The Warfront...

My office is not the last bastion of hope and peace in the world. It is a place of war and desolation; political conflagration and wearied but frenzied activity with one's head down to avoid stray shots and shrapnel from other camps. The only territory that is considered neutral is the restroom, but occasionally overly zealous snipers ignore the rules of combat and fire explosive rounds there, too. Best to wear your flak jacket at all times and keep your backside covered.

It is not open warfare we fight here. It is cold war tension – cease-fire peace at best – all camps ready to return fire and weary front line lead by a trigger happy leadership used to full frontal assault to gain small patches of ground. Sweating front line guards hold back rowdy crowd of protesters without ammunition or even permission to fire upon threatening forces.

Many battles are fought across the desk and on papers in piles collapsing like burnt out buildings in a seige zone. It is intended that my cubicle be an ammo dump with all that I need to return fire – assuming I can find the weapon I need.

Sly smiles and cryptic messages pass over my desk all day long, making me wonder what espionage is transpiring in the nighttime hours when I return to the safe haven of my home. Alliances are made and broken for convenience of attack.

Propaganda is the strongest weapon, wielded with the threatening nature of a nuclear missile. The rattling of sabers and growls of the loyalists on each side traverse the hallways and atriums.

One day an office will be a DMZ, the next a position that is suddenly undefended and overrun by the enemy. No one uniform is identifiable as hostile or friendly without checking dispatches from the the home office on an hourly timetable. Even then, some simple action may set off hostilities or someone may fire for effect to gain attention and announce superior position at the bargaining tables.

In-fighting has even undermined many forces. Where strength in numbers could be gained, loyalists draw invisible lines and follow orders from above.

The balance of power is a fragile thing, each ounce of influence hard-fought and tenaciously kept. No one faction would give in, even if it were to their benefit, because that would be a sign of weakness and they would soon be usurped in their power.

Would that I could be a Switzerland, land of peace and neutrality.

Currently Playing [ Papa Roach : Getting Away With Murder ]

Mindscapes...

As the mind wanders the vacant landscape of confusion and despair, it searches out others with whom to converse and relate. Answers to the questions all minds hold come forth, begging to be illuminated with knowledge and experience. Empty spaces beg to be closed and filled with action, motion and activity.

Interpolation of the cycle is necessary for changes to occur, for the mind to break free of the familiar patterns. Fresh interjection of thoughts and ideas or even actions. Distractions of any sort are not necessarily a poor attempted grasp at avoidance. They are sometimes a necessary direction change away from the cyclical motion of familiarity and rote. Far from the oasis of human interaction and frenetic life pacing, in the drought of thought flow, imagination wanders but original thought dwindles to a trickle.

The illusion of loneliness and isolation increases as one withdraws deeper into the desert of the mind. Where one could easily raise a hand and receive assistance, the illusion of distance brings to mind bonfires, flares and beacons in the night to summon help. As one looks northward, help passes closely to the south, brushing the thoughts as it passes, but evading detection.

The distances to travel for help are not so great as the illusion of isolationism. By simply expanding the search to include new directions, help can be easily found among those who stand nearby. Even at arm's reach.

Currently Playing [ America : A Horse With No Name ]

All the world is a stage...

"The difference between friend and fiend is a single letter."

I have seen a great many changes this past few weeks:

A long-standing relationship has folded gently.
A short-standing one has fallen like a house of cards.
A new marriage has been declared by someone who has been relationship shy for many years.
Someone who is single by choice is complaining about it.
Someone who is single by another's choice is also unhappy.
A friendship that seemed bomb-proof was demolished.

More often than not lately, I have seen change. It has been larger and all encompassing. The wheel has turned more visibly than any previous time.

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The lights came up and our players resumed the Drama after their hiatus and yet stood on ever so different marks. No plan has remained entirely intact, no person reacted within what was their former portrayed character. Familiarity was all that remained, as if we had walked into a production by another cast, not one billed "as himself" .

The characters remain in costume and accent, and yet they seem to have moved about the stage in coreography different from the last rehearsal. In Media Res, is where we have returned. The Audience performs leaps of faith and suspensions of disbelief, hoping that all will be revealed in time for intermission.