Tuesday, February 17, 2009

the critical condition

In the workplace, the colors are neutral greys, smudged whites and harsh fluorescent lighting. the calming colors of windows email applications and solid blue backgrounds. the imagination has left the building, probably with mesothelioma. the thoughts that come doing menial, repetitive work. the genre of films dedicated to the dissatisfaction and rejection of the perceived american dream. working in an office, the water cooler, the email after email, the passive aggression has gone viral. what is the point : work makes you free, work is its own reward, work and recreation : an essay on priorities in light of the looming economic depression. "non sequiter" (am msg - god is making changes and if I don't return your call you are one of god's changes) the lack of personal responsibility in the quest for health care reform (?). shooting the shit: how communication is responsible for turning white liberals into closeted fascists - or healthcare is for celebrities. how structured questioning of the sick and poor can lead to the desired results to obtain grants and purchase property on the ever expanding moral high ground. I hope you wont be requiring a nebulizer. reinforcing our own stereotypes : the downside of being human in the now century. being right : selectively agreeing with people who mirror our own views on the world, thus closing the gap on our perspective to the ever popular, tunnel vision. how new and unexpected things cause people to recoil deep within themselves (masturbation metaphor?). the joy of routine or how middle mgmt can make you feel like your job is a 1950s marriage that you will never escape because you have lost the will to live years ago. the vice of laziness perpetuating unhappiness because change is work and work is energy. that's chemistry ya'll. and not like e-harmony techomagic, formulas and stuff. so all this boredom and all this conditioning to erode violence and utilize mediation makes for a veritable Exxon Valdez recreation in the icebergs of our neuroses. A drunken captain and everything goes down, icebergs still intact.

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