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.

You got a minute?

This is not a threat. Although what follows after this question usually does not entail the best of news. While I chew on some thoughts I am once again pondering my favorite concept – time.

The Bretton-Woods system that truly is the gold standard, the currency that is the only constant. Hardly ever inflated. Don’t trust the capitalists and the propaganda of accumulating paper with numbers on it.

True currency is time. While I have the luxury of not participating in this system as a metaphysical observer, I nonetheless cannot escape the concept. I am not moving within time, I am still ruled by it. And these weeks, I am also paying.

All the good things in life only get better with time. Cheese gets older, deeper in flavour. People become mature, experienced and ideally wiser (if you are lucky). I guess this is the gift of reflection.

What would happen if we could skip the line, just like we do in the capitalist world? What if we could pay instantly to become moldy? To become mature? To be as ripe as a good cheddar, spitting knowledge left and right? A sad world, no ups and downs, tragedy and happiness, obliterated. Boring, cheap.

Romance and passion, blown to dust. No anticipation, no waiting for the resolution of a frustrating situation. Becoming friends with your suffering can be relieving, fulfilment of your wishes in the darkest hour, godly.

These weeks, I am paying. Not to skip the line, but to get that sweet experience, the resolution, perhaps even wisdom. I pay with time, I can feel it. What I am investing in, I don’t even know yet. But surely enough, I’ve been spending time, pondering, wondering how and why. It’s been a while.

So, got a minute for me?

Is it the winds of change gently blowing in my face or someone farting in my general direction?

Naive I look up in the sky and expect answers and signs. Some people see things up there, I envy them. I have taken to believe in things I see. Idiotic?

I take things seriously that have no inherent importance and vice versa. That is to say, this weekly state is – and here I apologise to you my dear reader – of no importance. But seriously written by me.

Oh how it warms my heart to be seriously childish, sternly playful, concentrated on the silliness of life.

So often I try. To follow the instructions of the manual to living. Only to find out that a couple of screws are missing. And so life continues, wonky as a coffee table in the centre of some metropolis. Yet, people accept the wonky table, similar to me accepting that apparently everyone got a different manual.

By this point, you will have noticed that this weekly state follows no order, no bigger theme. It has no importance to world history, is that not a relief?

If you haven’t been silly this week, go on, start laughing. Giggle or snort, whatever tickles you internally. From feeling stupid because you force yourself to a genuine laughter. That is silliness and I am here for it. At least on this late Sunday.