Across the Universe

Words are flowing out

Like endless rain into a paper cup

They slither while they pass

They slip away across the universe

Pools of sorrow waves of joy

Are drifting through my open mind

Posessing and caressing me

-from: The Beatles - Across the Unverse -

Just when I was about to go to bed tonite something struck me & made me cry.

Not because I'm depressed or anything, but because I suddenly realized what a massively special year this has been so far.

And that it has been quite meaningful for me in many many ways.

There's much I could say about it, I could explain every detail as to why it has been so special and why it means a lot to me.

But I guess that for now, expressing that it has (and is), suffices.

Some things, I guess, are best kept and shared with the people that are closest to you....

I did feel the need to voice it, however.

And typically enough when I started on this blank page, initially thinking I'd voice it in a poem, the lyrics from The Beatles' Across the Universe popped into my head and prevented me from coming up with anything that could voice more perfectly the way I'm feeling at the moment.

Slight melancholy, yes, but all covered in a kaleidoscope of colors....

Full of joy.

(^_-)

Luv

Bacalao

When my grandpa was a little boy, during the Spanish civil war, they were very poor. So every piece of food was cherished and seen as something very valuable.

One day my great-grandmother managed to get one of those salted, dried fish that are still eaten all over Spain, bacalao.

She hung it in the kitchen pantry, high enough so the cat couldn't reach.

And there it hung, waiting to be cooked at a later date.

Or so she thought...

Because, from the day it hung there, my grandfather pinched little bits off the back of the fish & ate them in secret. He liked the salty taste of the fish, and it was a welcome addition to the plain meals of potatoes, bread and olive oil they generally had. He seemed to be continuously hungry.

The fish, however, gave him away: slowly, as he pinched little bits of fish, the skin of the fish started to harden, and curl, until it turned into a leathery, salted tube of fish.

One day, my great-grandmother walked into the pantry, ready to cook part of the fish.

And there it was; hard and round like a baseball bat.

It didn't take her long to figure out who had been eating it, though.

She took the rock hard fish and spanked my grandfather's tush until it was red and palpitating.

Needless to say; he never pinched pieces of fish again.

But his love for salty seafood remained....

I often think about this story.

Not only because it's one of the stories my grandfather loves to tell (with a grin and a mischievous glimmer in his eye), but also because, in a way, it's a metaphor for life.

No matter what age you are, or who you are in life, it seems that learning never ends. Every day sheds a new light on your life and that what you're doing with it, or what you should be doing with it. You often don't know when decisions will have a good or bad outcome, until you've taken them.

We take little snippets of that what is handed to us, and sometimes want more than what we get. So we take risks. But how do you know when the fish is going to curl up, and tell you you've been taking a wrong turn? 

And even if you do; wasn't the fish worth the smack on the bum?

(^_-)

as freedom is a breakfastfood

as freedom is a breakfastfood
or truth can live with right and wrong
or molehills are from mountains made
-long enough and just so long
will being pay the rent of seem
and genius please the talentgang
and water most encourage flame

as hatracks into peachtrees grow
or hopes dance best on bald men’s hair
and every finger is a toe
and any courage is a fear
-long enough and just so long
will the impure think all things pure
and hornets wail by children stung

or as the seeing are the blind
and robins never welcome spring
nor flatfolk prove their world is round
nor dingsters die at break of dong
and common’s rare and millstones float
-long enough and just so long
tomorrow will not be too late

worms are the words but joy’s the voice
down shall go which and up come who
breasts will be breasts and thighs will be thighs
deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
-time is a tree (this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough


- by ee. cummings-

Meh....

She scratched her shoulder & looked out at the downpour.

It had been raining for over a week.

Bored she sat down on her sofa, turning on the TV with her remote.

Her TV had been disconnected.

"Great, just what I needed", she said glumly, turning the TV off again.

She looked around her at her uncommonly neat living room and let out a sigh.

It seemed like nothingness had crept in and left her lifeless & bored.

"So this is what they call 'nothingness' in The Never Ending Story", she thought to herself.

Closing her eyes, she envisioned how bits of her living room were slowly dissolving into an empty void.

"Hey, will ya cut that out!"

The voice in her head startled her.

Opening her eyes she looked around her bewildered.

Had she really heard a voice?

Was she already turning into a crazy cat lady at the age of 32?

She shook her head.

Nah, it must 've been her imagination....

"Exactly! It IS your imagination! What the hell did ya think I was, huh? Ya couch?"

Freaked out she jumped off the couch, looking underneath it in a reflex, just like she did when she was a kid. Nothing there of course.

"What the f....?!"

"Jebus, it's THAT bad, huh?!"

"Who the hell IS that?!"

"Just told ya, I'm your imagination, dumbass"

"It can't be..." she mumbled, looking around her full of suspicion...had somebody placed a camera and speakers there? Was she part of a prank?

"George? Is that you? You're not being funny!"

"Gawd, you really ARE brain dead, aren't cha?"

"Will you CUT THAT OUT!! Whoever you are!"

"I can't, sugar. I'm in your head. Well part of me anyways, the last remainin' snippet of me. Yo been a real dull lady lately, ya know! So I thought I'd give a signal o' life."

"Yeah, well I don't appreciate that! -Goddamnit I'm going bonkers-"

"Neh, not nuts, in fact, you're not nuts ENOUGH. Not anymore..."

"Well, what the hell do you want from me?"

"Geez, do I have to draw it out for ya? No wonder... I'm talkin' to ya, cuz ya gots ta take action, before it's too late!"

"Too late? Too late for what??"

"Before ya turn into a boring old sod, without any imagination. Before I gets to move out n find another home. And THAT I don't appreciate, missy!"

"What the FUCK?!"

"HEY!! Foul language won't help ya no mo! I ain't no easily intimidated so n' so, I'm your friggin' imagination, so deal with it!"

"Bloody h..."

"EH! What did I just say to ya?!"

"Fine..."

"So...what 'cha gonna do about this little situation, we gots goin' here?"

"How the hell should I know? YOU'RE the one approaching me? I was just minding my own bloody beeswax!"

"Yeah, and letting in the 'nothingness' in the process, miss bright light."

"Listen, if you want me to do something for you, IF I say. You've got to stop calling ME names!"

"Alright, comprendo. I's just annoyed 's all. Ya gots ta do somethin' quick, fo realz!"

"Right. Anything to get you out of my brain."

"I'm ALWAYS gonna be in yo brain, always ha..."

"Whatever. So, how do we do this?"

"How the frack do I know? I'm yo imagination, but you 'se got to put me to work, not the other way round..."

"Ok."

She looked around her trying to find something that would help her & make the voice stop talking to her.

Suddenly she remembered how, as a kid, she used to make cartoon-like drawings.

She grabbed a notebook and a pen and sat down on the sofa.

"That's bitchin, girrl!"

"Shh...let me think....hmmm....mabye something to do with a princess or something?"

"Not very imaginative but it might work, it's kinda' dull with no color tho."

"Well it will HAVE to do!"

After drawing a complex drawing with a princess on a horse, in front of a castle that's on fire, while the prince is somewhere laying next to a lake talking to a giant frog with bunny ears.

She sighed a sigh of relief.

There....that had to do it...

"Meh, sorry, chica. Still a big void here, it's kinda' cold too by the way. Speed it up, will ya?!"

"Damn!"

Suddenly she had an idea...

She jumped behind her computer and started writing.

"Hey, you 'se writing 'bout me!"

"You've got THAT right!"

"Keeeewl!"

Like a ferocious predator she attacked her keyboard and wrote.

Suddenly the heaviness that had been upon her all day vanished, and she felt much more energized. Her boredom, she noted, was gone.

But so was the voice....

"Hello? Are you still there?"

....silence....

She looked at what she had just written, and realized her imagination had just been unplugged once again.

"You dirty little bastard....", she said, and smiled....

Prelude to a rainstorm

Like a deserted island, the gallery stands barren.

As outside clouds pack together to create a watery curtain.

Loudly flapping marquees and flags, mark the coming of stormwinds.

As do swaying cyclists and girls with ruffled hair.

A tiny dog shivers, and seeks refuge behind its owners legs.

While its hair blows in the wind, as were it skydiving from a plane.

Above it, the clouds form a dark pack in the once blue sky.

Minute drops start their long journey towards the ground.

Splashing down at irregular intervals.

Umbrellas are no match for what's to come....

Roar

Through

Windswept alleys

The rage

That fills your inner

Core

Howls

Like angry

Wolves

Packed in a cage

Nails

Scratching the

Metal bars

Its not just

The loud

Ones

That reek

Havoc

Eternally Unmashed?

Eternal Mash, Catherine van Campen (2007)

Ruurd Walecht's interest in historical crops began when he was very young. He started a life-long crusade to protect, preserve and maintain them. This Dutch Don Quixote of rare vegetables built an incredible collection of hundreds of crops that were on the brink of extinction. A few years ago, Ruurd suddenly moved to Sweden leaving his colourful mix of helpers behind. Eternal Mash tells the story of this master horiculturist and his Green Ark. Because his life's work is very important to all of us...

Supermarkets are lined with shelve upon shelve of products wrapped in colorful packaging and plastic foil. 50 types of butter stand in line, like girls in a beauty pageant, trying to lure eager shoppers to fall for their charms.

However, the vegetable department seems barren in comparison. You can almost imagine tumbleweeds rolling by as, amidst of all the color and splendor of the canned and packaged goods, you enter the deserted vegetable area.

Vegetables lie in puny piles in what is often the smallest section of the supermarket. Here you can’t find a vast array to choose from. No limitless rows of produce. No sexy luring. Only one type of broccoli, one type of cucumber and, if you’re lucky, 3 types of lettuce. (True; you can now decide whether you want to buy them sliced or whole, but that’s got less to do with choice and more with inner-city laziness.)

All this is due to international legislation that has permitted the influx of countless artificial and pre-packaged products, but has determined that only one species of cucumber is to be produced for consumption, ruling out all other variations of the vegetable. Consequently 75% of what used to be farming produce has irretrievably disappeared.

Instead we have opted to create genetically manipulated vegetables and fruits, shaping and re-shaping them until they grow faster, and look uniform and perfect in our eyes. No wonder lemons (normally yellow for only a few months a year) get a useless and slightly toxic coat of industrial wax to make them shine. Uniquely shaped fruits and vegetables are out of grace.

Produce is now grown under strict, sterile conditions in carefully monitored boxes and this is visible in the food we eat. Tomatoes might look beautiful, but inside they are filled with water and lack the taste that drew us to them in the first place. Vegetables have turned into Mediterranean coastal towns; once visited by foreigners for their uniqueness, and now built to the rim with high-rise uniform hotels, defacing and standardizing them. Gone are strong flavor, unique shape and size variety.

In Eternal Mash the maker addresses this very problem. For years Ruurd Walrecht had seen how vegetables were changing and being formed into glorified Xerox copies of their original ancestors, or disappeared altogether. So he started a project of collecting as many variations of plants, in their original, un-edited form, to preserve for posterity in a carefully kept field somewhere in the north of the Netherlands. Unfortunately, it seemed to be for def ears. As he fought to make government organizations see the purpose of his project, he only received support from a few fellow concerned citizens. So great was the non-support for his project, that after fighting it for some years he couldn’t stand the pressure anymore and left. Packing his belongings and moving to Sweden. Leaving behind disconcerted helpers, who’s life he touched, and an invaluable collection of seeds and beans. As with every such project, its value is only seen once it seizes to exist. And in this case it was no different. His seeds have been stored in so called gene banks, in order for the species to survive the rigorous regime of the uniformisation.

But this survival is as sterile as the conditions vegetables are grown in these days. Packaged in air-tight sealed sachets and frozen in huge refrigeration chambers, the seeds now wait until one day somebody might remember them and make them grow again. However, the gene bank employee tells us; “If there’s interest in using them for genetic manipulation they will also be released.” Thus destroying the whole purpose they were collected for in the first place.

Is society so far digitalized that we don’t care anymore about what we put into our mouths? That we content ourselves with having a quick, tasteless TV dinner, because that’s all we have time for. Will this, in time, merge into the nightmare scenario shown in Wall-E where humans drink all food, processed and mauled, from a cup? Is the lure of colorful cans and packaging so strong that fresh produce can’t compete anymore? Will more and more produce remain eternally unmashed? I guess only time will tell...