The swimming corridor was maybe 5 meters wide but I couldn't see it's end. The ground was wavy and all was made out of a stone that looked somewhere between sand stone and marble. Before getting in I didn't see the animals. The water itself was wavy to and I got carried away pretty quickly but I also knew I could swim back. Was I fast and clever enough to not to run into a shark that was floating just next to me? Or the tiger whose fur shone as if water was where he always belonged. I was both terrified and relaxed which is a good way of describing this whole story. There were lesbians from Girls Like Us and some vacation house which turned out to be too small for everyone to use and ot expensive to keep. I couldn't see the issue, to me it felt that those people are jus complaining, they always pointed to the (often potential) problems around. I was immersed in sandy colors, winds and waters which in and of itself was enough to relax my whole being. I like how in dreams you always just end up in places, the commute is rarely included unless it's in itself central to the experience. Daily life is made up of commutes. Our flesh, the heaviness of our bodies is what we've got to work with everyday. No wonder people sit so much. All those limbs, the tissue, the water. I wonder what it would be like to have a technology that temporarily drains you of water so that you can travel more light and you get refilled upon arrival. For a substance that makes most of us and most of everything on planet earth, our water technologies are extremely poor. Everyone is so enthralled and in awe of large language models and I'm just like 'meh', it's not that advanced really. I think because everything looks so sleek and it's all about clicking buttons, everyone lives the illusion of the future is the now but it's all just the looks of it. We know how to package things, how to aestetisise experience. In my view it's really the connectedness of the internet and the human participation in the making of its cultures that make up the most wicked, exciting things of the century. It's just so terribly misuses, wasted really. Just like water.
Just not cutting it. Again. In the same numbers as two years ago. I'm trying to be here but I'm not often. There is song in the past of your own head. Maybe there will be water tomorrow, bast water. Maybe there will be vast water next week. Homes are so alive. Their chemistry continues to permeate my own. It's ours. I'm swimming quite deep under the water.
Life is so rich but then I'm standing in a queue to buy cheap underwear and the woman in front of me buys a basket of candy and plastic for 85 euros and I look to the side at a poster that prices a conversation between a client and a customer at 00,00 euros. I sigh and turn the wrong way, by instinct, take the bus and then regret taking the bus, going this way after all. I'm growing to feel stuck. I know and I don't know. I'm not young, but I'm not old. I have all the time, but I'm running out of time. I'm placed in places, in passing or in context, there is no old stuff, only new, no grounding, just chains. Gasping for air. Not answering. Not being good at answering, taking initiative, deciding, capital management, being normal, not being normal, doing what is asked of me and then taking off to the sideway because there's some smells of meadow there and pine trees. Who can ever know tomorrow when I wish I could do something to change the way you look at this situation.