Flash mob, flash fail

International Rueda flashmob at the Rådhuspladsen on April the 12th, 4p.m. ‘Rueda’ by my extravagantly educated mind’s guess is a type of dance they did, as I never bothered to google it, and it looked close to a Salsa or literally any other latin dance for all I care. The idea was for a bunch of countries all around the globe to do these ‘flash mobs’ in sequence as a sort of Rueda wave on that day, giving these old geezers something to look forward to and feel a sense of community and accomplishment in their last few blinks in this staring contest with life itself, whose eyes seldom meet yours. I believe they had rehearsals or dance lessons at least prior, but it sure didn't look it. Remarkably rarely do you get to see an organized, gangly, uncoordinated mess of such assembly. Half of these old dog’s new tricks were pure freestyle. Being a partner dance, it looked like two species meeting for the first time. However, credit be due, they did form and somewhat maintain a semi-circle. I’ll give’em that. Though, I cannot determine if it was intended. The start of it was supposed to be a gradual joining of randoms from the general public at the large square, as was instructed in the event details. Instead they had globbed together away from the public and on the fourth count of the church bell oozed into action, which resembled the spilling of a single-cell organism’s guts through its cell wall, to give you a comprehensive visual from my assumed vantage point.
Granted though, good for them. Finding a sense of community and purpose. Belonging. Matterless how small and arbitrary. Something I’ve been struggling with ever since ever. Suppose switching schools three times and class groups - four, will do that. Though, it goes deeper than that. Somewhere along the teens I realised how arbitrarily we are placed into groups that society expects me to respect. Born into a family, neighborhood, school and country I didn't choose and even know the other options until my early 20s. For all of these I should have some sacred, inherent, fundamental respect and love, but I have yet to hear a single rational argument in its defense. Rooting for a local sports team solely because of your random proximity regardless of other aspects, like them being good or not at the sport, is bewildering to me. I believe I have a firm grasp on the emotional attachment argument here, but what if that feeling is simply missing? As a kid I used to say that my mother wasn't my biological mother and that I must’ve been adopted, but she has never conceded to that nor have I seen any official contrary documentation, even though I have requested it multiple times. So the argument lingers in limbo. Ive always felt that I am unlike anyone of my family. In fact, in my tiny family everyone is wildly different. Completely different value system, interests, mannerisms, education level, IQ and even diet, as I've been making mostly my own simple teen meals. My parents would make a rather agreeable dinner quite often, but even then I wouldn't think to eat it, because some ingredients I couldn't care for.
Belonging? For years I've been wondering, if I am at all familiar with this emotion. Yet strange, I fail to recall ever going so much as 24 hours without seeing, hearing, sensing another human being. Learning of Diogenes of Synope, the based, I too consider myself a ‘citizen of the world’, though not this world, as evidently it will not have me. Of which then - I cannot say. Whereof we cannot speak, we must pass over in silence, as Wittgenstein says. And while I have met others of the same disposition, still their motivations, goals and focuses never quite align with mine own. How wonderfully contentful it must be to find belonging in being, in finding people where they are; humanity in simply presence. Stepping between the steps, content with intent alone together.

Stuff things, loot items

Second hand recycling stations - ‘Genbrugsstation’ - around town are a marvel of socialist achievement. Both large and local neighborhood stations are installed and maintained by the government and volunteers, who receive, organize, and help redistribute trash and donated items to everyone and anyone that wants them. Shelves of half-eaten books vibe-labeled by a dyslexic, Ikea reject rooms of fretted furniture, bins of fluffy, colorful discarded childhoods, and containers of plain old garbage. Open air and gateless, these items sit in a sturdy shelter marked by green flags and signs open to all. Walk in to leave whatever you think you are too good for and flex on those lesser than, whom may then find ordinary use of this common loot. An awe inspiring play of a win-win game. From each according to his ability to each according to his need. /Karl Marx/. I too found some books of use, but regrettably they were in Danish, and I am not, so no dice. Most probably because likewise the people here are in Danish. Will try again.
I've often pondered the mentality behind the motivation of the homeless. As little as I've seen, it seems that the price of freedom is life. Admittedly, jail is most nobodies idea of a good time, but I’d at least imagine it better than sleeping starved on the streets. Shelter, (supposed) protection and sustenance. All at the price of freedom. Yet they dont choose it. While it is completely rational to use your complete freedom to simply steal what you need until you end up in jail. Likewise, one can also think of a traditionally successful life as a sort of jail. Career, property, social norms, politics etc. limit your freedom. Here I mean it in the most straightforward meaning of human free will - simply the ability to do in our out of your interests. Unlike Hagel’s freedom of acting in your rational interests without restraint. Nor freedom as in determinism. These that tie you down to a place or a time, which in theory can be cut, but practically irrational to exercise that freedom. Ironic as all thoughts thunk to their bounds. Jail at either end. Thus, freedom only lies in between, where one has no use for it, or rather has incentive not to.

Next house

April 18th, Friday evening, having no plans, seemingly every business shut down and everyone away for Easter break, a lonesome friend took me out to visit a hostel bar, where he had spent that New Years Eve. ‘Next House’. I had little faith, but even less ambition for a great time, so I flipped the ol’ Danish d2 landing tails first on my bike off to town. Plus, he promised there’d be free games. That was a lie. Which he dares often, as do I indulge them, so shame on me. Indeed, there be games, but not free. As I entered, my jaw was scraping the delightfuly clean floors as it turns out this place is more of an adult arcade than a bar or hostel. Inner child me and outer shrivelled shell adult me had a field day. A decommissioned, old timey green convertible in the lobby, with a full dashboard of dials, trinary switches, -0-meters, a full steering wheel and pedals, making you feel like 006\. Unfortunately, I am quite tall, so my legs had to come along in the shotgun seat, as my arms could almost depress the pedals; my words would have to suffice, but for that my mood felt no gravity that evening. Next, there was a whole mini indoor football field surrounded by glass with LED strips in its floors, where I got to play with randoms. Just wandered into their glass castle and joined a team. In front of that there were ‘social stairs’ looking into the field, but also between them a 6-axis beer pong table, though they were playing with water. Additionally, multiple out-of-order pool tables, shuffleboard tables, darts boards, foosball tables, a shelf of board games, and two almost in the same room projector screens that were only playing some bird feeder stock video on loop every 30 seconds. Why. In short, a wonderful place.
Knowing this friend, I just about knew how’d this evening theater would play, as he time after time scribbles the same script. I arrive fashionably late to see him already foisting two lovely young ladies. Granted, as any man of the species, one should marvel at the mere chance to speak to one of our God’s finest creations, I know quite well.

And his unwavering persistence and motivation are admirable on these endless frivolous crusades. On the contrary, it inspires hope, actually. Over the last few years forgot how much I had given up until I saw someone try. Im unsure of why exactly I have an issue with this courting attempts. Rationally, I find no issue with befriending strangers in a public setting while being polite and boundful about it. Yet the sheer volume this doing demeans the worth of human uniqueness in my eyes. Meaningless small talk to exchange contact information and moving on to the next. On the holy shoulder hand, this is exactly how humanity has decided to socialize. Just that he does it with speed and quantity. Perhaps, my dissonance arrises from knowing the other persons most likely didn't find joy or value in that insipid interaction. Though, I cannot speak to what others think and feel. I remain on this among countless other topics internally conflicted with both ends frayed. Still, I had a rather great time trying uncommon conversation pieces with strangers I’ll likely never see again in a few hours. A refreshing freedom of palatable playfulness.

Epiphany column

The globe is a real, physical, continuous vector latent space of language, ethnicity and culture in general.

Quote column

You know, at heart I truly am a quintessential optimist. I have an unrelenting, unbreakable, divine and passionate hope for the worst at all times.
/ Roland, 2025. /

— Rolands Laucis