The Man of the Street
A concrete world and me at its center. Thoughts multiply in me like stars in a kaleidoscope. I am, I have happened to this world.
The stars are falling to the ground. On concrete. They have a human gaze. Although they are at our feet, we knock them over — they do not lose anything of their essence, of their human dimension. They “are” even more, because they feel themselves and life better, as every pain is intensified. It rushes down your throat like a wave, then tightens until you are breathless.
A man without a home — unloved. But love is present, even between the homeless. I am a researcher, but also a human being. I am an educator, but also a human being. I am a writer, but also a human being. The most beautiful stories are not the most elaborate ones. There is a taste of pain in them. They are a bit tart and harsh.
To have a street, or rather the whole world as a home. Moving from place to place.
The spirit of the past is in all of us. The first man in the world was homeless, and these are our roots. It used to be like that and even nowadays people sleep in the open. What are their dreams? People find it strange that I talk to homeless people. It has become strange to people that one person can speak to another. Homeless people also have dreams (for example, one elderly lady dreamed about a bath), only they do not believe in them, but also sometimes lackof grounds for such belief.