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My eyes are dull, my veins filled with passion. Dreading nothingness. My home. My ideas haunt me during my mundane workday, nagging and whispering while i am asleep. Still i push them away with the self-deceiving promise that on one day i let them breathe. One day, i get organized. One day, i do get things done. One day, each of them come alive. They all get pretty forms in benevolent surroundings with velvet colors, graceful flavors and wistful melodies at the perfect place and time. Though, the deadlines have conquered me again. I have just swallowed the unprescribed painkiller to get my fever down, to pull me out of bed, bring me back to reality. It is that time of the year, all of us get sick. Procrastination is not a sin. I wish i was more organized. I wish i was more disciplined, efficient, focused, with a better memory, healthier, stronger, nicer and more confident. Though, now i got my forlorn lost laptop back again. At least I can write. My fingers are sweaty, my thoughts heavy. Actually, i have already prepared something. But i hate it. I need to re-launch this. The required structure, length and format need to be confirmed. I am trembling from the imagination of structure. I am stammering, stumbling. Still i am feeling blessed. I am in my room. My favorite spot is on my bed next to my window, seeing Zug from above. Seeing the distanced mountains and the dynamics of a lively city. Observing the hectic flow of the city dwellers, rushing to catch the best sales at Metalli. I sip my coffee in my pajamas and imagine the stories they carry. What joyous, fabulous grave anecdotes they shelter and which do they share and exaggerate? Does this shopping with the instant gratification alleviate their thirst? Neither am i immune to this trend. I breathe. On my right, my clock ticks vehemently. Though, i am constrained. Paralyzed to confront my element. I realize the parallel between their and mine confinement. Sometimes, i languish to abandon this, and soar through time. Could we escape this structure? Could i steal the Now from the “now-abusers” and re-distribute them with consciousness to everyone in the world? But then the wicked order and structure crawl in my mind. I can’t steal time. Universe owns it, right? The malicious thoughts of desires corrupt the Now. The Now cannot be possessed, especially not re-designed and transferred. It can only be appreciated and handled with utmost respect. The Now is eternal. It is omnipotent, wearing a masque of innocence. If it was deliberately floundering with our wild capitalism and silliness. As if it was flattered by the human sobs and squeaks, our infantile longing to catch the unattainable. If it was hiding under some clammy pretense. The Now dresses in the sparkling glamour deceiving our needs. It viciously tickles our longings, with an illusion of eternal availability and abundance. I look outside my window and see that all cars are gone, the youngsters at Starbucks went inside. In the meantime, Spidy crawled between the ceiling and the cupboard. So many changes within couple of minutes. I know Now is scarce and harmless. I just elevated the lonely derelict wondering ones in my room, i peeled them from malice and soaked them in gratitude. I have softly hived them all. Even my eight-legged hairy spider roommate is surprised. They are in my room in front of me. They are unique and treasured even if covered in pain. Even if some works are delivered late. Even if some brash ideas might never see the light, or others are animated with wrong silhouettes. Still they are so precious and magnificent. They are here, available to all. Perhaps you have hidden yours on your bed linens. Or you behind your iphone, where your world begins. Or you in the atleier whilst stroking your canvas. You perhaps in the act of cooking delicious dishes for your friend. Or you through the warmth of embracing your daughter. Mine is here. Here in my room. The Now; the right Now.
