All-organic weirdness

Category: Thoughts on humans (Page 2 of 4)

The glass.

Listen while reading.

The bass is pushing your eardrums. The sounds infiltrate your brain. You start to move. Who taught you to do this? Is it just a sheer force from within, making your muscles move uncontrollably? Will you be caught in this movement as long as the song plays? I cannot tell you if this is the result of socialisation, of your environment. But to be honest, if you do it right, you won´t care anyway. So just keep going. The most important thing is that you don´t lose balance. But how, you may ask me. There is just too much movement around me, everything and everyone is moving! Well, to be honest, just grab that glass. I don´t know if it will help you or not, it might even bring you to fall. But that´s the only advice I can give you.

Hold onto it.

Waking from any night is a hard thing to do. It might be slightly easier some days than it is on others. But doing that initial movement, opening your eyes, realizing that another day has started, is always a hard thing to do. The day is full of time, experiences to be had, expectations to be fulfilled. It won´t matter if you are looking at the day with a positive or negative attitude, maybe you are even indifferent, moving through it with nonchalance. But it is clear that this day, just like every other day, will be filled with something. So, you turn over, looking for something to hold onto. A glass of water.

Hold onto it.

You start your day with a routine. It gives you comfort, maybe it is something so familiar that you don’t even realize you are doing it anymore. I hope you are finding your rhythm. If you really think about it, every day has its beat. But did you ever get the feeling of having a jazzy day? I wonder what that might be like, to just improvise. Is it even possible to act instictively, making up your melody on the spot or will you play jazz according to pre-arranged music sheets? Is it even worse to feel like having a jazzy day only to end up playing jazz that is predetermined? I can´t tell you, but if you ever find out, tell me. And if it is indeed improvisation,…

… hold onto it.

The day goes by and you have followed the beat, maybe it changed in between. You had conversations, arguments, tasks. You held onto glasses, coffee cups, a wine glass. And now we are here. The beat, it is given to you. Someone decided for you, cutting the inextricable link between the day, you, and the beat. Slicing it with more than 110 decibels against your eardrum. Who is really in control here? Is it your muscles, the DJ? Is it your feeling of having to move in a certain way? I know it can be confusing, but I´ll be here. You might be looking for the glass in all this controlled chaos that everyone voluntarily joined. Cut through the fog, find me. I am just as much loosing balance as you are. Come find me and…

Hold onto it.

Barstool.

Who told him that it’s cool going to a bar alone? To a club? To anywhere? Maybe it’s literature with its undeniably attractive, mystique, dark and complex characters. Maybe it’s just his feeling. Maybe it’s not weird at all. Who knows.

He dusts off his leather jacket and hangs it onto the hook beneath the bar. Ignored by the barmaid in the Adidas tracksuit who has been working there forever. The are bonded. Bonded by the story of this place. Both seek recognition. Her, by being the master of the beer and alcoholic beverages. The one thing that people crave. Why else would they come here if it weren’t for the bitter taste of alcohol, pacifier of peoples.

He is here because it seems to look cool. Why it does, if it does, he will never know. Maybe it depends on the spectator.

People going in and out, what’s steady in this booze-fuelled spectacle? We didn’t hear from this place just because it hosts the deepest of our desires. We are sitting on it. What if I were not having my barstool? The steady fort from which I tower above you? It might be level, but I am far away. I will be here, on the cliff. The cliff of solitude. Only the arms of the barmaid can reach me.

Am I lonely, you ask? Well, it depends on the spectator.

However, I’ll be here. With my barstool. Cheers all you people down there.

Toes.

Humanity has walked many paths. It might walk down the path of self-destruction as these lines are being written and you, reading this. It might walk the path of ascending to a place where no civilisation has ever been before. We never know. What we do know is this: there is something always ahead of us. It’s part of us but we never acknowledge them. It’s our toes.

When do we feel them? When bumping into furniture. Or when taking socks off to feel the grass / sand / water between them. Pleasure and pain, yet again so close. Every step that we take towards doom, pleasure or, said more normative, the right or wrong way, our toes are in the forefront of everything. So why not give them more importance? We could base society more on these little fleshy things that are hidden most of the time.

For sure, the big toe is a force to be reckon with in this new society. You can already see it, in sandals for example. The big toe is parted by the others. But how do we measure who is to be the ruler, the peak of toe-performance? Toes can be ugly, cute, beautiful, sick…. All of these classifications are in the eye of the spectator. So how do we measure? Well, measure is the right way actually.

Queens and kings, nobility, that is people with long toes. In relation to their feet of course. Bear with me on this one. So, toes are at the forefront of literally, gaining ground. And people with longer toes in relation to feet size are, of course, able to gain more ground.

I myself am a peasant. It is hard to come to that realisation. So even as the creator of this new order I have fallen to the lowest position in this feudal toe-system. Perhaps it is wise to abolish these standards. Perhaps we should stop doing the same for other body parts. Perhaps, we can strive, as a civilisation, only when we stop comparing. Not just toes.

Flush.

Recently, he hasn’t been feeling well. It’s not like anything spectacular or tragic happened, it is this sense of detachment that comes with loosing grip. If he is being honest with himself, he didn’t treat himself right. It’s all just temporary, he lies to himself. Jake who sits in the next cubicle could even see it and hear it. He is embarrassed.

“Hey, are you alright? You look a little off, my dude!”, drawing on his plastic vape pen, exhaling Watermelon-Cottoncandy supreme.

It made him even more sick. Maybe it’s the people around me, he asked himself. Maybe I just need to change my environment. That’s it, for sure. All will be good and I can finally find my peace.

He lied to himself.

Even at home he didn’t feel comfortable anymore. Nothing provided coziness in his home.

“That’s called Hygge my dude.”

Shut up Jake.

Usually he can endure those scrolling, ponytailed, high-confidence, higher-anxiety, e-Scooting, Tinder-dating, Craft-everything-drinking, non-farting types of people.

Not today, Jake!

And that’s for all the Jakes out there, and those who aren’t called Jake but act like Jake and sorry to those who are accidentally included here but are actually not a Jake.

The thought of the word Jake made him flinch and tension. A sudden release. Satisfaction. Bliss.

He stood up and pushed the button. The toilet flushed.

Thanks,

Jake.

Nut.

“Hey man, I just found this amazing berry! Look at it, it´s huge! I don´t know why your are still wasting your time searching over there. Just get here, man!”

This guy, always shouting and boasting, I am really tired of it. Not for once he can shut up about his stupid berries. We are all searching here, we get it. It´s not like you are the first one to ever find something. For days we have been flying around these woods, jumping from twig to twig, always blindly following the one who finds something. What´s the sense of flying in a group when everyone is just looking at the same spot? Why can´t we split up? And why the hell am I not just going somewhere else?

“Hey man, I just found this amazing berry!”

Here we go again. Again, the same spot. Same people. Why are the places wherever we find something special attracting everyone else to come there? Are we just blindly searching for thrill, for food, for entertainment? What do we expect to happen there? It is the same place, it is the same people. Isn´t craziness defined by repeating the same action and expecting a different result each time? Are we all just going crazy?

“Hey man, I just found this amazing berry!”

Are we crazy or just so occupied with whatever we are trying to do and trying to show to others that we don´t realise that we are stuck in repeating the same routine? Why do we have spots where everyone is, searching for the same thing? Why the hell is nobody leaving this devil´s circle? Why not me?

“Hey man, I just found this amazing berry!”

We move in flocks, we are born in flocks, we die in flocks. Twig to twig, tree to tree. I don´t even remember where I have been lately. I have just a memory what the others have done, what they found, on the search for food in the autumn. Life is hard for a tiny bird in winter. Maybe I can´t survive on my own. Maybe I won´t find anything. And if I find something, who can I tell about it? Am I even finding something when I can´t tell anyone? Do I exist when there is no other bird around me? Is that why we constantly exclaim anything, chirping? Is it just the fear of the silence, the darkness, the loneliness?

Hey man, I just found this huge nut!

Get over here.

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