I made an escape on a bobcat mini digger today. It’s a great piece of machinery. For digging. As an escape mobile it lacks acceleration and inconspicuousness. A weighty word for the hidden and concealed. I like big words. I like using them in stupidly pretentious sentences. Sometimes I get the meaning wrong making the effort at pretence a real laugh but I’d say there is admiration in embracing your silly and aiming for a giggle. Giggle rhymes so well with wiggle two personal favourite activities dancing and laughing done at the same time it’s like levitating to the glittery liquid tips of life affirming mountains. Although in reality I imagine it’s cold af at the top of mountains. Actually I know it tends more to the cold but this is beside the point. Imagine being embellished entirely in fur like a dog. Dogs are angels I don’t know if you’ve heard anyway now you’ve heard and listen well they know more truth than we could ever fathom. It’s true a pooch told me once. I believe them. They’re healers.
I would like to be more funny. I have funny thoughts and funny quips here and there but I’m not the natural comedian type where humorous quips fall effortlessly from my tongue like an open conical bag of sweeties held at the tip. Don’t hold them at the tip they all fall out. Yes you could say I’m very certainly inspired by the writing I’m reading but essentially I’m always inspired by the aesthetic experiences I find myself pursuing. Wallpaper is intriguing like an endless production line of canvas all colours all patterns all these lavish options. Gooped onto the walls your lifelong fresco except someone came and applied bleach to the undercoat deeming your tropical paradise print an inverted mirage of grey and white. Imagine wrapping the outside of a home in wallpaper what fun that would be. Camo home that-print-that-was-super-popular-in-the-mid-2000s home stippled bumpy cream home stripy home there would definitely be a stripy home. Not zebra stripes nautical stripes although I would much prefer to see zebra stripes confuse the enemy where I am you see me no you don’t see me I’m just home wobbly lines a tree a branch a snake in the grass.
Smiling potatoes followed me down the supermarket aisle. Imagine being prefixed with super must make you really great. That really great market with all the stuff isn’t it super. I don’t know sometimes all that packaging gets overwhelming. Actually all the packaging is overwhelming imagine it all melting down into the aisles back into its crude oil form. Shame crude is not the best adjective not like super the market got something shining maybe it’s all the packaging trying to fool us into a state of unbridled languor. Affixed to a doughy sense of rawness lumping into what was meant to be the trolley but the metal railing has deemed this space defunct.
Bread wrapper closures. I had to google the name of the little plastic puzzle piece that both tags and encloses a chute of cinched plastic keeping a brick of bread safe from drying air and atmosphere. And here I discovered many an option with the final one being most indicative of its form in my opinion; bread tags, bread tabs, bread ties, bread buckles, bread-bag clips, or occlupanids. Best believe occlupanids is born from a research group led by a semi-humorous approach to documenting and cataloguing bread clips. Indeed they’re on to something they no doubt have the depth of research to inform said name. Look them up. I won’t spoil the fun here.
Carbohydrates have filtered a few points of entry which is likely not so intriguing or speaks to their omnipresence in daily life. Squishy cushioned mushy chewy soft stale shit-it’s-hard-as-a-rock. Some of the verbs that spring to mind. Maybe this transforms into some languid form of lorum ipsum text. Languid doesn’t really translate there but it sounds good with lorum. I think I might edit these sentences out. I tripped over the first hurdle when I greeted the team with “que tal”. We’re in Portugal. Fuck I messed that up. Nerves will do weird things to me. A seemingly inconsequential interaction instantly flipped into an oops thanks to a misfired spark plug in my brain. Once the spark plugs below my steering wheel blew while I was driving to school. Driving the beetle was a big adventure and a lot of fun. Except when you had smoke rising from behind your hands. The steering wheel was a voluminous circle ample enough for a boat a big sailing type yacht boat not a speedboat they have compact steering wheels in my experience. And the gearstick rose up to meet your hand. It’s as if these features were purposely amplified. Hello here I am, hands here please. Ruby Tuesday was a babe a joy a beaming red piece of joyous machinery. A beetle.
Bowls and spoons are my preferred crockery-cutlery pair. There’s something entirely inviting and wholesome about eating from a bowl with a spoon. The way they envelope like a gentle hug enough height to the wall without saying go away. You’re all invited and you get an embrace on entering. Forks are too piercing but have their benefits in the right situation. Same can be said for a knife. Although with an adept handling of a spoon you can perform the task of all three while feeling entirely held by the virtuosity of spheres and ovals. I really wanted to swear I often gently swear to myself very softly under my breath. I find it entirely comforting when everything feels a bit fucking mad. Myself included. Or maybe mostly myself. Nevertheless repeating little mantras does wonders in all types of scenarios. I was once humbled by a boat trip on a wild Atlantic Ocean day. I think I’m a brave person. I began as a brave person and ended as wholeheartedly humbled. They called it a seafari but it was more like a rollercoaster on water where you’re not attached to anything but your bum on the seat and hand on a railing. It was ridiculously fast and the water was stupidly rough. It’s one of those benign yet humbling experiences that made me so grateful for solid ground and life. Going for a splash with your mortality has a uniquely euphoric aftertaste. Anyway I stared the horizon dead-on while muttering safesafesafe under my breath until we returned to smooth waters.
Dreams sometimes feel like surfing on tectonic plates. Or how I imagine tectonic plates might feel if surfed. It’s kinda hazy, a bit sticky, you move in all directions or none but have that deep feeling something is still rumbling below. You’re there. But where are you.