Angry people break things.
Seems simple enough. The scratches on the bathroom wall. They’re not there for any reason and they don’t add to the overall appeal of the bathroom, but they convey something, a monument to a moment, when someone got angry or bored (is there much of a difference?) and decided to slash at the wall with some kind of – metal prod like? – object. (A spoon?)
But even in their anger, they couldn’t maintain a sense of absolute chaos, rather they began to think again. From the moment of pure unrestrained hate, the original attack on the wall, to a moment of thinking about – analyzing – just what it was that was making them feel this need, this base urge, to slash. At that moment, the moment of becoming present with the realization that they are slashing at a wall like a mad person, they began to try and make order of their thoughts and, in tandem, their motions.
The slashes take on shapes; an attempt is made at turning the at first random slashes into a square, aka something with visual purpose and meaning, but this only adds to the frustration of the strokes, they become deeper but are unable to maintain lines set by the image of a square, the idea of a cohesive square shape degenerates as the momentum of the strokes make them uneven; furthermore, with each attempt to make the square more, well square, more of a disaster of un-parellel/ordered lines are made; the mind then refocuses back in on the creation of the square and in the realization that it can’t even control what it is physically making it slashes out a stroke that breaks away on a 45, or more of a 43.5, angle and thereby cutting an uneven diagnol across the ‘square’ before petering out.
There’s a knock on the door. Heavy breathing. Put the object in the pocket. Flush the toilet. Wash the hands. Exit.
“Hello, how are you?” A smile stretches from ear to ear.