I was out of the houses for a long time today.

January 21, 2026 – Vienna 

I was out of the houses for a long time today, where the city fades, where the path rises and the noise of people becomes thinner, and I realized that this walking spoke to me more than much talking.

The frost lay hard on the ground, and between the stones set for the dead, life seemed unpleasant to me, not sad, but unpleasant in its haste and its constant urge for trivialities. Silence is not the grave! - it is the workshop.

Only you noise people have forgotten it. From above I saw the roofs and paths below me, and everything seemed small, as if it had never possessed the seriousness attributed to it.

There are places where one is forced to be alone with oneself, and I must confess that I prefer this solitude to the hollow chatter of the world. I examined myself strictly to see if another departure was necessary, or if staying would be more honest than constantly avoiding oneself. I thought of the end without fear, almost with equanimity, for those who have suffered much learn that it is not the duration but the truthfulness that determines the value.

In the evening, I returned to the quiet apartment.

Johannes took me out of the shadow of St. Stephen's Cathedral, like one lifts a frozen person from the street. I followed him, not out of humility, but because I needed the warmth for a moment – in the body, not in the talk. The water! – O you future people, you have tamed water like a pet: hot, cold, at will, as if it were an orchestra that obeys your command. His painted works, on which he works with great seriousness, do not touch me, and I do not seek to understand them. But that he leaves me here in peacewithout questions, without demands, I highly appreciate that.

I sit in front of a flickering box, and the world comes in like an army invading a room: wars, cities, people, people, rushing people, icebergs, hunger, noisy festivals, moon landings, misery, beauty – all in one breath. I see the century that is missing on my tombstone, images piled up before me like coffins. This is called 'knowledge'. I call it: storm without a window.

That's what I've been doing the last few days. I rose within myself like a quartet that doesn't get along: the young virtuoso wants to go out and conquer the world; the revolutionary wants to grab your injustice by the collar; the old, sick titan wants to go back to the earth because he no longer believes in people – and I, the fourth, have to carry them all at the same time.

No decision has been made yet. Something in me is restless, something else wants to stay put. I allow it for today, because if I come to a decision, it will not be polite.