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Another day slips through my fingers like grains of sand gliding through the gaps. The feel of silkiness and warmth, the sand on a summer’s day. On a beach, looking and dreaming to the ocean and beyond. The days like those granules, silica falling through loose fingers, smooth to touch while heavy and slow to walk upon. The recurring thought.  I’m caught. In a prison. Gnaws away inside. Locked inside. A gaol. Keeps ankles shackled and a lack of courage assures me breaking these rusty irons is impossible. Trapped in this nightmare. In some strange land which I’m told is normal and appropriate but  this feeling churns. The base of my spine crawls. Unconvinced. Is it as it is made out to be? Inside it crawls. Everything feels wrong. Inside. Like an insect peering through its black glass eyes. The world spins is nothing wrong? Am I just crazy or does everyone appear without a face? A mask? It crawls. Plastic moulds. Human feature. Expressions rehearsed and lines mimed. Moving. Are there strings attached? To limbs? It crawls. Moving with a faint and barely perceptible jerkiness. An unseen puppeteer? Maybe. Maybe it’s just that sand, sands of time crawling from year to year. Am I an alien? Crawling. Amongst puppets or am I totally unaware? Have I died? Am I living as ghost? In this world of strange affairs? Maybe it’s just that sand, sand caught in my stare.

But if I’m real how do I know I’m real? If I’m real then am I free? If I’m free then how do I know I’m free? It feels wrong. Yet I stumble along. Uncertain. Alone. Perhaps it’s just a dream and soon I’ll awake. Will the waking world feel more real? More right? Or will it be the same. Will I still be caught in this lair? If I’m awake, will the world then fall asleep? Do I just pretend. Pretend that I’m alike. Those puppets. And walk with the same blank stare?

Maybe it’s just me. Me with that blank stare. Maybe it’s just that sand, sand blowing in my ear. Then why these questions? Does no one care? The disparity of want. Need. Filling the world with greed. It’s wrong. It’s right. Should I drink Sprite? Coke and cola. What about the fauna? Water. Water. Everywhere. 5 dollar container imported from over there. Consumer. Consumer. Everywhere. But not enough to eat? Does it feel fair? Rich Dad. Poor Dad. What’s on TV Dad? Media. Media. Everywhere. But the story still untold. Maybe it’s just been put on hold.

Codral. Cold and flu. Just say NO! Sudafed to clear your head. Meth lab and you’ll be waiting. Waiting for the Fed. To knock. Knock. Knock. Who’s there? Why it’s 20 years for Suda-ephedrine bought from Terry White just next door. Right. Wrong. Still a little long for singing the Codral song. Soldier On. Soldier On. But don’t get on. Money. Money.  Don’t worry. Terry’s got his money. From grim crim who just committed a big sin. But he’ll still be fed. But what about Pfizer? Still making bread. You’ll be glad to still have a clear head.

Right. Wrong. No matter. We still sing our song. Buy. Buy. Sell. Sell. You may believe it. You may not. Just be careful with what you sell. Hell. High Water. The dream. Is it what it seems? Buy. Buy. Sell. Sell. Carbon. Emission.

Was this our vision or just our prison.

Category : Rants | Blog

Clocking In

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Today was a hard day. Although my thoughts seem to observe everyday as a hard day, it was particularly difficult today. On a scale between 0 and 10, with 0 being “slashing wrists time” and 10 being the rare “sheer ecstasy…I don’t want it ever to stop”, I rate today around a 3 or 4. It started when I looked at the clock this morning, my eyes flick open with a start and I look at the bedside alarm clock to see what time it is, certainly things seem ominous and the feeling I have closely resembles panic even before my eyes focus on the red digits glaring its mocking indifference and the damn thing is reading 9.03am. My next thought is what day is it, Saturday? Fuck no! It’s Tuesday! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Not good. 🙁

I jump out of bed, adrenalin surging through my nervous system, the fright or flight instinct is confusingly present and I’m disorientated by the influx of wakefulness that is abnormal for this time of day. My head starts scanning the options and after walking around aimlessly for a couple of seconds I make myself something to drink. Pouring the water in the glass reminds my bladder to take care of business. Even when the piss is gushing I’m panicking and in disbelief that I’d slept in, cursing myself for being..being what? Tired? Somehow it is my fault and it is, but what good is telling myself how wretched and inept I am? Well I tell myself that what’s done is done and proceed to continue with the usual routine, sitting down with a cigarette and a drink, dragging hard on the cigarette trying to make up lost time by smoking fast, but it’s pointless. I’m late! Smoking, thinking about how I can wind back time so I don’t have to face this predicament, so I don’t have to feel the shame of sleeping too much and not being an “early bird”. Then the crushing blow hits as the thought “fuck I hate this life” stirs from the abyss of self pity. My life force slips as I exhale the venomous fumes or perhaps the adrenalin surge ends and I seriously contemplate this thought, my focus narrows on these five words , savouring the truth of how wretched it is being enslaved to a clock. It reminds me of Camus’s Sisyphus rolling the rock up and down and the absurdity of doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result but the result is invariably the same. Each day I’m usurped from oblivion into a world that is governed by the hands of time.

The five words wrecked my day and I curse my insight and pessimism for revealing the truth of life. I say “truth” facetiously but the idea of being ruled by the cruel master of someone else’s time is one that I am constantly battling with. Acceptance is the crucial element in overcoming this formidable foe however it is one that frequently is overcome by the “truth”. I’m constantly racking my brain for escape from the slavery of the clock but am dumbfounded and almost beaten into submission and in effect that is the sense I get from life. Submission and Servitude, the great theme attached to working the nine to five grind, making my masters wealthy while the reward I receive is meager and unassuming, without passion and joy. Yet I am bound to at least appear grateful in my subservience but it is merely an appearance and it can’t be anything but a superficial acknowledgment that I serve in order to receive. However it is not without the acknowledgment that life is passing by while the clock hammers the seconds away, counting production output while the cashiers registers ka-ching the rhythm of profits filling the executive bonus pool with gold.

Like I said, acceptance is key to grappling with the existentially absurd and something I am yet to embrace. I keep trying to find the fortitude to foster the mind set of optimism required to ease the load of absurdity but pessimism prevails for the most part and days like today reinforce the possibility that I may be in for pain and suffering for a while to come and that my master will be the red digits on an alarm clock for the better part of the rest of my days. In truth accepting my plight or resigning myself to adapt to the long haul of many days and years performing the same scenario is probably the only source of relief that I possess but one that merely manifests in cognitive dissolution, a dissolution yet to resolve itself one way or another. The constant nag in my mind tells me that I only have thirty more years before I can own my time but the dread this vision stirs in the soul is unbearable and intolerable to entertain as a form of consolation.

Well the clock is telling me that it is long past the hour of calling it a night and the fear of a repeat of the calamity I faced this morning is now in the cortex of frontal lobe tissue, but my body is seemingly working on a different clock than that of the nine to five grind and it is why I feel so repulsed and helpless when staring at those menacing hands who unaware just circle in loops for the sole purpose of marking episodes in history.

Category : Journal | Blog

Time marching on…but to where?

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The nightmare continues…..How vile this slavery seems to be. Each day I am left wondering why I am here? For what good is it that I forfeit so much time to earn so little in reparation. I mean not so much in fiscal terms, although it has to be said that the monies that come my way don’t add up to the true value of time spent and how can it?. How much is time worth? And is there any recompense that can adequately satisfy a life? Because lets not devalue time – it is the measure of life. So much time seems wasted already and I have the dreadful feeling that I am stuck in this perpetual pit of machinery churning out someone else’s definition of meaningfulness.

I feel stuck – a prisoner of familiarity and of a skill set that has little way of developing further or advancing into something greater. I’m not only wasting my time but that of my employer, although I can do what I do adequately on on some occasions even excel, but for the most part I am on some kind of auto pilot, with my heart and soul far away from the task at hand. No amount of financial reward is really going to make me happier doing what I do. If that was all it took I could easily fix that by packing up shop and going over to some mining operation in Western Australia and be paid 65 dollars plus an hour but I’d still be doing the same thing and it is my job that is so dissatisfying. Not that it is a bad job but it is a job that is repetitious and not very fulfilling intellectually nor creatively.

The pass of Time by Victor Nuno

I’ve got to get out and change to something more interesting before I crack up. But that is another daunting task – I’m full of complaints tonight but my mind is caught in this loop where I know exactly why I feel so wretched with life but at the same time so powerless or unmotivated to change. I keep coming up to this same point – over and over again I find myself hating the life I have and it is almost criminal to think the way I do considering I’m so incredibly fortunate in so many ways.

Well I guess time will tell if I can mobilise myself out of the rut and actually do something other than whinge about the injustice of it all.

Category : Journal | Blog