The sharpness of the wind. Ice fragments, in the wind.
The scouring wind. The eroding wind – that tolerates no human flesh – eroding everything but metal. Leaving only metal. Only metal teeth. Metal claws. Scraping up at the sky.
Vicious metal! Vicious scraping! Fangs bared. Metal fangs, metal claws. A whole metal exoskeleton, showing itself at last.
The sun, so far away. A point of light. A star. And the other stars – too far away. The earth is lost. On too distant an orbit. And falling further and further out.
A cold planet. A forgotten planet. Where Organisational Management rules in the darkness. Where Organisational Management spiders crawl the desolation.
The sun just a point of light. The earth as far out as Pluto.
And management is only the management of ice. And organisation is only the organisation of darkness.
Ice age cold! Neanderthal cold! Woolly mammoth cold!
Are there mastodons on the Organisational Management campus? Sabre-toothed tigers?
A mini Antarctica. A Vladivostok grove. The coldest place in the world, eight-six degrees under.
Work in Progress 