Outliers

It was there today, again, waiting, watching, sitting idly by while I worked.  Sinister.  I try to ignore it, hoping it will go away, but it doesn't.  It just stays there, flittering away, doing what it does, day in day out.  It's anoying.  I'd ask for an office without one, but I know what kind of reply I'd get; a vacant stare, a laugh, a wisecrack.  They're all comedians.  

So I let it be. I pretend its not there. I try to focus back on my work.  I'm writing a lot of code and that usually takes my mind off it.  Lots of files, lots of lines, fingers doing that rapid dance, like the strumming of a guitar, faster, faster, until the strings meld into one, and then the thump of my thumb as I hit the space bar at the end of a line, end of a thought, the last bit for the moment until I refocus. 

And that's when it tricks me.  That's when it suckers me in.  That's when I come back down from on high and realize its just me in a chair in an office and there are noises and smells and reality demanding my attention.  That's when it lures me in, when I break down, when I look.  That's when I see it still there, watching me, reminding me, like a clock, ever ticking.

Why won't it say anything?  That's the infuriating part.  It almost never says anything, even when it has my attention, especially when I'm looking at it, like a pot never boiling.  Not until later, for certain. Not until I'm back in the groove, typing away, thoughts flowing freely.  Not until I'm about to reach higher ground, burst my bubble of indeptitude and grasp a greater truth. 

That's when it finally does, when it speaks, when it flashes its eyes and chimes.  The ringing in my ears in the moment that it fades, I can think of nothing else.  Something has changed.  Something is new.  Something in the world beyond me, beyond my room, beyond my meager metaphor of existence has transitioned to a new reality, a far better place.  Somewhere a toggle has been flipped, a state has been changed, a metamorphosis occurred, a sparkly newness. 

And its herald is beckoning.  There is nothing I can do to resist.  I must look.  I must obey.  I must see.  It promises enlightenment.  It promises truth.  It promises fullfilment.  I must see it and absorb it, all there is, its very essense, soak it up like a sponge, contemplate it, consume it, regurgitate it, become it.   

But then its probably just SPAM. 

Matt

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  May 02, 2005
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  May 09, 2005
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