Today as ever,
The errands must be done,
Slain and ticked off,
Yet the to-do list laughs in my face,
Everyday there is something new,
Sometimes small,
Oftentimes significant,
Go there or collect that,
Meet this person or deliver that,
The list ever grows,
I don’t gripe,
Save for this one trifle,
It’s a facet of life after all,
It’s a slog,
But the errands have got to be fulfilled.
You mean to tell me,
That this wretched scrap of fabric,
Green as envy,
Is the meaning of life?
The means of ones survival?
I’m to break my back for this writ of coin?
This imitation of worth?
To bear restless nights and foreboding,
Over its accumulation,
Must we sell our souls to the banker?
What ever happened to,
Art and triumph,
And love and joy?
Were they rendered obsolete during my sleep?
Replaced by this sickly green memento?
Work hard for scraps,
Your little jade tokens,
And watch others,
Those fat cats,
Grow fatter.
Rise from the crypt once more,
Auschwitz train public transport,
Punch in your life for the day,
The contract must be honoured,
Buttoned shirt chain gang,
Water cooler whispers,
To the cell again,
To the cubicle,
As the four walls bear over,
All is grey,
Stare at the cyclops,
Burn the charts and signatures into your eyes,
Assignment after assignment,
Your spirit sapped for another day,
In the cell again,
In the cubicle,
You’ll be a pension package husk,
Or at least that’s the plan,
So keep stumbling onwards,
Back to your humble crypt,
Die once more,
Do it all again tomorrow,
To the cell again,
To the cublicle.
Behold the week of work,
A recurring man-made chronology,
The one true supposed lifestyle,
Seven days,
Seven orbits,
Seven opportunities,
Seven punishments,
For some it can be less,
A day or twos respite,
But the hours grind down nonetheless,
The iron maidens in the office shall always hunger,
Your cubicle cell shall wait for you,
The pressure shall always return,
The taskmasters must have their due.
Today we earn our keep,
With sire and sibling,
We work through the day,
Sunrise to sundown,
Sweat becomes bricks,
While effort becomes cement,
Strain begets architecture,
Humanity breeds hovels,
Old homes become new,
To a subpar radio soundtrack,
With the muck and hammer,
Mortar and trowels,
Bricks and plaster,
We’re building a new world,
On top of an old one,
Or perhaps in spite of it.
Such childhood dreams I remember,
Of artwork and vividity,
Smiles were the way,
But then the conveyer belt fired up,
Careening me through a decided life,
It appears to this dreary soul,
That a lifes worth,
Such as it is,
Is merely based upon ones employment,
Dollar and stirling signs,
To contribute is just of course,
But life is not purely about what you can give,
In terms of finance,
We should follow Euphrosyne,
Not remain serfs to Plutus,
You are what you earn,
Does a bad back,
And a full pension,
Mean a life fulfilled?
Should respect be dependent on vocation?
We live to work,
And work to live,
But what about the end?
Will I too have to build my coffin?
Dig my own grave?
Greetings inmates.
Bit of a ramble today. So it turns out that my work colleagues and my boss found out about my blog the other day. This surprised me quite a bit since I wasn’t aware they actually check my Facebook page. My posts appear on there as soon as i post them here you see. My boss is fairly certain that I need to be sectioned, or so he says. He may not be entirely wrong, my writing and blog do tend to be a little on the eccentric side. They all think I’m quite crazy, but they thought the blog was cool. We had some amusing conversations about what I’ve written so I’m quite glad they found out.
It made me consider about what people I know personally think about my work. I know it’s not always good to care what others think, but when it’s people you care about and you’re close to, such as family and friends, it’s harder to ignore their opinions. I’ll admit that I’ve only had positive opinions from my friends and family so far. The ones who have actually noticed the blog anyway. My parents support it whole-heartedly, my closest friends that have read it quite like it and Lee seems to love it as well. I’ve been so lucky so far that everyone seems to support my writing, despite its eccentricity. At first i was terrified of their opinions, now i actually sort of revel in them.
As for strangers, it’s a bit more complicated of course. I still always worry about negative opinions, i worry about not being very good, i even worry about people mocking me. That may be ridiculous to some, but i think it’s quite normal. Only the very strongest wills can truly ignore negativity. I guess I’m not quite there yet eh?
When i found out people i knew personally had seen the blog…
But, then after I’d seen how positive their thoughts on it were…
Farewell for now inmates. There’s a new writing music post coming up soon.
Have a very crazy day!
WorldofHarley 