My work takes me places. Other jobs take their employees to conferences or training seminars in London or Madrid. Mine does something way cooler than that. Almost like in a Stephen King novel, every once in a while it transports me to a parallel universe.
Because of my work, I go to places I would never, ever, not in a million years, have gone to. I see things that I never knew existed. And some times, a whole new world expands before my eyes.
A world of nymphets, drug addicts and sociopaths. Of very high heels, very firm breasts, very heavy make up. A world of STDs, low self esteem and big muscles exploding through tight T-shirts. Cocaine sniffers (I haven't been round long enough to know the slang for this), social climbers, alcoholics. Of young boys and girls blinded by some second rate, faux, limelight. Airheads, dickheads, fathers introducing their barely legal sons to me in the off chance that I might be someone who could help boost their career. Somebody get me a bucket.
It makes me sad. I don't want to know all this. I don't want to feel like a complete stranger in my own city, in my own skin. I don't want to feel there's no hope at all. I liked my little bubble. What the hell am I doing here? I'm afraid I won't get work elsewhere and thus I'm selling my soul -ok, not my soul, but my time- to the raised collars, the low cleavages and the cheap thrills.
But most of all, I'm afraid that it will be so much easier if I just join them.
Because of my work, I go to places I would never, ever, not in a million years, have gone to. I see things that I never knew existed. And some times, a whole new world expands before my eyes.
A world of nymphets, drug addicts and sociopaths. Of very high heels, very firm breasts, very heavy make up. A world of STDs, low self esteem and big muscles exploding through tight T-shirts. Cocaine sniffers (I haven't been round long enough to know the slang for this), social climbers, alcoholics. Of young boys and girls blinded by some second rate, faux, limelight. Airheads, dickheads, fathers introducing their barely legal sons to me in the off chance that I might be someone who could help boost their career. Somebody get me a bucket.
It makes me sad. I don't want to know all this. I don't want to feel like a complete stranger in my own city, in my own skin. I don't want to feel there's no hope at all. I liked my little bubble. What the hell am I doing here? I'm afraid I won't get work elsewhere and thus I'm selling my soul -ok, not my soul, but my time- to the raised collars, the low cleavages and the cheap thrills.
But most of all, I'm afraid that it will be so much easier if I just join them.
why sad, afraid, worried...? why not see the comedy in this crap? just like we did yesterday :)
ReplyDeleteDrape yourself in greenery
ReplyDeleteBecome part of the scenery
Ever since time immemorial
It's all stored up in chemicals
Witness the demolition of a swiss boy in prime condition
Into the dust, we will descend
I hope and pray that this won't end
So say goodbye to everybody
Tell them all I am so sorry
Oh, I wish I could have said goodbye
What else could I do?
What else could I do?
Drape yourself in greenery
Become part of the scenery
Into the past, we'll all descend
We'll hope and pray that it won't end