Sunday, 9 August 2015

hot morning sorrow

it is a hot morning again, one of those that has now turned to a sort of normality. The air is drying out over these hot weeks, it is not so unpleasant anymore.
it is seven thirty, to da loo, morning chores as always.
as it is sunday, do the minimum.

Two days recovery time from the daily grind of work are just enough to feel hope that it can be done differently and then, well back again, back to the usual mill.
Unproductive manufacture, the culture of man in superior positions vain ideas, which in themselves are nothing but the futile attempt to obtain favour from those who run the university. The man will rediscover the wheel, in the conviction that the wheel that he discovers is a better wheel. Two days to recover from all this, and then five days spent in self-conviction that the time wasted repeating work, in setting up what has worked well in the past,   is just an unfortunate mishap, this is the duty of any employee in base employment. To be glad of ones wage and to adroitely pull the forelock, payee before payer. Still, it is hard to bear those who must demonstrate their power in the fear that their inability to exercise it productively will become apparent.

unwashed undressed, now in sleeping clothes before breakfast of toast, an egg, and the coffee made whilst thinking of the time wasted in the past. In the sure recognition that it will be wasted in the future.

the weather has now become really hot, unusually so. Bells ring for mass, outside. People in the street, talk.

time to wash and put proper clothes on.

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