And I’m not writing for dorks who need descriptions of everything, right? ‘There’s some grass growing there, over there is an orange tree that carries oranges, and the oranges are initially green, and then they turn yellow, and eventually they receive an orange colour’. Well, I always have the feeling, whenever I’m writing, that I am in a certain place, and everyone knows anyway where that is, and I spare myself the necessity of all that. That way, I give the people leeway – right? But the people who describe all that – right? – ‘They enter through the door, then she meets Doctor Uebermichl, and he’s got a briefcase, and it’s a Pierre Cardin briefcase, and inside the briefcase there are seven files from the company Soandso. And then he’s even wearing a hat with a black band, and towards the rear it is tied together in a bow’. All that is uninteresting, but that is what most of the writing industry is made of. Because people cannot think in big acts and large steps, but can only take extremely tiny small-bourgeois, conclusive mini-steps. That’s horrible! Well, describing nature is nonsense anyway, because everyone knows it, right? That’s stupid, right? Everybody who’s been in the countryside or in a garden knows what’s going on there. Consequently you don’t need to describe that. The only interesting thing is what’s happening in the countryside or in the garden, right? ‘Omit’, they say, right? But nowadays it’s modern again that you … you know, every little thing is being included, right? Sixty pages have already gone by before someone has even left through the front door or the garden gate. And that’s even uneconomic, right? And constantly people are going crazy because the poet has no imagination and no idea how the story should go on.
Thomas Bernhard, interviewed