All-organic weirdness

Category: Weekly state (Page 5 of 23)

Weekly state: scrumptious.

I am a ripe plum and I am waiting for the sun.

For days I have ripened and swollen. The rain has cooled me down and I am happy for the aroma. I will be a delight for the Connaisseur, a true pleasure.

Life is mundane for most part. Sleep can be weary and the necessary burden of following a careers is also taking its toll. So earlier rather than later everyone needs some pleasure. Something out of the ordinary, something to tickle the nerves.

Whatever you are thinking of right now, it is me. I am the incarnation of your desire, the delicious, scrumptious delight. Whether your mind is taking you towards something sugary, maybe a pastry? Salty bits like crisps? A cold lemonade in the sun, with pearls streaming down? A beer, so crisp, cold and refreshing that your whole day is blown away be the sensations?

This is me. Plum, ripe, ready to serve you.

I have been waiting.

Weekly state: seasonal.

In and out, sun and rain. I just love contradictions.

What if there was no rain following the sun and vice versa? What if there was no hangover following a night of heavy alcoholic beverage consumption? What if there was no wind in your back at times, instead constantly blowing in your face?

The world would be unjust and chaotic. We live because of change and sometimes, it blows. I myself thrive in the sun as I float above you. Watching, listening, sharing your moments and learning. I can’t concentrate in the rain but sometimes, it makes me move to a dry place. So I change as well, I change locations. Not that you would notice but it makes me change the style of these weekly states as well.

This time I explain myself, you see? This time you know how I move, how I learn and observe. I see your days. I see you.

And even though you think this moment blows, the only thing that really blows constantly is the winds of change.

Weekly state: bouncy.

Squishy are the soles and bouncy the soul.

I am skipping, prancing and running. Jogging and walking. All forms of movement are used to serve the final goal. To make the distance.

Environments slow us down, comfort is the new norm. So much comfort indeed, that we need to actively seek discomfort. What used to be plaguing our ancestors is now a highly traded good, taught by well-paid professionals.

But I run against it. The purest form of moving, which actually helps to not only faster and longer but also away from responsibilities. The mind is empty except for the rhythmic thumping of the bouncy soles.

Bounce bounce, jogger, bounce bounce.

Weekly state: fist raised.

I’ll stand in line with all the mistreated, disgruntled and cheated things on this round object floating in the galaxy.

I’ll raise my fist for all raisins, for the people not being picked for a sports team, for the ones that can’t talk and the ones that won’t.

I’ll shield all the unpopular opinions and fight the stigma. I will neither attack nor fight, only when my line of defence is crossed.

My resolute response is not driven by anger but by determination.

The things may come, I’ll will be here. I will hold my shield. I have support and I will not yield.

I will fight injustice, no matter from where. I’ll fight!

Even myself.

Now give me that damn stinky cheese.

Weekly state: greasy.

So bad but so good.

Olive oil, butter and the many greasy things that follow are the foundation upon which the most delicious things slide down.

I have the urge to be the same. By itself, too much. In combination, necessary. I want to be greasy, slippery. Hard to catch, harder to digest. Oh what glorious tastes still await for the keen reader!

When challenging yourself to a new taste, dish or even whole cuisine, it can be quite a lot. The names are terrifying and the process of making them even more so. The culture is different and my palate a virgin. Will I let it be touched by a new sensation? Will I stay in the golden cage of what is known or will I step out into the street and eat from a plastic stool?

We have the comfort, we need the reassurance. But I crave more, I produce more. I want to be the butter and the olive oil. I want to be the greasy in between your grinding gears. I want to be greasy.

Promise it will be tasty.

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