Jelena Savic

I am a fuckn artist!

Fear of landing/en June 12, 2017


There are no sandwiches for vegans in plains. It is strange how these sandwiches without meet are simple, with few leaves of melted cheese and some toppings over elegant toast, full of chemistry. And the ticket must be expensive. Probably half of a month salary. Business class travels and eats simple sandwiches with melted cheese. That, I guess, is the only thing connecting them with poor people to whom even that thing is a luxury, which, still, they can afford from time to time. Saving the cheese, these are two separate worlds. The Sky and The Earth. The first flies, the second crawls.

The ones who fly, as in life, do this with ease, without burden. Only with their laptop bags, in expensive shirts, branded shoes, nicely tailored trousers and skirts. They, with their straight posture, self-confident and ruling gaze, easily slide through earconditioned hallways.

They come, walking on the speed tracks, in front of their gates A47 or B60, in the span of precisely, expert measured time for boarding, from one part of the steel and glass oval construction, to the other. Their small luggage, expensive suitcases with four wheels, they will put over their A17 or C20 seats, which they have chosen.

While they pack their paper and nicely designed bags with their on the way bought perfumes of between 60 and 100 eur into these small compartments, their well well-preserved faces of between 30 and 50 are calm, and finally their eyes start to gaze over their phones, e-books and flat, expensive computers which they put in their laps, over the comfortable, branded trousers in soft, warm colors. Their well sustained bodies they lean into the plain seats, and rest their elbows and toned arms beneath their expensive shirts on the handles, which they share with co-passengers.

These co-passengers wear flimsy dresses, expensive and simple jewels and light makeup. Their nourished hear is tied carelessly. In groups they sometimes speak too loudly, marking the space as theirs, referring to the fun experiences they had on their business travel, and later sharing personal information about their life, the ones that people who fly can share – where to go to the vacation, what type of expensive make up they use, how they experienced misunderstanding and ordinary human stupidity by poor people. While they sit there, I notice how comfortable must be their shoes with clean endings, no scratches or traces of wearing.

These are the people with no visible marks on their bodies, clothing, shoes and consciousness similar to the ones who crawl.

Calm and neutral murmur while boarding in the plain, allowing them to rule the time and space with high level of safety unavailable to the ones below, getting them to their destinations all over the world, they interrupt to show inherited fighting for resources skills, to which they seem to be entitled.

They will pull out their undoubtable trained cold and argumentative persona to ensure their places next to the corridor, and move with despise astray and unexperienced passengers which thought they can escape the system and disobey the directives of the dehumanized process of checking in on the machines which designate the seat numbers.

Among flyers, they are the ones who knew how to get what they want, how not to allow the system to dictate them where they seat, and how to make the system to work for them. As in life, there are very few unwanted things which are assigned to them. They will not be in the middle or down, but up, in this case next to the corridor, at the places of higher possibilities in crisis.

Except a bit unpleasant smell of simple sandwiches, all smells on expensive perfumes and money. Seductive notes of two and a half hours of practice of belonging to the higher class easily captures the senses. And butterflies in the stomach are artificially induced by the expensive experience of the change of pressure while taking off. After these two hours of being melted into the mass of flyers, the only thing that exist is the slow growing fear of landing.