Pronounced charoozamoose.
It’s the way we can act when we actually don’t agree with something proposed.
It’s the way we can have a dreadful urge to discuss the matter but don’t immediately seem to find the way to say it out loud.
It’s the restless whispering that we utter amongst our fellow neighbours that probably agree with us but we’re not sure of that yet so we gently though urgently ask their opinion about the issue.
It’s the moment in between a point made and it’s actual consequence: the moment in which the matter did not receive it’s socially accepted judgement yet but will soon be nodded at with agreement, refused with a canon choir-like “noowh” or burst out into the chaos of unsettled opinions possibly accompanied by ungentle body contact.
It’s the way our head can’t get over a certain event, leaving us with a soft persistent buzz that haunts us up until the moment we actually made a clear decision about it. It’s the things that slow us down throughout a rational and emotional process to decide what moral we are made of. It’s the things we should have gotten rid of a long time ago of which we still get some sort of enjoyment in bringing back all the good and the bad aspects of it. It’s the left-overs we can’t seem to throw in the garbage. It’s the the crunchy cheese left on the edge of the pot of our mother’s chicory au gratin. It’s the noise we don’t hear filling up the space up until somebody asks us what that noise is. It’s the one word in the speech you didn’t understand of which your neighbour doesn’t give you the explanation and you end up spending the whole speech thinking about what this one word was. It’s the idea we’ve thrown in a group to which nobody really reacted with enthusiasm but we’ve spent years thinking it was a great idea. It’s the songs that persistently keep on disputing in the back of our minds, yearning for a way out.
