Insomnia

The age we live in is one of extreme speed, of constant change, one in which the pictures of our surroundings rush past us at the velocity of the vehicle that carries us. It just might be that we are missing some magic upon doing so. We rush to work, run for busses, nervously push carts through immense halls called hypermarkets to oversatisfy our shopping appetite, we expect our diets to show results urgently, all that is not fast and not on time is not good. We need to study French in two weeks and then get a lifetime certification that we are “connoisseurs”. Our food needs to be ready in a handtwist and we use microwaves, kitchen robots and the like only to shorten our minutes in the kitchen and run towards the next event, which in turn ends more quickly than we’d expected. We don’t even get to know people well because we move on before getting the chance of seeing past their faces. All we get of this world is bits and pieces out of which we form our own little islands of understanding which rarely interact, more often collide and almost always look down on one another full of the despise and containment only low souls can have.

We get up early in the morning and we run towards meetings in which we spend endless hours trying to harmonise our seemingly different views and argue even more when we realise how similar they really are. We get bored of every task faster than it would take to really understand it, start another and another and another until we forget where we left off and get tangled in a web of things we needn’t really do. But still we do them to prevent that inner gap from screaming aloud.

This life that we see rushing past us… as we long for even more and cut down endlessly on what seems unimportant … is the only one we have (at least until further notice). I just wish I felt more often how alive I am.

My mood melody for the night: Motorcycle Emptiness, by the Manic Street Preachers.

Life lies a slow suicide
Orthodox dreams and symbolic myths
From feudal serf to spender
This wonderful world of purchase power
Just like lungs sucking on air
Survivals natural as sorrow, sorrow, sorrow
Under neon loneliness motorcycle emptiness
Under neon loneliness everlasting loneliness