Lobster-like skin. Living leather.

A massive ball of fire is continuously exploding in the sky. What sounds like doom for all life on the surface of the planet, is actually a pleasant surprise. Spring has arrived and with it, the fireball tickles the sensitive skin.

I have seen certain people praying to the sun. Lying in their gardens, on beaches and everywhere the light touches, grilling themselves and bathing in radiation. The skin is scared, it has not been uncovered since winter. It screams, but unfortunately humans do not understand the language of skin.

So the skin becomes agitated, frustrated and angry. It flares up, rages. How could this host treat its outer shell like this? It hinders the organs from falling out, it gives pleasure. And in return? It is being burned by a massive ball of fire, willingly.

The skin gets roasted and with it, angry. For hours on end it screams, until it becomes a different shade. The battle is lost, the host disagrees.

“The tan is coming in, nicely.”

– Red.

My dear, my friend, hiding in the dark to shine brightest in my hand.

Even a metaphysical entity needs pleasure. Of course, I am enjoying observing and expressing my thoughts that manifest in dishes served to you weekly. I have to admit, I am late, as spring has just started.

I have been infected by humanly desires, urges and even fears. The solution of which is often times found in various forms of escaping. It might be daydreaming, accelerating consumerism, praying for something else to a floating entity which may or may not exist. But for me, the vice I picked up, is stored in my cold and dark refrigerated space.

While I make my way over there, I need to reflect on the various ways of escaping the ever-beating drum of life. As I am excluded from this conversation, floating through time and space, I have my own ways of dealing with the immense pressure of the void. But this one I copied.

Its name is beer, and I produced my own. Because I have the time.

Weight shifts back and forth and somehow the ship does not sink.

“That’s because I have big-ass tanks underneath. You just can’t see them. Whenever there is a shift in weight distribution, I just fill these up. With anything, really. Water, coffee, beer, wine. Love and affection, or much more. Just don’t let hate flow into those, it’s a false balance.

I am the tanker of tranquility.

These days I am sailing through rough waters. My propeller keeps going round and round, and with it, I refill, empty, unload and reload my tanks. All the sustenance that is needed I already carry. Sometimes I get a little help from a barkeeper or people close to me. They can refill your tank as well.

So be sure to have a port that you can call your base. It’s rough out there.”

April is sad, April is mad. April is undecided, April is divided.

Rain and snow, sunshine and my first sunburn. Many things can happen within one day in the month of May. My fingers are freezing off while my neck is burnt.

While I am glad to be standing behind the burner of my food stall, I see humans suffer the consequences of a divided April. Complaints and suffering are the answer.

The acceptance of being torn is driven out of your mind by another gust of wind.

I am divided, I support teaching a lesson, but at what cost? My fingers are freezing!

As I lie in my hammock of thoughts, I watch my toes wiggling back and forth. Tiny sausages, caressed by the wind.

I, as well, do feel like a tiny sausage in the wind sometimes. A meaty pillar, mighty in the belief that I can withstand the breeze. Weak in the actual capability to withstand it.

So I lie in the hammock, accepting the wind. Letting myself fall into its mercy. I am but a lonely sausage grilled in the sun, swinging and falling asleep.

The might of nature can be peaceful, if we accept its power.

I am a small sausage in the wind, with even smaller sausages dangling around.