Sometimes fate is like a small
sandstorm that keeps changing
directions. You change direction
but the sandstorm chases you.
You turn again,
but the storm adjusts.
Over and over you play this out,
like some ominous dance
with death just before dawn.
Why? Because this storm
isn't something that blew in
from far away, something that
has nothing to do with you.
This storm is you.
Something inside of you.
So all you can do is give in to it,
step right inside the storm,
closing your eyes and
plugging up your ears
so the sand doesn't get in,
and walk through it, step by step.
There's no sun there, no moon,
no direction, no sense of time.
Just fine white sand swirling up
into the sky like pulverized bones.
That's the kind of sandstorm
you need to imagine.
And you really will have to
make it through that violent,
metaphysical, symbolic storm.
No matter how metaphysical
or symbolic it might be,
make no mistake about it:
it will cut through flesh
like a thousand razor blades.
People will bleed there,
and you will bleed too.
Hot, red blood.
You'll catch that blood
in your hands, your own blood
and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over
you won't remember
how you made it through,
how you managed to survive.
You won't even be sure, in fact,
whether the storm is really over.
But one thing is certain.
When you come out of the storm
you won't be the same person
who walked in.
That's what this storm's all about.
- HARUKI MURAKAMI
Kafka on the Shore
DU LIEST GERADE
LEVIATHAN
Bilim KurguDer Weltraum ist eine schrecklich ungewisse Unendlichkeit. Innert der letzten sieben Jahren verlor die Sternenflotte drei große Raumschiffe bei Einsätzen nahe des Gürtels auf mysteriöse Weise. Es scheint als hätte die Leere sie einfach verschluckt...
