Category: Weekly state (Page 20 of 26)

“I’ll be back” – Terminator.

I have been back. I will not be back, most likely. How many tries I will give depends on the urgency of matters.

A return can be miraculously thrilling, it can be as blunt as a club. It can be a Michelin star dish or a warmed up sausage in a New York Hot Dog stand. Depends on the consumer. And sometimes, you are even the sausage that never gets picked, simmering away in that murky water.

Choices of returning are choices of luxury.

In most cases, you’re sitting on the passenger seat in these situations. Likely, without a seat belt. Make sure you are grabbing that handle to not fly through the front window.

I’ll be hitting the brakes now, because in this case, I am behind the steering wheel. I am the sausage that leaps itself out of the meaty water. For long I have simmered. It’s time for the barbecue part of this journey.

Bring on the heat.

When people plug their electric devices into the socket through a cable, they will be sure, in most cases, that they will find a recharged and refreshed phone. But how do humans recharge, I have recently asked myself. And as your papa Shanghai is not a human, I have turned to the observation mode.

Major recharging cycles usually happen during the night, both seen in phones as well as humans. Silence ensues over whole countries, only because the sunlight is missing. I wonder who dictated this approach a long time ago?

Still, recharging is not something that can be dialed down to the percentage, as it is in electric devices. So how can we understand when a human is recharged?

When looking at the outer appearance, you can be fooled by the usage of drugs. Caffeine for example, leads us to false-positives.

What I have recently witnessed while floating through time and space, is the usage of so-called naps. They are usually taken during the Waking hours of the day. And measurement is quite simple, I have been told: “a successful nap is followed by a puddle of drool.”

So for today, let us drool. Let’s drool during work, during a movie and let’s drool, together.

Click, click.

I have become the conquerer of time. I hold in my hands the evidence of things past. For eternity, if allowed, I am capturing what I see, factually.

Living bound by the inevitability of time, I feel free in catching a glimpse of what has been, just in that split second of my seemingly endless existence.

I see colour, I witness life, I document love, I capture nuance. My camera makes click click and unknowingly, I burn images. Continuing to document life on the small earth, just a tiny spark of light helps me in clarifying matters.

Holding the tools of documentation in my hands I wonder whether impressions are there to be truly captivated. Have I become the fool or I am truly in charge of making things a memory? Will I ever look at the same image a second time with the same eyes? What if I change, have I captured anything more than just a spark of myself, looking at the image? Is my tool adequate to capture the idea I head, the things I felt?

Most likely not, but what else is there, but to capture (or the minimalistic effort to try to capture)?

Crossing the border has never been so easy, I am thinking to myself. Sucked in by hypotonic environments. Maybe I was just in a hypertonic space, who knows these days?

Did I cross or did I just think like I was transiting? Did I arrive or am I just in front of the next border?

The only thing I know is that the border has been semipermeable, forcing me to accept the new environment, wherever that may lead. Marching on, crawling on, running on, just moving. Stagnation is the enemy of ambition.

And as always, yours truly, Papa Shanghai is asking, whether PS is semipermeable, too? Being a floating entity, obviously defying the logic of physics, is the very existence of my thinking subject to these laws? And if not, why am I forced by hyper- or hypotension through a semipermeable membrane?

Where I come from, people wear socks in sandals.

Where I come from, people choose to nod instead of saying hi.

Where I come from, you are welcome.

Back in the streets, we walk with beverages in our hands, just because we can. Freedom is taken wherever it seems to be within the rules of the law. Underestimated, yet appreciated by the connoisseur of culture. Bringing stability, but only to those who would like to have it. Disregarding the ones draining energy. Loving, caring and sacrificing for the ones who entered the realm of the inner circle. Spoken about but rarely spoken to.

Where I am from, small buns trump toast.

I am here, standing in my sandals. I have embraced the comfort of socks, the support of sandals. They start like a rock and become something you don’t want to live without, fitted to your life.

I am a sandal. Will you wear me?

Please wear a sock.