By Zachary G. Chauvin

Need to fetch a bullet of a train, else time may grasp the dangling advantage, so very precipitous. Soon it must happen, in fact now, on these slicked up streets, where an onrush of commuters slog through frantic thoughts focused on future moments that are reliant on subway transfers and general mobile efficiency to wistful destinations where they may cackle out their own personal success. Impressions must remain alive, these streaking days that are mad with schedules must pass through us in a regular way, a linear way, into paths of tightly spiraling devices. It is why I must excuse myself from this lady who I halfheartedly pushed away from an escalator upon which I must run, faster now, no time to soothe my guilt of its feeble nuance. The time sifts I’m afraid, it collapses and the impressions at work continue to dissipate. Sorry gentlemen, no time for proper “excuse me” interludes, just my steady movement will suffice, will inform you of my dire need to be somewhere important, as if my very life is threatened. Coffee shop. I shall, but make it quick. I’ll have to kind of push my way into this queue and pay with bills as there’s no time for the meagre utility of change. Besides, change will not preserve an impression, will not lend others the anterior image I wantonly pocket. Here we go, sip hot liquid and imbue myself in the boost. Nice. Hits me nice. Now back to the occluded bullet of a train that has by now filled itself of others, yet still not me; struggling to burst through on a pinched scream and foreboding, gasping on allegorical fumes of canine. Here we go, down the concrete stairs, through the masonry of this hall, over the ramp and onwards to the human dispenser hopelessly choking us before turning in on itself, into mechanical fits of doleful gastronomes. Hurry, to the track, make way for mine, paste your pedals to the stationary marks, for subtleties are losing ground to outright vitriol surfacing again. Start this engine, in no time, it is not important to await the few scattered persons, unable to find for themselves the precise portal of entry. It is their fault. They should learn to scale these adversities more efficiently and furthermore note for themselves the lure of an impasse, teach themselves the desire to overcome these little moments when facing crowds.

Enough! I shall attempt another point of reference, away from this slogging train, mired in the stuck burden of humanity. Opus. Oh, to be at work! Right now! If only! A project of my design sits perched above a window and peers below at participants walking through its light, memorizing their form for later. I would of liked to paste my own simile into the program but my profile could not sufficiently align for all cases, it seemed my genital profile was abnormal, the root cause a little too obscure for most of my co-workers to visit. Alas, the metaphysical methodologies in its stead, to alter a person’s route, virtually at birth, or more formerly through adult consensus; the information sets, the lollipops, the segregated story boards, the phenomenal time lines. It was only a matter of time. Wait…where am I now? Is the next station above ground? I should be getting out of this station.

Yes! Fresh air will do. I feel myself suffocating in the sloth of this subterranean chamber. A parade of fire trucks and ambulance drivers above ground are cutting their way through the din and muscle, leaving behind me a wake that some are desperately trying to mount. We only wish we had that ignorant power. I surely wouldn’t miss a train. Or rush for another. Be ruled by another. I am so eager to watch my program obliterate what remains of their innocence. When it’s at last launched and for great length running in erase mode. It will be glorious. The train. I can see it now. It is curling around the bend. Right on time. And so am I. At last our inevitable schedules meet. One old train meets the newest man, who feels perched on the verge of grandeur, with the infliction of commuted ennui having been impressively endured. Start the engines, all is aboard, come on, the train has reached its capacity, we’ve shovelled in the combustible elements, it’s time we scream our way into infamy. Here we go. Moving, finally.

Rumble…rumble…rumble…charge! Zip. Zip. Zip. Making some ground now. Soon I’ll be downtown, slicing through the biological waves, gripping the mane of that elemental force. And now here it comes, the city’s core is a stash of jewels today, the buildings like crystal ruthlessly protrude out of a multi-layered cemented plain, replacing the fine details so easily obliterated. Here we are now. Sorry lady, the door is open, in case you hadn’t noticed. The streets are alive and it’s time to assimilate into a useful force. Just another couple of blocks and I’m there, ready to work diligently, importantly, practically, usefully, unimaginatively, furtively and finally. Intently I am directed, assisting the mass of people, so they may organize themselves into designated mindsets, coated in a flavour that is so simple yet impossible to avert further cravings. It will soon become difficult to fathom an earlier era, where each man felt himself unique, where the edges were not smoothed out and the divergences drifted in a completely rampant manner. Here we go. My building. Elevator up to the top floor. Like a gargoyle I am nested in the most rigid perch of the upper branches. Bing. Sorry, excuse me. Let’s get in. Pick a floor, before the quickest door shuts. Mind your idiocy over there. I love the sinking feeling that attacks a person’s stomach on the elevator surge, that quick burst I only wish would sustain itself longer, for I would just lean forward and work my ambitious intellect on that physical emotion that seems synonymous with all I yearn for. Metres into miles, all jumped over immediately. Nice. Very nice. Bing. Excuse me, this is my floor and it should be yours. That’s fine, it is a foretold remembrance, appreciate the irony, a sort of source for what you shall become out of what was past. Grand meeting. Meeting! I had a meeting. I must be just on time. My gosh, to think I almost forgot. Let me check my email. What time was I booked for? 8:45 am. Such a queer time. Queer as that sound just now. What was that? Why has the table shifted? What enormous disturbance could manage such a thing? Oh well…it’s more important I concentrate on the upcoming agenda and motivate my co-workers into singeing the most appropriate focal points, so that we may all make perfect amends. The energy consumed must thrash against the sinews of work. I have a flood of microscopic datasets to normalize along with a million algorithms that shall require minimizing into bit format. Sure Adam, start it up. Get us through this. Through this lazy stance. This indifferent mode. Now what is that? A fire alarm? Must be another drill. They hold many throughout the impressionable year. I guess we must get out, but I fail to understand why we cannot schedule these at more appropriate times. We are all attempting to tie up the loose ends on important work. The balance of the day relies on it.

Down the stairs? The elevators are now vaults.

Down…down…down…and further. Everything upstairs can sit idle I suppose. But…you what? You mean it’s true? A fire? The ringing alarms are to acquire the pernicious tone of a knell? Surely it shall extinguish itself in the formidably constructed walls. Surely all is not lost. What are the legacy dates on those off-site backups? Following this calamity we may simply restore, right? My pulsating existence is represented by tiny circuits of data, it is only arguably physical property, it is only debatable that I live.

Someone clone the bodies we inhabit! Quick!
Duplicate and pool these thoughts we graciously roam!
Someone shift their task from analysis to application!
Someone adapt!

Eyes. Mist. Prolonged moment. Do not rush me! Wait! I have this part. Now. And now as it turns out the systematic redundancy we admired is but a fleeting dream. Foolish we are. Time all at once secretly saved itself for one final impression. I reel like mad on charred regret and the mist over those eyes that I once caught sight of, now even it is obligated to vacate the aesthetics of life. Here it is now. Here we all die. In this life. We all die. It all dies. How remarkable, we all die.