Monday mornings…

...a vast and yawning abyss of commuter futility only partially masked by the endless distraction of engorging ourselves on information artefacts, channels, opinions, fiction and repetition. It is as though we can not even savour our loneliness and feelings of dispossession or pointlessness at all of this cyclical and directionless repetition. The cognitive landscape of…

A Rusty Spring

It is as though every Sunday night some unrepentant fiend winds up the vast mechanical and rusty spring of my working week and then, yet again, I must endure the tedious unfurling of this coil through until the welcome arrival and cathartic release of Friday evening. Working life probably only seems to be the wasted…