In the mezzanine meeting room undetected by the
powers-that-be, but, for all my colleagues to see I
was there, sitting cross-legged on the floor: trying
to understand African-accent administrative-speak
and bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo is fruitless, it will
not elevate me to acquire the ability to function in
an office environment where I feel hysterical when
Every sentence I write is changed - just for the hell
of changing it in a hadean dimension; realising that
only by joining Lobsang Rampa’s Tibetan world of
spiritual phenomena can I enjoy a life leaving no
room to breathe, no space to move, & no joie-de-
vivre; reading ferociously and ducking behind the
chairs of my staid colleagues, I survive without
Heartache as life is wasted on talking rituals filling
space with meaningless terms destroying the spirit
and soul of the desperate listener - now back in the
office still weighing every word in translating a legal
agreement, filling the stream of unhinged moments
bubbling nonsensically with humour self-referenced
in comical sentences, to keep abreast this cascade
Floundering through the space of my reality where
simple existence trumps non-being: but I can’t find
meaning as time carries me to the end of a life-line
where a different form of consciousness will receive
the baton of awareness within a framework of new
rules and regulations…
[Tuesday 29 May 2018]
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