Trivial proportion

A trivial proportion, work that’s immaterial. The precise category of work is a lifeline to a crispy identity.

Experience often fails to deepen mastery. There’s no such thing as a stress-free gig.

The world is our palette, an energy field flung wide. If we’re lucky, we’ll meet the brushstrokes halfway.

Perfection is fragile, as the interior self mines for secrets toward self-improvement. From disability to enability, the limitations that once exceeded our capacity become one-ups.

For now, the future is tangled up with the present. The job is always there, with the stars aligning possibilities with even distribution.