As he, toothbrush in mouth, opened the door to the living room through a crack, a flood of light pushed through his eyes and into his brain, whitening everything he saw or thought. Everything differed only by the minimal gradations of white. His white legs took a step on the bright white wooden floorboards and orphaned into a light white whole, from which Robert had to explain to himself about the feeling of his legs walking across a floorboard simultaneously as his own legs were walking across a floorboard. The planks of his living room floor. The room was garish white, the dining and work table where normally a pile of things lay, had now formed a multi-coloured topography of things that stood out; A white shadow, a little less white then the room, in front a flickering chair and next to it there stood a well-stocked bookshelf whose colourful protagonists of paper and printer's ink blurred into a dazzling collection of varying white knowledge.
Weiss wissen, Robert thought, wie weiss was wissen.
Weissen was wissen.
Weise Wiesen wie weiss wer was tut was wissen, weiss ich nicht Wissen.
Weisst du was Wissen?
Wiesen wie weise Waisen wissen.
Wssn. Wssn. Wssn. Wssn…. Robert drooled a little, while the cream in his mouth was turned into white foam by the toothbrush in regular circles. Then Robert's brain turned back on and before him the lake unfolded in razor sharp focus. Finally, the embrace.
-Benedikt Bock