Something oily, stretching across, stretching over and reaching toward a new destination of a sort.

Tomorrow is a field trip and today is a trip into the field. The field of calls, that is.

If you are looking for a stricter form of sloppy writing,then you are looking in the incorrect place, my reader. You need to look elsewhere if you want quality, for right now the only way is down and down is coming fast.

There is no going up from here we are right now!

Riding the transport all the way down. Going all the way down toward a new destination. This destination is, of course, a new rock bottom. Need to get there, then start tunnelling. Otherwise, how else am I going to make sure that the thematic errata of the noisome structure that surrounds the indemnity of ashes will supplicate that which is not one of those?

No way to tell, really, but a whole bunch of fancy words thrown out certainly sounds fancy. Well, sometimes anyway.

Soon there will be the ticking of the clock and the passage of time will certainly take hold and reduce me to another person, but I am already another person, so would that make me an other another person?

No way to tell!

Listening, looking out, making sure that I am in a motion of smooth smoothness, but the sesquipedalian loquaciousness is not within my grasp right now so I need to keep pushing. Perhaps I need to recant.

Perhaps I need to use the word “perhaps”.

But then I don’t know as to what words that I should use. I know that I need to warm up, but I also know that I need to cool down. So many directions. So many direction. Little tapping of the keys that bind my fingers to them.

Pow that is a painful prospect. Could you imagine being bound to a keyboard and having no way to separate from it?

How would you hold things? How would you operate things?

You could probably get a film out of it and call it The Typist, or something.

Now presenting The Typist: A film about one person’s struggle to survive in the office environment.

Yes, there would be plenty of allegories and metaphors and messages, but instead of being handled subtly and well, they’d be all on the hose as that is what sells and that is what makes the big dollars!

It’s a great idea. The pain, the suffering, the heartwarming, the connection, the music that is telling you exactly what to feel… This may just be the best idea of all time.

Of course it would have to be based on a true story as that would make people more interested. There would be some who would realise that it is a dramatisation and there would be plenty who wouldn’t.

Of course, it’s all a film world and you just need to leave your brain at the door!

Maybe also your being.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 06:26:95

I wrote this on Thursday last week and only got to uploading it now.
Not sure why.

I think work was busy and then there was stuff I had to take care of. I think.

Then the field trip.

Anyway, here it now is. A merely okay length of text.

Written at work.