The wall is always there.
Brick upon brick.
Upon brick. It blocks out the sun. A wall of bricks. I can’t see over it. Its not real. It’s a metaphor. The wall.
I bang my head against it daily. Sometimes hourly.
I am in the office.
I always seem to be here. Surrounded by computers,
coats hanging from stands,
I know some of them.
Others are just faces on bodies. We all happen to be here at the same time. Bodies on legs. Heads.
I see them everyday but don’t know them. Occasionally we may pass in a corridor or I may hold a door open for them.
We move on.
There are rules.
There are hundreds of faces here.
I know some of them. Faces. Desks. Computers. Doors.
All part of this daily geography.
I sit at my desk and electronically talk to people I’ll never meet. Entire relationships built on words. Words sent through systems I don’t understand how they / this / it works. But it does.
It does work.
I press a button and something changes somewhere in this world. A number on a spreadsheet. A keystroke and a I’m telling a another computer to do something. I will never see the outcome.
I will never see the end.