Excuse the fact that this is one long run on paragraph, I don't care. This is how i write, stream of consciousness. I was listening to Twoism by the Boards of Canada while I wrote this.
Released from this mortal coil, I stand here and stare at the cold heavy air that circles, no concept of pain, no concept of shame, and despair. To repair, that seems the only task lain before me, for me I know my road, my row to sow, seeds to throw, brick walls to build, they keep me safe in a little dark room all I see is the sky, no roof to call my own. Rain chills to the bone as I sit on my high tech, vacuum powered super throne of shit. I've never known when to call quit selling my shit to myself and maybe others, I like it that way. Too easy to stray from the ones I've loved just build a wall and run, get up and run, get up and run, get up and run. You can always rebuild, clay, mud, and steel. I try and keep still now, wondering how im going to make it through the day. Turn on the zen and just press 'play'. If it was just that easy, I would know how to stay, to keep a job, to make people like the person that they think I am. But, who am I, who will I be, today, tomorrow, next week, in the next ten year. Your fears make you into the person you don't know. Look in that mirror, who's that looking back. Is it you or your fear waiting to attack. Just sitting in a dark corner waiting for a chance to play. Like a rapist in the park, just waiting for your pretty little mind to stray, off the path that you've set. Ten to one odds I know I'm gonna regret, not giving it up. I know I have, it's caused more pain than good. Break it down and rebuild, I see step cracks running through my brain, wrinkles in the fabric that makes up my frame. I now know that life is just a game, am I in it to lose. You never know, can't choose, maybe ill cheat if I loose. Or choose not to play the game, now there's the plan. I was told punk rock morals only get you so far, at some point you have to get your chip. Automate or die. Why must I give up on my morals, treat people like shit, care about numbers, people mean money, money means people, people mean money, money means god, god means money, money is life, money is life, life is good, money is good, people are bad, people are bad, time is money, money is time, people are time, time is money, people are bad. Take people out and all you have is time and money. That's all they want your time, your money, don't ask for help you won't get it, don't ask for help you won't get it, don't ask for help you won't get it. Forget it, you're too combative to work here anyway. Don't help the people and maybe they will go away and leave their money. Treat them like cattle, as little time as possible, as much money as willing. Fleece them, take it all, leave them with nothing. I was a pirate of the retail sales floor, give me your money, now run for the door or I'll kill you and you bleed out on the floor. Leave the goods and no one gets hurt. On the good ship Corporate Hell, the decks are full of little minions all in a line, getting chipped one by one in time. This makes them easier to program. They will run our way, make them say and do it this way, by the unwritten book of the corporate code. Don't ask questions and you won't get hurt, wear your uniform, we all have matching yellow shirts, it's easier this way. No need to remember a name, it's NUMBER 226455, I thought you where dead, but I guess your still alive. Oh, by the way, you fucked up, own up to your shit, now that's not the corporate way, pass that off on to someone else and save it for another day. People with no concept of accountability have never set well with me, freely I see the problems that are wrong with me, and I know if I make a mistake I will let you know, no matter how bad or wrong, I will lay that shit out till I know that its gone, out the air, I beat myself up more than you'll care. In my mind im my own worst enemy, my arch nemesis, ME, escape to skull island, laser headed fish in the sea, my own worst enemy, ME.
Released from this mortal coil, I stand here and stare at the cold heavy air that circles, no concept of pain, no concept of shame, and despair. To repair, that seems the only task lain before me, for me I know my road, my row to sow, seeds to throw, brick walls to build, they keep me safe in a little dark room all I see is the sky, no roof to call my own. Rain chills to the bone as I sit on my high tech, vacuum powered super throne of shit. I've never known when to call quit selling my shit to myself and maybe others, I like it that way. Too easy to stray from the ones I've loved just build a wall and run, get up and run, get up and run, get up and run. You can always rebuild, clay, mud, and steel. I try and keep still now, wondering how im going to make it through the day. Turn on the zen and just press 'play'. If it was just that easy, I would know how to stay, to keep a job, to make people like the person that they think I am. But, who am I, who will I be, today, tomorrow, next week, in the next ten year. Your fears make you into the person you don't know. Look in that mirror, who's that looking back. Is it you or your fear waiting to attack. Just sitting in a dark corner waiting for a chance to play. Like a rapist in the park, just waiting for your pretty little mind to stray, off the path that you've set. Ten to one odds I know I'm gonna regret, not giving it up. I know I have, it's caused more pain than good. Break it down and rebuild, I see step cracks running through my brain, wrinkles in the fabric that makes up my frame. I now know that life is just a game, am I in it to lose. You never know, can't choose, maybe ill cheat if I loose. Or choose not to play the game, now there's the plan. I was told punk rock morals only get you so far, at some point you have to get your chip. Automate or die. Why must I give up on my morals, treat people like shit, care about numbers, people mean money, money means people, people mean money, money means god, god means money, money is life, money is life, life is good, money is good, people are bad, people are bad, time is money, money is time, people are time, time is money, people are bad. Take people out and all you have is time and money. That's all they want your time, your money, don't ask for help you won't get it, don't ask for help you won't get it, don't ask for help you won't get it. Forget it, you're too combative to work here anyway. Don't help the people and maybe they will go away and leave their money. Treat them like cattle, as little time as possible, as much money as willing. Fleece them, take it all, leave them with nothing. I was a pirate of the retail sales floor, give me your money, now run for the door or I'll kill you and you bleed out on the floor. Leave the goods and no one gets hurt. On the good ship Corporate Hell, the decks are full of little minions all in a line, getting chipped one by one in time. This makes them easier to program. They will run our way, make them say and do it this way, by the unwritten book of the corporate code. Don't ask questions and you won't get hurt, wear your uniform, we all have matching yellow shirts, it's easier this way. No need to remember a name, it's NUMBER 226455, I thought you where dead, but I guess your still alive. Oh, by the way, you fucked up, own up to your shit, now that's not the corporate way, pass that off on to someone else and save it for another day. People with no concept of accountability have never set well with me, freely I see the problems that are wrong with me, and I know if I make a mistake I will let you know, no matter how bad or wrong, I will lay that shit out till I know that its gone, out the air, I beat myself up more than you'll care. In my mind im my own worst enemy, my arch nemesis, ME, escape to skull island, laser headed fish in the sea, my own worst enemy, ME.