The happy place

Once as I was walking, crossing the tall bridge on my way home from work in the warm summer evening, on the bike lane, I was passed by someone who had a sourdough loaf strapped to the back of his backpack.

As he speeded past me on his bicycle, I saw the loaf of bread and his butt crack

And I thought, that that is what freedom looks like

My beard is red, or orange frankly speaking. However, underneath the left nostril, it’s grayed, even white, resembling a trail of snot, sinking vertically down to my upper lip.

Today, just for fun, i licked at it, as a preschooler would.

of course it tasted of beard, not snot, but i think it is maybe also an early taste of the second childhood

The train this morning was one hour delayed. I stood in the chill autumn air, by the train station, watching the sun rise over the tracks, fingers frozen.

I thought then, that the sky looked as if someone just poured a bunch of dirty watercolours and pink over the paper, like even God couldn’t be bothered to render the sky properly on this fine day.

And I am now back on my way home, black windows and I am lulled in the train car like some sort of baby. Looking at these other people who could’ve been my friends maybe? In another life or this life,

Dozing a little bit, uncertain how long I have been sitting here, contemplating.

Was this a day well spent? Who knows!

Do you consider these forks in the roads, so much in life is just luck, be it good or bad. I would’ve been a train driver, maybe, had I not met my wife when I did.

Or I could’ve worked with forklifts at the postal terminal if I didn’t become a UNIX man instead.

And I have no clue what I would’ve felt then

And I wouldn’t have been the same person even

Maybe

It is all very transient, I think.

Mhmm

Finally the mental constipation has lifted in a flood of beautiful words

It is the expectations, writing such a high quality prose is setting unreasonable standards; time and time again I have to remind myself why I am writing my thoughts down

It’s got nothing to do with showing someone something beautiful, it’s about showing sincere thoughts, showing the real you

It takes courage, of course. People might think that I am an idiot, or superficial, or whatever

And yes they might be right , but so what

I am living from this book I got for Christmas present, the courage to be disliked, I read that someone who’s lived a full life without making any enemies hasn’t lived their own life

and wouldn’t that be a shame, what if we live only once?

Hello there are stars in the sky, the sunset was pink.

The fly I brushed off my cheek. It couldn’t be bothered to fly away so it fell down dead and shrivelled on the desktop; presumably, it had a passive death wish.

And it’s almost always dark. Before the snow falls to reflect it, the wet brown grass seem to be sucking all the daylight in.

But it’s frost, like the powdered sugar on a princess cake. It’s thawing in the sunlight, but where the shadows are, it’s still white.

Isn’t that something? A powerful omen in these trying times, with flies falling down dead or stuck dead on the ceiling, that the shadows are brighter than their surroundings!

Essentially, the flies will become dirt in a final state of metamorphosis, as we all do, I guess.

As we all do.

Isn’t this life awesome (in the terrible sense of the word)? And still I feel tired exhausted, it’s no problem at all, relating to these dried up shrivelled flies

ok let’s unload

First time I watched Gilmore Girls, I identified with Rory. Being young, doing things for the first time, Over the subsequent rewatches, over the years, I’ve identified instead with Lorelei, gradually of course!

And now, twenty six years later, I’m starting to feel more and more like Emily.

And one day, I will die.

There is a powerful image in the shape of: maimed dove feet in Paris, due to the hostility infrastructure towards birds, so that people below won’t get shat on! It’s the same faceless evil as these benches made unable to sleep on, to ward poor people off.

And the thing with doves, is that they carry the message of, and are the symbols of peace!

I know that is no coincidence, having experienced this first-hand

In Gamla Stan, I was having an argument with my wife. I’m sure I was being an ass.

Before the situation could escalate, I was shat on the head by a dove however, and the argument was brought to an abrupt stop.

This would never have happened in Paris.

Yesterday, at lunch I met with an old friend,

He was getting old, feeling that he was losing his beauty, feeling spent, seeing no escape, just the endless grind, and for every day, the feeling that everything he so painstakingly built now is slowly slipping through his fingers, even though he’s holding onto it for dear life

And still, retirement is so very far away

And he asked me, do I notice too now people in general seem to be struggling these days

And I said, that truly I do, truly

But, I said, maybe it’s always been like this, only now we see ourselves reflected in these other people

They just didn’t use to be us, is all.

I’m on the train, this is the start of my adventure, a journey into creativity and culture!

It’s making an extra stop now, a little bit longer than usual, outside of one of the most beautiful places in the world, but through the windows of the car, I see only a dark blue grey,

Because the lands are shrouded in the thickest fog,

So if someone, an elk?, ventures onto these train tracks, nobody will be able to stop the train from hitting it, and for the elk, the train — even with its headlights — will appear to be coming out of nowhere!

In this magical mist, the mind might wander; I could picture that I’m anywhere in the world, or other worlds or times,

But, I’m already where I want to be, the most beautiful place I know,

I hate this place, but I love it even more!

When I played golf or badminton, our table tennis, all of games I don’t enjoy, I really have this strong mental focus, visualising the perfect strike or whatever, you know?

Really seeing before me, But it doesn’t help.

Like when I was at a farm, as a child, looking at the goat grandmother sold to them, holding the fence, which I found out was electric, getting a shock.

Probing carefully, I discovered to my great disappointment, that I hadn’t gotten any superpowers. Nothing like that.

And finally, when stepping on the hornets’ nest, as a child, instead of being controlled by my formidable mind, they stung me.

I haven’t managed to break this wall between imagination and reality

Yet.