Time

It’s been 10 days. It’s been 9 hours, possibly 10 minutes, as well as 14 seconds. I'm not clock watching, I'm not waiting or missing the time, as I'm instead wishing for something else. I've written many words, paraphrased the numerous descriptive passages, defined, declined, ignored many aspects and basically waited until this very moment. Procrastination, the sin of the many, the very soul of a few, the beginning or even the end of things to come.

I've stopped doing what I love, the ideal scenario, the light to my very fire. Although I still feel the words, still connect to the meaning of the letters, I've stopped and it’s hurting. The very idea of your existence, to deny such a thing, is beyond my compassion yet I'm still looking at the seconds. Stand, sit down, walk a distance, crawl a mile, it’s all the same.

My mind screams, at times, as I deny what I must and should undertake. Why do I resist the conclusive words of my life? We've, from our very start, been taught such an existence but that’s hardly an excuse.  Be, or simply do not, there is no other ending. Accomplish your dreams or languish in your own denial. Which? Make a choice, decide, but making such a decision means an active conclusion yet, instead, we often just… exist.

When you fall, when you drift, into your night time slumber, do you dream of another place filled with other faces? Do you even dream or is the person within, dying, suffocating, unable to realise that we can be free within this world and the next? We often talk about the next life, the life after our eyes finally close but, being honest, what if, even for a second, this is the only chance we’ll ever have! We can have all of the alternative stories played within our dreams, when we sleep, the great never ending practise of life, but each morning, without fail, the real test is here right before our eyes.

I no longer wish to scream, to just exist, as I’d prefer to be. Something, someone, to prove a point to myself, to scream even though I know that I’ll probably be the only person to listen but, no matter how loud, that’s perfectly fine with me. I do not seek confirmation, praise from others, but I do, I truly do, only wish to bring a smile to another person’s lips. Starting at a designated time, which is not at this very second, I will set a task, a conclusion, an ending to what I seek. Then I must set another ending, then another, then another until I have found something inside that can finally rest.

We all have fire, burning, simpering, a flame flickering deep within our souls wanting and wishing to rise through our very spirit. It cannot be stopped once the adrenaline starts, the target, the scope of what could be, yet we listen to so many other people, we allow ourselves to be defined and that, alone, dulls any fire that could possibly ever be. Strife, struggle, makes you more. Being a clone, being objectified, makes you absolutely nothing.

It’s been 10 days. It’s been 9 hours, possibly 14 minutes, as well as 34 seconds. I am clock watching, I'm checking the time, realising that the next second could be my very last on this world. I'm not a betting man, a causal believer, so I'm not going to trust the second chances transcribed within books that hold no meaning to my soul. I must act. Now. Achieve. Right now. In the next 10 seconds, or maybe even 14, I can set a task, then work. It’s as easy as time.

Me

I hear the words, vicious, undeniably cruel, maybe even evil, but sure of intention. The scolding words form sentences, designed, created with such clarity that if the devil were a poet his voice would be the voice I currently hear. I know that I'm less than perfect, as perfection is something that may not even exist, but these moments need not appear.

I wouldn't call this person, the speaker of less than soothing words, a friend, an enemy, an acquaintance, as there’s more to it than that, but if I could, if I even should, I’d silence the voice for good. Whispers, misdemeanours, the cause of consequences, the words still keep on appearing.

My fate, resting in my own hands, seldom defined but often regretted, forms the shape that ultimately creates my heart. I've stated, beforehand, that I'm less than perfect, but I do try. I often define a better outcome, see the sunshine for what it’s worth, but when I realise that I'm being judged it adds weight to my life.

People can be cruel, people can be outright dangerous, to each other and themselves, but none more than your own inner-voice. We scold, we taunt, we seldom survive such personal onslaughts. We know the buttons to press and the ropes to pull. Castrate your own voice. Silence the wealth of health that can save. Rest into the cushions that provide security, safety, away from actually being more than we really should be.

A safety net, the supposed caring caressing voice that defines us, keeps us safe, also never lets us reach any kind of height. To be free, to overcome, to fly into the bright blue sky, requires a monumental moment of clarity. Of silence. Freedom of choice. The removal of the ever nagging, petulant, cruel voice that hinders all progression.

I no longer wish to hear the voice, the stupidly obnoxious, obscenely vacuous, never ending voice that goads and scolds like a wicked step Mother.  I'm free, always, right now, forever and a day.

Photocopy - Part 2

Part 1

Tapping the pen against the table, she suddenly realised that she’d drifted into a daze. The pen stopped and as she placed it to her side, she glanced at the computer screen, taking in the various notifications, only to see no update that warranted her attention. Looking up and over the screen, across the room, she noticed the time then quickly returned her gaze to the bottom right to where the computer also displayed the time. She had no real idea as to why she did that but, as usual, it’s what she’d always done.

Leaning back into her chair she placed her hands onto her legs and, with her fingers, gently moved across her skin checking to make sure that she’d thoroughly shaved them. Smooth, fresh, moisturised legs. A small smile arose as she checked her dress. White, not that conservative, but not too short, just right in her opinion. It was, after all, one of her favourite items from the selection at home. This, as she knew, was found at the back of her wardrobe, wrapped up, for special occasions.

Looking again, at the clock, a few more minutes had managed to move forward. The wait seemed horrendous. Annoying. She didn't like to wait and, what made matters worse, people seemed to be constantly coming and going. Each time the door opened her heart would pulse, rise within her chest, spiking her stomach into fits of butterflies. “Damn butterflies”, she said to no-one in particular.

She started to reminisce about the past few weeks, especially the few days that he was there, which didn't calm her heart. It was a normal day, like the usual days in this building, with nothing really happening. Contractors were due to start, one in her section, but she still didn't know why exactly. From nowhere he was standing in front of her desk and, as she looked up, his initial greeting was simply lost as the truly wondrous scent escaped from his body. She’d quickly brushed aside her olfactory pleasure as she rose from her seat, shaking his hand, only to stay standing which is something that she simply did not do. Within a few seconds she’d accustomed herself to his smooth voice, the crazy masculine face, his flamboyant hair and clean attire. What she couldn't accustom herself to, which also seemed to instantly attack her poise, was the very fact that his eyes seemed to be enticing her in some fashion.

They’d chatted, the usual small talk, small laughs, casual movements, to which she caught herself mirroring his gestures and, from nowhere she reached out her hand and touched his arm. Her pulse must have rose at that point. She had gathered her composure but, as his eyes quickly darted from her eyes, to her lips, something inside of her simply felt alive. As soon as he had appeared he vanished again, somewhere into the building and, being honest to herself, she had to find out where.

As she returned to the present the door across the room opened and, as her heart jumped into her mouth, she caught sight of him. His name was James and, for the life of it all, she’d not managed to find someone that knew his second name. She had no social media information to fill in the blanks. She watched as he vanished into the photocopying room. Standing, composing her thoughts, clearing her throat, she pushed back her chair and started to walk along the desks, to the walkways around the side of the room. She knew that they all knew. She could literally feel their eyes latch onto her as she walked. Office chat and gossip would always be a ‘thing’, but she was supposed to be above all of this. ‘To hell with that’, she thought, as the door loomed ever closer.

Gently opening the door, the room appeared into her view, cabinets to the left and right side, photocopier straight in front of her, with the 2^nd floor window filling the room with light. There he was, James, in all his glory. The door closed behind her and she stepped forward a few paces, stepped slightly to her left and picked up a few bits of paper. She didn't want to seem like she was there for anything other than work but, of course, what she was wearing was ever so slightly obvious.

James turned his head, catching her in the corner of his eye and, as he turned, said hello with the biggest smile he could muster. She felt his eyes instantly take her into his mind. Eyes quickly moving from top to bottom, back to her ever so slightly presented chest, back to her eyes. Men were always predictable but, no matter the predictability, when you wanted someone they could be as predictable as they liked. “You look absolutely amazing today!” he stated with a near absolute certainty. He stepped forward, wearing his usual clean, crisp, white tailored shirt, unlike the usual men within the building. She didn't have to make it obvious as, over a lifetime of experience, she could take in a man’s posture, clothing, personality and experience within the blink of a casual eye. James, however, did seem to be somewhat of an oxymoron.  He seemed to hold an air of extreme confidence yet his eyes betrayed his kindness.

A week ago she’d accidentally dropped a cup and, as he caught it, his other hand had grasped her arm. She could feel the grip strength yet he was still so very gentle. Pushing the thoughts aside, she replied with a naughty grin,

“Careful now, I might have to report you to H.R. for inappropriate behaviour!” James, leaning forward a few inches, lowered his head, keeping his gaze firmly locked to hers,

“Shall I inform them of the text message you sent last night?” She placed her hands behind her back and, looking innocent, pursed her lips and slowly shook her head side to side.

James, setting aside the paperwork from his hand, stepped forward with another small step, “How about I tell them about the things that we’re going to do together!  Shall I inform them of the manner in which you’d like to conduct… business?” She, again, shook her head. This time, stepping forward and, leaning over to his right side, she whispered,

“Instead of informing Human Resources of certain indiscretions, maybe, you should just do the things that you've promised! After all you can only keep a lady waiting for so long!” She moved her lips away from his ear and, as he closed the gap between them, placing his lips a few centimetres from hers, he slowly started to move down and, once his hands reached just below her dress, slowly ran his fingertips up her legs until he reached her lingerie.

She could feel her nerve start to fluctuate, her breathing deepen, mind hurtling random thoughts that all equated to absolutely nothing, as he looked up at her.  Moving a finger, on each hand, around the strap, he pulled downwards. As he reached the ground, she stepped aside and, she watched as he reached across to an envelope box, removing one and placing her lingerie into the envelope. As he licked the envelopes seal, while closing the envelope, she could feel her heart pounding hard, she caught her fingertips shaking and, she could swear that the heating had been dialled forward.

Placing the envelope to the side, James took her hand, walked her over to the copier, lifted her up and back down onto the glass. She couldn't believe that this was happening, let alone the fact that she let it happen, but life had been so very boring right up until this point in time. Their eyes simply could not look elsewhere. She watched as he reached for the green button, his stoic smile never changing, taking in her view. The copier spew forward one copy and, as he lifted her from the screen, he reached over, grabbed the page, folded it twice and placed it into his pocket.

As she tried to calm her current state James placed his arm around her, hand holding her head, lifting her up and back onto a cabinet. He kissed her, a deep intense kiss, filled with lust, desire, dirty meanderings and with a tongue finding a rhythm with no remorse. Then, as quickly as he’d kissed her, he lowered her the few inches to the ground and stepped back. Pausing for a second, looking at her, chest expanding with her deep breaths, he smiled and finally broke the silence, “I've taken a copy of the place where I’m most needed!  I’ll be back next Tuesday. Dinner after work, a date, appetisers, then I’m going to have you as the main course.”

James reached over for the envelope, collected another envelope and then walked out of the room. She leant against the cabinet, lipstick ever so slightly crooked, nerves lashing her insides, adrenaline screaming for more, pulse fluctuating and lips feeling alive. She couldn't believe that he was gone, that he’d just done what he’d done, yet she felt glorious. 

James reached the bottom of the stairwell, opened the envelope, transferred the contents to the other envelope while removing the photocopy from his pocket, also placing it within the envelope and then he sealed it.  Walking towards the post room he pressed the power button on his phone, synced his e-mail, then, as he neared the room, caught site of one of the workers, “Hi Michael, could you please pass this to the Head of section B please?” The guy nodded as James passed over the envelope. The phone updated, as he walked and, flicking through the messages, one caught his eye… ‘James: Monaco, 27^th, two days, 6pm, Royal Riviera Hotel’.  Smiling, wondering how he managed to get into this line of work, he knew that he, at last, despite the money being afforded to him, had a place in life.

Part 3: Soon.

‘The teaching of James’ - (I have a plan for an entire series. One day...)

Thinking...

I've been thinking, only a little, maybe a lot, but those thoughts were all about… you. Okay, fine, my thoughts are my own, but at times I do like to share. Let me first apologise if my thoughts are unrequited. Let me state that I would never approach without poise, reflection, calm, with the respect intended and deserved. I'm, in a way, a thoughtful kind of person. Words do not fall without the meaning and meanderings behind them.

I've been thinking, a lot, but for only a little time, about you and how you are. Frankly, to be blunt, to maybe even be a little salacious, I find you so unbelievably attractive that I find that my mind wanders to you. I can be shopping, browsing the selections of produce, then I’ll arrive to your lips. It’s almost a certainty. Driving, walking, roaming the corridors, it all arrives back to you. I often admonish myself, annoyed at my actions and intended intentions.

I've been thinking, constantly, at times, of the things that we could do. I again apologise, taking a step back, suddenly realising that honesty is often not the best course of action in these cases. I know that we've flirted, I know that we've expressed the kind of looks that have tell tail intentions, but even though we can both see, maybe, we should stay blind. The fiery temptation of a quick stare, a mild raised grin, a glance into your eyes that scream intentional circumstances, it’s all there for the taking and delight. A person should never overstep their desires until the path is made clear. It’s obvious, safe, a way to remain poised.

I've been thinking, never endingly, at points, of where we will be in the future. Crazy dreams, momentary thoughts, flashes of satisfaction, indulgence, wanton wishes and flights of fancy. Clear shores of faraway adventures filled with wine, dine, holding hands and more. I’d, of course, prefer to remain grounded. It’s the type of person I am but, in all honesty, something about you makes something within me want to go crazy.

I've been thinking, all the time, for a few seconds, of why I feel this way. Something about you reaches over, finds a way, to connect to me. I'm not sure if it’s my soul, aura, mind body or other, but it’s there. Whenever you walk into the room, the walls brighten, the music stops, my heart races a little bit and my smile widens. I'm not crazy. Maybe a little. I've noticed that you’re smiling and, thankfully, maybe, you feel the same way too.

I've been thinking, right now, the next second, that we should just do it. Go crazy. Let’s get out of here, to somewhere else, who cares where as long as we’re there. Let’s hold hands, let’s skip, dance in public, take pictures in that photo booth, eat ice-cream, talk of tales gone by and maybe, just maybe, kiss a little. Throw caution to the wind, express delight, let feelings flow and embrace this moment.

I've been thinking… .

Lies

I've been told, informed, spoken to, of certain aspects spoken of, with regards to being whatever you want to be. You can be this, you can be that, but above all, you’re free to achieve whatever you like. Sure, of course, the ideals of many form the thoughts of more than a few but, when this is said and often done, the realisation of reality steps in.

You’re original, one of a kind, but stand over there in a line, the never ending standstill of life. Again, let’s repeat what’s been said. You can be, you might just be, whatever you would like to be. But, life, every breath, can seem like a fight. If you break, do you believe that your aid will find you in time? We’re restricted, confined, constrained, strangled and put into place.

Each day, via media, be it the internet, television, music, the newspaper or even friends, we’re informed on how to live our lives. It sounds silly, even a bit odd, but using a spoon instead of a fork can be looked upon with such odd scorn that it’s eye opening. Heaven forbid that we eat food that’s not meant to be eaten early in the morning. We’re constrained, our ideals formed, castrated from birth to conform. Stay in line, don’t dare to think thoughts that are against the established.

With one foot on the ground, resting on one knee, I'm pushing forward, to stand as the person that I want to be. I do not want to be told how to act, to be, thus I ignore the established regime. We’re so caught with distracting ideals that we’re missing what’s really happening. Each day we’re being lied to, from nearly every single angle of our lives.

The established, the existing, for me, just isn't working. We’re tainted from youth, taught the same ideals that instil illness from within. Colour lines, map lines, divisions, segregation, it’s all still here. We’re a global people, humanity made real, existing and all together but kept so far apart with ease.

We strive to be different, to be that special people or person that we've been told about from birth. We can achieve, we can be that star let alone fly high into the moonlight, we exist to become more.  It’s not real. We’re either all special, all worthwhile, all able to achieve, or we’re all no better than each other. We’re insects following the defined lines of a lie, constrained, or we’re truly individuals that can shine once the covers have been removed from our very own eyes.

I'm alive, intend to stay that way, in body, mind and soul. You can see the people, the suffering few, with their light dimmed from the corner of their eyes. It’s tragic, it’s truly sad, that so many may never experience the freedom of life. We live in bricked boxes and have iron bars around our own souls.

For each of us, every single individual, I wish for freedom, to truly escape the day to day, but it’s defined. Your child will form their own idealistic integrity, their own thoughts, yet the chances are that they’ll just become another clone. Do we want that? Do we not wish for more? We’ve probably, in this point in our lives, failed, yet each new generation learns racism, sexism, intolerance, illiteracy and blind beliefs. It still exists. It’s all still there and that, alone, baffles me more than many other aspects of life.

I've been told, informed, spoken to, of certain aspects spoken of, with regards to being whatever you want to be. You can be this, you can be that, but above all, you’re free to achieve whatever you like. Sure, of course, the ideals of many form the thoughts of more than a few but, when this is said and often done, the realisation of reality steps in. The reality is that we’re set to extend the sins of our past onto the platform that creates the future.

These thoughts are, above all, truly sad.

Freedom

There’s no use, no hope, no reason or rhyme for this to continue. You’ve failed, you’ve fallen, sprawled across the floor like some kind of pauper that’s flailing on the ground due to your own despair and misery. What words would you like me to spout on this day of days, for the moment to hopefully be gone as you blink blindingly towards my own eyes.

Caught, trapped, within the web of your own deceit, there is no solitude for how you’re feeling. Invite the entire history of the world into your view. Embrace the same mistakes that have been made over and over again, with destiny, sneering, pitifully laughing at your ineptitude of certainty. Many told you so, many said that it would be, stated, scribed, screamed it from the roof tops and descended to you the very tall tales but, of course, you wouldn’t listen.

With one hand, you reach and, then, with the other, you push yourself forward trying to escape the very pit to which you’ve descended. Dark, dank, withering to nothing, the excuses and lies catch you faster than the truth may hide the very details you fought to obscure. A scolded tongue spits fevered truths, poison, depraving murmurs, whispers made to the very night that dreams were made of.

Turning, closing my eyes to the decrepit, I hear your nails, scratching, clawing, desperately trying to worm your way forward. I do not turn back. There are no more moments, seconds, even thoughts of what was, would have been, could have been or is. Accept your fate, wear the weighted bonds, despise the very view that can only be seen within a mirror. You are you, you will always be you, despite the affirmations of becoming more, the seldom changing landscape of your soul, filled with self-made promises, which will never change with the whim of words.

Further, away from you, I walk. The withered whining starts, caressing my cheek, taunting my ears, kissing seductively, craving, needing my return. I know that this is where I’m seduced by fluttering eyelids, brazen smiles, knowing charm and more. The darkness calls. It knows exactly which strings to stroke, which embers to sooth, the words required to flail a heart.

I smile, just a little, enough to know, that each step is a new life. The darkness feeds, it waits for you, needs you, but a brave heart can walk forward, away, being brave, knowing and trusting that there is truly a better path. I know that I can stand on my own. Each step. Further away.

Freedom.

Porsche Boxster S 718 Invitation

The invitation arrived, with the usual flare of a company that crosses every T and procures each dot in the right place, so whom was I in the great scheme of things to decline. Although I’ve owned three Porsche cars, the 911, along with two Boxter models, I secured my parking space away from the main building as to not draw attention to my meagre Toyota MR2. Image, after all, is supposedly important in the superficial age that we now find ourselves.

Greeted at the door, feeling like royalty but, all the while, actually not feeling special as I’m, after all, just myself and I know where I’ve come from. I also know where I’m going but that’s another conversation.  The ambiance, fitting for said importance, presented itself with clean, clear, and obvious abundance. Money speaks volumes and, despite the lady who nearly fell from the white Boxster as she arrived, that money could never buy everlasting health, but, it could buy what we were sure to view.

The main speaker started but, ashamedly, I was stuck around the corner due to the nearly packed presentation space so failed to view the prestigiously presented video playing across a 100+ inch projector screen. The moment arrived, it appeared in front of our eyes and, obviously, it was a view to behold. Mid-engineered glory, two seater, 2.5l turbo Boxster shining in sumptuous Orange.

I won’t bore you with statistics, charts, technical words but, instead, I’ll simply state that it was a worthwhile adventure towards a car that I will, one day, hopefully own.

Thank you Porsche.

http://www.porsche.com/uk/models/718/718-boxster/

Normal Blog service will resume next week.