Author: A metaphysical entity (Page 5 of 38)

Weekly state: broom.

May 11, 2025 / A metaphysical entity

Oh to be a hoover, all whizzing around, sucking up the bits that don’t belong.

The broom sat silently in the corner, where it has always been. For centuries, it was mended, amended, adored. The smooth wood of the handle as become one with the hands of its owner. A utility, for sure. But one with a close relationship. A thing that belongs to the household, surviving trends and mops and all those other items that in the end, don’t surpass the primacy of the broom.

But with the electric outlet, mockingly close to the broom’s corner, came the hoover. A noisy and obnoxious thing of technological advance. Sucking and sucking on end, as long as the power was there. A seemingly penultimate solution to all things unwanted. The broom has become antique.

The broom’s bristles were ashamed. For many years they have not only found a relationship with the handler, but with the dust as well. For you see, dust is inevitable. It will come back, it is even there when you don’t think it is. It is one of those things humans are too arrogant to understand. Trying to make the dirty world sparkling clean. It isn’t. Filth, mold, decay. The broom knows.

Back in the early days, the broom made a very simple yet powerful treaty with dust. As long as it was moving in its way, it could be allowed back. There is no point in fighting the dust, it’s overwhelming. But moving it, working with it, making it move, that is possible.

The hoover continues to fight numbingly against all odds, it has no agenda. It just sucks. And humans, entertained by power and all things seemingly posing an easy solution, just follow along.

So my dear friends, will you broom or hoover?

Will you negotiate with dust? With the things unwanted? Will you dance the dance of ying and yang?

I wish I was a broom. With an army of bristles and all.

Weekly state: buzzed.

May 4, 2025 / A metaphysical entity

It is me, Mike! You remember me? I’ve been reincarnated. Looks like this is what happens to us flies. Would be a bit depressing otherwise, wouldn’t it? Now I’ve got many lives to live to the max!

You know, when the burden of a limited lifetime is lifted, you feel so much better. You can fly around, left and right, up, down. Against the wall. Who cares! What am I gonna do, die?

I remember last time I was in your sad little bedroom. Sorry, that was uncalled for. But once you taste eternal life, everything else with such a limited view is a bit depressing.

(Who knew that flies were arrogant?)

So you’re watching me, finding the little crevice you left for air. But instead of the breeze coming into your room, it is me! Mike! And I’ll be buzzing the hell out of you. Just to remind you I am here.

And you thought you had built me a prison? Thinking, why can’t this idiotic fly just escape from here? Oh you fool, you didn’t even understand. You’re out of your depth, lying there all confident and all. You couldn’t even catch me if you wanted. I am living a thousand lives in the speed of light.

You are slow motion to me. Physically, spiritually, intellectually.

And now, for my greatest trick. Bye bye, harakiri I’ll head into the window. One last time. For this life.

I’ll see you next week.

I am already buzzing.

Weekly state: fermenting.

April 27, 2025 / A metaphysical entity

Good things in life come from stinky processes.

As warmth hits the northern hemisphere again, I start to collect ingredients. A little bit of brine, some herbs. Sugar, just to be a little sweet. I don’t know what will come out of it, but surely it will go through a decomposing phase, full of gas and unpleasant odours.

The places where they produced Garum were known for their horrendous smells. Nonetheless, these cities became very rich. And just after the basic (wheat) and the luxurious (oil), Garum became an export topseller. Who knew that stinky fish sauce was so important?

So here I sit and wonder, when will the stinky state leave my side to become an export success? Will it ever? How long does this weird thing I am brewing together need to ferment? How long do I need to sit in brine and ferment myself?

I am sitting in between the casks, filled to the brim, oozing. I have enough ingredients, surely enough for a lifetime. But will I ever be umami?

Until the day that may never come arrives, I’ll be here, working, filling, fermenting. Maybe someday you’ll import some?

Flow.

April 25, 2025 / A metaphysical entity

Oh, what tormented soul, crushed between the desire to finish but lost in the pleasures of the moment.

The professor has been sitting at his desk for an eternity. A whole table filled with wax that once was part of erect candles, now facing their timely demise, a flaccid blob. Spread over the table, manuscripts, books, sheets of paper, notes, crumpled tissues and finally, beer bottles.

The scene of a fight.

Lounged against the back of his chair, the academic blankly stares in front of him, devastated by the consequences of a fight he endured and passively fought. One hand resting on the paper, fountain pen in hand, slowly spilling its ink over the notes. The other, firmly grasping another bottle of liquid gold, now devoid of its former glory. Quintessentially present but no life, no gas, just warm malty liquid.

The professor has desire. Nothing he longed for as much as to put his thoughts onto a paper, finally getting rid of the spirits that haunt his internal discussions. Relieving himself, academically, physically, spiritually. His magnum opus – at least until the next one. With no audience, still determined to outperform himself. The intrinsic drive to be one with the content, contribute, scream into the abyss that is the academic world. Who will hear him?

A fight.

But what has made the professor to be of such determination, such passion? Leading to a state of reflection some just look upon in awe? It was the same thing that now fights over the small space of his desk against the endless sheets of paper and ink. It is beer.

A simple brew, yet underestimated. It has made empires rise and fall, killed numerous but saved from the plague. Now it is haunting our dear professor. Not for the fermented sugars that numb synaptic connections, but for its diuretic characteristics. For you see, our professor is one of great magnitude, transcending fabric of society to follow his passion. But transcendence is a heavy burden on the shoulders of any mere human.

Alas, when the state of unburdening of human mediocrities has been done, the academic, intellectual flow within our dear professor starts. Lit by the numerous candles, he rambles and rushes through evidence, his own word and ideas. Rocking back and forth on his chair, grounding the wooden boards to dust. But you see, the beverage which oh so comfortably took some burdens is now expecting to be released, together with all that is has taken with it.

It is time for the professor to unburden the burdens. And so it happens that when the fountain pen hits the paper, ready to chisel words onto it for eternity, the professor ready to let his genius flow through his hands, must hurry to pay the price.

Returning onto his desk, the pen is dry. His mind, scattered. Beer bottles, empty.

For more thoughts on humans click here.

Weekly state: pondering.

April 20, 2025 / A metaphysical entity

What ponders yonder by the swamp? It is I, the toad. Steven is the name.

Spring has arrived and I for one am uplifted by the explosion of greenery around me. Winter has been harsh and there weren’t as many insects around that could be lured into my mouth. With increasing starvation, my thoughts have become numb, unclear, foggy. Days and nights were interchangeable, grey. So I, Steven the Toad, was in a state of evasion.

The worst aspect of it all is that the swamp was unusable. And everyone who knows me or even goes as far as calling me a friend knows that I need the swamp to levitate. For pondering and such. Just by defying gravity’s earthly burden, my mind can leave the face of this planet.

However today, swamp season has started and with it, my nutrition and thoughts have come back. I can bless you all again with the knowledge I have gained last winter. I am not evading anymore, I am back.

So now I head back and spread my toads legs, floating in the swamp, seemingly untouched by gravity, floating. Two eyes above the surface and the stare of a mountain goat.

Who it is there, over yonder, pondering by the swamp? It is I, Steven the Toad.