Category: Weekly state (Page 1 of 34)

This morning I woke up with the smell of freshly baked goods. What a terrible start into the day.

Hey what´s up? My name is Cornelius Crumble III. Just call me Moustache. What? You thought cupcakes are all cute and stuff? Without facial hair? Well, I do not have a face but I do have some hair. Maybe it is neatly aligned chocolate sprinkles, what do you care? I saw on someones phone that the internet is full of moustaches. Perhaps it will help me to finally be devoured. In any case, you are probably wondering why I am the third in line to this unholy empire that is the baked goods display in this godforsaken bakery. Like me, my ancestors were cupcakes. Some with, some without moustaches. This is not particularly important. What is important is the fact that my ancestors were not sold into the abyss – which is your digestive system. Throughout the years the other baked goods thought it must be something larger than life. Surely, I do not feel larger than life. Just like an old cupcake. Even my frosting has become all crumbly. (You see where we got our last name from).

I have been on sale a couple of times. Today is another one of those days, towering up above the display. Prayed to – from below. By the other baked goods that have seen the light of the display for the first time only this morning. I cannot even argue with them, they just see that I am staying while others vanish – some within minutes after the first hungry mouth enters the bakery. In the end, I am forced to rule over a people that is not even able to articulate.

I am seen as a sin. Too much sugar. With the rise of an ideal body type for humans, my kind has been shunned. We do not get to experience our well deserved death. You see my dots? Those are not sprinkles! It is cupcake cancer. Having been to long under those bright display lights, I am crumbly, dark. Full of cupcake cancer. The moustache does not raise much awareness, I tell you that.

As I am towering high above, I am contemplating once again, whether to just touch ground. You see, humans believe that if I touch the ground for a specific amount of seconds, I have become inedible. Perhaps I will even break into pieces? Wouldn´t be the death that was intended but perhaps an active choice? Seeing that my people never move beyond passiveness I might even become a martyr?

You are just thinking too long! Why are you just standing there, listening to a cupcake? Who is baked? Me or you?

Why is it freezing and I can’t cool my blood?

Turtles go into the fridge, bears into their hibernation. Squirrels sleep during these harsh times except for the few times they go out and seek the nuts they buried. The ones they forgot will bloom into a new tree.

Without any nuts and no cave to hibernate in, I am left to the harsh environments. Navigating the fog, I tried to find the nuts I buried during the warm and golden periods of autumn. Sometimes I do find them, will the rest grow into trees?

I sincerely hope to take shade beneath the things I planted and forgot. Time will tell. As for the moment, I am wandering around the fog, looking for others that don’t have a warm cave to come back to. I hear their sounds but this far, they are merely shadows in my way.

I keep on resting the urge to dig for more nuts, hoping they will form a forest to rest in. Conditions are harsh, but I am stern.

Let’s find each other in the fog, what seed did you plant?

Blue notes in my ears as I stare at the ceiling, full of cheese.

Festivities of light around me. I walk in the sunshine and stroll through illuminated streets at night. Imperceptible to the world, my steps have a little dance in them. When was the last time you danced?

It is hard to move to the funky tunes which they call jazz with a tummy full of goodies. I shift around, barely moving my feet. My stomach is the center of gravity, my limbs orbit the belly like the Earth does the moon. Big and round, it signifies my existence as a subject in the land of plentiful resources.

My feet tap lightly, I let myself be surprised these days. What’s the saxophone girl telling me? Sure sounds like a blast. The guy on the piano, with his nose almost touching the keys, lost in the jazz. I dance in the middle, we dance and play together – separate.

Oh the cheese is melted? Well then, let’s get this sustenance back in the Center of Gravity.

Perhaps we can have a little dance of the planets together later?

I’d love for you to join me.

I stand on the balcony. Whisky in hand I contemplate which type of bread is my favorite. While I take another sip on the malty, punchy, smoky syrup something hits my eyes. A green light, far away in the distance. It is blinking. Is this the green light I was waiting for? I take a step closer, I am touching the railing. The more I concentrate on the light, the fewer things I see in my periphery.

I get closer, I feel it shining straight into my iris. The green light feels chilling, giving me goosebumps and travelling down my back. I take another sip as I inch closer. Without thinking about it, I lift my leg up, resting my knee on the metal bars that surround my balcony. The light keeps blinking faster.

My heart starts beating faster as I move further away from the safe ground of the balcony. I am climbing over the bars, whisky in hand. The green light now blinks like a stroboscope. I am trembling over its power. I start to shake. Like a powerful bass every hair on my body feels the tension in the air. My thoughts disappear into the void of the green light. I am ready to let go.

The whisky glass breaks. It fell from the balcony and smashed onto the ground below. The green light, it shines red. A permanent, steady and glowing red. I shake my head. I am hanging from the balcony. Ridiculed it leaves me, the green light. Tantalised I am hanging around.

Will I ever learn?

Probably not.

The world screams but I don’t have my ears plugged in.

My Wifi is off. So is my bluetooth. I am deeper than flight mode. My GPS is spinning – on purpose. The screen flashes like it has been hit by a hammer – because it was. My landline – cut. Yes, I climbed the pole. How I knew which one it was? I have no idea. Perhaps I liberated more than one. I sit by the fireplace as my cables, chargers, dongles, gadgets are burning. Vividly, in all colours. Who knew they had it in them?

I am providing myself, I wish I could eat my insights. Potentially starving in the process, I try to numb myself by feasting on the false comfort of commotion. For days I tried, how foolish of me to start in winter. The sun plays tricks on me and icy rain hits me in the face. Mother Earth is laughing.

When all is lost, rhythm disappears. You have to find out yourself. What did I find? I guess it was the rhythm. On Sundays, I am here for you. For anyone less fortunate of not having the time to find out what it’s like. Living outside the rhythm, in autarchy.

Don’t worry, I am here now. Like every Sunday – for the past three years. I’ll provide. Perhaps, I need my screen? My wifi? For you? Surely.