The Power of Now

I feel like a pervert, being somewhere I’m not supposed to be, as I look out over Central Europe from a dizzying altitude. Everything seems simpler up here despite being aware of the complexity of flight.

Lonely in a way, but it’s refreshing to feel fully committed to something with a clear end.

A baby is crying like it’s supposed to, drowning out the tiny world below. Most seem uninterested by the unique perspective of flight – we’re so far away from our natural habitat. We need bright pictures to flick through, stupid articles in vacuous magazines and the latest pseudoscience change-your-life-in-a-week book to be content.

We are flying monkeys right now, for fucks sake.

I’m enjoying the brief absence from the endless media – nothing to evaluate or ignore up here. Just my seat, a window, and a small possibility that I’ll die inside a giant metal bird, leaving behind an unsigned will on my coffee table and a bookcase full of the pseudoscience books I mentioned earlier.

I should probably mention my wife in what may be my final moments. Sorry about the will, dear.

Please look after my books.