Mmmm…

kristin m-o
London Literary Review
4 min readAug 16, 2019

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NeuWelt, Mike Meiré.

A pause, a stutter. Or three letters in a word, representing the context of a phrase that concerns us out of our comfort zones, and the familiarity of being static, as well as a flow dynamic to represent the state of our inner convictions at the very present.

This must be the reality that we are all mired in, eventually. And concerns us with the correct amount of astounded-ness, surprise, delight, a slight singe of shock, within a split-configurative amount of well-rounded contemplation.

Sometimes, we can hide it behind smirks, slight tinge of disgust, or the cornering of synchronised nods of affirmation. Sometimes, there is nothing that stops the runaway train of thought that people have about other people in their ecosystem. Concerning the right-brained, we like to think that we are all Lefties-At-Heart. But the real deal is that not everyone has that degree of internalisation or depth of analyses to themselves, to intuit. And the value plains or what is now the work playground needs both: blatant opportunity, HR crews - maybe a proper folio/or your current-est Curriculum, Vitae’d as well as timing to make it happen. When the intersection happens at the right moment, an offer is slipped right through, and you get the role you really want.

Or not.

Sometimes, what looks like a plummy role, is actually no more than an armoured truck in disguise. You can create the right circumstance, and environment to behold what really suffice as the real deal - what you have actually conjured in your youth, and culminate as a reward for the classic corporate ladder climb/or what your ‘validating papers’ worked hard for you - is summed up as, the dream of being legit.

After all, “sought after” is an enviable state of the extended order of affairs that we all aspire to be in the running for, instead of the uneasy other-way-round of being the one keeping to the chase. Whether that applied to the exertion of an inertia signifying to intentions in the short term, or towards a longer goal, the distance of each attempt at its attainment. All this lies in the possible hang of recovery from having been subjected to its natural chemistry or seeker estates without an actual manual or orientation day to our having survived from, or after.

Or is it?

The deal of the sell, is mostly gaining the account — or in this case, gaining a possible okay-sure-air-handshake with life, towards a long-term assurance that you will glimpse an actual future that could contain what could be identified as your not-so-accidental existence on earth.

A job, or working in a role, for a venture-capitalised startup or actual grown organisation or initialised publicly-offered corporation is your stamp of approval and a rite-of-passage betrothal to humankind’s post-modern life, as we know it. It takes many forms, and have over the years within the twenty-first century (or what computing had recorded as the great Y2K panic of 2001), its most elegant expression is the liberty of fulfilling the intellectual-work-rewarded-clarity- cycle of life-paying-for-itself. (With the downsides in the fine print, of course.)

The aftermath of each periodic slack, a long paid 14-day annual forced leave, is not as huge as the caverns that a man-made catastrophe of an economy gone a-slide, surely? Those things called the fury of middle classicists’ rising to the suburban midlands, to an expanse to what might’ve ruined our cascade to an attempt at scaling up, and we are back to cereal bowls at night, instead of the handy charge accounts we can expense our reservations at the latest Nobu seats for four, in a cinch.

We evaluate our worth, in costs of a living. Now, it depends on a numerous other factors, that aren’t as qualified, and yet measure as if we have everything in the equation of life, quantified. Silly billy. Perhaps, we can limit our words, and leave everything to the wands of the wizards who have their quotients worked out. And be able to patiently and quietly take matters on in our own calm way of being legit, as humans.

Legit, in this context, is more: “Too fly for a white guy?” - and Not, “And that, frankly will not fly.

END NOTE

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kristin m-o
London Literary Review

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