On "Untitled" – 2, 3, and 4 (as multiple of 2).

Mike5555's niece, pkavitha1's model, deziner02's mom.

Even if there isn’t such thing as the linearity of time (leaving aside time itself), we usually feel – if not count on – the imminence of a “next”. Perhaps it’s time I reliably moved on to pkavitha1's model, who’s next in line.

While waiting for acknowledgement, Raj (I’ll call him like this) keeps looking in a certain sideway direction. Zooming out and taking into account that he’s actually posing in front of pkavitha1's camera, we can safely assume his mind is working into yet another direction, to some side of the (already aside) direction of his look: that can be anywhere but straight ahead.

Can you sense the Direction?...

Adulthood brings with it a sense of direction. The reverse holds as well: growing up is growing out of the aimless Openness and focusing on pursuing a path in life.

Help is available all along: parents, teachers, idols or gurus pop up at different stages, point into the right direction (which can vary, of course), preach about good things and perils, and selflessly pass on the skills we need to carve, refine and organize all sorts of arrows that should finally connect what we are to what we should become.

[A big romantic arrow, powered by will alone, doesn’t cut it any more: first, the arrow could always be swamped by powerful, unforeseen drifts, and second, it’s only natural to employ complex tactics – pressing ahead for a while, taking a step back or walking aside – in planning one’s way through the Brownian world of arrows secreted by an increasing population with escalating potential destinations.]

As one thing leads to another, practice blossoms into the habit of – even taste for – playing with arrows. Arrows are being placed all over, backward as well: travelers turn around, contemplate the distance separating them from some apparently lagging behind pack, and carry the resulting amount of importance with them, everywhere they go.

I could go many places with all this, but – I’m a grown-up – I’ve decided to stop paying precious attention to everything that develops here and return to my initial plan. Here I go:

Being adult is all about heading into some direction. Yes: it’s about quitting real world and going some other places, made out of dreams, goals and – for subtler tastes – sacred missions.

Let Raj go his way for now. We have someone else waiting next in line.

And you can probably sense where all this goes.

“[…] I’ve been wasting my time; and my time has wasted me. Maybe it’s never too late? It may yet come. I’m waiting for It. It can start in the last hour, the last minute, the last second.”

While writing down the above words (my feeble translation of a translation), a warm, trustworthy voice from behind the TV screen asked me: “Happy in your new bathroom?” and assured me he believed in attainable dreams. I’ve quickly made up my mind: the hell with Eugene Ionesco, the interest rate looks good. And – I’ve been pondering this for a couple of weeks now – I’ll buy that Avon mascara, too.