misunderstandings at the workplace
An essay on the fact that people can often hear you talking about them when you think they can't. If this world was half as paranoid, we'd all be St. Germain or the likes of a brutally honest person. I tell you there is pain in delicate secrecy.
Your spider webs of deceit which have been so carefully worked out are of less use than a dagger in a clown parade.
At the turn of the century, with communication developing a full heartbeat, there was nothing to stop us from lying.
Tales of the wicked would buy you a good night's sleep.
These halls echo like you wouldn't believe it's an amazing effect of the mistrustfulness of nature. You can't see, you've got money over your eyes, you've got paper cuts and sleep disorders and animated geese, all made of dark, rich chocolate.
It is no longer accepted in here.
In the box.
With the walls.
Four walls.
One, two, and two more which have not yet been mentioned.
It's a shame you think this when really it's that.
I could show you what you're holding, the snake and not the apple.
It might hurt, but it would bite clean.
Manacles fresh control chewing gum.
Have a nice day.
A “have a nice day” sign painted outside megatropolis suburbs, crazy fluent hitchhikers and perhaps some happy people thrown in. In the nineties everything changed.
It was all plastic disguises, face masks and sweat collectors, anything to make us less human. They would set up a business meeting on top of a hill, for less barometric pressure. The chairs would be elevated and leather, all black with new briefcases and warm printer paper, non-recycled.
Nothing was allowed to touch anything else for fear of germs. After all, Earth had been invaded by an army of inhuman beings, minions of the devil or an alien race, maybe.
So therefore fire extinguishers were invented.
The market was good.
~
1998