Man, soup, sack, keys

Just after I got the soup a man came into the café. He had a small rucksack and an instrument, hadn’t shaved for some days. Carried himself humbly.

He didn’t order anything but went straight downstairs, that’s where the restrooms are. Shortly afterwards, on his way out, every step an effort not to be noticed. As the door closed behind him he stopped for just a moment on the steps outside, as if he had nowhere to go and needed to make an impromptu decision if he should take a left or a right. I was just about to finish my soup, and I noticed how the keys felt a little uncomfortable in my pocket, the housekeys in my pocket.

Exp. exp.

A long time ago I met a young man. He was very generous to me. Later he asked me to return the favour. I didn’t know how to respond to it. Time passed. In the end I never did.

For years I had no idea how to make sense of it. And beat myself up about it in every way imaginable, casting shame as one of the lead actors.

Later I learned a few things about the elements involved.

One might be tempted to think that after finally getting to the bottom of something like this—that’s an overstatement I suppose but at least, after gaining a much greater understanding of it—I should know the signs and be able to spot them from a distance. Afraid not. Behavioural mechanisms* tend to get firmly integrated, the only thing that is different since then is that now it sometimes doesn’t take as long to see them, the signs, in the rear view mirror, after all is said and done. Or nothing was said and done.

Shame still in the leading role.


*can’t believe I just said that

Wait, January, you coward—come back here!

Anything below –10° deserves a hug. A large, warm (sorry, meant cold of course), long hug. The kind to breath into, become one with.

–10°. I get all sentimental, just by looking at a number. I wonder if there are deals to be made with higher lower evil powers in order to maintain january temperatures throughout the year?

Not that january was generous this year, any more than previous years. A handful of days with temps below –5 was all we got. Makes me wonder what the use of living at 60°N and not even get a proper winter?

Then, cold summers have a thing or two going for them as well.

Dirt forgotten

When you finally find your way out of the dirt you have long forgotten everything about the people you noticed or met down there.

I say this not as critique, hadn’t it been for this very fact you would never have made it out of there to begin with.

And when the time comes that you suddenly remember one of them again, that’s when you embark on your one–way trip down there again.

This time it is going to take a hell of a lot more to forget, you realize that. That’s not the reason why, but you will make no effort to fight what is happening.