A millionbillionwillion miles from home Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?) Why are they all so big, other children? So noisy? So much at home they Must have been born in uniform Lived all their lives in playgrounds Spent the years inventing games That don't let me in. Games That are rough, that swallow you up.
And the railings. All around, the railings. Are they to keep out wolves and monsters? Things that carry off and eat children? Things you don't take sweets from? Perhaps they're to stop us getting out Running away from the lessins. Lessin. What does a lessin look like? Sounds small and slimy. They keep them in the glassrooms. Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.
I wish I could remember my name Mummy said it would come in useful. Like wellies. When there's puddles. Yellowwellies. I wish she was here. I think my name is sewn on somewhere Perhaps the teacher will read it for me. Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.
„Satul nu este situat intr-o geografie pur materiala si in reteaua determinantelor mecanice ale spatiului, ca orasul; pentru propria sa constiinta, satul este situal in centrul lumii si se prelungeste in mit. Satul se integreaza intr-un destin cosmic, intr-un mers de viata totalitar, dincolo de al carui orizont nu mai exista nimic.”
„A trai la oras inseamna a trai in cadrul fragmentar si in limitele impuse la fiecare pas de randuielile civilizatiei. A trai la sat inseamna a trai in zaristea cosmica si in constiinta unui destin emanat din vesnicie.” „Omul orasului traieste in fragment, in relativitate, in concretul mecanic, intr-o treaza tristete si lucida superficialitate. Impresiile omului de la oras ingheata devenind marimi de calcul; ele nu se amplifica prin raportare intuitiva la cosmos, nu dobandesc proportii si nu se rezolva in urzeli mitice;”omul satului, dimpotriva, traieste „pe linia de apogeu geniala, a copilariei.”