There are riots in Hong Kong, there are riots in Paris and in Barcelona. There are riots in Bagdad and the cities around in Iraq as well as in cities in Iran as Tehran and around in the country, tell me where there are not riots!
Yes, not in Scandinavia. I’m on a chilly northern corner, watching the world and life at a distance and mostly on a screen, I’m safe but touched and affected. And in my private tiny world you were the scariest riot of all. One-man riot. For love, you said.
But we see things differently and we couldn’t communicate, but neither can we forget the other.
There are alternative world images on this our tormented earth, I’ve heard, people that honestly believe in chimeras, rumors and whatever hocus-pocus and conspiracies. Some people, if so few but still, also have told me as like a kind of an insight they exclusive have access to, that this world as we know it actually doesn’t exist and ”time” in that way we believe in it and count on is “off duty” so to speak or just an imagination or a convention.
But my distant darling, (yes I’m still talking to you in my mind, like you told me before you talked in your mind with me, I guess it’s good for you if you’ve ended that and forgot me and I wish you that relief, yet I want you to still be with me from afar), if so would be that this world is not real – it will make the outer and surrounding world even more confusing and not easier for the individual to handle and understand.
And yet I sometimes read in media speculations that these ”alternative” descriptions of reality and beliefs stem from people’s need to simplify the complexities of the reality and make it graspable. But isn’t that strange, huh? Maybe some people are just easily fooled lunatics yet within the normality borders, with brains never developed to use in a critical thinking, ignorant people only following the slightest affect and sensation in their bodies; candy not carrots? What about that ”explanation”?
(Yes, you hold yourself too good to use such descriptions of others, but that kind of people don’t hesitate to describe you that way.) (Just take the prominent member of the Swedish Academy, Horace Engdahl (and his silent suitors in the Academy) as an example. Few top his elitist arrogance and misogyny.) 😦
(See there, the face of ”the Swedish man” of today, rolls the stroller and betrays the mother.)
I tell you babe, I find it hard to cope with the world as it is, viewed out my window panes and on the TV screen and to place it all on my mind map in an understandable way. Everyday struggles takes it all: the private life’s little but occupying doings. But maybe we are just lazy by nature?
All those bad people and events which once hurt me all through my past, it comes back in my every nightly dreams. It bothers me a lot, but I think of it as waste water and although I hate how this creates anxiety and steal my energy, I don’t take any action against it. Just let it float out in the big sea of nothingness to let it heal itself (or not) with time. Again: my concerns are more towards the limitations in this now and my confusions in front the world, as filling the duty to keep me informed and thus share all evilnesses on the horizon. Some days it’s more than I can cope with.
Yes, darling, it all floats together, like the old time farmers’ kitchen bucket for the household waste, a mess of food collected to feed the big pig fattened to the yearly November slaughter.
One evening as I see on the TV screen South Africans, poor black kill other poor black people in terrifying mobs I think of you baby, you hate me you love.
Youngsters around the world opposing oppressions and want to be someone that matters gets killed or imprisoned half a life time. (It did hurt me you never wanted to know about my past. You did not even care when I told you I had cut my hair and changed my hair style. You should have asked me to show you, but you did not, why?)
The invisibility that is mine? How do you get visible to yourself and to others?
If everything I see and experience and everything I once went through, if everything is just an illusion and an evil dream (or a point of view that can be changed or declared as not valid!!), no one would be happier than I. But I reject relativisation. It’s the ruling power continued abuse over the powerless without means and lack of justice.
I believe in the warmth in my hands and although it’s unbearable to take in, I believe in this world with its unsafe streets and crushed lives, tragedies in privacy off the headlines we rarely hear about. If those killed in all riots could speak, yes if they only could tell you, they would tell you that ”time” in world is the only what is. And all the surviving parents and relatives in bitter tears, they can tell ”life” and all physically can be objects of many fanciful theories, but dying is a simply one unconditional fact, you cannot run away from it. This world you can feel and touch with your hands, it is real and nothing else is. Love and malice. Mortality. That’s all.
I admit my firm limitations in life style can be doubted. And my nowadays home peace may be just like David hidden in a cave from Saul behind a spider web(?). But honey (so angry!), that’s all I have and all your dramas were the least I needed. Love games is no-games for a once burnt child, so no thanks! I just can’t understand why you repeatedly blame me that I would blame you? And what do you think a woman is? A trained dog in a leash?
But in Saudi Arabia as well as in China, there is all in total peace. Right? Is that the kind of peace you want from me, honey? The tyranny of silence? And then the advice you gave me how I should speak to you? Well, excuse me for bucking!
In my tiny world, honey, you were the angriest man of them all in the world. Because for me, it was all about you. But you blew it sweetie, and now I’ve you kicked you out of my home, although you are as cute loving and full of cuddling desirous as Winnie the Pooh and a handsome charmer and a great kisser as an Arabian prince. (In my mind anyway!)
Well, I was able to make you spellbound for a while, like the fairy tale of the Persian princess once upon a time. But when the illusion cracked and you roared ”Off with her head” like a crazy red Queen, I took the safe way out of these life conditions with suffocating double bed pads and I shouted “hit the road, Jack”. And this is my tale baby, but you’ve your own, haven’t you?