Bigsley the Oaf


Posted in Uncategorized by bigsleytheoaf on November 9, 2010

Work such as this is the stuff of quieter souls than mine.

How can I sit in the dark, eyes warm, hands warm, unblinking, room dark, plodding through, soggily plodding, when there are ducks cutting sharp autumn air over bright ponds, cliffs singing and surging beneath thriving trees, an inner chaotic warring world to be conquered and yearning to be brought to oblivion. How can I make miniscule changes to documents left to gather in folders on disks in distant hills, silently, infinitesimal transistor flips signifying nothing.

Work as quiet as this dims my light and I slip into a dimness. Perhaps it’s the nature of programming. Perhaps it’s too requiring of rigour. Perhaps it’s a dulling thing to make things this precise. Perhaps perhaps.

2 Responses

Subscribe to comments with RSS.

  1. Graham said, on November 10, 2010 at 12:40 am

    At first light there’s nothing in the air but a distant call, a lone goose trumpeting for his brethren to follow south the dying sun. Anywhere but here. Will you answer it?

  2. bigsleytheoaf said, on November 10, 2010 at 12:44 am

    I answer to no goose!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: