“Suddenly an incident from my childhood came to my mind, when I, a shy little boy, went from my parents‘ house at the edge of an endless-seeming forest deeper and deeper into the mystic realm of copse and trees – until one day I came to a street at the other end of the forest. And saw my parents‘ house there! And my mother on the path with a bucket to get some water. The thought came over me that there are two parallel worlds and that I might live in both, although I was not sure in which of them I lived more and in which less. The house was the same, father and mother as well, all my things were at their usual place, even the dog was exactly the same as the one on the other side. But it felt different.

Of course all that had happened was that I had unknowingly made a circle in the forest and had just returned home. But since then I always feel like there are two worlds existing side by side and we are at home in both. One is called fiction, the other one reality. The forest separating them is so confusing that it’s hard for us to find our way through it, so we never really know in which of the two worlds we spend most of our time. It seems to me that mostly in both at once.”

Evald Flisar, This Is Not Me

Dieser Post ist auch verfügbar auf: German, Slovenian