Category: Weekly state (Page 3 of 31)

Swinging from the top of my cathedral, trying to be as nonchalant as Quasimodo.

Surrounded by beauty, I roam the magnificent towers. Forever in every heart of all citizens, in the city of love. What should be a romantic tale ends up portraying the ugliness – not of my hunchback and bushy eyebrows – but the hatred towards those who don’t roam the streets forward-facing.

I run backwards, the last thing you see is my face. An exercise in de-prioritising superficial beauty. If I wasn’t on my way to ring those bells of the church you love so much, you wouldn’t see me.

I swing, back and forth, I lurk and squat, high above. The gargoyles as my closest confidants, we ask questions. We wonder who is ugly in character, yet has the most appealing silhouette.

I call you to prayer, into my refuge. I open the doors, I let in all those silhouettes. Will you use your chance to turn yourself inside out?

I wonder, I ask. Who’s the hunchback lurking from below? Looking straight up, all shackled to the fabric of society? Locked to walk the earth forever.

Why don’t you come up here? Shed your silhouette, come and ask questions. Be inquisitive, stay curious. Live and love vicariously.

As fate drags me further along the roadhouse of life, I sit strapped in my seat, trying to sip my beer.

Wondrous ways have led me to believe that every new day is unique. Still I wonder, is it really? There is an infinite amount of choices, that is a given. But where do I draw the line of newness and obscene mundanity?

The circle keeps haunting me and I am strapped to the passenger seat. Is there anything I can do?

I reach another round, another trip. The earth makes its trips and we call it a day. How do I call my round, given that I even notice I made a full circle? I keep looking back and I have to tell you, the past is close than you think!

Yet here I am, all cushiony and soft. Strapped in for all of the entertainment to behold. Trying to look forward but someone forgot to activate the windshield wipers.

In the end I blast through the universe, 1600 kilometres per hour. How am I even supposed to catch a glimpse?

Get ready with me, to start a new circle (or continue and old one?). I’ll be here, with you. Happy to see what’s coming.

Wanna hold my hand?

I am friends with the coaster and all things capable of soaking.

Walking the streets with the confidence of having lived a thousand lives, I burst compassion. Knowing where you have been, that situations are temporary but change is eternal. I swoop over your table, take up all the conversations, the bits of beer that were spilled while you ecstatically retold a story.

I soaked it up, wet with the beer and the story.

Taking and giving back, I am merely a catalysts for your enthusiasm. I clean up after messy bits, don’t you worry. You wonder what I am to you? I do wonder that sometimes myself.

I am the sponge, I travel the world, full of cavities and holes, ready to soak up experiences, stories, sadness and happy bits.

I am big and yellow, why don’t you squeeze me?

Let’s see what comes out.

Did you get all of the messages I almost sent you?

While technology involuntarily closed down my shop, I was whimpering and wallowing throughout. I wished to be close again, to be one, all connected with you. Yet I strayed.

I was wondering what my big wish was at the time of being isolated, without a channel in which to utter weird wisdom to. What’s your biggest wish?

There’s no need to confess anything, don’t worry. Your desires are safe and sound in the confines of your mind. They only come out when it is dark and you are trying to slumber.

I oftentimes wish for things, larger and smaller. Things I can’t change and things I can. I wish for people to be different only to find out that indeed, some just won’t change. I wish for egoistic things, I wish to become a philanthropist. I wish for this weekly state to make sense, does it?

While dear old Papa was somewhere lost in between the lines of code, even less physical than the usual metaphysical form, I was listening to you. I tried, truly. But from a distance all I can do is lip-read. What does a stiff upper lip mean? I see you all hanging on despite wishing for change. Respect.

What’s my final wish for this week, the end of it, the Sunday, the moment you read my words right now? I wish for just a moment that you and me can be wishless. Just for a moment, free of being pulled.

The ultimate weapon to longing, to desire. A state of nothingness, close to the empty space of Nirvana. And if you feel like it, just think about one thing you are grateful for.

I am grateful to be back, in my stall. Rematerialised and in this second, without another wish.

Om.

A digital barrier to my food stall, sabotage?

While all good forces are employed to fix the alley to my delicious dishes, I am patiently roaming the sky.

I am in between worlds, somewhere at 30,000 feet. Big metal tubes full of people are passing me by.

Glorious moment since writing these few lines in utter despair to be separated from you, my dear reader. Further, I was disconnected from my food stall, the things that gives reason to so many outbursts and in the end, gives reason to my existence.

But don’t you worry. I am working on the analog menu, something to behold. For you, to hold in your hand. Fondly, hopefully, to remember our time together.

I missed you.