[Thoughtful] Rhetoric Patterning

Rhetoric Patterning

Rhetorical Patterning:

It's hard to pinpoint at what time I really did wake up last I slept, it's any ones guess what really happened during that night and what is proceeding into day light.


I want to focus on the day ahead, but as I tremble helplessly I can't help but think I must be dreaming still and it cramps and crumples my heart into a little shard. What's left of this world for me if all that I've done up until now resembles a blur not unlike a dream? Was it even a positive experience, and can you call it that in and of itself when it is the only experience you will ever know with which to base any futures analogies on?
It boggles the mind of this I am sure. As the gentle and slow curve turns into a steady incline and instead of hours and days you're transcending across months and years. With what I can surmount inside my own head, I'm not sure where I am is truly what I believe is real. In my head when I sleep at night, I encounter things that resembles a reality much more closely than the droning on of another real day.
When I'm asleep am I the most awake? It certainly seems this way, in fact the only thing that is absent from my nocturnal life is a recognizable cast of characters. There is no black haired, blue eyed angel whom I can call my own, she will not be there when next I rest my head. Is the mind so complex, that it has rooted out the other guy altogether? Do we really not need anyone but ourselves? It causes me to furrow my brow as I sit here staring across the desk inside my little hovel. I can only assume everyone else does not care, nor do they acknowledge. If we are all truly human why do I feel that no one can understand my plight? When I step out of these doors, and I peer down the street in both directions, what is it that I am protection myself from? Do I truly think and feel that at any moment my life will end, and if this does so happen to each and everyone of us only those who were driving the day will survive. It creates a world where half of society's problems no longer exist, and I look on that as I look on the morality of the initial idea. What if half of us died because half of us carelessly ceased to believe what we did really did not matter? To be Human is to be a part of the accessibility of the other cast members. If one of those men that so happened to die was a speciality doctor of physician who helped those born without hands, the world would have lost that accommodation. In the end is it enough to assume that the world would be better without this man, if he coveted his wife, the neighbours, his daughter? For all the good one man can do, the spot light of something bad may heavily out weigh it. To become one with another Human being is a highly dubious notion, the feelings of love are based stringently in a primal sense and speak to the volumes of the animal agenda with which we live to this day. To say it's confusing when I watch a man try to defend his entire life's work because of one misguided night with another Human, it feels deaf to me. I'm sure that man realized what he did, and he realizes that in the big scheme of things that this misdeed should not cause such scrutiny.
My pencil drops and as I lean down to pick it up I bang my head against the brim of my desk, causing me the only real feeling I've felt since I can begin to remember what life I've lead. Would I feel a little more in tune with my fellow creatures if I took the time to shatter my arm against some sort of heavy object, so dense that the blood would reflect upon it like an artists pallet? But what if that was all part of an alternate feeling, and the pain was not a real thing that was truly happening?
I just remembered I was picking up my pencil, that's why I was down here. The funny thing is I had no use for this utensil, it would help not alert my superiors that I was not doing what it is I should be doing. With what I am to do, does a pencil suffice as a tool of the trade?
I can't help but smile when I hear a gentle blip as if from a radar screen in one of those older monster movies or fishing devices. The blip as it turns out was a gash on my head, and the blood was steadily falling from the small wound at a blip per five seconds. Is it that self destructive that I would time the leaking fluids and not remedy the situation? Maybe I like the idea of someone seeing me this way, maybe it will give me a jump or a start? Likely no one will notice and those who will won't pay me heed to any degree, the idea of self pity brings about dangerous feelings inside of Humans. If I closed my eyes now for instance, and I refused to open them, would they let me die here? In this very chair, surrounded by three and a half walls? I have no one who would acknowledge my presence, and hard pressed to find someone to care enough to pull me away. Humans make connections, but the feelings are all superficial to the point of a pack leader or part of the herd. I'm thousands of feet off of the ground, but what I'm standing on feels just as stagnant and unrelenting.
If a bomb was called into this building, and I was given the alert, would I run down the stairs and out those doors? I guess what would happen if I was wrong, how would I face myself had I chosen to stay, it would likely cause a rift in the relationship.
All this would need is a bell and it would feel just like every other civil structure I've had to spend time in, I suppose that's my fault for not following a love. A woman on the street, a black dress, beautiful and stunning, the hair doesn't matter as it is perceived differently amongst all people. But she's standing there, a little absent minded as she twirls her hair in a flirtatious manner talking on a mobile phone. She stands on her toes momentarily, and that is when you begin to realize the chain of events unfurling - as chains are sometimes apt to do.
The man to your right is constantly transferring the coffee between both hands, and the crowded line is getting bigger for those waiting to cross. The streets are as busy as any other day, she looks so whimsical and you want to interrupt the call and show her how good you can be. But you don't, and that's what makes you different from the person she's talking to on her phone. And he could be miles away, maybe on another planet talking from some radar dome, and you wouldn't amount to the same kind of experience he can offer her.
You want that chance, you feel like it was luck she met him and not you. You hardly notice the fat impatient lady behind you rummaging through her purse and gently nudging the gentlemen between the lady in black and the fat woman. What she's looking for is not made clear at that moment, but you don't care, you just want to focus on that first line. If you can get passed this transgression you believe she'll love you for who you are. You feel like you deserve it, deserve someone who enjoys your quirks and mindless expressions that you can share with only the most socially awkward Humans you associate with.
The man getting nudged is beginning to get upset, he must not accept the rule of man where everyone has the right of way. Maybe he obeys the rule of Jim, because for this exercise his name is that. For whatever reason he abruptly turns not knowing it is a fat woman behind him, sending the fat woman into an equalled abrupt frenzy. Causing the man next to her to jump and send his coffee onto the back of the woman in the black dress. This is your opportunity to jump in and rescue her from these ruffians, but she steps off the curve and as you wait your life becomes much more vital to hers. However the man makes a sudden movement as if he will rescue the damsel in distress, but he notices your sudden lurch forward as well. What happens? You both wait, the woman in black is startled but luckily there are no traffic related hazards as the car incoming turned left at the intersection.
Not only is she mad at Jim, but at the man with the coffee, the fat woman, and you, too.
It's too late to rescue the idea of kindling a relationship now, she will have none of it and none of you. What would I have done? I would have waited, I would have waited until it was too late or absolutely necessary. What would I have done if a bus was coming, something that could not stop? I would have waited, and when it hit her, I would have said nothing. As she cried laying on the pavement lamenting over her new stature I would thought with such disdain at myself. Nothing I could do would fix what I had hesitated to do, but, I would have likely forgotten about it the next day.
When I get out of this building today, I want to not look both ways, I want to walk absent minded out of the building and towards my car. I want to run down the stairs and not take the elevator, my legs will hate me for it, but with that added stimulation I might feel something more. A Humans mind is a fantastic device, it creates complexity, design, and beauty. To think that any other creature on this planet recognizes these things is hard to imagine.
I hardly noticed it was five o'clock thanks to my co-worker though I am reminded that home time will soon be here. It's easy to see what the earliest days of school were preparing you for now, they wanted to break you into the routine that would follow you until the day you become too old or enfeebled to perform it anymore. At that point, you are lost, and you wonder what will happen if you just lay there. In your bed, on your porch in an easy chair, who would come running if you happen to hurt yourself.
It's upsetting that I think of freedom as the ultimate vice that I will ever face. It's a burden to have the ability to think and recognize patterns, without this ability I would not be sitting here five minutes after five PM still pondering life. I would be back in my car and on my way back home, to spend the rest of the day doing something not dissimilar to what I've done so far today, yesterday, and from what I've known to what I will come to understand.
It is this routine that is most disabling, it causes Humans and people to think outside of the box. But if this world had only people like me, people like us, who sit and wait. No one would be hit by a car, half of us wouldn't be dead. That adulterant man who fixes people would still be alive to right personal wrongs against a system of karma that may one day render him helpless and alone.
But what if he still waits and I just, not look, what if I'm the only one who deviates from the plan, could this all work out? Would I still be the harbinger of the end for half of civilization, or would I just be alone, as the one person who stopped waiting.
When I leave this office today, I'm going to run down the stairs, and I'm going to march out that door. I won't look both ways, and when that bus comes for the lady in black, I'll take her place. Maybe then she'll notice me.