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'Pressing'

She is always on my mind. I am forever beset by the struggle to balance her against all other matters; that which unfolds before me. At present she finds me caught between obsession & bitter frustration, an unenviable position if ever there were one no doubt; a product of this vast and seemingly ineffable divide. I fear I may be losing what remains of my sanity to her and perhaps in vain; I suspect her still oblivious to the severity of my condition, and fair enough. There is no fault here, nor cause for blame. Simply put there is nothing here at all until a reckoning defines us as something, or as the stuff of the void itself.

To reach that day of prophecy however, bittersweet even if it comes to pass; I must first surmount the situation at hand, the harsh reality of my present. The truth revealed to me during my leave of absence, should have been the catalyst required to drive me, fiercely motivated toward the horizon of said desire. Instead it has somehow corrupted me.

I find myself lacking in conviction to press the cause of the forces I serve here; when conviction and resolve are what I require most in this dire surround. I find myself behaving in the mindset of the one who has already prevailed, five months forward; when at the now we are gravely surrounded and outnumbered to say the least. Our forces have been urgently committed to battles on several other fronts, pitched and violent all; yet still we are consumed ferociously in the fight against The Enemy on our doorstep. By the schedule for this campaign we should have had The Enemy routed, and re-deployed yesterday. Yet fully a third of them remain on this field, well supplied and intensely defiant. It will take every ounce of skill, strength, cunning and fortitude that I possess to ensure us victory here. I do not for a moment dare consider it to be a certainty, my life hangs precariously in the balance.

Time. Either fleeting or he’s abound in excess; and never in the right place. The thought would be more palpable if not for the fact that technically speaking, the fucker doesn’t exist; and still I’m bound to his rules. Not a bad effort on his part, I suppose.

The problem is that my system, perhaps overly relaxed from my recent leave; is having difficulty separating the two scenarios (tangible and intangible) from one another. They are vying for control of my attention, their battleground my head; and thus every move I make is undermined. This should be a non-event, the solution is simple in that things have never changed. I need to focus, press forward and secure victory. There is no other choice. I cannot afford to remain incoherent in this fragmented state, my will scattered.

So how in the seven lower hells have I ended up in this place? Asking questions long answered, over concerns that may, should, or do not matter in the now? Whether I take my survey from here or the view from entirety, it seems abundantly clear that I am doomed perhaps inexorably to walk the line between absolute victory, and utter defeat.

Yet still I find myself thinking that none of it matters, that all I want is her. But without the fight I fear there is no path that could ever bring me back to her; and even should I find the way, she still might never be mine.

So you see the circles that have come to imprison me.

I allow myself to be such a fucking liability.

Enough.

Onward.

'Pressing'

Laszlo Totka

Sydney, Australia

  • Artist
    Notes
Laszlo Totka

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