One moment, your desk before you, another, a particularly fickle something. It whisks you aloft.
You are flying, birds be damned.
The wind flows through your hair, an uplifting feeling overcomes you, the deafening roar of the wind by your ears.
Yet, you feel cold, your fingers tremble. You realize you were not meant to fly. With altitude, your ears pop. Keeping your eyes open is no longer an option, sheer wind is enough to make you want to keep your vision. Your mind is a mess, the balance is tricky, and the frostbite is eating away at your ears.
You wish to go home.
You fly through a cloud, or what seems to be one, your eyes are closed. You know that there is some warmth now, you feel the sun. You cover your ears, the cold is too much to bear. Your nose is running; you ignore it. The pressure is now overbearing, so much wind and yet so little to breathe. Your body feels more limp then ever, you become the frigid winter.
You are still sitting at your desk.
Perhaps the skies, while brilliant, best be left to the birds.
Then again. Why not build airplanes?
Life is like a game of Tetris.
Block after block I reminisce. I build this tower.
So carefully, I do everything within my power.
Though they keep coming, never rest,
I try so hard to do my best.
A little nudge, I’ve made a mess
Perhaps I’ve done too much, I must confess.
But life, unlike this game, has no reset,
oh all the problems that beset.
I think I’ve got it! I succeed,
it beckons, a l’appel du vide!
But it was not to be, I missed the mark,
I fall, I feel… so dark.
But then, not all is lost,
Every possibility I shall exhaust.
Perhaps I’ll fix this mess, one line and then another.
I simply hope there’s still some time to bother.
I build this tower. I reminisce. So block after block,
Life is like a game of Tetris.
At a glance it seems so quick. Just yesterday I did that thing, you know, the one I thought I had just started? Come on, you must remember, it wasn’t long ago… and so it was, time flies.
I thought I saw a lot, all those things I did, or perhaps the things I didn’t do. Are those much more important? We seek, we find, we see, we climb. Another look? Perhaps another time. Yet, gents, the ladies, kids and all, we should not fear the coming tides, for future waves have many sides.
A happening today I fear, but then tomorrow, I hold dear.
Tomorrow, although unknown, I’ll guess that glasses should be full, for morrow brings another slice to chew until the next. I shall not riddle rhymes with right and reason, I’ll stray from this stale pablum young and old. I shall, of course, recount my days, take inventory, perhaps seek smaller meaning of the heavy depths. To you, I say hello, goodbye the old, hello the new. Your resolutions, thoughts and feelings flourish in the nights of company. Yet, seek to keep those promises within yourself, set ladders low, and climb right over. This time draws near, but not just any time.
Not just another time for celebration, a look behind, in front, then its all clear. This night needs neither neatly nap in naive narrative, nor near new navy negligee. Though, many may agree these bring some light to newly forgone mornings. Instead, this needs some food, good company! A once shared story grows in light of passers by.
So here I seek to bring some cheer to light, another seeming bit of time lost to us all. With this, I say to those who listen. This day is worth perhaps an evening, but its enough to bring us joy. As such, let me invoke a thought from this old year, to seek the best, and, not like the rest, live life to more than expectations.
And so, as light draws near, I wish you all, a Happy New Year.
The boy looks at his watch, noon. A nice round number.
The girl looks him in the eye “I don’t think you understand“ she spoke softly ‘you cannot change the past.’
‘We can’ replies the man, his eyes shoot forward “that is what we do. This is our job.”
The woman shakes her head so as to say ‘I beg to differ’.
The man, solemn, square “You’re right, we have no will and yet everyone has to make choices, determined or not, a choice has to be made. Even those that aren’t, are in themselves choices.”
The woman, growing weary “Look, listen. People walk the earth never noticing the curvature. We travel through time, never noticing that we were never traveling in the first place.“
“Or is it the other way around?“ remarked the man
The lady “I don’t understand.”
The gentleman “That makes two of us.”
Wearily “You cannot change the past.”
Calmly “I already did.”
“You!” sneered the burly man, as a condescending smile slowly creeped across his face. The kind of smile that makes you want to hide in a cave and throw balls of paper at the television.
Now, the other man is best described as cog in an infernal machine, his place would be subject to scrutiny, supervision, direction, management and assignment. He knew that this would be his next.
“Yes sir?” he answered meekly.
“Get me a coffee.”
The puny man gazed at the coffee machine only two steps to his left. ‘Is he serious? Is that why they hired me?’ thought the man, then looked back at his boss and simply pointed at the coffee machine.
“Exactly, get on it. We have a meeting in 2 minutes!” roared the boss. He turned around and made way to the conference room at a brisk pace.
‘Stupidity, that’s what it must be. We value what? Money, time, relationships… then why is this workplace so indifferent to all of those things?’, his head swayed to one side, ‘what’s the point? Nancy steals pens from the closet, George hides a stack of emergency reports in the same closet… now, come to think of it, both Nancy and George spend a lot of time in that closet. Beside the point.’ he thought ‘pointless as it is, I need to grab this coffee or… or what? what will happen? Will the boss be angry? Will I get fired? Probably neither of those things, I mean I don’t think he cares less whether he actually gets a coffee or not and I’m not sure my contract allows me to be fired for such a stupidity. Yes, exactly, a stupidity is what this is.’
The man stood there, motionless. Well, almost, the fidgety pen might have given him away to the passing glance. He stood there contemplating his place in this universe he calls the office, mostly by lamenting the importance of coffee delivery and occasionally, but only just, Nancy and her new friend.
The Wall of Steel took a seat, or at least that is what he called himself. ‘Dammit, where is my coffee? I hired this bastard for one reason, reliability. His resume, recommendations don’t mean shit. But when I talked to his last boss, I heard good things, very good things. Particularly concerning getting shit done. It’s been what? One day? I am about to give him a big project and he is reeling in teenage angst? How old is he anyway? 30? 40? Mediocrity in the workplace is what this is, no, stupidity.’
The Wall, and that many would agree is an accurate description of both his physique and mental condition, particularly concerning the existence of bricks in the area where compassion should be stored, leaned back in the chair just far enough to see the fidgety pen. Patience is a virtue, he has heard this many times, but “no!” he yelled and slammed his fist on the hand rest of his chair “patience is a weakness, impatience is the sign of an incompetent workplace.” He glared at the man through the window. The puny man was clearly lost in thought but agitated nevertheless.
The pen, currently in a bout of sickness at the insanity with which it is being spun, lamented its short life. ‘They took me out of the box yesterday and I’m suffering. Nobody would do this to the stapler, or the hole puncher, but the pen? Of course, we’re disposable, do we mean nothing to the workers of this office? Curses on all of you!’ The pen, beginning to show signs of wear after just a single day of use, was leaking. Not just anywhere, but all over the fidgety man’s cuff and his poorly chosen pants.
“Alright already!” he exclaimed in the quietest voice possible. He had responded to his boss’ glare and in a second glance, snapped the pen in two over the atrocity it had committed all over his cuff. Never knowing the pen for what it was, he trotted over to the coffee machine in disgust, picked the most vile coffee he could, and began the arduous coffee making process. ‘Those buttons are as worn as my mug.’ the thought escaped him ‘my last boss, now she was excellent, who does this guy think he is? Madonna?’ The machine finished its sputtering, and the coffee, putrid as it looked, smelled great. The man lifted the coffee, and brought it into the meeting room.
The desk was shaken. It was fresh from the production line and never having seen the likes of a real meeting room, wasn’t sure what to expect. The yelling wasn’t in its list of expectations. What’s worse is that it didn’t stop at the yelling. ‘These vile creatures, how dare they slam their fists on me?’ the desk couldn’t move, as, obviously, it is a desk. ‘pure mahogany is what I am, and as I must be, I should not be subjected to this villainous violation of volition!’
Both men were fuming, the meekly man had shown a bout of verbal self defence not yet witnessed by mankind, and in kind, his boss had shown the opposite to an equally impressive degree. The Wall of Steel quickly regained his composure, and slid the folder across the beautiful mahogany conference table to his now apparent opponent. In what? That’s for them to decide. The puny man opened the folder and his eyes lit up. It must be qualified, that the man is not so much puny in the likes of Napoleon, but rather small in comparison to the giant Steel Wall sitting across from him. “See what I mean?” said the boss in an almost mockingly soft tone. “Yes, wonderful. Why don’t I go contemplate career suicide over there in the corner instead of over here where my enemies are gnawing at my flesh.” said the meek man, or perhaps, meek only in relation to the tenacity of his boss, for he was no stranger to war it would seem.
The folder had not felt this much handling since its assembly in the paper mill, and all it had to say in this situation is nothing. For folders do not have feelings and have no sentience for which to speak of.
It’s been hours, many, many hours. The men emerge from the room visibly tired from the yelling. ‘It’s over’ thought both men. Who knows what was in the folder, what project this was to be. Who knows why the company went the way it did, but it didn’t take long for it to dissipate in the face of economic pressure, for in its most important moment, its accounts were empty and its pens were missing. The tables were repossessed and nobody but the two angry men were smiling at the end.
I saw it. You must’ve as well. Unambiguously, ‘it’ lived within the realm of reason, but nary a through may be directed towards ‘it’. It wanted, what? Compassion? Satisfaction? Perhaps a question not so easily answered.
The third row is where I sat, the to be preformed dolphin extravaganza was aptly renamed a ‘training session’ and with that came the end of ‘it’ for me as well. Though not all was lost, for they had brought an new excitement to the stage, a furry creature with beady black eyes. or was it brown? I never could tell.
The instructors, keen to show what they have been practicing, let the Sea Lion jump into a few simple tricks. The backstroke was first, truly, Michael Phelps would have to run for his money, or swim rather. For our cuddly friend here, would have got his money and came back twice before Phelps even reached the destination. Though we shall not be confused, for Michael Phelps understands ‘it’ just as well as this one here.
Two more tricks and the creature ‘ran’ onto land as best he could. ‘It’ was ever present, succeed and rewarded he shall be, fail and he would be corrected. A ball is launched.
Do your remember a time when you’d try to balance a broom or a stick on the tip of your finger or on the flat of your nose? Perhaps that spoon you’d rest on the tip to impress in a bout of tomfoolery. The Lion would reciprocate, for the creature ascertained the balance of the ball in a grand pendulous monition. Mesmerizing as it was, the ball eventually came to rest. Here ‘it’ comes, reason negated, an intense concentration brought about. ‘It’ was ever present.
*click* goes the shutter on a camera, not even a glimpse, nor a wonder. The creature knew, the only thing that mattered, and ‘it’.
Sometimes the world is dry, too dry.
Not a cup of water to be seen, neither a sliver of a drop nor a hint at unyielding bounty. Why must this be so? ‘Supply and demand’ the economist will answer, ‘resolve’ the psychiatrist will reason, ‘your situation’ a friend might ponder, but we know better. Don’t we?
As all taller children may convey a sense of legitimacy, they are usually anything but a relative perception of the form. Sure, very tall children might dictate how the clock ticks but they are no more legitimate than your imaginary friend, but we know better. Don’t we?
I often loose my place, take in the world for all that I know it to be and picture it all. Too much, I think, too much to bear. An idea here, maybe one there, but it all falls apart at one end. I know too little, yet I’m surrounded by those who know too much, but we know better. Don’t we?
Another tick, this clock is bearing heavily on my mind, it’s small, it’s poorly built but it is heavy none the less. It reminds me of night, dark but lovely, only mysterious because we taller children are so poorly equipped to handle it. I see that I am at a loss, but this too shall pass, because I know better. Don’t I?
She just sat there. The cacophonous racket of the falling scaffolding left the creature nonplussed. Her friend must have done this a thousand times, collapsing the frail structure of his makeshift store and then building it again the next morning. I watched wide-eyed. The cat drew no interest in this passerby, for I am no more remarkable than the person beside me and in the cat’s world I am nothing new.
She drew an imperceptible breath, turned her head and faced the bustling world before her. I grew ever more excited, not unlike a child yearning to play. Yet, there would be no game to play, no change to foster, I would just as quickly miss this creature as I had met it. She lowered her head.
I looked to her weary friend and with his nod I kneeled, pulled out my canvas and pressed the round object that would engrave this creature onto the digital retina of my camera. *Click*
I withdrew my knees from the moist reaches of the ground and bid the cat adieu. An Evening Sigh.
lewsyloosie asked: Why "Timely Alex"?
Perhaps a thought need be directed at how one defines oneself. Some announce themselves by their trade, others by their spoils. Neither one nor the other seemed fit to show what best defines this personality. What else then?
With this a passing glance at an unearthly hour drew broad strokes in what can easily be defined as an idea. I understood that what defined a person more than chore or windfall, was time. We change too often to be seen so static, a passing glance is only just that, a title fit for this would be inadequate. So here I see a place to show myself as one who grabs the opportunity, a claim most apt for a photographer one would agree. Thus, as time defines who I must be, I see it in my place to catch a moment most timely.
An evening breeze gently rolls its wake across the early morning sky. What is it that you seek? I ask. It answers, but not a simple query grants its glance. It seeks the morning dew, the warm embrace of flowery golden goodness, the sleepy sullen salutation, a smile, a sliver of a simple sanguine sun.
My canvas in my hands, but not a painter’s brush. I yearn to learn of daring skill and lingering bravado. I seek to grab the sky in only best intensions, yet, a click away, is my impression newly chiseled on mere digits. I grab hold of these new depths, a vast expanse now right before me.
I, a little fish lost in the sea, swim freely now, perhaps in history.