In the light of last night, it is all about change.
I clearly mark the beginning of my flows with a B in my diary. But never the ends. There would not have to be an end, if it was for my liking. Not that one would wish to be fertile forever, no.
There is something in blood that unites us all, yet separates the egg from the sperm or family from outsiders.
In blood, we create new life, we even write documents and declare our loyalty, and, without it, we lose everything. A simple concept, dark & light.
Maybe that’s the reason why so many feel a sense of disgust, it doesn’t bear to think of the heavy responsibility of their own existence and other’s (let us not go into further detail why such a denial would be historically tragic).
A little bit like understanding the concept of time which we (to be fair here, it is our brain) model in a way so it becomes easier to fathom. Not only the concept as such but also the relationship between space and time has been created, carefully analysed and abandoned as too risky.
But why would man create a too complex model in the first place, just to make it simpler due to physical boundaries?
The ends – they’d be a star * if I ever had thought of it before.
A fragmented sign of positivism that I do not possess.
8:30 am – two coffees and a cold tea later, nothing but the dark Monday morning rain
A dream reveals dense vegetation above my head. It’s the unruly leaves and veins of a birch.
I wonder if birches are causing my breathing troubles. They were on the list but then…
Yet I had expected something different.
Hardier somehow. Maybe an oak or acorn.
Every tree represents a different stage in our lives, as we come across them in parks or on walks. They symbolise organisations, people and nations. As energy flows through their inners, they have no modern burdens to bear by nature.
The peacock shrieks.
It doesn’t even make me jump anymore. Not the state I am in – sleepy.
A creature wonderfully sensitive to its environment, maybe it dreams of the tree that toppled over this morning after the long rain, blocking the only way out of here. Or it just wants a mate, like everything so desperately lonely.
I stroke my bloated tummy. The skin feels matt (not metallic like the little red one outside the front door).
Paper.
Yes, paper skin.