On the way back to my cube from the pisser passing an attractive young resident of some other box in this soul crushing labyrinth I contemplate whether I should: a) act out a scene from Dilbert (though none come to mind quickly enough), b) find some means of articulating my sexual desire (the more effective in soliciting direct action the better), or c). I get back to back to my chair before a third idea arises and forget the whole thing.
You, you who once had dreams. Of glory, of passion, of life par excellence, or maybe just of writing something that people would read. But now what? This? This is what it has come to? Fine. I accept my fate as it is given me. If this be the choice that you would make, so be it. I am free. You are not the architect of my destiny. The hawk marks the passage to NoTime.***
"Do what thou wilt." - Rabelais, Dashwood, Crowley.