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I want to love,
So I can prove that
I am not completely lost,
In the hurdles of time,
And that there is a heart,
If not for me,
I wish for it to beat for the existence of another,
So my being can find a purpose,
I am in a a state of constant desperation,
To learn and to be learnt,
By heart,
So that I am never forgotten,
So that I may linger without consequences.
 Sep 29 Matthew Bright
Jill
Staplers and hole-punch
Paper, signatures, and stamps
Busy, busy work
Audit error, office closed
Oncoming apocalypse

---

“If you are viewing this instructional video, you may be having some glitches with your audit processes. Don’t panic. From time to time, any bureaucracy worth its hole-punch will need to conduct an audit.

Daily dandy-desk-documented fun
Standard sunny-systematised-stapled hijinks

However, sometimes, there is a clerical error, or worse, a process deviation. If this occurs during an ordinary, 8:45am-5:20pm workday, the standard review process can be implemented, commencing on the same day, should the error be detected before 12pm, and if later than 12pm, commencing on the next working day. The typical review timelines can then follow, ideally 3-5 business days for information gathering, followed by committee consideration dependent on the 6-weekly cycle and agenda length.

Expected. Thorough. Busy. Reassuring.
All systems nominal.
Stamping and signing rates above baseline.
Working hard, at a sensible, sustainable pace. Amiright?

Unfortunately, occasionally,
something cataclysmic happens
bottom right on the risk matrix
(likelihood=E (rare) x consequence=5 (catastrophic))

Hold onto your staplers…
A fault occurs during the audit.
An audit error in the error audit.
This results in the dreaded, circular,
Paper Ouroboros Paradox.  
At this point, the
perfectly procedured
copybook committeed
faultlessly filed
bureaucracy
will implode.

The only way of avoiding POP is
a concurrent process to audit the
audit, we call this The Meta Audit.  
The bookish amongst you may want to say
that would increase the circularity
(moving POP from likelihood=E, to D!)
Don’t worry, we run the Meta Meta
Audit to make sure that never happens.

Our favourite galactic bureaucrat avatars, the Vogons, were the first race to encounter the pure, paper-curling hell of TMA. That is why these instructions are written in poetry, of sorts. But not Vogon-authored poetry, of course, even though
the quality
and honestly
the policy
of the potential use
of these directions
or sections
or connections
for torture
Have never been directly investigated.

The KPI for TMA is known as the
Kafka-Cockroach Distance
measured in imaginary cockroach lengths (icL).

Under potential conditions of
POP, the TMA KPI KCD starts at
42 icL
     and counts down with
     every fatal meta error:
       -Information presented to audit
         committee in triplicate
         instead of quadruplicate,
41 icL
      -Audit presentation containing
        27 slides instead of 26,
        as clearly outlined,
40 icL
     -Email about colonoscopy sent
       to audit address list instead of mum,
39 icL
     And so on.

You’ll know when you reach 17 icL,
You’ll see the cockroaches.
Conveniently, this makes measurement simpler

Now you know how to calculate your Kafka-Cockroach Distance, you can audit your audits with perfect assurance and insurance.

---

This bureaucracy
Kafkaesque catastrophe
Dear Douglas Adams
Thanks for giving me words for
Processing my processes
©2024

BLT Webster’s Word of the Day challenge (avatar) date 27th September 2024. Avatar can also refer to the embodiment of something (such as a concept or philosophy) often in a person.
 Sep 29 Matthew Bright
Onyx
Parfois, j'ai tellement peur.
J'essaie de me cacher dans ma chambre.
Recroquevillée sur moi-même, les yeux fermés.
J'essaie de me cacher de mes peurs et de ma douleur.
Le monstre ne se cache pas dans mon placard.
Il n'est pas sous mon lit.
Il est à l'intérieur de mon cerveau, caché au plus profond.
Il est le fruit de mon imagination.
Il me laisse terrifié.
La cause de tous mes cauchemars.
Un monstre qui semble bien réel.
Je perds peu à peu le fil de ma réalité.
J'ai du mal à réfléchir.
Je vais me débarrasser de mes peurs.
Avec l'eau de l'évier.

(Sometimes I get so scared.
I try to hide in my room.
Curled up, eyes closed.
I try to hide from my fears and my pain.
The monster isn't hiding in my closet.
It's not under my bed.
It's inside my brain, hidden deep inside.
He's a figment of my imagination.
It leaves me terrified.
The cause of all my nightmares.
A monster that seems very real.
I'm gradually losing touch with reality.
It's hard to think.
I'm going to get rid of my fears.
With water from the sink.)
hello poetry meet my fav languages today lol
Suppose I am just blue.
pale, hardly replicable.
Neither black; nor white but
lacking saturation
nevertheless.
Late night thoughts.
neon lights
illuminate the night’s
heavy clouds

while rain muffles
the constant urban humming

pierced by distant sirens
moving slowly
through concrete canyons.
 Sep 24 Matthew Bright
Jill
My eyes are clear
Opening my lash-eyelet curtain
A near-perceptible glacier-clean,
--thud-crack of thick ice
Forming two, perfect, transparent, oval shards
Convex bevel edges
Satisfying symmetry.

My brain is quiet
Waiting for the roaring, train engine, kettle-boiling,
punctuated by slight, syncopated,
tap-taps that,
-- so kindly, remind me, my mind be, relying
-- on pulsing blood
Still roarless
Still, roarless
Spline-smoothed
Blood journeys gently, cloud-style
Not muddling, befuddling, nimbostratus
Just happy little cumulus
Soft. Nice.

My shoulders are low
Cage only soundtrack here
Absence of intended sounds
Only the astral smooth void
Flawless, measured, even space
My ears can kiss my shoulders if I feel like it
--but I don’t feel like it
Comfortable.

My breath is even
Jaws are open pliers
Thoughts are photos in ice and midnight blue
-- no rue umber or regret beige
Muscles are liquid-warm wax
Palms are oasis-free deserts
Pupils are obsidian-shined globes
Skin made of moonlight
Heart matching the beat of the universe

I have returned
Back inside myself
I am here.
©2024

Music reference – John Cage, 4’33” (1952).

BLT Webster’s Word of the Day challenge (rue) date 23rd September 2024.
To rue something is to feel penitence, remorse, or regret for it. Rue is often used in the phrase "rue the day."
Can I kiss you beneath the Chestnut Trees? Capture you with my ancient branches, press you into my breast?
Will you curl nearer? Wind your roots with my own, Welcome me with dampened Spring soil? Shall we stay right here? Forever? Puffing in dusty pollen until Summer seeds sprout through our brittle cracks? Could we just? Should we just?
Little love letters I'll never send.
I was wedged between blue leather, scribbling axes into the shape of question marks; and you were laid on blue woven wicker, snoring and many miles away.
Now, I am sinking into fluffy blue polyester; and you are sleeping on a table carved of icy blue steel.
It is strange, isn't it?
I did not know you then, I will never know you now.
Reflections of childhood bubbling after a death in the family.

— The End —