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The Puppet Master

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  Puppet Master The narrow, high-walled passage swallowed the sound of my boot scraping a broken cobblestone, the echo sharp in the dry air. Above, a sliver of unforgiving sunlight cut down, carving deep shadows where the damp, mossy scent of the gully was now replaced by the smell of dust and ancient stone. I paused, looking not just at my gloved hand—the leather scuffed from my descent, but at what was attached to it. Thin, nearly invisible lines, like high-tensile wires , stretched from the articulated cuff on my wrist and disappeared into the air above the path. I tracked them with my eyes until they converged on a small, stone figure standing motionless in the centre of the walkway. It was a crude marionette , barely a foot tall, carved from the same pale, cracked stone as the surrounding walls. Dressed in a simple tunic, its blank, oval face held a radiating sense of expectant waiting. Its arms were held out, palms up. I held the strings. Yet, the feeling was not one of cont...
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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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