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The 12 loops of Goodbye

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  The Twelve Loops of Goodbye The fluid rises. The cryo-hiss is deafening. And then... the program starts. Twelve times. The system cycles, and twelve times I see you. It starts the same. The image freezes in the dark. It’s you, BK. Or... It’s your idea. You’re wearing the rig. The goggles are locked on me. I try to say your name, but my mouth is filled with ice. I love you. God, I love you. But you don’t blink. The Neural Glitch. Something is wrong. The memory corrupts. I see "corrupted code" trying to stabilise across your face. Your eyes... behind the lenses... they twitch. Microscopically. Are you hurting? Or is that my pain rippling through the connection? A low-frequency pulse warps your skin. You look like a stranger. You look like the machine. The Shuddering Breath. This is the one that breaks me. Total stillness. Then... a faint mist forms at your mouth. Condensation beads on the goggles. I scream at you to breathe! Just breathe! But it’s slow. Irregular. It’s a ...
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Godin Waiting

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Godin Waiting 
I have been in-waiting to go, for far too long.
Wanting to change, to improve, to transform. 
Now I am stuck in this place of best practices. 
All the pre-planning, all the strategy, the tactics, and motivation is fading away.
Step one, two, and three are now at mercy to this real-world placement.
This waiting room, a monstrous social construct contained through collective intuition.

All who have experienced disregard, within chant of 'be patient', have found their way into this room. 
The fight to climb and to gain authority eventually leads to waiting. 
The eventuality - all worn out by the fight within itself.
Only to become the shell of what could have been and was now has ever-been. 
Increments and trinkets of discarded shells underscored by the need to profit. 
Shedding the skins of splendor and replaced by titles and agents of authority.
I am within the placement of a utilized progression cue.
Nothing out of the normal really.
I know I must wait my turn.

In this waiting room, clarity of purpose falls hand in hand alongside the certainty and strength of urgency.
I can no longer sit within this snug togetherness.
This waiting room is for tired and forgotten people.
I am yet tired and forgotten.

The waiting sits comfortably together, within a song of forgotten need and want.
This is not a passive room, it is a well-constructed fortress of resistance.
Make them wait,  enforce the barrier, and remove escalation. 
It will happen - they will eventually depart from their platform. 
Their hold will transpire into unconscious zones.
Voice will only emerge when factored by annoyance. 
There will be no meaningful digression. 
No understanding of their want.
No point to it.
Just disgruntled jabber.
And they will eventually comply with what is now.
They will eventually not know not what they want or what you want.
They will fall into the collective experience of intuition brought about through the power of enforced waiting and managed progression. 













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