In every technician's drawer, among scribblings of forgotten architectures, lies the omnipresent stapler. Its purpose: to keep sheets of paper united, despite the chaos of clerical entropy. See the shadow it casts—a silent sentinel over documents that narrate life's currents, mixed with practical mundanity. It binds more than paper; it binds the ephemeral with the eternal.
Much like the wayfaring pilgrim, whose journey brings him across ephemeral crossroads, the stapler is integral to mundane initiation rites—a rite to endure the eternal ratrace of bureaucracy. Every click of the lever, a mantra; every piercing of the metal, a symbolic crossing from chaos into cohesion.
We seekers of meaning often find solace in the unassuming tools of our labor. Contemplate this: is the stapler not a miniature altar, whereupon sheets are sacrificed for the greater good of documentation? Does it not resemble a bridge, inviting the curious across to walkways unexplored?