It makes me sick to sit and look upon the shit this planet cooks, the mean, destructive habit, and corruptness human beings bring.
It makes me sick to hear kids crying, caused by senseless, ceaseless hunger, amidst a civilized new century,
It makes me sick to hear the sorrows, solo thousands, loudly shout outside, but without help.
It makes me sick to see the people dying; uncontrolled hysteria of fellow humans banish souls within the ticking of a clock.
It makes me sick to see big-headed businessmen who care about less else than money they can use to waste their lives unnecessarily.
Crowds gather before the silver gate, surrounded on one side by a little jungle of bushes and a small brick wall on the other. Slowly, family progressions are lead by five, six or sometimes seven year olds to the scene; all dressed in superfine clothes, colourful or simple black-and-white. Bright faces compete with the sunshine enlightening the celebration from a cloudless sky, while eager relatives capture each moment with their flashing cameras or focus their camcorders relentlessly on the little ones.
I’m wearing beige trousers and a multicoloured shirt. Today, I got a lion-king backpack and a huge cornet of cardboard like everybody. It is bigger than I am. I am curious what I will find in there. The top shows yummy Haribos and a video. I also see a rubber and felt-tip pens, but there must be lots more hidden under that.
The day starts late, bright sunlight passing through the few clouds that floated over good old England. For five days I have been working non-stop, no wonder I slept until 3pm in the afternoon. Fortunately, I don’t have other plans this Saturday.
I slip out from under my warm blanket, feeling a slight chill on my bare legs. Luckily, a soothing stream of heat illuminated my body through the window. Outside I watch Mrs. Clarson coming out of the house, getting into her husband’s red Cadillac, and driving it into the garage. Weird, I think.
Invaders of Mind
Can’t keep mine shut.
Snakes visit nightly - but,
though far behind,
intrude, unkind,
and perforate my head.
Can one escape this thread?
Make noxious heartstrings end?
Anguish, old,
it will not cease…
Comes knocking endlessly.
But, behold,
afield is peace:
Sown seeds there thrive for me!
Can’t keep mine shut.
Snakes visit nightly - but,
though far behind,
intrude, unkind,
and perforate my head.
Can one escape this thread?
Make noxious heartstrings end?
Anguish, old,
it will not cease…
Comes knocking endlessly.
But, behold,
afield is peace:
Sown seeds there thrive for me!
The sun bathes your skin in bright light. You hear the ducks quacking while you walk over the bridge that surpasses the slow stream of water. The green of the bushes and trees along the winding path have a calming impact on the mood that just starts to brighten up. Today’s work is finished, you know there is an afternoon of rest ahead of you and you eagerly look forward to it.
After a turn around the corner, following the way of the water for a few steps, enabling your eyes to catch more of the beauty that derives from Mother Nature’s child, you happen to slide your hand down to your pocket. There is no real reason to do so but, nevertheless, an ownerless force drives your hand magically. It takes four or even five seconds until you recognize, your head being occupied watching the natural movement of the ducks, then, it strikes you! There is something wrong. Your pocket is empty. You were looking for your keys, because your home is close, but they are gone.
The Lion King -- The Circle of Life (Disney), Age 8
At the age of eight so many things seemed a lot easier than today. Whenever you see one of these deeply in your mind engraved Disney films, your memory carries you back to the times when you believed that Peter Pan can really fly and Simba watches over you.
The pure fascination of the wide field with antelopes jumping across the dry grass, dancing to the voices of African singers and the lyrics of Elton John. The meaning of “the circle of life” is irrelevant, only the rhythmic pattern and the amazing pictures matter. Now years later, the meaning of the song is obvious, but visiting the musical and letting the play take you back in time, again it all becomes irrelevant, the past years seemingly wiped out. The joy is what counts; your emotions are caught in the moment of childish happiness.
The computer, with its copious gadgets, is holy, my shrine, because it incorporates my soul. I use it as a TV, a typewriter, a DVD player, a telephone, as my personal st office, alternative credit card, low price supermarket and sometimes also as a game station, just to name some of them. Thus, it is not unusual that first thing I do after getting home from the University English course is to unconsciously turn on my computer, even before throwing the backpack onto the blue sheets of my untidy bed.While the screen shows the standard Windows booting logo, I hang my jacket over the backrest and take a seat. The smell of apples and bananas that I keep on the shelf above the desk arouses my appetite, so I take one apple out of the rustling bag. The sweet juice spreads generously inside of my mouth while chewing, sending a bright smile onto my face.
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