grinder

spirits flying around slowly, adapting, writhing, soulless, in harmony with the machine of determinism, moving them forward, grinding them forward, forward without thought for a foreword. shoes on your feet. required for the long walk. the leather will weather with the grind, and it will not be worth the money, not worth the wait, not worth the walk. but by that time, it is too late because the cogs and pulleys have ground us to flour, dust, ready to make the new toys.