On and On

Today I Walk Around

Is that more important than my red balloon?
(Pooh to Christopher Robin: The Briefcase of Important Things)

My briefcase, if I were to have one once again, would be filled with colours to be inflated for the sheer enjoyment of a smile across one’s face. Simple things and yet please hold my hand for every balloon needs a string to stay grounded (Wald Wassermann) else things get out of hand. And so, it is to be a selection of six – white, green, orange, red, yellow with blue, blue with yellow…ribbons…a string to a hand…to remain grounded for hope – to let go for higher aspirations. And yet we have matchsticks and petrol cans. Have you got some time for me…that it could come to this?

Despatches from the briefcase…important papers moving between departments and across borders. Told and told again, each night five to six…six to seven. Once there was a wall…and there they were floating before the wall’s tumbling…what if? Bright colours to the horizon – dreams for tomorrow no menace intended and yet it has come. The balloons were loosed…look to one red heart from the hand of Banksy, a red balloon for Pooh…to dine on simple pleasures. Important papers…well important…but more important than forever being hopeful? Balloon on the ground, fun to bounce into the sky and watch its mirth as it flutters across the horizon.

Naive is it for six balloons it is. I choose my colours from 1983…the hook remains, ideas, words having endured. This concert, those gathered, sing along. Once I found a balloon, today I have six…I think of you as each colour, with hopeful aspirations but what of the dreiundneunzig others? Can I pick their favorite colours to help make things right? Do they need a ribbon – a string to become grounded…on and on?

Winnie the Pooh: But what should happen if you forget about me?
Young Christopher Robin: I won’t ever forget about you, Pooh.
I promise. Not even when I’m a hundred.
Winnie the Pooh: How old will I be then?
Young Christopher Robin: Ninety-nine. Silly old bear.
Winnie the Pooh: Hm. Ninety-nine.

99 Jahre Krieg ließen keinen Platz für Sieger
[99 years of war have left no place for winners]
Perhaps you’re thinking about me right now?