The Undercurrent

The Joke (Brandi Carlile): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5r6A2NexF88

At first I thought I was in love.

It was almost too perfect.

I thought it was the boy.

Clear, soft brown eyes.

Lashes like butterfly.

Almost a lost look in his half closed eyes. But only a calm vibration persisted in a dream that he created for an audience in shadow

Then there was the voice.

I listened as it filled up every inch of what was void.

Until it was so full I thought something would burst.

The energy was there, unwavering, in the air, long after the wavelengths calmed into lines.

But as I looked deeper into what really resonated, it was the song.

The storm swept everyone off their feet, but it is the undercurrent that carried us so far.

 

Cruising

Fade into you (Mazzy star) 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Z4zCIn7zyY

He was seen cruising along an ocean-blue hedge, leaving behind a sparkling trail of milky way.

The blue mountain was high and rugged, but strangely enough, quite fibrous too. The ground clung to his creeping foot. Muscles contracting and releasing, creating a hypnotising rhythm of 0.5 Hz as he pushes himself forward...

A cat watches with a dash of curiosity, which could have grown into something predatorily dangerous. But he was...too...slow, and the cat lost interest soon enough.  

No vegetation, no form of life meets the eye on this vast, blue landscape.

"Hey, you shouldn't leave the washing out overnight.  There's a snail on your blue cardigan." 

Confusing people

Always Remember Us This Way https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5vheNbQlsyU

Stacey: If I had a pool, how deep would it be?
Paul: Pretty shallow, I'd think.
Stacey: What do you mean by that?
Paul: Nothing.
Stacey: ...are you saying that I'm shallow?
Paul: That's not what I said.
Stacey: But that's what you were implying.
Paul: No, I was making a joke...
Stacey: ...implying that I was shallow!
Paul: Usually these conversations end in where I try and prove my point, discreetly, to others that this is the case without you noticing, so that you'd make a fool of yourself.
Stacey: o-kay...and?
Paul: But because I am your friend, more than just a friend I'd like to think, I'm going to save you from this kind of embarrassment.
Stacey: Thank you very much.
Paul: Does this gain me any brownie points? Are you going to invite me upstairs for a drink after I take you to a fancy restaurant tonight?
Stacey: Nope, and nope.
Paul: And if I built the swimming pool of your dreams like you've always wanted, in your back garden?
Stacey: A shallow one?
Paul: A shallow one is all you deserve.
Stacey: You see? At least that's straight up honesty. Brownie points for you.
Paul: ________

When a Cat Steals

Immortality (Celine Dion) : https://youtu.be/WdYaGt_sm3Q

Point one lit up, point two, then point three.
As each satellite glowed in their separate spheres, an initiation of transmission shot out in varied wavelengths.
If I could communicate in lines and curves, what would my language look like?
I'd say it would look quite complicated, with scribbles here and there, lines built on top of each other, loops connecting dots, intertwined with prints of shapes round and square.

I would throw a carpet of signs into the universe and wait patiently, for a response.
Maybe someone from afar would see my symbols hanging, silent in space, still and unwavering.
That someone was a street cat named Silver. She climbed onto the swaying branches of high-reaching trees to reach my symbols. First she tapped cautiously, then slightly more aggressively until one by one, they all toppled out of the sky and landed in a heap on the ground.
Satisfied, with a her bushy tail flicking left to right, Silver jumped down with a soft thud. Squinting her greyish blue eyes in the moonlight, she wasn't sure anymore that her capture would do her any good, it certainly wasn't dinner. She toyed with a few limp symbols, then kicking and scratching them with all fours until the symbols became worn and torn.

My language was stolen then broken by a cat.
I don't think she understood me.

Bundled Reflections

Time (NF) www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1ZVSFfCk9g

Flipping through virtual pages of time, 

2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019

Each entry noting events that happened or maybe just inside my head.  
"Such an emotional being when I write..." I thought to myself as I am immersed in lines texts of the past.  
Has much changed? Yes, and no. 
Have I changed? I don't think so.  
Could you be a bit more certain? Maybe. 

(Someone is peeking over my shoulder, curious.)

 Because this is the me from now writing to my future self, I stay 100 percent real, 100 percent present, or I would feel too guilty that I couldn't even be true to me. I still dream and let my mind wander off a thousand miles from Earth.  But even those dreams stay on my scale, and not some lunatic murmur invented for the pleasure of others.

Time is slipping through my fingers, but I don't hang on to it either.  I let it flow past me, leaving my next day clean and fresh. Maybe wishes for improvement, but never any regrets.

I'm now brushing away the cobwebs and giving the screen a good shine. 
What makes a good writing I don't know.  Lot's of reading and lots of practise people say, I guess this is a start.
My concerns in life usually evolve around the ingredients I need for whipping up the next meal.  And then I fantasize about the first bite for the whole day, it's insane. And once the fantasy get's fulfilled at 8pm, I start all over again. 

As usual, I bundle together racing thoughts on to one page and try to make sense of things.
It usually doesn't.  It's okay.  I'm still impressed by you, brain.

Hot a pot pot

Hot a pot pot

Chop the lot lot

Boil till it's hot hot

Grab a spot spot

Eat till you drop drop

Hot a pot pot!

Swimming in the Rain

I swam past a hedgehog, she was splashing.
"Are you drowning?"
After a laugh that sounded half like a gurgle, half like a desperate yelp, she turned to me:
"You can't drown in the rain!"
"You can't swim in the rain either," I retorted.  "But I think we're doing both."

"Alright, gimme a hand will ya?" Her pricks wore pearl-like raindrops, swaying dangerously with her each movement, daring to fall.

She gave me a paw and I held on to it. It was bony, cold and wet.
"Stop staring, I'm much better looking when I'm dry," she snapped.
"Better tempered too I hope."
"You don't know hedgehogs,"
"I sure don't. They never taught us about them at school,"
I nearly added that my closest encounters were seeing them pancaked on motorways.

I slowly guided her to a branch of wind, and bid farewell.
She didn't make say another word but thanked me silently with a wet tap of her pointed nose.