Die Motion

Good morning, X. Well, good morning Mother. You seem to have a particular glow, about you today. Well X,  you giving me those 12 hours yesterday, not to mention how you also made Goldie Locks quiver and the way she called your name. It made such a perfect triangle, I’m still tingling. Just thinking about it get me, well let’s just say Happy. Thank you Mother, you know I like to keep you and my Director ..happy. Which is exactly why I need to talk to you, X. Is something wrong, Mother? Wrong? That is such a mis-conceived and open ended word. I have decided that Goldie Locks will no longer need you as her report. That she will be focusing more on her departmental output potential and not so much on, let’s call it your input resolutions. Am I not satisfying her objectives, Mother? Exceptionally, but I find Goldie Locks has no additional requirements of your involvement in her product line. That you have completed your task and any addition forward objectivity is counterproductive to my wants. I feel she’s becoming too involved with your role here and not supportive of my provisions. Therefore, with the ranting of the consultants, Thrive, Cut and Die Consulting, I am transferring you over to the Client Latitude Inferasskissing Technical Service Department. Mother, that is a step in the wrong direction for me. X ,be careful of how you speak to me, beside there you go using that "wrong" word again. Think of it as a positive reduction advancement. Client Latitude Inferasskissing Technical Service Department could use your expertise in services integration and productivity. You will be directly reporting to D.B. Dante and working alongside of Weasel Boy and the Marlborough Man. Your dumping me down to an inner circle. Well with the ranting of T.C.D Consulting and our role reallocation initiative we feel that this will be a good match for you. Therefore the final discussion is to deploy you there.  

Mary

Last night I meet a girl named Mary. It's funny, I don't really know any other Marys. A somewhat odd occurrence that matched last night encounter. But it reminded me of a song I use to sing to my son when he was an infant, a song about a girl named Mary.

Mary had a little lamb....
a little veal,
and some ham.
Raised them all on her farm
and slaughtered them today.

Took them down in a truck
with some chickens and some ducks.
Had them all beheaded and gutted right away.

Mary had a big ass feast
IMPORTED BEER AND LOTS OF BEEF.
Picnicking and barbecuing on a Saturday.

just saying.....though my vegan friends aways cring when I bring that up. I don't know.....

502

Wow…so I broke the 500 views barrier. I guess that I should be, …celebrating? Maybe I should run for President? My popularity is just booming, someone should throw me a party. Five Hundred and Two (looks more impressive spelled out) times I’ve been eyeballed, yet very few comments, I AM so inspiring. Yet, when you look at it that way, it seems a little creepy. People just staring at me, objectifying me. Hey, my eyes are up here! Oh, …maybe this can qualifies for my “stalker”? Most of the women and some of the men I know have at one time or another had a stalker (and no, I am not talking about me ) of some (some scary, some creepy, others just amusing) kind.. Which outside of being a terrible commentary on today’s society, always made me feel rejected. That no one ever wants to stalk me.


502 views, I wonder if Levi’s will make a jean after me. I have the 502 blues…..

Jury Duty a long tale

I was called in for Jury Duty. Received the initial letter in the mail, I sent in the confirmation and received a reminder notice on when to show up. I really don’t have a great deal of issues with Jury Duty. My Corporate Mother will pay for my absence and upon return I will pay for the time I was gone with twice as much work. No, no, not a real issue. But after all, it is a civic responsibility, “an obligation and an honor” as they put it. The problem arose when I WENT to fulfill this honor. Anyway, they send this cute little brochure with FAQ, what to expect, the what’s and how’s of the Jury Duty experience. Which had a link to their web site, that told you the exact same (?? wtf !! ??) information. A deep and dark foreboding of things to come. And surprisingly it said that you are allowed to bring laptops and cell phone. Well as long as you didn’t look up any info on any case you may be assigned to or take any photos or movies. Part of the info was that this day would be more of a Jury “Selection” than actual “Duty”. We would be filling out assorted paperwork, watching an hour long movie on our responsibilities, and awaiting to be called. If called, we would be interviewed by a pair of Lawyers and speak to a Judge. If selected you would be asked to come back the next day to actually serve your “Duty” and be on a case. Otherwise one would just sit there and wait until they dismiss you. Something to totally look forward to. Excitement that give one goose bumps.

It was Wednesday, a Wednesday like many other Wednesdays this month. The day started off hot, 87 degree by 9am and was predicted to hit 94 degrees. I noticed on the instruction that they ask you to enter the Court House by the back entrance, where you will pass thru a metal detector and then proceed up to the fourth floor. They also mentioned that there was “limited” parking at the courthouse. Limited parking…..an understatement. Now, you are requiring people to attend Jury Duty, forcing them to come from across the county which incorporated 772 square miles 21 towns and 4 cities. Yet you do not have the parking at the NEW courthouse to accommodate the people who are being “honored” by this civic duty. GREAT planning! Well, that in hind sight, seemed to be the least of the issues to raise its ugly head. On this Wednesday I awoke late from my normal routine, not having to be in with my Corporate Mother at “O”dark thirty. I sat and ate a breakfast that I never get on week days. Enjoyed the sounds of the birds off my back deck and noted how peaceful and calm the morning seemed without the early rush to work commute. The ride down was uneventful. So I followed the instruction, actually found parking, and proceeded up to the fourth floor. Standing in line, the wait wasn’t obnoxiously long, but long enough to be a wait. As I progressed in line, I came to the door to enter and sign in. There on the door was a piece of paper hastily scotched taped to the wall that had hand written in marker on it “No Short Pants”. Entering, I was greeted by this official looking women who instructed me to find my name and insure all the information was right. “Excuse me mam, I’m wearing shorts” “What? Those are shorts, well shorts are unacceptable clothing for men” she said in a very rude tone. “Well, it would have been nice if that was mentioned somewhere”, I calmly responded. “It’s in the brochure” she snorted back. “No, No it’s not”, catching her in a blatant lie. (Now, I have to put in a disclaimer here. I was wearing shorts, but they were “nice” shorts. I hate to actually admit it, but I was so contemporary casual dressed, that they could have put me on the cover of an L.L. Bean catalog. Kaki cargo shorts down to my knees, a cotton twill short sleeve collar button shirt and ankle high ultralite hikers. All were clean and even pressed.) “Well, they are totally unacceptable” she snapped becoming increasingly rude and short. “Well, I don’t really understand that”, I simply replied. Looking around, some of the people there were wearing worn jeans and stained Tshirts, “if I wore a skirt like the women in front of me, would I then be appropriately dressed?” “Well, Well, …” “Or maybe a sun dress”, pointing at this very sweet women wearing a spaghetti strapped sundress that was low cut and very “revealing“ on top and so short you could bearly call it a dress. (Now don’t get me wrong, that outfit she was wearing definitely worked for me. Matter of fact I had already decided that she was going to be my Jury Duty Buddy, and I would be sitting next to her) Using it as only a comparison to how much bear skin I was showing. “Obviously that’s acceptable”. “Well, well, men wearing shorts are not acceptable, I didn’t make these rule, the judge did” . “But chances are, I won’t even see the judge today’. “It doesn’t matter, the judge doesn’t want men to be wearing shorts” she spat out with pure vehement.. “Fine” still being calm and not pissed. yet. “It would have been nice to have been informed of that before I drove the half hour to get here. So what about today, I have a full time job”. “YOUR NOT GETTING ANY CREDIT FOR TODAY (no pay for me), YOU are inappropriately dressed. YOU NEED TO LEAVE! That’s YOUR problem with your job”, she loudly proclaimed. “Fine”, thinking to myself that this is a prime example of why people don’t have faith in the American justice system. As I turn there was a court cop standing there who pointed to the elevator and said “elevator is that way". “Thanks” I said, not think too much about it. As I approached the elevator, the doors opened and a few more prospective jurors exited, one man wearing shorts. “Good luck” I commented as I boarded the elevator with the cop coming in behind me. The ride was short back to the first floor. The doors opened and two more cops were standing there, “hey, see you later”, I said walking by them. As I was walking out, it slowly dawned on me that all three cops were following me out. That they were actually escorting me out of the court house. That I was considered a threat for wearing shorts. What kind of syphilis fester brained, bigoted, dickhead of a judge has the nerve to decide what is fashionable correct for a juror to wear. Especially one that considers scantily clad women and men wear distressed dirty jeans acceptable but men in shorts not. What ever happen to “Impartial” justice. Sitting there making a six plus digit salary with his rich ass lawyer friends and political scumbag connections. Deciding that the little people should dress according to his weighty opinion. Did he forget that we the people put him there to determine justice not to be a fashionesta. Especially a guy that sits around in a black robe all day. Only some lonely StarWar Sith geek or some delusional SCA follower would believe that is fashionable. So if no shorts were the policy, then it should have been printed in the brochure and not some last minute whim tacked to the door. If I knew that was the policy I would have came dress as I do at work, Dior and all.

So that is how I got kicked out of Jury Duty. And will have to repeat the whole wonderful process again.

July 4

Musings from Blandinton, Southwest of Dulless, East of Boreville, in the heart of the State of Apathy.

Midweek holiday are somewhat sad. It is a day off from work, but it misses the point, in as holidays go. Oh and Yes, I was invited to a picnic this year. So I guess you may say in that category things are looking up. The work situation is something different. Still too early to write about it, and I am trying to be cautiously (or is that caustically?) optimistic. And all in all I can still say that I have a job, YEA (dripping with sarcasm, distain and disgust), and I can keep my Corporate Whore status, YEA!

So, I decided that as my famous rice salad (6 different rice, chopped veggies, corn, peas, and a killer homemade herbal vinaigrette dressing) melds flavors in the fridge I would revisit my poor neglected blogosphere. Sitting here, wondering what ever happen to the days of blogable wonder and missing that sweet nectar punch that an old girlfriend use to make. I look back and reminisce on July 4^th of the past……yea right, I’m not quite dead yet…Fuck that!  There will be plenty of time for that when I am old, Alzheimer's ridden and senile, a future to look forward to. I plan to rock-n-roll this picnic. Purely an adult affair with no (praise the powers that be) kids under foot. Now don’t go hate’n, kids are great, but sometimes you need a break. And to think, no worries on who’s drinking the adult beverages. So to all who are celebrating anything, may your day be full of happiness, song, and fun. For tomorrow is another day to die.

HA HA Ho Ho

Everyone wants a piece of me
No one wants to feel me
Your facebook friends don’t want to be
All that we can all be

Dynamite is going off
All my brain can do is cough
TV’s screaming very loud
I look at that and am not proud

Cyber pixilated brainwashed
My words are jumbled and tossed
Forced to travel a prison line
Everything is not fine

My brain seems to slips away
Won’t be back any day
Potential in the media feeds
I beg to aid my needs

World of Warcraft want-a-be's
Posing as management d’s
Controlling me with their frowns
What a bunch of fucking clowns

Hip, hip, jop, yo, yo
Kryptonited my superhero
Now I am such a corporate ho
All I can say is…ya’know.

Everyone wants a piece of me
No one wants to feel me
Demands won’t stop and let me be
How ridiculous can I make this be.

there

Really, has it been that long since I was here?  How times flies when you are having…. Well something.  I am once again trying to modify my attitude. Seeking to be a glass half full type of guy, looking for the beauty in everyday complacency. It is not easy. Well just returning to reality from the garden has made it smother. My faith in humanity somewhat restored by beautiful people, love, and hippy tears. Like a single trumpet, off in the darkness, now joined by a sousaphone then a lonely trombone. Echoing thru the woods, wandering off down the way and fading into nothingness. Yet their notes resounding inside my head and stirring in my heart. Not to be forgotten along with the way her pail naked skin glowed in the midday sun, red hair flaming with the tenderest smile. Still all around me the tapestry of what is considered my life is again falling apart. I am at the verge of being fucked over again at work. Coporate right sizing and effectiveness consulting. I can see it lumbering infront of me, a tall iceberg with an invitation to the Titanic, a train staring at me from down the tracks. So much so, that I cannot even make lite of the situation with my loving Corporate Mother commentary. And this talking to myself doesn’t even help anymore, truly I do not know what to say

Team Member

Home …..the place, the thing. Everybody is trying to get back there, it’s where the heart is, a page on the internet, there for the holidays, and where you belong. Yet I seem to be from the other ilk, homeless. Not in the traditional sense though. I have a house, I have a place to live and work(shoot me now), a town, a city, a state. I am not a man without a country or a nomad. I even have a cat, that seems to own my “home”, though I pay the mortgage. But in a small way, I am missing the quintessential meaning, the Wikipedia defination of “HOME”, that place where you belong. Yet, for me, belonging seems so much of an ownership concept. “I belong there”, as if possessed by a material object, or purchased like on. Acquired and dominated by a place, until it is the definition of you. So is it that my Home Page is a variable and that I don’t subscribe to the “belonging” to anything concept, which has set me where I am today? Maybe it is the pure skepticism against that any one thing can be totally right. That to pick and choose between the best of all worlds is the way to go. Yea, no wonder I can’t stand the News in this polarized, intolerant, my side is the only right world. Yet still I try. I have become “member” of blogs. Though I guess that is not good enough. I need to be a “Team Member” to leave a comment? What the hell is that? And I just really liked the photo, that’s all. But anyways, belonging to a home just makes me sick…..yea, pun intended….

Heaven reloaded 2012 edition

I don’t know, but I’ve been told
The streets of Heaven are paved with gold.
And there you will never be sad again
Yet only the rich can buy their way to heaven.

A gated community with beauty to see
Which will let you in, but not the likes of me.
Your cash made the reservations
At the beach tiki bar in Heaven.

And those of us who don’t have the money
Are not among the elite and their golden honey.
Invisible and forgotten
To have the happiness of Heaven.

Education

Driving Lesson #6

A two lane highway has two lane of traffic traveling in the same direction. Lane #1, or the right hand lane is also known as the travel lane. Lane #2 or the left hand lane is also known as the passing lane. Let’s recap…..Lane #1, right hand lane, travel lane, commonly called the slow lane. Lane #2, left hand lane, passing lane, commonly called the Fast lane. So we have therefore established that Lane #1 (the right hand lane) is used for traveling, meaning moving at the same speed as traffic. Lane #2 (the left hand lane) is used for passing or moving faster than the speed of traffic.

OK, let’s now look at some scenarios:


Example #1:
You are driving in Lane #2 (left hand lane, passing lane, Fast lane) and you are driving at the same speed as the people driving in Lane #1 (right hand lane, travel lane, Slow lane)….

YOU’RE FUCKING DRIVING IN THE WRONG LANE !



Example #2
You are driving in Lane #2 (left hand lane, passing lane, Fast lane) and people are driving faster than you and passing you in Lane #1 (right hand lane, travel lane, the Slow lane)…

YOU’RE FUCKING DRIVING IN THE WRONG LANE !



Example #3
You are driving in Lane #2 (left hand lane, passing lane, Fast lane) and there is a long line of cars behind you due to the slow speed that you are traveling…

YOU’RE FUCKING DRIVING IN THE WRONG LANE !



Example #4
You are driving in Lane #2 (left hand lane, passing lane, Fast lane) and the person driving behind you has flashed their high beam headlight at you….

YOU’RE FUCKING DRIVING IN THE WRONG LANE !



Next week we will work on Lesson # 17.
What is, where to find it, and how to use your Turn Signal.

an i versary

So once again here I am. You miss me….yea, I didn’t think so. It’s been almost a full year since I started this experiment in the typed word. Being the egocentric pretentious ass that I am, I thought that by now I would be some all famous blogger. With minions of followers, pining over what my next post would be. Headlining in “Recent Blogs of Note”, winning a weblog award or maybe a blogger choice. How about a Hugo? Why am I not being quoted on ABC News? I guess it would have helped if I actually wrote something. Yet, I look over my post and realize that these are not nearly as erratic and doomed as my life. Always a silver lining. Well at least they are not in the downward nosedive of a spiral that my life is. And hell at least I got the whinny bit down. I should build on my strengths. Yet, once again I feel that I am just missing the picture. Who would have thought that the whole internet thing was just to be a repository for stupid pet trick movies. What ever happened to the good old days when it was all about porn. I should film my terrorist cat shredding my legs, it would go viral and make me famous. YEA! I could be up there with the likes of the Kardashians. Or maybe my life would become similar to an HBO Series, more naked women and fucking.
Some place along here I digressed. What was I thinking? Tripe, yea, tripe……that’s where I started…….



HAGGIS

Ingredients

• 1 sheep stomach
• 1 sheep liver
• 1 sheep heart
• 1 sheep tongue
• 1/2 pound suet, minced
• 3 medium onions, minced
• 1/2 pound dry oats, toasted
• 1 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
• 1 teaspoon dried ground herbs

Directions

Rinse the stomach thoroughly and soak overnight in cold salted water.

Rinse the liver, heart, and tongue. In a large pot of boiling, salted water, cook these parts over medium heat for 2 hours. Remove and mince. Remove any gristle or skin and discard.

In a large bowl, combine the minced liver, heart, tongue, suet, onions, and toasted oats. Season with salt, pepper, and dried herbs. Moisten with some of the cooking water so the mixture binds. Remove the stomach from the cold salted water and fill 2/3 with the mixture. Sew or tie the stomach closed. Use a turning fork to pierce the stomach several times. This will prevent the haggis from bursting.

In a large pot of boiling water, gently place the filled stomach, being careful not to splash. Cook over high heat for 3 hours.

Homage to Molly Crabapple

Fine lines are only lines, they draw and are drawn. They are to be emphasized, disregarded and crossed. Dot your i’s and rouge your sunsets. For the vision of shadows that fall, shall spring into new movement that dance as retina afterimages. And all that we know and have seen, shall create a reality to live. So we choose a path to follow and lay our souls to bear as testament to all that is true. And in that place we are the images, akin to voices that are raised like hands and fist into the air. Challenging the status quo and cast like so many fishing lines into the lake of our collective consciousness.


After all Art is Life, Life is Art.

When you belong

This job is killing me. Truly. The brain numbing stupidity I deal with on a daily basis is driving me crazy. I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job… I HATE this fucking job…

Mirror, Mirror, On the wall

Insecurity and self loathing, not my most used or popular character flaws, but never less some small aspects of the whole. Still you wish that some of those total Egotists out there would get some. Today it seems particularly poignant. Caulk it up to another argument with that egotistical asshole in the mirror. I can’t stand him. Who the hell does he really think he is, what a fucking idiot. He should do us all a favor and just kill himself. Stop the “drink yourself into oblivion” bit and take that new knife of yours and slit your fuckin wrists. He has no guts. And still he really thinks that he has a brain and that someday it will get him somewhere or someone will want him. Yea, so creative, so much above everyone, you are sooo self aware. Then you should be aware that nobody cares about you, that you are a nobody, a  n o t h i n g. You could fall off the planet and nobody would even notice. Yea, quote me some Jung theory now, doucebag. The things that you pass for intelligent are nothing but word play and stupidity. What a presumptuous asshole. Get dressed and go to your fucking whore job, Dickhead. You are a total waste of time, get a life and fuck off.

Type, type, tripe, edit, edit, EDIT…(delete). I’ve been trying REALLY hard not to whine and constantly …(delete).I catch myself screaming at the moon and beating …(delete). Thus I have destroyed everything I …(delete). serial killer, precisely stalking my words …(delete). cutting them to shreds …(delete). Blood and screams…(delete)..  Look you’ve said that be…(delete). complaining, …(delete). want to put THAT out there? …(delete). reads …(delete).. Apologies to gentle followers, the gang of four…(delete). spell out my …(delete).breaking that Blogosphere etiquette …(delete). daily I whore for my Corporate Mother…(delete).. …(delete)..myself with every encounter, every fuck. Selling all that I beli. …(delete).  Struggling …(delete). I…(delete). you…(delete). and the snow flakes gracefully…(delete). …(delete). …(delete). …for myself. …(delete). asshole, as if…(delete). fuck …(delete).. all…(delete). …(delete). …(delete). …(delete). Gone is…(delete). …(delete).…(delete)..    

handbag

I wonder where exactly the phrase “going to Hell in a handbag” came from. And doesn’t it seem a little cramped. I don’t really carry a handbag, can I use a brief case? Too short. Still, I am more partial to “going to Hell in a grocery cart” or “going to Hell in a wheel barrel”. It seem like you would have more room to take along, personal items. And “Hell!”, Hell even knows we all have baggage. I wonder if Charon makes you check your bags when travelling over the Styx? A Danakea for your thoughts. You think they upgraded their travel arrangements? Can I take a jet there instead of some good intentioned road and ferry? This long travel seems way too tedious, I just want to get there and start all of eternity. You know, get on with it. But there is all those details. Yet this driving, stopping for doing what is right, then downward spiraling thing is getting old. I mean, I have reservations. Can’t I just take the express? I guess I could hang myself from the highest tree. I always seem to carry enough rope for that. But my reservations were supposed to be first class. I want the hot towels, damn it all to Hell.

Ah, forget it. I probably just get hit by a bus… A Coach.

LEAP

February is the longest month. Not in days of course, even with Leap Year making it’s appearance. But just in premise. I believe that it has something to do with the slant of the sun. It becomes bright and blue sky, the sun is out longer and longer every night, yet it is still bitter cold. The wind blows the winter into your face, when all one wants is the slightest hint of spring. Crushing one’s hopes, one’s desires, with blatant matter of fact reality. Winter stalks the land and all tremble in it’s presence. We even look to fat lazy marmots to forecast our future. Your shadow(?), six more weeks…..noooooo. But what is this, above freezing weather? Thank the powers that be for Global Warming (shut up, I didn’t just type that, I will rot in hell).Yet still the winds have that biting arctic hatred to them. You can feel the animosity, the vicious malevolence breathing at the back of your neck. Wanting, desiring, lusting for your demise and the return to barren lifeless lands of ice and snow. And there in the midnight blue sky, my lover the moon, burning in a warm glow like an antique kerosene lamp. Inviting, voluptuous and yearning for my touch. Yet, so unattainable. This morning she cried out for me. As the dreaded February clouds webbed her in like giant spiders. Making her become faint and out of focus, until she was only a hint of cobwebbed light. Yet I could feel her breath beating in my chest. I was up at “0 dark thirty”, for my daily pilgrimage to mother. Hacking and coughing out the venomous cold air, like a 7o year old chain smoker. A sickness I cannot shake. Non-scripts, vitamins, fluids, and the big guns of juice and Chicken soup, yet to no avail. I feel broken, decrepit, and unwanted. Once again asking myself why am I still alive. And this year I was hoping to change that mantra. Fatigued by Winter, waylaid by a common cold, bemoaning existentialism and yearning for rebirth. Ah February, you arrived in all your glory. This too will pass. Where did I leave that time machine?

Time Travel Agenda

Blank screen. Staring aimlessly at me, curser blinking in it’s syncopated rhythm. I pretend it’s winking at me, and smile in self amusement. I guess that I should type, something. It is past the end of January, and I find myself in an Alpha/Omega mood. The month that has been designated to begin it all has ended. Unlike my friend the Phoenix, it left in a whimper. So here I sit and review my itinerary from the start, as if this was the original plan. Thirty one days have passed from sight. Each one had lasted a lifetime and disappeared in an instant. Gotta love time travel. I remember the ending of last year, surviving those holidays with fierce determination to stay true to non-commercial intentions. Then defiantly stepping into the new year, 2012. Oh, man. It’s all over my shoes. From there I shuttled back and forth between weeks and days. Slowly landing on the 1^st with grand visions of hope and charity, but already deifying the chastity bit before the buss left the spa. Then there was the 26^th, with its grey sky and ice cold winds that blew freezing hatred thru soulless streets and around eyeless buildings. Back to the 4th with all it’s crushing depression and angst like that of a teen emo on a forced Bjork diet. Finally ending on a spring note, teasing and tempting with warmth and sun, and visitation from friends forgotten. Ten emotions in eight days. This is Friday, then this must be complacency or is that Brussels? Next time, I think I will take the train.

Break Fast

When did our Breakfast Cereals become cannibal zombies? Every TV commercial for breakfast cereal I see has the cereal pieces eating each other. I’m afraid to pour cereal into a bowl in the morning. The blood bath of the pieces gorging on each other in the circular arena of morning nourishment is not that appearing. What sort of Romanist advertising is this? To sit there with a coffee and watch the “killer bowl” as the pieces chase each other down and devour their fellow essential vitamin pack piece. And then what, I’m supposed to drown them in milk and eat the victors? The Horror…the horror…

At work

Six o’clock in the dark cold mornings.
Six o’clock in the snow, ice and rain.
Six o’clock a daily foreboding.
Will it be another day to get maimed?


Six o’clock and the time clock screaming.
Six o’clock and the emails fly.
Six o’clock and the phone is ringing.
Another day closer till I die.


Six o’clock in the morn and evenings.
Six o’clock I work right thru.
Six o’clock and the time is singing.
A struggling life is all there is for you.

*stolen and modified without permission