Saturday, 26 February 2005

career path

Reprisal and the frustration of unrequited success ache within the soles of my feet, my ankles are swollen and my toes are blistered. There can be no ownership in such a world as this. Nothing is mine.

A future will rise on Tuesday, a daily fixture. It has been regularly promoted and invested upon, I have told of it before. I even left once. It sings its own name, it is an indicator of nothing other than a desire to indicate, a statement of statement of statement. It is an enabler, fecund and sure, a geographical fix that roots and ties. It’s everything I never wanted, but I feel better for the chance to neglect it. It is easier to make a decision negatively than positively. But what if you have nothing to negate, what if your question makes no sense?

Rejection would leave me rejected.

I am drawing up the blueprints of purpose, fully aware of their false economy. The creation of living space in which success is an inevitability, is itself a necessity. The truly depressed man creates a house in which failure is enviable as the product, the house’s highest form, an expression of personality where personality is derided.

I build stories like houses, but rarely live in them. I was in there for ten minutes. They had already decided, but my knowledge is yet to be determined.

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