Reportage in the mist – a travelling version

It begins like that:

“All I wanted was a mission”,  or with my version: “I wanted to write a reportage”.  For what? A mission doing what?
“All I wanted was a mission”.

Dangerous load? Waste load? Rather just load. You must unload. Sucks. You have to unload. With whatever means you have. Whatever it takes. Like a good dad. Whatever my load needs.

You get on a train. Whatever it takes. You get on the train. Destination? Peking, Ulan Bator, Urumqi, Bishkek, Almaty, Tashkent. You get on a train. You have to unload. Whatever it takes. The train starts moving. It follows the line. You follow the line, too. You talk with the fellow passengers.
“Where are you going?”, “Me there, too”, “Where are you from?”.
The hours are passing. “Me there, too”. The hours are passing; you follow the line. 2 hours, 3 hours, 10 hours, 20, 30, whatever it takes. You follow the line. You unload. You talk with the fellow passengers. You unload. Whatever it takes.

At the station you have unloaded. At the station “Me there, too”, you have unloaded. You jump on the next train. You think it’s gone. The load. At the next station you find some more. Nothing can make you stay. You jump to the next train. Nothing can make you stay. You follow the line. Blank. Nothing can make you stay. You see the train taking a turn, like an unfolding snake. You follow the line. Nothing can make you stay. “Me there, too”. You are there. 10, 20, 30 hours. Whatever it takes. I wanted to write a reportage.

“Stop now that everything is OK”, tells you a fellow traveler. ?????? . Why? “Stop now that you have something good”. ?????? . Nothing can make you stay. You make it to a house. You stop because you have something good. House. What the hell can you do in a fuckin’ house? You buy a TV set, blender, refrigerator, electric toothbrush and a pound of oranges. You stay home. You had something good. Load here and there. In between the commercials. “All I wanted was a mission”. The woman in the house asks you: “Why?”. Why… Fuck, orgasm, TV. I wanted a reportage. It passes. The time passes. The day passes. One day, 2 days, 10 days, a month. Whatever it takes. The home makes you stay. You load, you unload, small loads, in between the commercials. You wait for the next train.

It’s gone.

August 2001
Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan


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