Author: A metaphysical entity (Page 1 of 39)

It is in simple terms that I understand the world. Everything else swindles me.

From faraway lands I am bringing to you new smells and freshness. I might be foreboding a rain, perhaps thunder. The thing that lets your hair stand up and sweat go away.

The byproduct of things occurring, I am dismissed. I am an orchestra that no one would ever dare to conduct. The night is my body, the day my mind. If you close your eyes long enough, you just might understand me.

I bring messages, some faster, some slower. It might be up to me whether I am warming you or making you freeze. I am caressing you, even if you don’t feel like it. Perhaps you can hide but in the end, I will make myself heard.

As loneliness looms over a generation lost in question, I connect. Permeating, I am everywhere and nowhere. I am part of everything that needs me to survive. And no matter how far, perhaps…

“You are breathing the same air as me.”

The bigger I get, the smaller I feel.

I have my own ivory tower made out of assumptions and preconceived notions. It is quite shaky, I must admit. A mild breeze can fling me around my tiny bubble of an office. Up here, it is hard to see. Even harder to navigate. My limbs are so far away from me, it takes days for any nervous signal to reach the muscles. Yet, I feel small inside.

A big construct of flesh and bones, nerves and hair. From afar, I appear as a shiny Fata Morgana, an oasis of sorts. “Look how lush and green!”, you’d say. Others might agree. As you come closer, the water evaporates.

I am not alone, there is thousands of me. Putting fear into people by our distant stance. Looming over others. We won’t come closer. Firstly, because you’d see how small and fragile we actually are. Secondly, because I can’t move my muscles fast enough to actually get out of this position.

I am doomed now, having inflated myself too greatly. I tower above, merely a bystander. I shout out from high above, trying to make sense. Trying to become what I look like I am. A big, prosperous illusion of something.

I hope no one has the guts to come closer.

I am power.

Gotta let off some steam if you’ve been cooking all day.

My cauldron is full of good things. Herbs and spices, thoughts and an extra portion of love for life. Bitterness just to balance it, I am not a fan of sweet indulgences. Simmering away, slowly becoming something that resembles pudding in viscosity. The smell? As an olfactory passionista, I can be enticed by many things. A bit of smoke, a mysterious appeal. Perhaps the smell of incoming rain on a dry heath. Maybe the smell of fog in between the trees in the forest in winter? Moss. Cheese. Beer. Anything pickled. You remember?

I can’t wait for what I have been brewing here. It’s not ready yet. Unfortunately, I won’t know, when the exact point in time will be to unleash this beast of a potion into the wild. Into myself.

I feel its warmth, its depth. I know. I am sure.

But now please let me be. I need to squeeze some thoughts into this juice. You can leave the door open. I’ll come out when the cauldron is full and I am done.

Sorry, do you mind? Yeah, just kind of make waves with your hand so it floats over here. Yes, perfect. Hm okay maybe a bit in a waving off motion? Yes, like that! Slowly slowly, just a tiny bit. Wonderful, got it! Thank you dear.

I grab the martini glass from its tiny inflatable mattress and take a sip. Sunglasses on to protect my eyes from the radiating spotlights in the ceiling. I smell chlorine and water. With that olive slowly dancing around my tongue and the bitter drink going down my throat I am in the Mediterranean.

Iconic, to be drifting around in someone’s head. It’s like a pool, only the water is creative juice. What is waiting on shore? I can’t say, haven’t seen it in years. Perhaps you can tell me? I mean, you’re looking inside from outside. I presume your guess is at least about as good as mine.

It’s just annoying that the sweet treats drift around here somewhere as well. With a big pool like this one they’re hard to get a hold of. What if my pool was a little smaller?

In the end it’s not the worst place to hang out. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I have to old onto those cocktail glasses for dear life in turbulent times. But during days like these, when the pool starts to sing, vibrate and sparkle in all shades of blue, I couldn’t imagine a more beautiful place.

But now I must drift off. Coagulation is kinda bad, you know? But hey, before you go, can you send that charcuterie board with the stinky cheese over here please?

Much appreciated.