Category: Weekly state (Page 21 of 26)

Time flies when you’re having a good time.

He’s been looking at the canvas, the canvas conveniently ignored him. But what if the image is already there? It’s just a matter of effort and time. So I am sitting, waiting. For the canvas and for him.

It’s weird that we hang up pictures. Someone has produced them and we like it. When thinking about the wide array of emotions this picture triggers, I become too lazy to write. So I am sitting here, looking at a square coming to life.

Maybe it is the sunshine burning my brain cells, but I cannot help but realise that I might be a canvas, too. I am painting myself, being painted on. I am hung up, watched, marvelled about, hung down. At some point, I will probably be trashed. How long will I be up there? Will I ever be finished?

Am I Square?

And if yes, can you please paint on me?

Attributed, not confirmed.

Walking, sitting and waiting. Laughing about yourself. Influenced by the environment, saved by it, deformed by it. Why is a breeze refreshing one day and terribly inconvenient the next?

Struggling with a basic task, you question your own capabilities. Then you laugh because you remember, it is alcohol-induced. The ramblings of last night come up like burps.

“Idiotic, at best.”, you say to yourself. The coffee is mocking you, it only accelerates rushes of last nights consequences in your body. Truly, you remain, idiotic.

Taking it easy, lightness comes over you. Finding comfort in the realisation that you will be idiotic, again. So there’s only one solution, you think. Put on the sunglasses, hope there will be some sun. Press play on that button. But rest assured, you will be, once more, idiotic. I will be there to assist, equally idiotic, equally comforting in the very thought that we will repeat this.

The ladder is moist and it looks like the wood might break any second. Well covered in moss and mushrooms it speaks of many seasons. Slinging over the shoulder is the trusted tool, looking innocent until faced somewhere but the sky.

Each step an adventure, each noise a possible point of interest. Scents and silence only to be broken by the call of the wild, the wind and the rhythm of the breath.

The top, covered by a small roof, ready to serve, once again. The seat is still cold from last nights abandonment of post. The feeling is a mixture of excitement, tension and relaxation. Whether something happens or not, is up to the infinite and mind-bending complexity of the universe. Therefore, too much to spend even a single thought on.

It is a sitting game, it is one of advanced positioning, silence, solitude, and waiting. Impatience is its greatest enemy and calmness the highest virtue.

There is a reason why all of this, is, a sitting game. But now, please…

Something is bubbling, rumbling, working.

Your dear Papa Shanghai has discovered the magic of fermentation and is adding it to its content, from now on. Thinking back, most dishes are the result of thorough fermentation, stemming from the mind. They have been stored for enhanced flavour, spicier content.

Will you be satisfied with the right amount of fermentation? Is it too much for you? Is the bacterial load too heavy for your distinguished taste?

Well if yes, you have come to the wrong food stall. Because Papa Shanghai serves straight from the heart, the brain and stomach. I am the MSG on your thoughts.

But now leave me be, this weeks dish is served and I need to ferment.

Maintenance has taken place and I am back on the tracks.

Weary I wandered, for many long days. Taken for granted, I felt that the movement wouldn’t stop. But I am not a Perpetuum mobile, I am Papa Shanghai. I habe brakes and a gas pedal, soles and an engine. I am starting and stopping, using up energy and replenishing.

After all, maintaining this machine to move forward is important and I have neglected it for too long.

Same as the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks and months run by, I am continuing. The urge to run with the time is heavy but you do need to rest. The desires I long for, the goal that is most imminent, is the determining factor, wearing me down. But I forgot to stop, use the brakes, use the engine and my control over it.

So here I am, well oiled, on the tracks.

Clack clack, clack clack.