(Written for publication of Lieven Hendriks, 2007)
The eyes seem to see something new but it’s as old as seeing itself. The left hand is able to write much better than the good old right one. The ears hear different sounds but it’s unclear if these sounds aren’t echoes. Yes it’s a strange day. The coffee smells like dirt but tastes better than ever. And when he looks out of the window clouds are upside down.
(What does he make of all this? What does it mean? Does it even matter that much?)
A. It does matter. He believes in it. He’s a Believer. Everything is out of his hands and he likes this. He’s very welcome. B. It doesn’t matter. He is an Opposer. The Absolute Anti. Like the devil in old times. He is cursed and lost. C. He doesn’t know. He is a Floater. In between everything. He will never be happy. He will never be sad. He’s in the middle of things but can’t be touched. Still his dreams remain mediocre.
Okay, what will we do with this information? We have to test the information by testing him. He leaves his house, he walks the streets. We show him a beautiful motorcycle. He thinks: ‘Well, that’s a beautiful Harley Davidson, but it’s not beautiful enough to stop me from thinking.’ He walks on. We show him a mind blowing coincidence. A perfect moment of magic. A huge billboard displays exactly the same Harley Davidson! He misses the billboard because his eyes follow a girl on a bike.
We have to test him again!
Moments pass. He looks at his hands, he looks at his feet. At his shoes in fact. His marching shoes. He looks up. Then the steal grey sky opens up a bit. One beam of sunlight hits him directly in the face. For a moment he’s blinded. He can not see where he’s going but his marching shoes don’t stop. When his sight returns, he’s in front of an enormous display window in a street that doesn’t strike him as too familiar. He looks at the window and the scene that’s behind it. In a whirlwind of flying leaves a wooden construction slowly tries to overturn a filled bathtub. A piece of carpet, shaped like a boat, sinks in the stormy water while a home-made stereo installation catches fire. All of the sudden hundreds of old National Geographic magazines tumble from a hole in the ceiling, forming an unstable pyramid. ‘This is absolute nonsense.’ He thinks, before he turns his back on the display window and walks off, in charge of his own shoes again.
Now, what have we got here? How can this be? All this effort to test him! And so little result! Does this make him an Opposer? Does it? He is not a Believer, that’s for sure. He could still be a Floater. Yes, let him be a Floater. Please, let him be a Floater!