Truth Is a Mammal Walking Down the Milky Way

A children’s book providing a cynical view into adult life.


First supposition—Walls are rigid. False. Walls fall. Roofs collapse. Windows break. People die. Eartthhqquaake. Walls are gone. Roofs frame the sky. People are less in number. No windows needed.

Second supposition—Walls do not grow. Oh, walls do grow. There is an obsession to build. brick brick brick: wall. brick nothing brick: window. Somebody up there fixes the roof. A house. A palace. Apartments. Buildings. Dwellings. Edifices. Flats. City grows. Nothing stops it, not even war.

War proves the first supposition. It penetrates walls; it creates surprising windows where they are not needed. It sets up factories, builds roads, makes uniforms and lots of noise. It turns things serious and grows you up very fast, up to the majestic moon. You feel the delirious stream flowing in the air, penetrating everything. Trees dance in the wind singing passionately, people hold each other’s hands. Good day, Madam. Chickens flutter. As it gusts, the soldiers shrink. SMALler smaller small sma. No cameraman shoots them from the viewpoint of their boots. Others do from the window. Bullets joyfully flow in the wind breezing from the frameless window. No windowpanes for you to touch.

The third supposition is: soldiers do not blubber. Soldiers are made of paper. When they weep they get wet. You take one and write on it. You fold it. Paper-rolls march joyfully. Sheets of paper thrown out of airplanes twirl in the air. When soldiers are shot they bloom. Sometimes they blossom in trees. Other times they burgeon in the sky at night. At the end of a war, everyone gets crumbled. False. Men are many. They are hidden in houses so their number is underestimated. All of us die sooner or later. In a war it is sooner than later. That is all. Soldiers are efficient.

During wars people are not necessarily bitter. War makes noise at frontlines. Those who are at home are sometimes cheerful sometimes not. Even without a war they are sometimes cheerful sometimes not. At wartime, they listen more to the radio and talk more. They get married and procreate. Under all conditions. When houses lose their form, they build new ones. When there is a need for a roof, they build a roof. When injured, they do not remain injured. They move towards one of the two directions: recuperation or death. If they recover they become cheerful again. If they die, others become cheerful again after a while. Those who are injured in the frontline do not remain there. They look at their wound and realise that they are injured. Then they think of what should be done next. Those who die suffer no more. Just do not be afraid for it smudges your cheer.