Friday, December 9, 2011

page 35

spike into the side of your head should do the job I have her a suggestion that she should sit and spin we do not give our agents the impression of belonging there is nothing for you to belong to only the company the company has your best interests in mind the company only wants what is best for you do not question the policies of the company do not question the company’s decisions all decisions are for the good of the company the interests of the company are greater than your interests your purpose is to serve the interests of the company when the company no longer needs you then you will be thrown away you will gladly accept the disloyalty of the company the company expects you to be loyal but the company does not need to be loyal to you the workers are just pieces of shit that the company extricates from its bowls whenever it is necessary follow your instructions at all times never question what you are told gladly obey and do what you are told the slight incline of the hanged man swinging back and forth with the corporate logo even in death you serve the company your flesh is boiled off your bones and served as soup in the company cafeteria the dead feed the next generation of happy workers it is your duty to god and country to be a happy worker your corporate masters will take good care of you it make take some personal humiliation and sexual mental and physical abuse but your masters work long and hard and a little exploitation should be expected to make the company run along smoothly Mr. snow you ignorant slut stop trying to suck each and every republican cock why are you such a political slut setting buildings on fire you say it is because of love there is too much love in your heart so it comes out in tragic ways a cultural dead zone you discovered it with a bent wire another day for the corporate giant pray for your bottom line ask the invisible hand to bring profits your way gather around your board of retards and discuss the latest trend in women’s shoes documenting their time bloody fisticuffs making an artistic gesture catching up to you making all the important lists draining your cell phone battery calling across the pond to talk to the trilateral commission they are aiming their guns ready to shoot out of their rickety mud-spattered trucks hobos sitting on crates were keeping the score scratching numbers in the dirt with a stick drinking a few beers saying tomorrow we will be rich just like the big bankers who steal everybody’s money I was washing dishes on south main street my life seemed to be bent and blue and filled with sorrow handfuls I would pick up from the ground I kissed my baby and we put the darkness to the test poverty is a man’s best friend and the darkness is a place where I can make a home the promise of one more swing at the bat I knew my numbers were not coming in they never did and never would numbers only let you down I can only trust in the blood in my veins the pull of a past life calling me back leading me to another direction accepting things that are hard to comprehend I am not constrained by your moral obligations irrational synthesis a giant vacuum on the other side that sucks us through we become small and we are sucked through the pipe of life our past lives all sucked through this long meaningless pipe robbing us of our dawns and twilights robbing us of our cries and smiles I listen to Lynard Skynard  on the leeward lizard the scratches of the barking dog the breeze flows

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