A TALE OF FEAR

I`m scared.
I found that out yesterday cycling home from the studio at 0130 pm. I am sheep. A good little yellowish piss ant. Shaking like a leaf, I was afraid of the dark, I was afraid of being mugged by a psychotic luna patient from the neighbouring mentalinstitution. I was afraid of jerks in cars wanting to rampage an old semi punk on a thrashed bike. I was very afraid.
But there were none. No people out or in the streets and I told my self that`s a good reason not to be scared. But it didnt help. I was still scared. Cause basically I like people, and I am no easy scare in the company of people. Maybe, I thought, really I am addicted to people, and the vastness is what scares me, and people make me feel like people. A deep anxiety of open spaces and no directions. It was fucking scary; considering the fact that Viborg is no longer a typically smalltown, what scared me was the lack of life, I got worried, I got scared of death: Had anybody died while I had been locked up in my studio? Did the world blow over? I was afraid I had misssed out on something big. But I hadnt. Not for a long time, and that scared me too. Noone.

But these towns scares me the most: they are like shops. Openinghours and working ethics, and so it ends. Scared. And so I move to where there is more people. People who can scare me shitless. But at least they are people.