What do the birds think when I stare at them from my point of view, bound to earth by my featherless, fleshy arms? “Behold – A Man!”, I imagine the birds having a Diogenesian running joke about us. Then I remember that birds probably have no understanding of ancient greek philosophy. In the end, I let them fly.

Strolling down the alley, faced with the dilemma of once again choosing which way to go at the crossroads, I cannot help myself but keep trotting down. I could slow down, I could command my feet to even stop moving. In the end, I let them walk.

The cold wind blows into my face. I cringe and put my shoulders up to protect my neck. My eyes start to water a bit, the nose starts to run. I could get out a tissue and wipe it away. In the end, I let it run.

I am sitting on this bench and watch the people passing by, I watch the dogs pee onto the lanterns. Conversations enter my ear, trigger a reaction in my brain, only to disappear again with the humans who expressed the words. My leg falls asleep, I switch position. I am gazing. I could focus on something specific, but I let my eyes rest. I could focus but I let the world be blurry.