Two suddenly drunk men went for a walk. They didn't see
where. They spoke not. Sometimes they sighed. After an hour
one of them tried to speak. He opened his mouth (while turning
his head towards his company that usually was his friend), but
he knew that there was nothing to be said. Nothing was to say.
Everything that was to say, that is nothing, had already been
said. He knew that before he opened his mouth. But he
wanted to say something, talk about something, anything.
The few words that came to mind was so extremely banal
that he couldn't possibly make himself say any of them.
They weren't even meaningless. They were less than meaningless,
less than nothing. The man became gravely irritated by his
pitiful attempt to create a meaning and by his week need for
company and to exchange empty words with another human being.
He closed his mouth and turned his head back down. While
watching the ground two feet in front of him, he let out a
heavy sigh. Without the possibility to sigh, life wouldn't be
very easy. In this scenario is the sigh, luckily, truly
something that makes you passively aware that there is
something outside of yourself that is the world and that has
a purely physical dimension. But when the sigh is as empty as
the words that came to this man's mind. Then what do you do?
(c) 1997-98 David Södermark
last update 21/8-1998