Archives de Tag: thoughts

A Stop, A Drink, A Story Of Wandering. (Short Story)

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There’s A Killer On The Road, His Brain Is Squirmin’ Like A Toad — The doors – Riders on the Storm

Stopping after four hours of roads, in the need of good whiskey on the rocks.

A diner to the right. Turning the engine off, lit a cigarette, relax a little bit. Watching the sunset behind a mountain covered by pine trees.

Last hit on the smoke. Leaving the car, the good feeling of the body and his muscle stretching. The fresh air of the evening on the face, birds singing their last songs before going to sleep.

Heading to the dinner. Sitting on the table, looking at the other patrons. Tired, pensive faces. Feeling like eating a burger.

A waitress coming, ordering a whiskey on the rock.

Waiting. Looking at the window to see the decor going dark slowly. Cars and trucks passing by, headlights hurting the eyes. Looking again at the other clients. Silence. Peaceful.

Whisky arrives. The sounds of the ice cube hitting the glass, the good smell of alcohol.

Taking the first sip, always the most difficult one. Taking the time, enjoying the taste of the liquor, smiling. Resting the head and the shoulder on the couch. Looking up at the celling, the fans move slowly, hypnotizing. The neon lights gently projecting their lights.

Taking a look at the phone, no message nor call. Great. Sweet loneliness. Putting the phone back in the pocket. Thinking of the roads still ahead, not knowing yet if sleep will be an inconvenience. Hoping for a motel if needed.

The lady alone across the dinner, she’s pretty. Yet, alone. Wondering why. Maybe attractive people love to be alone too. Hoping to catch her eyes. Hoping to not look like a creep.

Looking at this overweight middle aged white men. Blue jeans have seen better day. Generic and used boots, a black denim jacket. Three days old scruffy beard. Black sunglass. Half eaten burger on the plate. A beer.

A young black man. Look cool. Prestigious university coat, reading a newspaper. A pen in his hand, a notebook laying next to his phone, the kid his probably studying. Dedication, futur of this country.

A woman, skinny. Wrinkles marking his faces. A pack of cigarettes on the table, next to French fries. Plate almost empties. Wearing a white shirt with no sleeve. She don’t fear the cold night coming. She looks in front of her, her gaze lost somewhere in her mind. Her elbow on the table, the hands joined together. Almost look like she’s praying.

The waitress at the counter browsing her phone. Her shift probably over or about to be. Her long and curvy black hair are beautiful. Her nail are done, can hear them touch the screen of the phone.

Marving Gaye voice singing smoothly, he wonders what’s going on.

Everyone here seem to have a question, they need answer.

They maybe need a gun.

Could wipe out mine and finish every one of them, for no reason.

Why not?

The calling of senseless violence forcing it’s way in the brain.

Breathing slowly, keeping a straight mind. Alcohol doesn’t help… or do. A slowly growing panic attack.

There’s already a dead body in the truck of the car.

Leaving a good tip for the waitress. Leaving.

Turning the engine on.

Get back on the road.

Appearance is such a lie. Being normal is too easy.

Might hunt for another victims when coming back home. Can’t stop.

Self hate.

Feelings of superiority.

A monster. I am a monster.

Jaskiers

This world is ultra violence (It’s personal)

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Nothing new in the title of this article.

The world is ultra-violent.

And the more I think about it, the more I think that’s society is violent because it profits, financially, to the extra-rich.

« They’re busy fighting each others for crumbs, they don’t have time for fighting us. »

Our entertainment, musics, tv shows/News, movies, the internet, is fueled by blood. So we get depressed, low-key violent, and when a white guy in a suit and tie ask us to vote for him so this hell will stop, what do we do? We vote! And nothing really change culture wise, deep down, the mainstream culture have been infiltrated by violence. You need to dig out, by your owns, the artist who would show you, sing, write about something else than bloody murders, violence and sex.

And we’re so tired of all this hell affecting our brains that we just say « That’s how the world works. Can’t feel sorry for everyone if you want to live ».

As you’re reading those lines, there’s a famine going on in Ethiopia, we’re speaking about 22 million peoples, women, children and men of all ages dying of hunger. No doubt that this touch you, but you’ll move on with your life because there’s a certain violence in you own life that you have to deal with. Therefore, we all alone, fighting not with others for others, but for ourselves.

We, humans, have the unbelievable capacity to adapt to every situation. Today, we live in a ultra-violence one. The Corona brings some good things for humanity, solidarity for the essentials worker and medical staff. Today, as the virus seems to have lose it’s grip, we have forgotten about the essentials workers and the nurses and doctors on the frontlines. Hell, even our politicians, in France at least, seems to have forgotten all theirs promises. Nothing new there either.

In all that violence, we’ve learned that CEO earned and pocketed billions in theirs pockets while their worker didn’t saw a single penny added to their paycheck.

If we were mentally well, fit, first of all, the ultra-rich wouldn’t have taken this money in their pocket in the first place. But they did, if we weren’t mentally exhausted by the ultra-violence that occupy our consciousness and unconsciousness, those rich folks wouldn’t act like they do right now.

Just look at the 2008 financial crisis. Who paid for the trader’s greed ? You. The banks took your hard earned money to save themselves. They don’t care about you on a human level, you’re only a statistic, you are « how much money you earn ».

Money is becoming more and more digital. Credit card will soon become the only method of payment, therefore, the bank and their associates will have an eye on everything you’re buying. Along with tracking were, when, and how much.

Soon, the Chinese social credit will make it’s way in our democracy. It’s already starting with the carbon footprint. Carbon footprint is a term created by the biggest corporations to reject the responsibility of pollution and global warming to the individuals instead of them. Big corporations are responsible for more than 70% of emissions of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. Global warming is caused mainly by those big corporations, but somehow, it is our fault…

But no, you are the problem. And you accept it because you’re tired and dazed.

The change could come, with real democracy, but we only vote a couple of time in a four or five years span. And we are ok with that apparently.

Shut up and work, obey, pay for the rich, die.

Jaskiers

This someone in the mirror (A short story/reflexion)

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FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

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Have you ever had this curious sensation, when you look at yourself in the mirror and wonder who is it that the glass is reflecting?

Of course, it’s you. Here you are, this is you, physically at least.

You move your head, you realize that you’ll never have the possibility to see yourself with your own eyes, you need a mirror or a photography.

This is a curious and powerful moment. Everything that is happening, everything you lived through, every damned second of you life have been happening in that head, that head reflected by the mirror. This is you, your physical entity.

While thinking about this curious feeling, your thoughts lead you to the infinite of space, the universe.

You realize how futile the human body is compared to the apparent endlessness of our world.

After this weird feeling, which started to become an overwhelming one, you are confronted with death.

Am I really alive? Is this really my reflexion in that mirror or what I think I look like? Is it someone else? Am I really alive? What does « alive » mean? Living? I can see my face, it’s physical, my existence take it’s form in that body of mine.

And what if I die? Am I already dead? What if it was all a lie? What if this life I’m living is just my imagination? Do I really understand that I am real?

As you asking yourself those hypotheticals questions, imagine you see the reflexion in the mirror moving, reflecting you, but it’s start to move on it’s own, it is not reciprocating your movement but live and act on it’s own accord.

Imagine that you follow the movement of that reflexion.

You are becoming the mirror.

You are the reflexion now.

You’re in the wrong side of the glass, if there ever was a wrong side.

What are you really when your one true self is looking at the mirror?

Other than that, when your independent reflexion leave, you are nowhere, in a place where existence isn’t real, imagine space but you can’t move and at the same time you’re drifting slowly. You can see but you see nothing. You only really exist when the other you present itself in front of the mirror.

But let’s go back, you are yourself now. The reflexion in the mirror is living its life.

It’s something frightening to see your body living a life of its own. A feeling of loosing control slowly overwhelm you. What does your body do? What’s life in this reflexion for the other you? How do you think you’ll feel? Like this is not really you? This other body that look exactly like yours live a life that is completely different from the real one. Yet it’s your body that you can see. Is that other physical life completely at the opposite of what your current existence is? Are you the same entity?

What if that reflexion start noticing you and realize that you are his reflexion? Do you think you would talk to each other? What kind of questions would you ask to that other you? What kind of question will he ask you?

Imagine seeing this reflexion of you passing through the mirror, touching your face.

You can join them or let them join you.

What will be you decision?

What if life was nothing but a very long and painful hallucination? A farce? A joke? A simulation?

A simple, yet sophisticated, reflexion of you own thoughts?

What if since the beginning, you don’t exist? Never was and never will be?

Your physical being is just a reflexion. From a mirror, a photography, someone eyes. You only really exist inside your mind. So, should we really put this much importance towards apparence? Shouldn’t we trust what we feel instead of what we see?

Our world is inside our minds. Individually and collectively.

Jaskiers