archive #001

Older and (in my humble opinion) memorable blogs from other websites.

Livejournal 2006-01-12

Grey, the world was grey the houses were grey; the pavement was grey, even the usual red cycle path managed to have a distinctive shade of grey; grim and ugly. The people wore grey expressions as the colour was drained from their faces as she past them by. The bark from the tree hang around it like dropped skin from an elderly, pressed with dark grey against the pearly grey sky. The moist fog clogged her glasses and clogged the world around her in a blanket of that one colour she hated the most. As if all colour had faded; greens, whites, blues; they all seemed faded and shaded in grey. It was the most common colour in her world. Black or white didn’t exist. Except when it was dark; so dark that she couldn’t know whether she had her eyes opened or closed. Eyes can’t stand watching the dark. It is so tiresome to them in their failing search to at least see something. That you soon grow tired and sleep or you relax relieved from your task of having to see, or you are frightened by what you can’t see. She grew all three, in the dark at least. Grey just made her weary, and sad.

She pushed the pedals of her bicycle down harder. Putting on the pressure in her legs, they were sore, not sore enough to stop but sore, she watched the different houses pass by. She smelled the fumes of the cars, the smell of the town. All those cars stood packed together ion a row, waiting to pass on. They were impatient and let their motors growl with annoyance, sending out toxins of greed. She cycled past them breathing their smell. She’d stopped feeling it gut down to the stomach. Clean air she didn’t know, or rather… it simply didn’t exist. And when she finally got in front of them she had to stop nonetheless waiting for them to pass on. Other cyclists slowly appeared beside her all waiting for the green light to appear, and the cars past on. The children made noises, but all seemed dimmed by the fog, which pressed them down as a grey blanket. They waited without speaking. Strangers don’t talk. They listen to others. They watch the others. Through windows, the back of their head, the reflections, or there was the occasional glance when somebody else wasn’t looking. She revolved in her own world where others were of little importance, except when you stand still together waiting.

And she passed on, the tram rails, Albert Hein supermarket (a woman came out with a shopping bag), Schmidt sea fish store, insurance company (empty from the inside, but outside someone stood, cleaning the windows with utmost precision), offices, trees, light posts.

She barely gave the stately skyscrapers a look as she reached the bridge. She kicked down harder. Pushing the pedals down, only to slow down in pace. She exactly knew the length of the slow torture. Focus on something else. She looked at the woman in front of her cycle (grey coat, figures)

The sound of a siren cut through the foggy air. She looked up, the cars stopped. The thrusting down of the pedals rested. The woman in front of her came closer by as she too had her head lifted up in the air. And whole of town seem to get in silence as the ambulance loudly past by. A collective sigh, because they knew, they all knew. This time it wasn’t them. Somebody else grew victim to the grant violence and grey mass. And slowly the rhythm came back. They slowly accelerated to the normal speed. And she got her focus back. Just try and read the top of the bridge for now.