Crooked Picture

Some days we’re just out of tune. Our existential drumming makes a twangy sound. We listen twice – what’s up with that?

Plodding the streets feels different. As if an alien-life form is giggling inside, mischievous at such an easy burglary. Self-awareness floats at an awkward high, like a 7ft 2inch person at a dinner party. Watching people... watching you. Just stop looking at me.

You and your tall alien spectate your life from the skies – double-guessing every move – rather than fully occupying it on the ground.

It’s okay to be a crooked picture. I think we have to lean into its slant. “Hi! Welcome!”. Don’t push it, because that picture will always slide slowly back to crooked today. Often right under your vision – like a friendly assassin.

“I’m Ollie, and I’m a little fucked up today. And that’s okay”.

But after a night’s sleep... or 2... or a week... our picture will be back centre. Mmmm, that feels less slippery. Right?

We all flow through our phases, after all.