An avalanche of thoughts has overwhelmed me in the last few Corona-days. I try to free myself from the confusion of thoughts in order to be myself again. But I am missing the right words. Everything I can think of, sounds like a school master and old-fashioned or the words of an Expert for social distancing. My language is poetry and not this damn "see-how-I'm-clever" writing!
Why don't I let my loved protagonists, Solome or Rosa and Viola say what I mean, they can do it better.
"No!" Solome calls out of the dark, "I am not your prophetess. If you want I will give you a shellack record with "His Masters Voice" and the howling puppy so you can remember what it looks like.
You are obviously lagging behind in this Shellack era, the time when women still served to make the spirit of their owners, i.e. men, appear more attractive by detouring through their female charms. What do you want from me that you don't have yourself?"
"Nothing!" I answer. "I will ask Rosa or Viola, they don't behave so bitchy, are also younger and understand how to read my dreams!"
"You are crazy!" says Rosa, "how am I supposed to understand something about your dreams, now that I have lost mine!"
"Ok," I say, "let's wait for Viola to come back from the manifestation of freedom to think, dream and die. She is the most sensible of us and knows that the so-called reality is always the reality of others!"