UI Developer, Help Desk Analyst, Content Management, Agile Development, Big Data, Cross-Platform, BYOD, Cloud Computing, Business Intelligence, and Adaptive Technology. Where in all of this is there a place for you? Where in all of this is there a place for you? Who in possession of passion could not allow the mitigation of this risk of delegitimization of the mind of man?
From a rising plume of smoke, he begins to reveal his form. He is neither distinguished looking or grossly disfigured. When he speaks his words have varying tonal inflections to them leaving you bewildered and befuddled as to what his feelings are or his intended message. It is certainly not known where he comes from or where he has been. For all intents and purposes, he is a mystery man who shrouds himself in mystery.
There is an air of suspicion about him. Warmth does not appear to be a part of his persona. Your respect is demanded as is a total observance of his decrees. He is there for you although he is not part of you. There is no desire or need on his part for your society. Your distance or non-communication is highly preferable. What he has made perfectly clear that he is the chosen one. You are his subordinates as he is leading you but he is not your leader. His is not to be an asset or a coach to you. Very little of what you have to say is of any interest to him.
He is a man of great power and influence in the organization as his voice carries clout. You can be eradicated from your position with just a few taps on a keyboard from his quick and nimble fingers. His authority is both unlimited and unchecked. You are a mosquito or a fly that angers him due to incessant buzzing which is your voice. What is most precious to him is that which sits in front of you. He must educate, instruct and lead you to the way the system must be used. The system is his brainchild. As he does not have the capability to embrace a human child the system is all he could ever want. It will never betray him or be disloyal, to him. Certainly, it will never challenge his decision. A robotic mistress that is under his sole command.
There is a faraway look in his bespectacled eyes. Although human in appearance there is little about him that matches up to that noun. His track record is impeccable. Goals throw themselves at his feet. Challenges beg for his mercy. Companies far and wide know full well of him with some residing in fear of him. He is unquestionably a highly respected and desired leader yet his passion is not for people. Were he desirous of children he would create a program that could download them while coding them properly. Heartbeats and joy will never exist in them just as they do not, in fact, exist as we know existence to be.
In consideration of the above, those who have the misery of his presence trudge through their days with pained looks and slumped shoulders. They are brutalized via e-mail. Encrypted commands end and finish their activity while analyzing and evaluating it for viability. Flushed with fear they come to him with a problem or question. He will not dignify them with an answer. Instead, he will disgustedly rise up from his customized chair that was created for his full functionality will bulldoze his way over to your station. You have put a blemish on his perfect system. You did not heed his instructions or perhaps you were incapable of doing so in his estimation. Within fractions of a second, the problem is corrected. He rises up while peering down at you in utter disgust and contempt of you. Moving forward everything you think, do or say will be on his watch. He is the chosen one.
Amidst the stammering, stuttering, sobbing, crushed and broken people a strange sound that silences the room is heard. It is the joyous singing of a bluebird that has perched itself just outside the bubbled office window. Simultaneously starlings and robbins chime in with the chorus of the song. In between verses, they stop stare cock and nod their heads while blinking their tiny eyes of approval and acceptance of you. These are the voices of life for the living. They ask no questions nor have expectations of answers. Into the wind, they will lift themselves aloft and take flight only to return repeatedly to that spot where they will again sing their song of songs to you.
Upon entering your home with somewhat uplifted hearts from the concert you were in attendance at a black and white fluffy feeling creature enthusiastically will celebrate your return by rubbing its head against your leg as it rolls around on its back waiting for your strokes on its fur. It purrs incessantly as it pours out its love for you. When you bury your head in your pillow to burst open your dam of tears it comes up alongside your face to rub its cold wet pinkish nose on your cheeks. It will then curdle itself into a ball and fall asleep in the crook of your outstretched arm.
The measure of a man is to walk it back to start all over again. To take back what has been taken from him to be put back into the bosom of the beating heart. For he who was the chosen one is now an obsolete leader of unintelligible mainframes. His failed fatally flawed leadership was a characture from a childhood stripped of love. He was shuttled from one orphanage or institution to another. No mother, father, sister or brother claimed relation to him. He measured his time by ripping things apart and putting them back together in different configurations. The world of IT found him as he found it. Together they formed a cold calculated partnership with each co-dependent of the other. A ruthless taskmaster who was consumed by all that he could effortlessly control. He married a fortune of servers, remote servers all of which he could run from the palms of his calloused hand. In the end, he was brought down by lovers whose lips were sealed around lips that yearned for them.
When the life of a lad becomes unglued he molds himself into this plastic shell that must be painted in flesh tones so as not to reveal his rejection of life and the living. A heart so hard it cannot be broken apart. A master manipulator was born and would soon become a bloodless corporate computer controller masquerading as a leader while collaborating with his conscience to obstruct what the heart pumps out from reaching its intended destination. He knows the beating heart will pound in indignation while building up a war chest of antibodies that will bring him down.
The white willow and the golden yellow sunflower open their wombs to welcome bees patrolling the fields in hopes of pollinating the flowers with their sweet honey while feasting on delectable fruit. A delicate silky smooth rose petal resting gently in your palm awaits its turn to rejuvenate while being reborn. There is dignity in our souls that aches for recognition. A man should never sell the dignity or the sanctity of that which is most precious to him. To toil for a dollar irrespective of the cost is to cast a disheartening shadow that repels decency. The blood that you will bleed will never be washed away. Each marking of misdeeds will cling to you forever.
And who in her lonely slip, who by barbiturate? Who in these realms of love, who by something blunt? Who by avalanche, who by powder? Who for his greed, who for his hunger? And who shall I say is calling?
–Who By Fire, Leonard Cohen
The rightfully chosen ones were not selected from by pre-programmed corporate computer decree or dictum. You are here as you so deserved to be. Humbleness shall always be your boldly embossed calling card. Should you abandon your humility for want of need underneath the weeping willow tree standing alongside the silently running brook your finality is revealed before the masses you could not murder. Take solace in the solstice of the seasons you evolve in and around. Be true to all creatures of creation. Look away from the death of truths that never could be known. Seal away for eternity the exuberance of youth so very vibrant within us.
Some of them were angry at the way the earth was abused by the men who learned how to forge her beauty into power. And they struggled to protect her from them only to be confused by the magnitude of her fury in the final hours. And when the sand was gone and the time arrived in the naked dawn only a few survived. And in attempts to understand a thing so simple and so huge believed they were meant to live after the deluge.
–Before The Deluge, Jackson Browne
Forever barren may the reseviors of hate lay.