Words to the wind

Old man wind. Taking a break from my private life vlogs, that even I have yet to see, online I saw the idea of a newspaper form of a blog. Also my classmate has been wanting to make her own personal magazine for some time now, which at the time also struck me as an obvious endeavor for any creative.
Hieroglyphics recently fascinated me. All ancient languages actually, because think of how valuable written language used to be. The vocabulary limited, still coming into sense with syntax, very few fortunate enough to learn it, and even then the mediums difficult to work with. Carving into stone, getting a fresh wet slab of clay, creating color pigments from plants to paint with. So few had the gift of such frustration. Imagine then, if it were this difficult for you to communicate something to the next generation, in so few words, with such effort required for every stroke, what would you say? Now think of all the written word from the ancient world. Of how much importance it must’ve been to them their message.
Then again, of the many topics I consider myself competent, admittedly this is not one of them. Perhaps, it was easier than making peach marmalade pre-industrial revolution. I don’t know. Though, I've never heard any of the Greeks make peach marmalade or peach yogurt even.
Even just recently pre-21st century, we still mostly used typewriters and good ol pencil and paper, if you could find either in some pandora's box drawer filled with bits of things you didn't know even existed. Singular examples in human history, and you happen to own it. Well, now each character, each featherful tap on my soft plastic squares costs me or us all the energy of 1 full moon landing mission worth of compute power, yet I more feel the impact of the weekly milk carton on my finances. I must be a gajillionaire - printing and discarding characters to the whim of wild winds storming my mountain range dural folds. So, much like the awe inspiring engineering gymnastics and energy consumption impacts on the world behind the act of writing are lost to me, so too I believe the written word itself has lost impact on us. Everyone having such free and easy access to writing has diminished the value of our messages. Whereas, I like to think that my words still carry surplus value, this endeavor is based on completely free expression, free of judgement, which ironically requires at least the illusion that nobody will read these mundane ramblings. I count myself fortunate to live where I may leave these words to the wind, which to me costs nothing, but hopefully pays dividends to my mental output.

They talk where I sing

Karaoke night at the Student House! This time less crowded, yet the same Spanish people playing their own songs that nobody (me) can understand. Twenty different songs with the same beat about Alejandro and the girl he can't love for whatever superfluous reason. Okay. Otherwise, quite a surprisingly fun evening, seeing as I arrived alone, assimilated to a group and invited a friend, who got me a date. Apparently, she is keen. Actually, a breath of hope in my panting lung love life. Ain't it funny how the night moves.
Most people there don't really have a voice for it, but of course the point is to have fun. Almost a social contract how everyone has to have at least one beer and fumble the mic. But it did get me thinking (being fully aware of the damage that has and will continue to lay on my troubled psyche), that I might've conquered my adolescent fears. And it’s. Mid. I sang (howled), danced (baltered), talked to strangers, and none of it gave me any thrill really. An insipid realisation that anxiety and embarrassment are essential to living. Much like salt and vinegar.
Most other accounts of this night were quite positive. As reported by one individual nearing the middle of the night saying “Thank you for inviting me, Roland; I’ve had a shitty day.” (paraphrased) To which I responded something to the effect of “V, this is good.”, as that gets him every time. Other reports at the scene are scarce, as most interviewed in this student crowd lead with the typical “so what’s your name?”, undoubtedly followed by the vapid “And where are you from?”.

I politely answer both, ask them back, and the conversation is already 6ft under. The wake held in silence. For whom the bell tolls? My dear, humanity is the lesser for you have buried us both along in the coffin! Feeling like a zombie how many times I've had to crawl out. However, that night around the last bell stepping out to the usually busy daytime touristy Købmagergade street, quickly turned to the last season of any sitcom. Mid life crisis guy riding a bike up and down the street with booming techno music, herds of exchange students from other bars going past each other in random directions, some girl being trollied in a metal shopping cart - random any events to fill in the episodes. All this on an April Thursday.
Following a series of unrelated events interrupting my friends' never ending story that could’ve just been 2 sentences, we did have a longer cobblestone sidewalk sitting kind of chat, which brought up some interesting points. He seems to believe that negative social interactions with others should be fixed in your perception of them, putting no blame on the cause - the other person. That to me harmonizes with Stoicism. In recent years, I’ve become quite critical of that doctrine. It essentially numbs you to the full range of emotion you can get from the external world, always looking inward. But I now wish to feel all that a person ought to, all that is natural, all that the world can provide, including the bad. Let me feel anger and envy, so i may exercise restraint from acting on them. That I may by contrast know love and admiration. Buddha and various western stoics teach us that desire is a vice, but it is clearly a part of being human. Removal of vices is still removal - removal of humanity. You are the lesser when you subtract from yourself. They say self-improvement is self-hate. I find self-hate irrational and unnecessary. Though, I do admire many stoics contributions to philosophy, particularly Seneca the younger. I say crash out! Catch a case. Scream a song into the streets. Text your ex. Add twists and turns in your story. On my deathbed sinking down to the warm light of hell, I'll have just one question - was I fun for my people?

Curtainless Crimson brick rectangles

Having the privilege, joy and frustration lining of living here I'd be remiss if i didnt devote a segment on this absolutely beautiful city of Copenhagen. The cozy, warm, deep brownish red brick residential apartments; the vast, flat, ankle deep water pools around shimmering modern miracles of concrete and glass; the greenery of parks, nooks, paths everywhere possible, between-yards littered with playgrounds, swings, tiny mounds, outdoor tennis tables, they even put grass and logs on top of bus stop shelters. The families here have hope in their faces. Unthinkable. Like they legit think it's worth not only living out their own life, but to bring more life into this shitshow as if it's all gonna be alright. Fascinating to watch them go about their lil everyday errands; biking their kids to and from school through the winter and the wind. Just seeing this place exist each day effortlessly infuses joy through some telepathic osmosis. By some statistics (Source? Guess.) this city is the happiest in the world.
Though i wouldn’t have expected to hear police sirens like literally every fucking day, sometimes more than that. What are they policing? The asshole Magpie’s eating other birds eggs again? Totally hilarious by the way, how these based birds found a way to cheat the system. Respectable. But I digress. Near me there is this tiny kiosk filled with snacks I checked out once. What a place. I haven't seen anything like this even in the depths of Rīga, Maskačka, where the police daren’t dwell. Firstly, in this kiosk - no price tags. On anything. Asked the clerk and he had a look like I asked for the meaning of life. It’s 42, brother. So the scheme here is you buy and then find out how much you got ripped off. This literally cannot be legal. Secondly, all the goods were stacked not on shelves exactly, but mini fridges with their doors taken off. Actually, impressive ingenuity on that account. Right by the entrance a gambling machine with two bums, I'm assuming coming preinstalled with the unit. The front door wide open 24/7 with a generic motion sensor bell when someone enters, just so the clerk knows to come out from the back in time to note what was stolen. But I guess people here can afford to hold up their personal principles of justice without micro-governance. That level of financial stability is daydream worthy. Because, the rent here alone will put you to the street alone. My monthly paycheck from my university job in IT back home barely covers my rent. Along with that, there are a number of frustrations in this city as well. Public transit is flaky, as I've gotten stuck in a metro for 20+ minutes multiple times in these months.

My only local bus stop got canceled for a month, so I got a Danish bike instead. The engineering and attention to detail on paper gets a lot of praise, but I really just miss my shitty mountain bike back home. On these bikes I cannot properly stand up, and mine doesn't have speed gears, and the pedals don't rotate freely backwards; I love idly twirling them at stops. The handles are pointed at you in hopes of snapping your pollicis longus thumb tendon. Asshole design. Oh, and the wind. It's everywhere here. There is this constant breeze that is often interrupted by Boreas himself ripping a roaring toe curling bust slapping your face into a hypothermic coma two inception levels deep.
Anyways, beautiful, awe inspiring, gorgeous, comfy city. I give time where I can to sit and stare at it. From a rock, from a rooftop, from a park bench, from my street level room window. Every day for a moment the clouds part and the sun, that is always there regardless and unwavering, shines on in to make us see what we have and set our troubled thoughts of tomorrow off out.

Epiphany column

Pretty much any time any place for about 5-10$ you could spawn and command a flock of birds using a bag of seeds. Additionally, you could lace them with laxatives for a targeted air-strike. Always be responsible with knowledge.

Quote column

He is a wise man that takes a nap; even wiser still whom gives it back.
/ Roland, 2025. /

— Rolands Laucis