Author: PS (Page 9 of 29)

Joghurt is my lover for I am juicy and sweet.

Ever since I was a young berry, I had posters of all the famous Joghurt bands hanging on my wall. I was madly in love with them. Greek vanilla, Skyr metal, Quark Waltz Revenue. They only played the absolute bangers, so creamy and soft, just ideal to be serenaded by.

When I was graduating from berry college, I didn’t know what I would like to be, so I joined the hordes of the berry Salvation Army. Who do we save, you ask? Well, mostly yourself, the consumer. We serve a variety of nutritional purposes and we do it well. Swift death.

So I kind of forgot about this Joghurt business.

However one day, I was lurking out of my plastic container. I saw all of them, Very Berry Rock Cream, Thessaloniki Fever and Quarkini dip and the Boys.

It was truly magical. They even had special effects, a cold breeze clouding them in mystery, turning my juicy interiors upside down. I was madly in love again. Oh how much I could give to just once touch the cream.

“You know, the consumer sometimes pairs us up with these creamy bands. We serve as the juice pop!”

So you see, my dear consumer in whose shopping basket I am now. Please, fulfil my dreams, pop my berry and put me in the cream.

Winter had scarred us, cold and harsh conditions made us seem like ghostlike creatures. Away from the sun, lit up only by the fire that we light.

I am ready for loading up on the rays of this continuously exploding ball of gas in the sky.

I linger around, waiting for the shine to light me up. I am almost invisible to take naked eye, translucent and not recognisable by everyone that knows my appearance in summer.

So here I stand, looking into the clouds, looking out for my dangerous friend in the sky.

Come light me up.

Punch towards the body, going through. Hah, I don’t have a body!

I am getting massaged. Not just externally but all throughout. My mind is wandering off and I keep my eyes closed. The hormonal system kicks in and bliss is filling the warm air around me.

I am punching into the air. Involuntary contractions of my muscles that react to the waves of sound. I am surrounded by ecstatic people and flashing lights.

Distortion helps you see clearly. My focal point is vanishing, I am lost in the bed of light and bass.

I punch. I let go of whatever held me back.

I punch. I have become semipermeable, letting out, not letting in.

I punch, in peace.

Yes, no, deductive reasoning.

Options put us at crossroads, giving freedom for the brave and anxiety to the scared. Which one are you?

I haven’t decided myself but the fridge of opportunities is filled when you are less than a thousand years old. For metaphysical entities, I am in my twenties. Time to try and be stupid.

When you are following this winding road, you sometimes come across ideas that seem stupid but in the end, they come out great. Just like cooking a new dish with that one weird ingredient, that completely blows your mind.

So while following this weird way, go have a look at the fridge. Maybe there is something weird you picked up some time ago that will change and revolutionise your dish.

And if you find someone meandering, go ahead, greet them. Maybe you will be their weird ingredient.