It has been a day. It has been a weekend. It has been a period of time in which I existed and I am continuing to exist in this present moment. I am trapped within a parcel of time. I am trapped within an eternity. Not what I’m writing about, really.
Don’t know what I’m writing about. Just throwing words together and seeing what sticks. There are a lot to get through and I am here, and I am there, but mostly here. I am here and I sit here and I write, and I do the churning. The getting out of the way. The working toward conclusion.
I am wondering how many words I can churn out at this moment. Have waited a bit late to start on much of anything, but it has been a productive day. And now I write, and I write without intent, and I write as a messy mess person writing a mess messily. That’s what I do and do it I will., and do it now I will. I will my will to write and so write I will, and I need to make sure it is messy.
You get the point.
So anyway, I was saying that I was gonna write and I am writing about how I was gonna write but I need to find a way to fight instead. Yes, I must fight the tyranny of quality and keep bringing all the crap that I can bring. I need to do that so as to be able to do the other things that I so desperately need to do when the sun rises from the pits of despair and into the armpit of despondency. It’s not a pleasant place, but there’s always a way to the nearest coffee shop where the coffee is bog-standard and overpriced, and the line goes on forever because everyone thinks it’s the best coffee out there, but you know it isn’t. You know it isn’t and yet you have to wait for it still, and it’s the most frustrating bit of your day because you stand in this line and it goes nowhere, and you’re only standing there because all the other coffee in the area is significantly worse and more expensive, but you end up getting out of the line because you need to go to work and that salmon isn’t going to hitch a ride on its own, and you’ve no idea why you’ve been paired with a fish, but that’s the way it goes, sometimes. Sometimes that’s the way the toad splays against the window, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Suppose you could, however. Suppose you could…
And now there are all these complications in life and you just want your daily dose of forty cigarettes in one go, but you can’t even get that. You’re deprived of that which you desire and so you go to work and your eyes are watering because those onions you attempted to pickle are yet to pickle, but they’re still releasing their things that make your eyes water and sting, and what can you do about that? Nothing, and why are you attempting to pickle onions at your work desk, anyway? Don’t you have better things to do with your time, super trooper? Don’t you have places to be and people to see and hats to wear? Do you not have to deal with that salmon and all the annoyances that it provides for you? Something tells you that it hasn’t been filing its documents and filling out its reports, and you wonder why you even bother because something stinks, and it’s not the salmon. You wish it was as that would mean the locus of your problems would actually be so, but it just isn’t, and you just want to go home.
And yet, you can’t as you need the sun to set into the kneecap of justice, but it’s still hanging around the armpit, and boy howdy it sure is a sweaty day. Who turned off the air? Who said that was allowed? Who knows, but it aggravates me, let me tell you. And let me tell you that I understand that people want to go home, but there are many levers to pull and many pulleys to lever in order to get the leverage required to get to the top, and it’s a long way to the top if you want to get there, so you best get going so you can get there in a manner one would consider as timely. Otherwise, what are you even doing? Where are going and how are you getting there? It’s these questions that one must ask when they are at their desk, for their desk is their future and their future is not set in stone. Unless it is a stone desk. Bad luck then, I suppose.
But suppose that there is no going away from everything. Suppose that everything no longer exists and all is dark. You still have to get home and that salmon is waiting there, waiting for you, and it was always waiting. Waiting in the dark, waiting for you to make one wrong move, and it knew it would happen. It knew it would come sooner or later, and it knew that all it had to do is wait. You had no idea. You didn’t suspect a thing, and even if you had, you’d not pin it on the salmon.
You were hoodwinked. Deceived. Had no idea that this fish would be so slippery. So tricky. So able to deflect all suspicion with the laziest of ease. You had no idea and now it was there, waiting, about to make its move. All it had to do was wait for you to exit into the abyss, and that was it. And now it was happening, and you walk out, and you see it, and you’re so utterly shocked, and it says “Hey, have thirty percent off”.
The time it took to write one thousand words: 12:54:63
Absolute trash, and I’m so very happy with it.
Written at Killara.
Stupidity Hole 