I suppose it perhaps could’ve started maybe like any other work might’ve started. He asked if there was any reason for them to be there.

“Is there any reason for us to be here?”

It could’ve been a much greater distance than they had believed but once any thing had been done or said, who knows how far their belief had been. If we go to the end and get what we wanted, I could ask you if we had a plan all along, complicit in the making of this thing that neither of us could escape from unless we chose to deny it. On, further on, carry on, keep up with those that are not struggling or falling behind. No things were not a pain but he felt something ache, put it down to a lack of confidence and asked a secret of anyone who might care to listen. No one was listening, so it, contrary to his desires in having said it, remained a secret. In this way it did carry on.

As the time passed and fewer of them made sense, it got to the point where one of them had to ask where it would go next.

“Where’s it going to go next?”

If there was an answer for you, or for these things that could be determined as aspects of creation, or at least creativity, then not I, nor anyone else, might’ve been in a position to give that answer. Obviously, before it could carry on, such questions, answerless as they may have been or as answerless as they may continue to be, needed to be asked. And following the asking of potentially answerless questions, a period of reflection is probably necessary. A period of reflection during which he reflected not on the questions themselves but upon the products of previous questionless periods wherein things actually got done, made, created and existed. Would this result in insight, I wouldn’t wish to say, but it could, with hindsight (which must come before insight anyway) result in a new direction for things to follow. Perhaps the point is not to know where they were going but to follow the track of whatever investigative route it was on. Questions from him would stop and it would only be those people who could support the ongoingness of the initial import that would raise objections or supports. Either would be fine I suppose.

And then it starts again. In a cyclical fashion, they start, stop. Begin, go round until it seems like there’s no where else to go and then they do it again. Maybe it can only ever be this way. But if they keep returning to the same question, could there be other questions to which others keep returning instead? Are there an infinite number of questions that, once asked, keep us locked in in a cyclical cycle, cycling round till we can go not forwards nor backwards, or even obliquely askance from, but roundly round till it seems madness or acquiescence might be the only things possible. To put the television on might be an answer. I don’t have one though he thought to himself. What then, could be the other modes of negation that he could put to use? What else could there be to occupy his time and make the circle of question not worthy of attention?

He sat down and tried to put his mind to it. They didn’t get much further than what ever he could really be bothered to say. It never went much further than what he could be bothered to do because he was too adept at masking his inabilities with laziness. Still, he tried. They carried on in various guises and brought with them certain feelings of success. People saw them, spoke of them with words that made others interested and then pay attention, then less, then stop. Somethings definitely do stop. It isn’t always like this. Then you tell me what it is like this?

When something was done, they could ask of each other advice, guidance, support… They could ask for them. Whether they were returned was a debatable point not worth debating but debatable nonetheless. It could go only so far. It hurt sometimes.

Eventually sometime around the end of a period of make mirthing and potential squandering it was a point at which something could be asked of either a positive or a negative and I want the correct answer to this question. And he, saying, turned to her. She heard and turned him say “this will never do.”

‘Only the man who says no is free’ – Herman Melville