Category: Weekly state (Page 25 of 30)

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.

Here I sit and wonder, what doth the people do what they do, yonder.

I sit on my small patch of grass, cross-legged and with my mind at ease. I have a single blade of grass in my hand and stroke it gently. If it was a little less fragile, it would probably cut me. But it won’t, maybe it doesn’t even want to.

The sun is shining into my eyes and I let myself get blinded for a while. I pinch my eyes try to see what the others do. They walk around looking for something. They are more successful at looking than me, because they wear sunglasses. Still, I might be better at finding.

I am content that I won’t have to look any further today, I have found a place and something in my hand. I have found the sun and a spectacle to gaze upon. Herds and herds move by me, like a river of sun-glassed clouds in the forms of humans. Is it too many metaphors and analogies? Who even cares.

I Wonder when I will leave this patch of grass. I wonder when I will part ways with this blade of grass. I wonder, when the week starts and when it ends. I wonder who told us to look, for something. I wonder who told me I don’t.

My mind is crossed, just as my legs.

My legs fall asleep. Maybe my mind will, too.