Driftwood OR Mir läßt die Ruh am mindsten Ruhe

I can put it like this: Agitation between poles. Either I'm at ease in a busy time, anxious at a calm time, or, anxious in a busy time, at ease at a calm time. No clue as to what ignites each change, no indication of what can stabilize the situation, or even knowledge of what stability is. Action, movement, talking, laughter, heart beats, yes but please now leave me alone. Or stillness, no need to go anywhere, no pressure from any one thing, yet again heart beats, where are you going next, the train of chance runs constantly, the only decision is whether to hail it and get on. "When" is the proper question. Can't stay here, this is a fixed place, even now its novelty drifts away, it seems to serve as fuel for the heart beats. • A woman's smile. A woman's eyes.• I am in a numb panic. No matter how nice a place I can find, the staticity of it, and how it will want to pull me into it is frightening. Not because I'll get stuck, I was scared of that before, not now, now I know that sooner or later the Me will find a way to pull me free from it, no matter how many resin-coated tendrils it has managed to wrap around me. It's always painful, but for the tendril-emitters rather than for me, and I doubt their pain is more than an illusion, for it isn't I that they want to keep, but a shape I happened to fill, a shape sooner or later, better or worse, filled by someone else. • No reason to stop though. If anxious of moving, stop. If anxious of stopping, move. Only the night calms the necessity of moving, it's due to the inevitability of it: Regardless of the true truth, if one feels like he has no choice but to stop, one is appeased and calm in stopping. And we live in such an interestingly lit world at night. Before electrical light I assume people were allowed to forget the whole world but the stars existed, even if for only a moment. Now though it insists at hinting of what'll be tomorrow.