Thursday, November 06, 2008

Absurdity on the Moon

I got two posts I need to finish but don't have the energy. I got a scene from my movie I can't recapture. My slight fever and persistent cough have become permanent companions and no place is safe. Never have I been so down. My only therapy is the thought of a bullet ripping through my head. Literally. The moments of no hope for hope are darker and deeper.

Today a polar bear died of starvation from the effects of global warming, a new daddy was made President far, far away so we can pretend things will change without changing our hearts and an asshole supervisor woke up on the wrong side of bed and decided I was the easiest target on site. He was probably right.

Drippings of discontent leak occasionally from my boiling hatred of tedious day labor and all the despair it entails. Every fiber of my being is bent in horrified discord at the ignominy of my labors. To cope with this I unwisely speak of my love for writing and creating - things that fund no food. I know I should stay in character and say nothing to those who cannot help - and especially say nothing to those who cannot hear. But like I said, I am leaking.

So what happens but out of the blue foreman Joe decides I need to "expand". WTF? It's all I can do just to show up to this hell hole! But he has his own problems and decides I can help by writing his daily construction report. I don't give a fuck about this place or what goes on here. Jesus, dude, do it yourself! I want to go home! Once again the aimlessness of my existence bites me on the ass.

We start bickering over this new task and this son-of-a-bitch hears only what he wants to hear. I say the words but it's like I've never spoken. I can't possibly mean anything that doesn't suit him. Just can't be! Then finally, he lays out this gem: "You want to do writing so much, well here you go! This will help you with your writing!" I was flabbergasted. Had this come from the mind of a sophisticate or anyone without his worker bee's outlook, I'd have taken this statement to be one of the utmost sarcasm and snide condensation. Instead, it was a moment of absurdity on the moon.

I'm still stung by this incident and want to strangle that guy, fighting me on every fucking word I said. Jesus, man, I don't know how else to communicate but English. But the true devastation came later, when I was "relaxing" and replaying these events in my head. Dear God, my life is off course. To have ended up in this position, with no understanding of my life and living at the mercy of minds without comprehension is truly the mark of a lost soul. My coward's run has lead me here: I am Napoleon, living in an insane asylum of fake Napoleons - one more voice to be ignored and disbelieved. The more truth I speak, the worse it gets.

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