Flush of air reflushing itself. The concrete that girders strains under its own pressure and sings in a flatulent tone. A ceaseless rush like a hum. It is everywhere in the building, the offices, the hallways, the bathrooms, even the elevators with their pneumatic brakes. One day these towers will fill other planets, the moon, Mars, over on Alpha Centauri, and they won't smell or sound any different. When the world got translated into numbers it became money. It's the future of mankind, man.
tags: office worker, financial district, climate-controlled buildings, populating other planets.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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Nodding. I'm remembering so many temp jobs, the offices as variations on the same McTheme.
ReplyDeleteUgh! Sigh.
ReplyDeleteHey, I posted for you... twice!
MB, you must be a national treasure! I love your voice! What range, not only in peaks and troughs but emotionally in deep resonances and delicate filigree... I could listen for hours, and then some more. Are you putting your poetry to music too? Oh, what a wonderful, wonderful treat today! Thank you so much!
ReplyDeleteWhy, thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed them. Depending on the song, some have a more poetic bent than others.
ReplyDeleteThanks e_journeys, and MB......
ReplyDeleteThe air inside those buildings really is different to the air outside - it seems somehow grey, like the lifeforce has been removed from it, I'm not quite sure what the difference is. I sure do prefer places with open windows though! Still, it was fun to muse on where this technology could take us...