The armies of unalterable law 1

“The schoolmasters with their canes, the millionaires with their Scottish castles, the athletes with their curly hair-these were the armies of the unalterable law.  It was not easy, at that date, to realize that in fact it was alterable.” George Orwell

This working life appears to present an overburdening sense of boredom.  Behind the darkness jutting out of my own eyes, I see the world as it consumes me.  Information flows through my brain, disconnecting us from everything we strive for.  From this information we create stories of distraction, distortion and hatred.  What slowly is eating us, catapulted back into our minds, taxed for our own consumption.  What they see is a mirror of their own lives or what they wished their lives could become, or something to remove them from the doldrums of the distorted beat of their own hearts which they continued to follow.  The information spinning in a nebulous globe floods my eyes with distorted light as I reach for it and I cannot stop it from entering me.  I notice eyes upon me as I look behind and in a flow of the wind, she quickly turns away.  The information overloads onto her hand and she falls to the ground as my numbness chains me to my chair.  So here my creative life begins.  Spinning, never ending, floating letters  before me devoid of all meaning, yet still able to cut precisely any truth which it possibly could contain.  Numbers, all I could hear, tip, tip, tapping along with each push of a button, numberful emptiness, flowing through the walls.  Sometimes you would meet another’s gaze, but you would quickly look away.  My mind is telling me, this may be pure madness.  All of us mad, trapped inside the soft walls of our own minds, our own diets eating us alive.  Day by day, every minute, ticking away, as each day grows shorter, each breath of air more precious, suddenly the truth, looming over everything we try and contain.  In visions of rainbows spinning around, reaching into the deepest depths of what we are.  The machines don’t quite work right.  The robots as they simultaneously run things and confuse things they don’t seem to work the way they are supposed to.  At times you would have a conversation with a human, but in the odd snapping of an eye, or a hand glitch they reveal themselves.  Right out in the light, just like that.  One day she met my eye, more than once in the same matter of minutes.  A part of me wanted her to just disappear.  But her shadow took a hold of me and ever since then, it never quite let go.  And in my mind her words, a beam of light, light of love, something I have never known, and in that instance, all I am.  The beat once again presents itself, roaring against the love encompassing my body and I sit back down at my desk, creating worlds that mean nothing, pushing the movement of the people as far away from their hearts and turning their words into fuzzy stones of right and wrong.  As I look into her eyes, nothing appears to be fuzzy besides the beat, the marching of the the feet of the army, marching for right, marching for wrong, but nothing in between


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