I can hear a groaning. I can hear a moaning
It’s the weight of Organisational Management towers upon the earth. A terrible weight. The foundations, just above our heads, and pressing down.
And the earth is protesting. And the earth is crying out. There’s the song of the crushed earth. That wants to throw the weight off it shoulders. That wants to rise up, as it did when the glaciers melted, after the last Ice Age.
The underearth, moving, always.
There are torsions. There’s tearing.
The earth falls in the earth. The earth shifts in earth.
There are rivers of earth within the earth. Dark currents.
The urgrund. The abgrund. The groundless ground. The earth abyss.
The roots of their world. The foundations of those buildings come down so deep. The pylons they stuff into the earth. That they cram down. That they press down. That they drill all the way down. Almost as far as where we are.
It all rests on this. This unmoving earth. But what if the earth moved? It could happen, couldn’t it?
Are there earthquakes here? In the northeast?
Work in Progress 