actually laughed that time.
The sweat of the man is cold in the drizzle as I drag him uphill. Sometimes he stumbles and then I let go of him. I look at him as he fumbles with his hands over branches and old reinforcements, all confused. We both think the same thing every time: What if I should just leave him here? That should be some kind of justice, if he died here. But I always take his hand again.
You can hardly call what is happening a cover up. Quite the contrary, actually, the whole world is watching. But all the testimonies just add to some kind of expanding surface that just grows and grows without ever getting to the core of the issue. Like a bubble. Maybe it still is some kind of a cover up?
Naturally they look for someone to blame. A person or an authority, a constructor or a subcontractor and so on. For a while I actually cared about the news but all I really did was adding to the growing bubble. This is why I got back here.
I will never forget what it was like to come back for the first time. I thought I was the only one going back but I wasn’t, there were so many already wandering through the new extraordinary nature. And all the animals moved around randomly without instincts. The birds threw themselves straight into the ground. A three legged dog limped past a hare that just sat there, shaking, and they didn’t even look at each other.
”Sorry.” He doesn’t say it as he pants behind me. He has never asked for forgiveness. But he is getting worried now. He offers resistance, digs his heels in. I tug his hand, hard, and for the first time I sense anger within him. Will he dare to do something? No, not yet. I pull harder and let a branch whip him in the face, just to show that I know what he is thinking.
People say that he lost his eyesight because of what he saw down there, that he brought the darkness up from the depth and so on. Such nonsense. And if he answered questions he would probably say something like the sight left him voluntarily. As if he was a world and his senses and limbs were populations and continents that naturally can undergo changes in different ways. My God, that is stupid.
We hear a cry that wont stop from a hole in the ground. Something that wont die fast enough. We keep wandering upwards with the drizzle in our faces. This time we will make it right. We change and we can succeed.
Exhibition: ”ÄGD”, group exhibition, Lerkrogen, Stockholm, Sweden 2012 / "Supermarket", group exhibition, Stockholm, Sweden 2012