Ruin

When did it happen, this ruin? When did it begin? Has it ended? Where are we in time? What day is it, and who are we?

It hasn’t ended yet. Nothing’s finished, just as nothing has begun. The ruination can’t be located in time. It’s a mode of experience. A mood. An atmosphere. We’re not in time anymore. We’re not anywhere.


Nothing becomes clear. Nothing’s happened – nothing’s finished happening. It’s not this then that. Where do we locate this? Where does it happen? Who are we?

It can’t be localised. Something decisive has happened. But where is it? When did it happen? Has it finished happening? Is it only about to happen?

Everything’s just … hesitating. There’s delay – that’s all.


It’s like we’re waiting for something. But waiting hasn’t got an object. It’s a state. Waiting is the medium. A mood. An atmosphere.


We talk, but we don’t understand things any better. All the questions remained unanswered.