Day 1: Movement of a fly

Yesterday I was slowly drowning in the time that passed by over my shoulder without being able to notice any of the silly thoughts that went from one part of my mind to the other. It’s kind of strange how little I notice when it’s late and I’m relaxing on my back while I’m enjoying a book, a diary of yesterday that wasn’t born to take with me tomorrow. The soft buzzing of a fly made me look up and turn my neck away from the page while it nearly faded away. I got disturbed and while my neck and body was wiggling like the sea to view this fly I came to wonder to myself how this hypnotizing act of a fly could interfere with my own behavior.

The buzzing sound and the rapid movement of this fly while I was sure to be able to see this fly hanging in the air as if it felt quiet en calm. Surely the fly felt calm in the growing grass and I looked at myself as if I was in a borderless field of green grass and this flies where buzzing everywhere. Truly everywhere I felt this strange buzz coming up to me, their sound waved as a bird, like a plane, like an orchestra of untouchable directions that was quiet as earth by night but as busy as if all its directions where revealing themselves. Their eyes where popping out their bodies as if all senses came to life and it wasn’t before that, that I realized that flies nearly only are built up from eyes. While they buzz and while they move as fast as light through my room the view upon the carpet, the walls, the hanging lights and even the fruits upon the table changed, the space grows but the space becomes smaller as soon as there are more and more eyes, every spot of this growing place is touched by this fly her eyes and it calms down the green grass and the borderless space.

This fly is what a thought is made off, this fly we can never touch since it’s to fast and it has too many eyes to look at you. The interpretations of the fly must run slow and deep, or its processing speed might be turned up rapidly when it moves across the room, no doubt when I walked and sited down on my chair I must have felt the strange comfortable feeling of this fly touching my space with its eyes while I remarked doubtfully that time in a flies life must be very different. I would never understand the fly; she went fast while I went slowly. It stopped while I went on to my kitchen, tasted the smell of food and she came to me, I went away and didn’t discover the act of following. There is a strange magic clock in our world, what goes fast follows what goes slow and when we stop, time stops while we are never on the same level. Night turned black and the fly slipped away from my attention while I’m sure the fly looks at me as if it’s a new full day. Strange dualities we share.

Jean-Paul Opperman (19-06-2009)