A Patience Game

The present is a waiting room now. Spirits of the past saunter about. You’re waiting for a doctor, a teacher, or is it a hiring manager about to interview you for your next job? Or are you a travelling sales agent about to pitch something to a retail buyer? You thought you put on a suit this morning but you look down and recognise some thrifted clothes that bestie helped you pick out. You scratch your knee through the hole in ripped jeans. It’s itchy from a rash that won’t go away. You hope your therapist arrives soon from the door in the wall. You’ll talk to her about how your eczema is caused by stress from your childhood trauma and/or the dust that keeps coming out of your computer. After this appointment is over (where is he?) you’re going to go home and beat that boss level. Smash him. Smash that like button to be updated when "6 hours of pop hits in mediaeval folk style" updates their channel. Spencer Lai’s works ask you to roll the dice; maybe it’ll tell you what to do. But they’re flatpacked and static now - to spin them you’d have to rip them down off the wall. Wait - are those gravestones over there? Nah, gotta be your eyes playing tricks on you. This isn’t a memorial. Get a grip, man! Hold on and torque the room back into shape. The perspective isn’t really spinning out. So... Ghosts are colliding with you now and it’s pretty unpleasant when they pass through your body. You turn your attention to the here and now, and try to calm your mind. A coupla seconds pass and your hand moves of its own accord to check your phone. It’s on 3%. There has to be something you can do while you wait. There aren’t any magazines, and the future keeps on coming. Where is this chick? You haven’t seen her in years. You read some ads, and get hungry for carrot cake. Didn’t you see that on a T-Shirt at Santorini airport one time - a middle aged woman, 40ish, with an orange top... You were supposed to be prepared for this. You’ll take another look at the documents they sent you to kill some time. These schematics don’t make sense. How many of these things are they going to make? I mean they’re cute and all, but. Did these ghosts that Jürgen Baumann brought here, die here? The only exit is to the room where they’re all sitting, making you wait. There’s no doors beneath the Portalbekrönung. The last king died a long time ago. If only there was something to cut through all this silence. Escapism can’t be the only escape. Glowing green and bitchy yellow. Grab it, grab it, grab it! Or just wait. The future will be here soon.