A night thought
Full of questions. A life where muscles and bloated lips reign supreme. Beauty seems the ideal. But appearances are deceiving. It is a thin line of varnish that strikes the clock. A luxurious room with a bar full of drinks. A shot here and a shot there and real life is long gone.
Tarzan and Jane don't talk about a battle raging in the Ukraine. It's not war. It's a battle over who gets to sleep with whom. A bit unskilled, but it doesn't show that on a flat screen. Life is perfect, cry a little about a missed date and everything will be fine.
An air raid siren only once a month on the first Monday of the month at twelve o'clock. For Muscles and swollen breasts the sign to repel with a B52. A jump with a broke head in the blue swimming pool. Preferably with the glass still burning in hand. Who does what to us is the thought that predominates at the hop in the water. Thinking about and reflecting on what is happening in the rest of the world is no longer a topic after an hour of pouring.
Bikinis and hard torsos are much more important. All have never seen a bomb or grenade. At most an unexploded jar of gel in the too hot sun can cause unrest. Panic arises under the torsos and bikinis. Short arms and legs tighten in the morning light, while make-up boxes fly around the hotel room.
Life is not easy. But in paradise on earth, pictures dominate. Twenty Burpies and a few syringes left and right. Life is not what can be made, nor what is already there. Life is using the little brain. Then it will be quite pleasant together.