piedod - acimredzot man ir divains garastavoklis:

Inga Majore took her round of centimes and settled back in her place.

Quiet, everyone has a seat. All strangers to one another. No conversation. 4 minutes to the cemetery stop. All concentrated within themselves. The price of creation. The manifestation (main infestation) of choice – all possibilities concentrated in these specks and shivers of existence. All regulated with their tickers and arteries, all powered by an army of mitochondria, hot houses entrapped in cellular forms.

Inga bent her tickets so they would be easier to dispatch to the passengers waiting by the cemetery.
Oh how does this state of state of affairs cloud the day? How was it when we didn’t exist? Was the air wilder, fresher, freer?

In they came, some with passes, some taking up a seat, some wandering over to where she was seated. Shoes scuffed, shoes polished; trouser hems white with the dry snow, nails variously bitten, soiled and decorated. Silence.

Inga squinted to examine the passes at the far end of the carriage. Then rising from her seat, she called out,

‘Vai visiem ir biletes?’

Silence. So few possibilities still latent in the air. Having consumed them (having crystallised them), we are no longer an expression of freedom: we are an expression of its limitation.

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1) what are you longing for?

2) we are, aren't we.

3) every expression of possibility or an idea, or of anything at all is limited at the very moment when it is expressed to what it is expressed. but is the freedom limited? if you cut off only one possibility, you get an unknown number of possibilities left. i think freedom is versatile (is that the word?).

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3) Freedom in general? Maybe I mistakenly personify the word and imagine it being more and more bound and insulted by the result of my deliberations. We often say 'do I have the freedom to choose' as in 'is there room for manoeuver'. and once a decision has been made, that freedom for that 'subject' is reduced. So, like air or oxygen, freedom is, I suppose, unlimited - but in relation to us and our negotiations with ourself/ves and others, it is a finite resource.

2) that's what I think

1) Now, now...

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3) oh, but isn't freedom what we imagine it to be? (and, yes, i can see what you mean, but the idealist in me says: "it doesn't have to be that way! everything is a matter of choice!"//interesting choice of words, ha)

1) tell me when you feel like it.

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3) I suppose we have the freedom to imagine freedom to be whatever we want it to be.

BTW, once a long time ago, I had a dream that before I wanted to say anything, I had to brand the air with a cattle brander. Once, I was stood under that little arch, I had the right/freedom to speak.

Obviously, you can't brand air, and it means, I suppose, that nature (I'm not sure why I chose that word) is having difficulty supressing a snigger at our anguished chest beatings as to the nature of our definitions of freedom.

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well, nature sounds like a... mean lady!

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oi oi - uzmaniigi, saulite - that's my subconcious you're talking about ;).

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in that case - do i hear a frustrated romantic talking? :)

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hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Zini, that's a little too good.

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frankly, i'm confused. but it's ok.

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm is a very good answer.

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