New job, new start, new perspective.
The bus travels along its regular course with I, unable to get a seat as usual, stand gripping a handhold. I'm sure I look pale. MY jaw is permanately clenched, pewrhaps from talking all day, perhaps from stress. I feel irradiated. As though the light from the computer screen has travelled through my skin and sapped it of its vitality. "Hello, This is Tom speaking. How may I help with your Bigpond enquiry?" The statement burning its way into my psyche.
Ask a leading question. A little X-Ray to view what's underneath the purpose of the call. Ask how you may help them. A lightwave to illuminate their purpose. Remember active listening. Radiowaves sent though the wires to assure them that somebody cares.
All this energy pulsing about. Redirecting the movement of my thoughts. Simplifying the complex into concise and simple solutions. Taking the multitudinous aspects of their daily monotony and applying it to a simple method of integration to the system. Certainly I can help with that. I'm sorry but it was in the Terms of the Contract. I'm sorry to hear that you're not happy with our service, I'll put you through to cancellations.
My jaw aches and the bus rocks gently, accentuated my listlessness. The ther commuters read a book or gaze out of the window as absent and drained as I am myself. Selling their labour to survive. Selling their time to others so that they may buy some future time for theselves. So many transactions taking place. Simple and quantifiable. It's all about reduction. Reducing it down to a simple equation. Applying the vastness of it all down into a simple dollar digit that can be accumulated and put into your paycheque. Simple. Correct. Congratulations, you got it Right.
I gt off the bus and cross the road. The same steps that I take each day in the dusk. The light is fading and my footsteps seem to trace a faint line in the shadows ahead, made by a well-worn repetition of habit. The simplification of it all! How completely sensible.
Then a thought occurs. Perhaps things shouldn't be simplified. Perhaps my thoughts are misleading me into becoming complacent with a perfectly reasonable method of transacting life. My footseteps slow from my usual brisk pace. Fast enough to get me home without excessive strain or panting. Quite efficient. As my thoughts begin to unpack I feel a slight amount of relief. My jaw seems a little less tight and I can feel my breath in my lungs. I feel as though My thoughts are Russian dolls one inside another. They're easier to transport this way. Finally they are being pulled out from the inside of their mother. and rolled about. Being examined from each and every angle.
It seems difficult, stuttered. As though my mind is reluctant to slow down. I try to relax, and feel panicked at the thought that I may not have been relaxed to begin with.
I follow the same steps and wonder why I'm following them. A brief moment of hesitation. I could go anywhere. I feel empowered and afraid. I consider the possibility of diverting offtrack just for an instance. As though this autopilot of repetition was not a necessary state of being. That my whole life was not premeditated by the rational sensible outcomes of different data, voices over a telephone, being applied to a system of action. But herein lies the problem. I've simplified this situation once again. Taking it down to its lowest common denominator and teasing out the remainders until they lie at a decimal place so far removed from myself that I'd have to squint through the hazy distance to see it. I squint with my minds eye but see a repetition of zeroes.
I draw a blank.
I am approached by two people and once again register that I am walking towards home. I pick up my pace as my autopilot re-engages, bringing me back to my programmed course. I wonder if they wondered at my slow and mediated wanderings before I caught sight of them. I walk home trying to recapture that sense of opening, that unpacking of thoughts. One box inside another. Each being examined, and explored. Each has four corners, each fits neatly inside the other. I know this, but just let me look at it. I want to see for myself it's edges make sure that it slots neatly into the next. I'm mesmerised by this tesselation. It seems to glide in so smoothly. Like the slow drift of an object through space. Thoughtful hallucinations of boxes in vacuums.
My jaw aches. The radiation sickness has penetrated to the very core of me. I feel it in my mind. The cancer. The tumorous growths that are restructuring my thoughts. Cancerous order making sense of the disorder that came before it. Speed. Efficiancy. No time to slow. We're making you better.
I enter the house the world seems to tilt below me slightly, though my body works perfectly well. I converse briefly with my flatmates but am not sur if I'm the one talking. Certainly sounds like something I'd say though. Simplified back down and quantifiable.
I go into my room and look at myself in the mirror. I get changed into some casual clothes and see my shirtless reflection in the mirror. It's strange how different I see myself from day to day. I feel like sometimes I am muscular and adult, sometimes like i'm putting on too much wait, sometimes a little gaunt. Today I look more boyish than I have seen myself for a while. A slight speckle of chest hair giving the only hint of burgeoning adulthood; adorning a smooth-skinned and bottle-tanned body that today is viewed as very appealing. An unpacking of thoughts and feeling of what I usually feel about this self. A recognition of the mourning that I feel each time that I see myself. This body will age and whither. Time is the most important things for this self. What are you doing with this prescious time?
My thoughts are disconnected now. Lying limply around me. Focusing all energy they can on the task at hand. Typing on this keyboard and expressing the moments just past, and the moment underway. A meaning to it all could be sought but that would be a simplification, too fine a point for the breadth of this. Things lie unpacked around me. Russian dolls in boxes thrown haphazardly about the room. I look at teh untidy mess of it all and regret the fact that i shall have to tidy it all up once more. Then a reflection of the visceral nature of it all. A pleasant sensation at the thought of the untidyness of it all. I shall have to put it all back in its place, but not yet. For the time being I can just view the disarray. I have time for that now. To sit in the centre and watch intently as it does nothing. As simple as that.
Tonight I must remember to wear my dental plate. My unpacked thoughts will set my jaw in action. Though only in my sleep shall order be retained.
Ask a leading question. A little X-Ray to view what's underneath the purpose of the call. Ask how you may help them. A lightwave to illuminate their purpose. Remember active listening. Radiowaves sent though the wires to assure them that somebody cares.
All this energy pulsing about. Redirecting the movement of my thoughts. Simplifying the complex into concise and simple solutions. Taking the multitudinous aspects of their daily monotony and applying it to a simple method of integration to the system. Certainly I can help with that. I'm sorry but it was in the Terms of the Contract. I'm sorry to hear that you're not happy with our service, I'll put you through to cancellations.
My jaw aches and the bus rocks gently, accentuated my listlessness. The ther commuters read a book or gaze out of the window as absent and drained as I am myself. Selling their labour to survive. Selling their time to others so that they may buy some future time for theselves. So many transactions taking place. Simple and quantifiable. It's all about reduction. Reducing it down to a simple equation. Applying the vastness of it all down into a simple dollar digit that can be accumulated and put into your paycheque. Simple. Correct. Congratulations, you got it Right.
I gt off the bus and cross the road. The same steps that I take each day in the dusk. The light is fading and my footsteps seem to trace a faint line in the shadows ahead, made by a well-worn repetition of habit. The simplification of it all! How completely sensible.
Then a thought occurs. Perhaps things shouldn't be simplified. Perhaps my thoughts are misleading me into becoming complacent with a perfectly reasonable method of transacting life. My footseteps slow from my usual brisk pace. Fast enough to get me home without excessive strain or panting. Quite efficient. As my thoughts begin to unpack I feel a slight amount of relief. My jaw seems a little less tight and I can feel my breath in my lungs. I feel as though My thoughts are Russian dolls one inside another. They're easier to transport this way. Finally they are being pulled out from the inside of their mother. and rolled about. Being examined from each and every angle.
It seems difficult, stuttered. As though my mind is reluctant to slow down. I try to relax, and feel panicked at the thought that I may not have been relaxed to begin with.
I follow the same steps and wonder why I'm following them. A brief moment of hesitation. I could go anywhere. I feel empowered and afraid. I consider the possibility of diverting offtrack just for an instance. As though this autopilot of repetition was not a necessary state of being. That my whole life was not premeditated by the rational sensible outcomes of different data, voices over a telephone, being applied to a system of action. But herein lies the problem. I've simplified this situation once again. Taking it down to its lowest common denominator and teasing out the remainders until they lie at a decimal place so far removed from myself that I'd have to squint through the hazy distance to see it. I squint with my minds eye but see a repetition of zeroes.
I draw a blank.
I am approached by two people and once again register that I am walking towards home. I pick up my pace as my autopilot re-engages, bringing me back to my programmed course. I wonder if they wondered at my slow and mediated wanderings before I caught sight of them. I walk home trying to recapture that sense of opening, that unpacking of thoughts. One box inside another. Each being examined, and explored. Each has four corners, each fits neatly inside the other. I know this, but just let me look at it. I want to see for myself it's edges make sure that it slots neatly into the next. I'm mesmerised by this tesselation. It seems to glide in so smoothly. Like the slow drift of an object through space. Thoughtful hallucinations of boxes in vacuums.
My jaw aches. The radiation sickness has penetrated to the very core of me. I feel it in my mind. The cancer. The tumorous growths that are restructuring my thoughts. Cancerous order making sense of the disorder that came before it. Speed. Efficiancy. No time to slow. We're making you better.
I enter the house the world seems to tilt below me slightly, though my body works perfectly well. I converse briefly with my flatmates but am not sur if I'm the one talking. Certainly sounds like something I'd say though. Simplified back down and quantifiable.
I go into my room and look at myself in the mirror. I get changed into some casual clothes and see my shirtless reflection in the mirror. It's strange how different I see myself from day to day. I feel like sometimes I am muscular and adult, sometimes like i'm putting on too much wait, sometimes a little gaunt. Today I look more boyish than I have seen myself for a while. A slight speckle of chest hair giving the only hint of burgeoning adulthood; adorning a smooth-skinned and bottle-tanned body that today is viewed as very appealing. An unpacking of thoughts and feeling of what I usually feel about this self. A recognition of the mourning that I feel each time that I see myself. This body will age and whither. Time is the most important things for this self. What are you doing with this prescious time?
My thoughts are disconnected now. Lying limply around me. Focusing all energy they can on the task at hand. Typing on this keyboard and expressing the moments just past, and the moment underway. A meaning to it all could be sought but that would be a simplification, too fine a point for the breadth of this. Things lie unpacked around me. Russian dolls in boxes thrown haphazardly about the room. I look at teh untidy mess of it all and regret the fact that i shall have to tidy it all up once more. Then a reflection of the visceral nature of it all. A pleasant sensation at the thought of the untidyness of it all. I shall have to put it all back in its place, but not yet. For the time being I can just view the disarray. I have time for that now. To sit in the centre and watch intently as it does nothing. As simple as that.
Tonight I must remember to wear my dental plate. My unpacked thoughts will set my jaw in action. Though only in my sleep shall order be retained.