- Mood:
Mortified - Reading: Ishmael
- Playing: with myself
- Eating: Fetuses
- Drinking: Milk and Mezcal
Every corporation is built in totalitarian form, and every branching franchise is granted a prototype dictator to thoroughly roughen and ruin the smooth employee relations. The maitre d, for instance, will nearly always have an asshole boss that seldom praises success, yet wildly raves about the slightest mistake. The American Dream, to beat and bloody all of those in the way of reaching the ever watchful eye in the perverbial pyramid of the American Workforce. One step at a time, with elbow grease and immigrant tears we can all be an entrepreneur in the fields of infomercials and dietary supplements and spamming additives. I wrench my neck back and forth at the flooding anxiety and fear of never reaching the top of the pyramid. What if the apron never becomes a tie and the "Hello, My Name Is..." badge never becomes a name on a door in a hallway of doors with thousands of people's names on them with the varying sub-texts: "Official Asst. Supervisior", "General Waste Management Specialist", "Diatribe Journalist".
When will the waning peeks and foreshadowing sun glint, only after a long day of busing tables and menial labor is the sunset blessed; a miraculous tangerine. We deny and accept, we promulgate, we finance, we commence, we wage war, we protest, we want, we buy, we need. We are all so numb. Prepare for the strung-out disaster.
I'll apply for my doctorate online, I've heard such can be done.
The limelight is gray.
-Alex
Pseudopsychosis
