Wiping the pixel-dust that settles silent on keyboards that don’t keep their quota, we enter the data that keeps us alive. There are no vacancies in the Offices of Reason.
If the office had windows to watch out of we would cover our eyes – the markets don’t take kindly to the contemplation of solitude.
But pale green voices, institutionally neutral, ask us to stay at our machines while the sunspots disperse. We nod in agreement, in unison, indistinguishable; there are no high points in a Memeophene™ day.
We are not superstitious; everything happens for a reason.
Beneath the grey carpet, institutionally neutral, cables and fibres writhe uncontrolled by the rigors of health or the confines of safety. If we listen carefully we can hear them laughing at us above the click of keys.
If the building had walls they would close in to claim us: commodities are scarce according to memos sent round in the Office of Reason
Once we were free to follow the rules; now we are happy to be alive.
Once we were skilled in the ways of the world; now we are happy to be alive.
Once we were aware of the presence of our rulers
Now we only measure the gold in their weave.
If the office had windows to watch out of we would cover our eyes – the markets don’t take kindly to the contemplation of solitude.
But pale green voices, institutionally neutral, ask us to stay at our machines while the sunspots disperse. We nod in agreement, in unison, indistinguishable; there are no high points in a Memeophene™ day.
We are not superstitious; everything happens for a reason.
Beneath the grey carpet, institutionally neutral, cables and fibres writhe uncontrolled by the rigors of health or the confines of safety. If we listen carefully we can hear them laughing at us above the click of keys.
If the building had walls they would close in to claim us: commodities are scarce according to memos sent round in the Office of Reason
Once we were free to follow the rules; now we are happy to be alive.
Once we were skilled in the ways of the world; now we are happy to be alive.
Once we were aware of the presence of our rulers
Now we only measure the gold in their weave.
Tales for the attention deficit reader
10 comments:
"We are not superstitious; everything happens for a reason."
Ah the wonderful "facts" of our purpose trump all mere happenstance of nature.
...or perhaps the facts of nature will trump the happenstance of our 'purpose'
Nature doesn't recognize facts as more than purposeful artifice littering an evolving landscape. Any trumping is in the superstitious mind — believing in the infallibility of reason or faith alone it masturbates.
for some unknown reason, I find the line " pale green voices " particularly chilling.
You've grabbed onto a mood here and conveyed it so well. wow.
Yodood: over my head I'm afraid :}
Harlequin: If the voices are chilling then perhaps we should complain to HSE and have them warmed :D
Really? If I lost you, I must return to the bakery for more bread crumbs.
Once I followed the rules on our factual presence
Now I only obey the the chaotic inevitability nature weaves
brillant, mon pote! doesn't get much better than this! xooxoxox
ps. what is that great photo that accompanies your brilliant text?
Laura: not sure where the pic is from originally - I think I nicked it from This Isn't Happiness.
I mentioned this to a fellow blogger a while back, but I can't remember exactly who... are you familiar with Arthur C. Clarke's ideas of human evolution? It's quite the antithesis of the impression given here and, while I don't necessarily agree with Clarke, it's a very interesting read.
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