I sit on the shoulder of the road.
The driver is changing the tires.
I don’t like it where I come from.
I don’t like it where I’m going.
Why do I watch the changing of tires with impatience?
From the essay – AN UNPLEASANT CHARMER in:
The Sheep From the Goats
(Translation was Simon’s)
The essay was a review of:
Brecht: A Biography
“Once in Nathal I ask myself what I am doing here, and I ask myself the same question when I arrive in Vienna. Basically, like nine tenths of humanity, I always want to be somewhere else, in the place I have just fled from. In recent years, this condition has, if anything, become worse: I go to and from Vienna at diminishing intervals, and from Nathal I will often to to some other big city, to Venice or Rome and back, or to Prague and back. The truth is that I am happy only when I am sitting in the car, between the place I have just left and the place I am driving to. I am happy only when I am traveling; when I arrive, no matter where, I am suddenly the unhappiest person imaginable. Basically I am one of those people who cannot bear to be anywhere and are happy only between places.”
Bernhard, Thomas, Wittgenstein’s Nephew