Category: Weekly state (Page 4 of 25)

Icy rain hits my skin, mocking its sensitive nature.

The seasons are here, to divide us by who is most adaptable. I for one have not yet mastered the coldest and darkest of times. So I try to flee, with an emphasis on the try.

Fire and warmth may have given our ancestors comfort but to the spoiled nature of current Homo sapiens requires to be coddled. Physically and emotionally, harsh conditions seem to increase with shorter hours of light in the day.

Relating to content online, one finds themselves connected through shared burdens of others. In the end, the skin remains sensitive.

I am in the process of adapting, in the clouds and against the constantly blowing winds. Physical resilience is built over time but dammit, why does it need to rain so much?

I mistake the numb skin, frozen and lifeless, for increased strength. I think I have conquered this season. But as warmth touches the skin, I become aware that frozen skin still remains sensitive when heated up.

Like a buttered toast, I fell down with my head first in this newfound land.

Urgent air cargo so to speak, I was only passing by, as intensely as I could. New doors were opened, my horizon broadened with every step.

Now, I can add a true feeling to the spices that I used for a long time in this takeout stall called Papa Shanghai. All the fermented foods, the new letters, things that seemed exotic have been given a home. This is where I went. So in a sense, I was visiting a place that I had little pieces of, already before.

Time is running when you’re trying to meander.

So keeping on dropping me,

in places, dreams, life and ultimately, I’ll drop

by myself.

The pressurised doors open and I am back in my terrarium.

Bodily autonomy is just a farce when the elements really want you out of somewhere. Therefore, I am adapting, embracing the moist state that I will be in.

I am wrapped in warm air, a feeling that I have been longing for ever since I last felt it. Even when it is not there, I create it artificially. The blowdryer of the subcontinent is coddling me into thinking of more innocent days.

It is easy to complain, mostly because some are not used to it. They tend to run, away into conditioned rooms, conditioned trains, conditioned cars and ultimately, conditioned state of mind. Artificial in nature, but nature knows better. It will strike you as long as you don’t pay respects.

So I here I sit again, swathed by humidity and hot air, in the stream of my very own gigantic blowdryer, watching the denialists produce sweat on their bodies working overtime.

Behold, a man!

Diogenes might have been right after all.

Wishing to fly without any feathers, I look at the seemingly superior creatures that roam the sky. Now here I stand, plucked and ridiculous on two feet. I wonder what the desire for leaving the ground really means, where it comes from.

Condemned by gravity, forced to walk upright. In an evolutionary sense, quite unstable. Birds, much like us, are bipeds as well. They even look ridiculous doing it. But at least they can leave the ground and defecate on us to mock our human-focused sense of superiority.

There I stand, plucked and always in the reach of a bird showing its superiority. Jealous of not being able to leave this plain, not for a few minutes. So I must be content, doomed by evolution.

In the end, Plato should have been more careful with his words. But the desire to have feathers never really vanished.

So the only thing I can do right now is to imagine, closing my eyes and listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s music. You know which one.

Everything I need fits into a small cube.

It shifts in all directions, discreetly as to not awaken those oblivious to my mission. The cube signifies my limits but offers vast opportunities. It gives me borders and an uncompromising view to material things I can take. Once filled, it provides me with autarkical freedom, if I wish to take it.

My cube never leaves my side, it is watched by me at all times. I leave it to rest only in confined and safe spaces. It takes on mileage, just like me, but it doesn’t age.

It glides on wheels, much smoother than me. But we become the same, silent and waiting, for whatever there is to come.

When the wheels leave the ground.