That’s what I’m scared of. What I’ve done. What that will do. To you, to them. To the sky, full of weird blue bubbles. Yes, I’m scared. I’m scared of men. Their world. Their bright lies dressed as ideas. They truly scare me. Down here, in the black rain, it’s hard to hear them but they’re here. Oh, yes. I’m scared. I have the fear. A year ago I’d have laughed at myself but now – well, what do you think? Are you scared too?
The ice. Here it comes, the ice. I’m scared. The rain that makes night. The train that won’t stop. The elegant mistakes, embarrassed grins. Do you copy that? What makes us scared. The questions we refuse to ask. The dreams we refuse to remember. That scares me. The planes I refused to see streaking across the desert sky. The taxes I ignored as their shopping lists slammed into a hillside. Does it scare you? The way documentaries do?
I am scared of this. Of all of this. Of all of us. Of the things we pretend we don’t do. We’re silenced. We’re instrumentals. We’re not even in the band. Or on the program. But we are here. I’d rather be a solar cell. Or else invisible, a trail of smoke from my mouth the only tell-tale sign. Scared of the shadows, that’s me. Scared of waking up. Are you scared yet? I am. I always have been. People call me timid. Perhaps they’re scared of me too.
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It’s ‘ik ben geschrokken’