IRC-Galleria

¨

He sat down - it would take its time before the train would depart and take him home. The covers of a leather-bound booklet opened, unlike had been the case for the months past. His pencil outlined:


"And today, my journal, I found out how my feelings had once again been so right for so long. This situation, as I knew it, wasn't the problem. Nor were its premises. My reaction cancered everything."


He always opened with the introduction of prose.

"Today, yesterday, I halted my quest, I surrendered and settled down. And that, dear journal, my primus motor could never allow me, which I dearly thank it for. The day to settle for what we've achieved so far is what we all strive for. But to give up ambition and persistence, which such would imply, isn't what I strive for. How could it be a merit?"


"Say, dear journal, I'd love walking. I used to walk to move forward, since it was kinda essential. It won't get me anywhere now if I start walking an conveyor belt in the opposite direction, even if it were just as pleasurable an action by itself. And when I'm rich and start staying home to just walk on my conveyor, it really doesn't solve my situation, does it? The moment we finally settle for happiness today, while still being discontent with yesterday and tomorrow, we cross out our need for ambition and will to develop."


"How can such happiness be a merit: to give up life for happiness?"


"I've substituted - "improved" - such large portions of my life into parts that ultimately make me happy without fluctuation; it's like the heroinist's paradox (note 1) all over. I have no need to develop them further, as the peak of the figure has already been reached. Yet all-in-all, I only feel alive in the ambiguity and unpredictable changes."


The implications of the conclusion he hadn't yet reached in writing already overwhelmed him.


"That very spot I lie in is not where I die."


He'd found his answer; his separate thoughts had finally intertwined and found the same outcome his feelings had, already months ago. These feelings marked the imminent end of the ongoing era. And now a border had already been crossed, and the cycle had already begun anew.


Without formalities, he closed the covers. The doors of the railway station proved no trap, they swing both ways. The sunny autumn day is an endless space.



note 1: The heroinist's paradox: While on a fix, a user achieves a unique state of bliss, which in part, if contrasted to the normal life, makes the substance highly addictive. The paradox is: if normal people could achieve such a state of happiness sustainably, constantly, would it still make the world a better place?