Out of the blue, most people would say, this appeared on my path today:
A crystal clear photograph of a white workbench like table, with various
attributes. I don’t have sufficiently holographic memory yet, and my
short term memory has been shot, resulting in me now babbling about
something I barely remember. I do remember it was taped onto another
piece of paper, less resilient when it came to surviving the frequent
Dutch rains. It looked like it had been there a few weeks, but I walk by
there every day, and remembered it clearly as not having been there
yesterday and the day before at least!
I could of course also open the image on my Touch HD to refresh the old
vision system, but let’s just delay this till I get home. Touchy is as
his name implies, barely capable of multitasking, and his ability to
display himself properly is typical of most males.
What I do remember is the potted plant, even though my focus would
typically not be on it for lack of green thumbs: it looks like a wild
weed waging war with the bad tasting plastic container it is in. Can you
blame it? Wild flowers and White plastic containers just don’t match!
Especially not since plastic is actually mostly carbon, which has the
black frequency of the coal and oil that are its brothers and sister.
Next on the list are the sideboards that keep stuff from falling off.
Yeah, God doesn’t like Gravity! But because he needs it for its
magnificent superglue capabilities, he just had to make me figure out an
alternative. I noticed the ambiguity as I left the train at Arnhem to board the one bound for Zwolle, but She had me Caught by the Clock:
I stepped out, glancing in the direction of where my next ride would
materialize. She was already there, so I hit the ground running, and
after landing aimed for its yellow and blue behind again. Well yeah,
Carlos told me all night long, but now it looked like he was finally
right. I guess I owed him two cases of Heineken, and a few other
I rounded the corner to see her off, realizing she couldn’t have been
long gone, at least not on that schedule and my ironclad observation of
her very fortunate presence. I was wrong, as the void along the platform
had already been filled in by eager rails, that just stay there all
along even when there is no train to support. They were in turn
supported by the crossbeams who got their solid base from the ground and
the shield of pebbles that protected it. Plants and birds were next,
but the birds never had time to settle, as the approaching metalworm
chased them back out again. It was a colourful one, and I was especially
attracted by her flanks, which displayed her mating call: "Sweet Reading you
do on a Train"! Like a sperm beating all his mates to the booty, I let
most of them in first, knowing that her special place was mine. Walked
past a few places where my brothers and sisters were trying to get in
their own way, or should I have said "get in in their own way"?
The ambiguity I just spoke of is the double helical entwinement of gravity and Gravity: One a force of Nature keeping the Cosmos together, the other a lack of Force in men and women: Those who consider their feelings as immovable objects can never escape the crushing of gravity for they lack the primal drive to determine their own mood. You can try all kinds of mood enhancers, or even sexual stimulants, but there is no faster and better cure than the old-fashioned placebo. You’re probably thinking I’m trying to slip you a Mickey, or get you high on Roofies, but I’m not pushing. I tell it to you, once, but neither care nor mind what you do with it….
I sat down in the special spot, a fairly common first class seat. The
fact I made it became immediately clear: being a writer I could foresee
her needs, and create something to read. As Moorelife grows more and
moore people will read there, and thus also read on the train given the recent proliferance of WiFi HotSpots.
Be it said though, that I have no power whatsoever on my own. That does
not mean I’m being owned, but much rather played with by my Master or
Mistress, who is a very well brought up child: he does not break his
toys, she does not forget about any of them. Together they play nice,
and feed their playthings intriguing little messages and sometimes
overwhelming possibilities to make them extra excited about the plays of Infinity. It tickles sometimes, especially if they are aiming for my G-spot!
Timelapse transported me home, so I´m now at the desk having just eaten my improvised meal in sudden death. I´ll revive the ceramic and metal remains later probably, if this writing frenzy decides to call it a night…..
Hit the showers running…. (kids are coming)