There it is.
The thing to which I am chained. It sits there, staring as though it knew that I were to approach the altar of the task at hand. It is smug in its appearance and it knows t hat there will be no quarter to which I can retreat.
No room for error, no room for motion.
There are only swift strikes in which I can inhabit and those spaces are few and far between.
Every motion has purpose. Every stroke has direction.
There is a result of which a reasoning cannot reach, but there will be something at the end of the rainbow, lest it be a tunnel that tunnels straight into the horrors that I keep locked away for all to hear.
Perhaps the task at hand it to accept that all that I am doing is coming to terms to that which I choose to hide away, but who knows, really?
I’m sure that there are answers, but like most to the time that I mention “answers”, there are no real answers and all it is is a method of trying to get away and divert the text to something else.
Sometimes it works.
Most of the time it does not work.
Well, that’s what I choose to believe, anyway.
The task at hand needs to be completed before there can be other tasks to consume.
The collar that I shall put around my head will guide me through all the directions that I need to maneuver, but the real question comes down to whether I will follow them or not.
There are crying voices in the void tearing at the strings and cutting a swathe through the ears, but they shall be addressed and addressing them shall be done in a timely and satisfactory manner.
Not,my fault if they don’t get the answers that they want.
They shall run up and pile upon the narrow stairwell and I shall knock them off one at a time, in order to get to the base and find the truest of voices that shall be waiting patiently in order to receive the best rewards that it can, for some voices know that there is little point in gnashing and screaming and would much rather prefer to receive good service rather than create an aggressive environment.
My task shall lead me across lands wide and vast but none of those lands shall remain as such, for the narrowing must occur and there must be some sort of resolve at the very end of it all.
This is what I need to tell myself.
There is a mission that needs to be done and it needs to see an end.
Regardless of how temporary that end may be, there shall be one. There shall be no rest and there shall be a reprieve. There shall be a break, but meaty justice shall be meted out before then, for there is a task at hand rather than at one’s foot.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 05:29:01
Not entirely obtuse, but perhaps an interesting way of writing about work depending on your idea of interesting.
Written at work.