There is a green and flowery meadow in the middle of the forest where the creatures and animals reside. One hold the other and the entire group rely on each other until something goes terribly wrong. They open their mouths and spit the poisonous venom of mischievous gossips and speculations. Patting each other’s backs brings the long waited comfort filling the empty void of a burning desire to be accepted by the flock. Only few courageous members disagree to grin and bear and stand strong as wolves leaving remarkable footprints of their lives.
Dough balls made of flour, water, salt
and sugar previously mixed together into sticky mixture. I compare dough balls to the life of every human being. In my eyes, the existence begins similarly for all of us (except the privileges of using extra organic flour or double filtered liquid heaven in o2 state). We choose if we want to fry, steam, boil or roast our balls. We have the opportunity to pick the toppings- I like my balls with chocolate dots for a sweet addition among stupidity of others. Sometimes my batch of balls gets burnt but then I magically put myself together in to one whole piece (again) and cook another one. It’s like a vicious life cycle. I feel like a hamster trapped in a never ending spinning wheel. In my dream, I live in a wooden hut, decorated in a vintage style with natural materials, in the main room, there is a fireplace with two old, tactile worn out armchairs, and a rug with shredded sides just in front of them. There are two cups of tea and coffee made in a peculiar way, carefully placed away from the edge of the trunk of an old tree which poses as a coffee table. I’m surrounded by sweet and wild nature in the company of my amazing man, cats presenting natural poise, and a confident German shepherd. I don’t serve anyone above me. I’m free like a bat chasing a mouse. I grow old peacefully and at the end I float out to serenity.
The wine made of fermented grapes with a note of decadence tastes good with a bittersweet chunk of ice cold sorrow. I’m sipping the elixir of sadness while sitting at the oblong charcoal table waiting for the purple skulls to arrive. Purple skulls have one decaying body and 6 heads multiplying by 666. Each of them represents a painful experience and chaos, there is one head among them sticking out bravely, it’s made of a crimson crystal clear material which was dug from the deepest reachable point of the earth therefore it is indestructible. The skull in the middle holds all the positivity and decent memories which has taken place while stomping on the ground. An optimist would say- the unstained beauty of life. I stand up impatiently waiting for my friend to arrive, bored, I reach for a knife and tear into pieces holy books I have been collecting over the years in my strenuous attempt to find a golden key to happiness. They belong to multiple flocks. I tear them apart, shredding them into thin rumpled pieces, I do in a rush to save myself more time to enjoy the last moments of self- pity before the arrival of my dear friend. I hear repetitive knocking at the massive metal door of my ivory suffocated grey concrete shed in the middle of the forest which never has been found or discovered. There are trees, bushes and overgrown weed in the meadow, my so called temple is in the middle of the swamp, so it’s well protected and separated from the rest of the area. I rush to open the door, the force radiating from the skulls hits me, I can’t comprehend it as its of unknown source but I fully embrace it. I leave my concrete shelter and occasionally appear among other human beings with my wisdom made of pieces of life experiences.