- Yg. 1929, No. 46 -
Do you spit? - Why your great-grandfather? I think he's long dead? - Oh, you are a spiritualist! No, I do not mean that, but the other, with ck. The right spit, you know. Like a llama or a bricklayer, in short, you see: so! Since I met a fly, I'm very sorry. - So, you do not? Curious. I spit. - No, just like that, without cause. For example, on the Asfalt, you know, in the distance; you can achieve incredible results, records, I tell you. But not in the bow; that is a waste of energy. As flat as possible, flat bullet, you remember? - Haha! That's right, at that time many people spit on us; maybe it's still a reminiscence, a belated revenge, so to speak. But I do not believe it completely. It is still much earlier. When I stand on a tower or on a window, on the fourth or fifth floor, or in the theater in the gallery - I always feel like it; it almost scares me. For example, in the theater: if, against my will, but because something within me would like me to do so, suddenly I should do so, the gentleman down there on the shiny bald head. That would be very embarrassing. - For me, I mean. For him too, yes. But for me, I mean. - Yes, you can not understand that; neither do I. But who knows if he will not even do something he never wanted to do. The wishes sometimes surprise the will. That's why I never like sitting in the front row, upstairs. Downstairs, on the ground floor, it doesn't matter; I don't care. I think falling is the interesting thing about it; that lures. Have you never thrown stones into the black fountain in an old castle? Or a lake that lay beneath them, at the foot of the slope? - Can you see it! That it falls, an intangible line draws between us and the Down: that is also there. But that is not all. The most beautiful it is from the bridge railing down into the water. There you can. You collect the saliva economically, prick up your mouth, imagine where it will happen, and spit. splash; there is a small hole or not; you see the white heap for a few seconds; it melts. And then the little rings that spread and melt. All fine, small rings. - Yes, also with stones. But that's too clumsy, too undifferentiated, too impersonal. The stone is hard and nothing of itself. The success is too drastic. And too sure. With stones, that's - American. Childlike sensation by technical means, nuanceslos and gaudy. Nothing more fairytale-like, the success is certain. No, not with stones. With stones only at very high altitudes, especially if one does not know, one even manages to throw so far out that the water is still reached: the moment of tension, the risk, you know, makes the charm of it. But otherwise, in small proportions: spit. - Childlike, you say? You are right, how happy I am! Say childishly. Child's head is no insult, not for me. Even if you should say: infantile - you see, I thought so! So infantile, very good, very good. And now: psychoanalysis, please. - So! - No, no, not in the least! I am not like that. You are right too; I know that, but I'm not ashamed. - No, I go right there; I want to go over the canal bridge. Do not you want to come? - What a shame. Well, adj.
1929, 46 Mara Bu