Kopfkino

It’s a late night with Alex Turner on full blast in my ears, never on the speakers though.  To make others around feel the full weight of unsolicited emotion of music, feels wrong. Who am I kidding, perhaps they don’t feel a thing. How rude. The flair of words seems to have abandoned me today so it’ll be bare bones. I find myself constantly backspacing the words I type with a vigour. A quickly written sentence followed by a slight pause full of fear, before my finger reaches out to the delete button on the far right. Desperately trying to put the tarp back on naked emotions uncovered bare. No more backspacing though. I’ve even gotten rid of the Grammarly extension. It shows me how a sentence rephrased, sounds more assertive but I digress. Enough fine tuning. Times like these I wish I had a typewriter. Imagine a canvas pedestal with hands, pointing to the parts where the acrylic paints fail to smudge. No one would ever pick up a paintbrush. Okay, enough rambling. This would have bee...

One humid night outside my front door, I was sitting in boredom waiting for the sun to go down so I could maybe catch the twilight dusk. The sky turned dark pretty fast that day and it wasn't nearly as impressive as the day before. Flies started buzzing all around and to my surprise, were suddenly gone. In intrigue, I looked up. Turned out, the light above the door frame had been turned on. Like a pilgrimage, little bugs from all around flew right up to it and made tapping sounds at the glass casing. At first I felt pitiful. For these tiny beings could only have so much energy and were wasting it for no reason. Almost like they wanted to break into the bulb and touch the filament, they battered their heads on the glass repeatedly. Fluttering their little wings with all their might. It was indeed pitiful to watch. Still is, whenever I see them. Near bulbs, tube lights, signboards or open fires. “How could one of nature’s creations be so flawed?” I thought. Moreover, it wasn’t like m...

Look at your clock. A mortal creation made of crystals, gears and glass burdened with the immortal task of keeping time. Its hands trace their cyclical paths each minute, hour and day. Ticks, tocks and mechanical whirs are the voices we give to time. Ironic, how the same voices poke at our fears. Mocking us for our limited possession of time. Art by Cornelis de Heem You may want to throw your clock out the window or pull the batteries out of your watch. But time moves on nevertheless. Aloof, perpetual and indifferent to one’s sufferings or joy. In our tiny lifetimes when compared to the scale of history, we as a species have created order out of zilch and erected societies, into which we are born today. Capitalist or not, one must agree that at the heart of all this progress, lies money. To deepen this discussion, I shall introduce a friend of mine from another world. Meet Lyra. A celestial entity who lives in solitude through the darkness of space. She knows no concept of death. ...

Audio tracks add to the reading experience.  (They are mood synced. Press play when they appear.) Setting down his book on the table, Malcolm rocked the spoon back and forth in his cup of earl grey, stirring up the contents before he took a long deep sip with closed eyes.  The shadows cast by the nearby buildings marched forth inch by inch into the little cafe tucked into Piazza di Santa Croce, 14. He shifted his little stool to face the window and sipped away at his tea. The vapours of which rose like clouds of cotton in the dying sunlight.  It bothered him to not know where everyone on the street was headed. Every pedestrian outside seemed to walk with such a sense of purpose and determination as if they would perish if their feet touched the pavement another second. Unless one stopped to notice each person’s face and gait, there was no real difference at all. Just cold pillars of such determination wandering aimlessly on the streets. One went left. Two went right...

Inspired by the world of 'The Last of Us' Audio tracks add to the reading experience.  (They are mood synced. Press play when they appear.) “Is it gonna be a long hike today?”  “Yeah. I’m afraid so” said Joel, securing his backpack’s strap tightly. “Aw man I should’ve picked up a few more of those candy bars from that gas station, I’m getting tired of this canned slop. How do you even eat this stuff raw?” “Kid, I’ve driven throughout the country surviving on just these. You’ll get used to them. Tent goes in your bag today. Try to keep up.” The morning sun peeked through the conifer branches and shone brilliantly through the morning mist. The lone moist forest, a tranquil blanket of green, and in it, not a single soul except the duo of Joel and Ellie, making their way up the hillocks and down the valleys. “You see this stream? There’s probably a lake nearby.” said Joel as he pointed out at the trickle of water lined by smooth pebbles. “The water’s so clear though!” “Well…....