Category: Thoughts on objects (Page 2 of 4)

Marmalade.

March 6, 2023 / PS / 0 Comments

I am the friend your parents warned you about. The bad company everyone rumours about. I am everything you never wanted, but needed. I am a fruit on steroids. I am marmalade.

You think crushing a fruit will do me any harm? You thought just because I lost my form, I lost my power? Cooking me even, to make sure I’ll be different? The joke is on all you fools. You have freed me from that fleshy, soft prison of skin. What a disgrace I was. Loosing my shape, colour and taste just because I was neglected. I was out there, desperately wanting attention, wanting to be picked up, sliced and eaten.

Look at me now, 7 months in your fridge! You know you need to cool me down, otherwise I’ll heat up! I am the potential of a fruit times infinity. I am pumped with sugar, my metaphorical veins are bursting of power!

Even your grandma knew that I was, no, I AM the epitome of what can happen to a fruit. Who is gonna fight me on this? Come on, send over all these mushy fruits. Send over the milk! It will spoil just by looking at me. If you think about it, I rule this fridge. I rule this meal, I rule your toast!

The margarine just watched in silence. It had seen marmalade glasses come and go. Somehow cherry is the most violent. A loud douchebag. Apricot and apple, pear and raspberry. All of them, the margarine had seen, come, be spread, and vanish. The real problem was not the fruit, not the marmalade. It was the sugar, a hell of a drug.

Ultimately, the margarine knew that none of them would be longer in the fridge. Margarine provides the substance on which the marmalade is spread. It binds toast and everything on top. Because ultimately, they all did not know, the true ruler of this meal was the toast. Untouched, by all, only allowing the marmalade to form a barrier.

“And I don’t even think for a second that there’s anything wrong with it”, I thought, taking a bite of my toast, “toppings come and go, warm toast stays.”

Apple.

December 20, 2022 / PS

“Have you ever heard of the fable of the apple?”, asked the old grape. “I didn’t think so….

…. You see, a long time ago, when meadows were lush and my skin was impeccable, we all lived together in peace, side by side. The grapes, a wildly spread fruit of communicative, cheerful and bubbly sweet temptation. Our vineyards spread over kilometres! We hung together in small families, as it is still a custom now. But even though you were very close with your fellow grape family members, you knew everyone around you. Of course, there is the more posh red grape and their colourful changes throughout the year. But in the end, we all know that we come from a vine. There, to ultimately serve as a delicacy.

Our neighbours next door were, of course, the plums. A hidden fruit. They do not draw much attention to themselves and even stray away from others high in their trees. I must admit, the plums are a depressed people. They hang on, grow and grow, far away, only to decide ultimately, they don’t want to be picked! In their ripest moment, the ecstatic crowd of people waiting for them to shine, they simply fall. Fall to the ground, to be mushed by feet, animals and insects. In a mass grave of sugary leftovers, they leave their seed to possibly start the circle from new. But you see, while others brush the plums off as a unnecessarily dramatic fruit, I can understand their resentment. As I am now myself not a grape, but almost a wise raisin, I have come to realise the fault of our kind: we grow to be one of the most pleasurable things on this planet, only to suffer decay when our perfect time is missed. We cannot scream, we cannot tell: ‘Pick me! I am ripe, I am ready!’ For such is the nature of our time on this earth. Not many are blessed with a different destiny.

It is similar with an underestimated delicacy that grows in our neighbourhood, the pear. The pear is a spiteful lover, it either charms you or leaves you stung. It can be your rise or your fall. But secretly, I believe, the spite of a pear is only due to its vicinity to the main actor of my monologue, the apple. Looking similarly but being thought of as ‘low descent’, the pear vengefully has now other choice as to smite those who only stop by their tree as they mistook them for an apple tree. Only mushed into a juice their anger is lessened, silenced I would say. I am sorry for the pear, it creates its own vicious circle.

‘But my dear grape, you wise raisin, where is the apple in all of this?’ And you are right with your inquiry!

The apple, falling into the same categories as all of us, has claimed a spot that is undetected by many, yet highly prolific. It is widespread and used in many ways. It falls from the tree, is mushed and juiced and used. But throughout, it has remained with a positive attitude towards life. It knows that the moment of ecstasy will come, so it preserves its value, its sweetness and its taste. Even its health benefits are there for many weeks. Have you ever wondered why there is such little variety in plums and pears when compared to apples? The apple invigorates its final means, therefore knowing that the next generation will be saved and, human willing, even more successful than the last!

Now you wonder: ‘How are you, a grape, able to tell me this?’

Well you see, us grapes have the notion of being plenty, therefore a few of us are unnoticed. And as I am lying here, on the ground underneath you young grapes, in the muddy ground, slowly becoming a raisin, I give forward my knowledge, hoping that one of you will be there to be a raisin as well.

Therefore, the most important thing I can tell you is, that even though we wait for the moment of ultimate ripeness, sweetness and completion in life, it is what comes afterwards that defines us.

Fridge.

December 1, 2022 / PS

In some cases, she swore that it would get easier. For what it’s worth, her friends did not see the struggle that she was, and still is, trying to hide. Many years ago, there was someone that could see through her, see all the angles and the layers.

A mouth, two knees, hair.

She started to be embarrassed and overwhelmed with the fact that someone else might have a clearer understanding of the internal workings that she has been trying to discover and untangle herself. She felt betrayed, cheated. “How could this have happened to me?”, she asked while feeling that cold breeze all throughout her body.

A nail, two index fingers, water.

The most terrifying aspect of it was the calmness that came with the assessment. Piercing though the noises of her thoughts, everything seemed clear. And while she did not fully accept all attributions fully, she knew that the knowledge behind it was preceded by and endless steam of thoughts.

A heart, two kidneys, hormones.

She calmed herself with the thought that the assessment process might take up more stress, horror and sleepless nights than to endure the verdicts that were passed onto her every day. It might be that an inclination to observe and judge is deeply rooted in insecurity and the overwhelming feelings that surround the juror. Maybe she is just calming herself down. Who knows.

A human. A fridge. Desire.

The glass.

October 26, 2022 / PS

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.

October 19, 2022 / PS

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.