On Days Like This

While you wait for the onions to caramelise on the stove, you do the dishes, while the water boils, you put the sugar and coffee in the cup. While you wait for the bus, you light a cigarette. Everything seems to be the response to the the other, an act of waiting. All of it a show to put on to fill the minutes. You will be patient. You will wait. You do things. You make things. You take things. You enter the dreams and forget about the wait. You exit, time keeps on passing in the real world.

Life just seems to be an ironic dichotomy of how we have everything and nothing. There’s something in the waiting, something at 3 am, something in the library, something in the river. everything and nothing. It will always be early enough to do it, it will be always too late.

This wind that blows through, it tells you nothing at all. and those pixels on the screen over 5 am coffee, they tell you nothing at all. You play through the checkerboard days of moves and countermoves, and you clock in and you clock out with as much interest in defeat as in victory, days sometimes, slow like mules. You read those inscriptions on the graves and park benches, they tell you nothing at all. Mules carrying the load up a hill where a madman sits waiting among the golden daffodils, and the bluejays. up up up we go!

It never had been an intention of becoming a grown up in a realtion to others. When the whimsical far-off yet plausible dream of adult-ary during adolescence only invloved me, a standalone figure in the vast world, the waves of possibilities, a cave during a thunderstorm, a jungle to forage form. Adolescence exists at the price of Uninnocence. Yet here I am, a mimicry of an adult, a little too nice, a little too gullible, a little bit of a idiot, a little bit yet untainted in ways that change with each changing day. As you finally get the autonomy you craved for as a kid, it really gets threatening to your concept of self-reliance. I know nobody else knows what’s good for me as much as they cannot live my experiences.

I was on a video call with my cousin’s kids the other day. It was funny seeing how he still doesn’t fully know the meaning of yesterday, or the day before yesterday, or even tomorrow. For him, everything seems NOW and THIS. He runs up and down, without locks and paychecks and ideals and possessions and his beetle like opinions, sometimes saying such things, funny things, brilliant things, like savages trying to send you a message through their bodies while their bodies are still alive enough to transmit. but then agian idtso the answers are somewhere in the future. we had already known all the answers, we have just forgotten them.

Forgotten in the days of the bosses, the yellow men with bad breath and big feet, and in the 3 cans of red bull at 3 am in the library, and in a world where it is intelligent to hire and fire and profit, in a world full of frogs, hyenas, lizards, snails, eels, foxes, not as good... , in a race of things, things to possess like 100 acres of land to be drilled and shown off, in a world of kill or be killed, killed by the crazy and justified, justified because it’s the law, all of it a race to stand in front of a 30 feet wide window, a 30 feet wide window from which you see nothing, forgotten at a job you didn't want anyway. Forgotten.

Forgotten? days like this, like your day today. Maybe that rain on the window was trying to tell you something? trying to get through to you? What do you see today? What is it? With whom are you? where are you?

Everything and nothing,
Depends on how you see it,
Kay.