I see myself walking on plains, with nice people around, looking down, seeing a bit of grass, some sort of vegetation, maybe in five years I know the name, I’m there, in the now of there, I kneel, touch the grass, look closer, it distracts me from the conversation I was having, hesitantly I leave the bit of grass, stand up, get back to the conversation I was having with one of the people I love, a part of my brain still processing the bit of grass, why so interesting I don’t know, but even now, that bit of grass of 5 years later is somehow on my mind.
I see myself writing, talking, reading, seeing things and doing, but not more than necessary or I’m asked for. I’m in a studio, like a barn, there is clay around, buckets of paint, some cameras, light seeping in. I always love this environment, I finally started having greys, and also a beard. I think this is 10 years later, not 5 but can’t see the future with such filter. Some of my friends show up, maybe they are family, somewhere in between I’m not really sure, they look at what I was making, make some playful comments, and we sit on the bench just in front of the barn, and stand around talking, watching the sunset, and enjoying a moment before dinner.
More or less I do know where I’m going. It’s not really conventional. Sounds great, but I’m bored of 5 years later. Today I’m about to make turkish coffee from a copper pot. Fuck you elizabeth.
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