Click, click.

I have become the conquerer of time. I hold in my hands the evidence of things past. For eternity, if allowed, I am capturing what I see, factually.

Living bound by the inevitability of time, I feel free in catching a glimpse of what has been, just in that split second of my seemingly endless existence.

I see colour, I witness life, I document love, I capture nuance. My camera makes click click and unknowingly, I burn images. Continuing to document life on the small earth, just a tiny spark of light helps me in clarifying matters.

Holding the tools of documentation in my hands I wonder whether impressions are there to be truly captivated. Have I become the fool or I am truly in charge of making things a memory? Will I ever look at the same image a second time with the same eyes? What if I change, have I captured anything more than just a spark of myself, looking at the image? Is my tool adequate to capture the idea I head, the things I felt?

Most likely not, but what else is there, but to capture (or the minimalistic effort to try to capture)?

Crossing the border has never been so easy, I am thinking to myself. Sucked in by hypotonic environments. Maybe I was just in a hypertonic space, who knows these days?

Did I cross or did I just think like I was transiting? Did I arrive or am I just in front of the next border?

The only thing I know is that the border has been semipermeable, forcing me to accept the new environment, wherever that may lead. Marching on, crawling on, running on, just moving. Stagnation is the enemy of ambition.

And as always, yours truly, Papa Shanghai is asking, whether PS is semipermeable, too? Being a floating entity, obviously defying the logic of physics, is the very existence of my thinking subject to these laws? And if not, why am I forced by hyper- or hypotension through a semipermeable membrane?

Where I come from, people wear socks in sandals.

Where I come from, people choose to nod instead of saying hi.

Where I come from, you are welcome.

Back in the streets, we walk with beverages in our hands, just because we can. Freedom is taken wherever it seems to be within the rules of the law. Underestimated, yet appreciated by the connoisseur of culture. Bringing stability, but only to those who would like to have it. Disregarding the ones draining energy. Loving, caring and sacrificing for the ones who entered the realm of the inner circle. Spoken about but rarely spoken to.

Where I am from, small buns trump toast.

I am here, standing in my sandals. I have embraced the comfort of socks, the support of sandals. They start like a rock and become something you don’t want to live without, fitted to your life.

I am a sandal. Will you wear me?

Please wear a sock.

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.