the greatest mystery for professional/corporate success of the individual lies in the ability to pour your heart out to something that only offers a mere glimpse of anything that has bearing. if you're lucky, you'll bridge the connection between the value of your time and skills, against a greater scheme of endless hamster wheels stacked on each other, squirreling away.

my faith in finding purpose as a corporate cog has begun to waver. the bearings of my life, have started to divert away from my net worth as a turning bolt in a machine. i'd like to think that everyone at one point in their lives or another, have thought the same as i have now: of the world as a scam. we're all herded like cows towards a certain direction, expected to mulch on the same grass. but the bigger problem is, that the grass is always greener on the other side. and it never really changes since it's all been illusioned to be that way. pony up, cowboy!

i caught a bum in the corner of my eye while i was walking to lunch during work today. he had a look on his face that mysteriously read contentment, but more likely manifest by the delusions of hunger. and at each purposeful stride i made as i passed the dirty man, was a sudden pang to give him all the cash i had in my wallet. it wasn't about the money, in and by itself. what everyone needs sometimes, is not the delusions of hope that money can bring, but the upliftment given by a random deed. the notion that luck isn't merely a smatter of chance, but a real manifest of choice and meaning. that hope is not deducible to tools of commerce, the tools of a society, but the very fibers of choice that each of us are capable of making.

by the glassy look in his eye, i knew we were on the same page. he was gone by the time i got back. like the opportunity to make sense of the day, fleeting and nimble on its feet. like the chance to fit pieces together that are coming close to give answers, perpetually elusive. like the horizon that never comes, the grass that sits idlely on the other side that forever waits to someday be forgotten.