All-organic weirdness
All day long, on the chaise-longue.
Your dear Papa Shanghai is still out of office, enjoying life’s abundance of spirits. Nonetheless, a new feature in this food stall we call papashanghai.com is cooking on the back burner. But as every soup connoisseur will tell you, it needs to simmer. Stay tuned however for the updates, which will arrive very shortly.
It’s summer. Enjoy the weather, enjoy your company. Enjoy the moments of multitude and solitude.
Kevin, the sunflower seed, has come a long way. Since yesterday, when he fell off of a Sunday brunch bun, he has climbed, ran, hid and ventured across the whole cafe. Evading the brooms at the end of the shift and sniffing dogs during busy hours.
Kevin has a mission, to conquer ground. Without a set goal in mind, he wonders whether he will ever want to return to the state of being stuck to a bun.
“What a waste of a perfectly good seed.”, he thought while looking at his colleagues.
They seemed happy, tranquillised, in a state of ignorant bliss. Kevin was much more than that – at least that’s what he thought. For days on end, he discovered new corners of the cafe, saw the wise raisin (the one your dear Papa has told you about on this very page in the “Tales of the knowing”).
Kevin grew disgusted with the idea of ever sticking to a bun, being eaten for nutritional purpose. However, he always wondered why he never encountered another sunflower seed, with the same mission in mind, with a similar hunger for more
Excitement.
Knowledge.
Insight.
Reflection.
Kevin became a legend to the brunch ingredients, to the eggs, the fruits, the cheese and even the ruling elite of the coffee council. But never was he mentioned by the sunflower seeds as they never told much about anything in general, forever in a sedated happiness.
Maybe that is why Kevin has become special and these tales are known.
So rise up and don’t stick to a bun!
I don’t strut, I don’t stand. I don’t run, I don’t Walk. These days, I skip.
Rising temperatures burnt the last winter away. Bodies are moving faster and slower, back and forth. In the air one second and grounded the next. I am still asking myself what magic the sound of music is.
I have been told that over time, it is possible you forget how to skip. How to leap for a tiny bit. It is truly a tragedy. Whether it be for the reaction to a song, to happiness or out of sheer boredom, a skip can help to elevate the moment, quite literally.
When researching is tragedy, I have come across several people that try their hardest to remember, but fail. Their bodies are not able to reproduce the outburst. Maybe it is their minds that inhibit it. Maybe they have been taught to stop skipping. Who is in charge of this censorship?
Stand up, rise up. Follow along with me and just for a moment, be active, be silly. Skip at a strange time to fight against this societal self-censorship! Skip at the supermarket, skip in a meeting, skip into class, skip to your table reservation. What the hell, skip at a funeral. For all we know, the deceased would have needed a skip.
As for now, see you next time. In the street. Being strange, skipping. Keep being weird.
I see through the hole in the clouds and see you, waving. I wave back.
Despite the distance between us and the respective lives that we are doomed to live, I can notice proximity. “How are you feeling, old chap?”, I think to myself while moving my hand from left to right. As I can’t receive an answer, I just make up one myself.
You’re looking up and see my round face in the sky. “Do I look this weird up close?”, you’re asking yourself.
“You do.”
You’re the future, I am the past. I know what has taken place, you don’t know anything. Who’s better off?
Even when M. Aurelius was sitting on the banks of a river, contemplating over his third book, he couldn’t help but notice the ridiculousness of the amounts of thoughts that we put into interpreting the past and worrying about the future.
So in the end, you’re truly blessed, viewed from my perspective. You have the capability of knowing nothing, learning everything and forgetting about it. That’s why I am in the clouds and you’re the, all materialistic and stuff.
I envy you.
Dears truly,
PS.
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