Weingartia

In a world where locals, out of fear and uncertainty, fight a futile battle against relentless change – much like archaeophytes fight against neophytes – they listen to supposed experts. Experts who explain facts like incomprehensible crossword puzzles and prophesize a rosy but unrealistic future. Meanwhile, knowledge whispers softly through the breezes.

“Given the choice between the experience of pain and nothing, I would choose pain.” ¹

This sentence echoes in the consciousness of a writer who, in his eagerness to bring comfort to the unsettled inhabitants amidst constant change with his works, strives to marry reality and fantasy, having long since left the boundaries of reason behind.

His firm belief in making life easier for readers is as far away as Weingartia is from Europe. He has lost himself with his convictions in a dense, mist-shrouded forest. Every step he believes brings him closer to his goal actually leads him deeper into the impassable thicket. The words that once shone as guiding stars in the firmament of his narratives have turned into deceptive will-o’-the-wisps, far removed from the warming glow of comfort he wanted to offer his readers. Like a river leaving its bed and splitting into countless small rivulets, so too does the clarity of his writing dissipate into a delta of confusion.

His stories, once firmly anchored in the harbor of reality, now drift aimlessly on the vast sea of fantasy. The readers, who once hoped for a lighthouse of understanding, now find themselves adrift on an ocean of uncertainty, without a star in the sky to guide them. The writer, once a beacon of comfort, is now himself lost, and his words, meant to provide confidence, have become a distant echo fading into the waves of oblivion.