I always liked your purple clouds

April 10th, 2020  continuation from homepage

It’s just noon, the nearest church announces, and each ring of the bell runs through my body almost like a shock, interfering with the harmony of my quiet stroll through the neighbourhood. 

Nine. Ten. Eleven. 


And then it’s silent again, almost pious.


It does not feel hollow or lonely though, it just feels like life was taken someplace else. Nature took advantage of the absence of humans, and switched to the slowest pace it possibly could. There’s no sign of rush anywhere around me, no sign of any disruption or turbulence.

The thought I get at that moment is so beautifully twisted it makes me smile. The picture painted around me is the embodiment of stillness and calm, lacking any dramatic tension, but that’s completely deceptive. The tension did not just disappear, that can’t be. 

It is still present, and I can confidently say that because I feel it within me, and it is within every person walking, talking and breathing behind the hundreds of windows around me. 

All the chaotic swirling emotions, expressing themselves in full volume and speed, are just kept quarantined in our homes, not polluting the outside world for once.

I chuckled on the idea, as I visualised the pumping energy fields as blurred, thick, pounding clouds following their assigned humans, trailing off into the thin air from any open window. Somehow I picture them having a purple hue, and the more intense the thought, the more saturated the color - the more turbulence within one’s head, the thicker the consistency, kind of like cotton candy.

Or, if this was a van Gogh painting, the energy fields would be moving in the shape of the brush strokes, just like as if they were imitating the water in the canal, and would then curl and disappear into the sky outside in the style of The Starry Night, which would then sharply contrast the real world in its full resolution, as if someone painted with thick acryllic paint on a photograph. Nature is just obeying the rules of nature, not art, and so we are the only disorderly elements in this perfect image. 


I imagine your could of energy with the most vivid shade, just a little darker than mine, and how it floats far above the rooftops of your side of the town. Would you agree? We are funny like that. Our skin is a crumbling wall of resistance between the perfect order of the nature and the pure chaos trying to burst out of our minds. 

It may be a sad testimony about the state of humanity, but it is a beautiful one too. I find that contradictions and paradoxes are the most wonderful parts of living, for how unpredictable they are, how intoxicating and addictive.

I flick a small gravel stone into the canal with my finger and it almost doesn’t make any splash on the surface, but the sound is so satisfying I reach for another one instantly. The sun is kind of starting to burn my pale face.

I feel contempt with everything, perfect alignment with the moment, I sit still and let the thoughts and memories clip their wings erratically and clash into each other as a handful of confused butterflies captured in a jar. 

I just sit and smile.

I always liked your purple clouds.