Z
Zigathon
Guest
Here at work, there is a lack of it. I'm at the Civic Center in a moderately sized city. No cars have come. No people to talk to. My cell phone is prepaid, and free minutes start late at night. Oh sure, I could use the landline. But, I happen to think the city keeps tabs on that. I do have the internet, yet I'm not aloud to install games, or use instant messengers. These words are my window to the world. We must all make sacrifices to survive.
Me? I make snarky comments on forums and smoke cigarettes. Here in quiet solitude, one can concentrate well enough to think up some good lines. Hell, here in this place, one has plenty of time to think.
City vehicles come and go. Eyes at every window. I'm being watched by a camera. Also owned by the city. It watches everything I do and every word I type. I must refrian from giving too much away. Who knows what they would do. However, this isn't a plea for help. I need no form of rescue. Today was payday, and I am liberated by that thought alone.
Here in the booth, time is a sticky syrup. It clings to everything. It becomes easy to measure just how long it takes the human body to accomplish certain tasks. Like eating. Here, every swallow is a welcome sound. It breaks the monotony. The taste of food a wonderful sensation. Here in the booth, you get used to the smell.
For the crime of living, you're jailed for a paycheck. That's how I see it. Pick your poison, you're stuck with it until you retire. Everything you do measured by ticks of time. Just more numbers to count. Life reduced to digits. How inspiring. A whole life judged by a checkbook. For the crime of living, punishment is death.
The sounds of the keyboard count off the miliseconds until my release. Recess in life's prison yard. After my release, when I return home, nothing changes. Still the monotonous task of solitude. Why can't I get paid for that? At least I have the voice of someone trusted on the phone at night. I like to think she keeps me sane.
I read in the newspaper today how couples often watch different television programs. After work of course. Everyone needs some kind of program, be it internet or TV. I began to wonder why people just don't spend time together. Rather, we seem to enjoy being isolated with the thoughts of others. Celebrities are prison wardens. Give me American Idol or give me death. Are they really much better than us? Or late night liars trying to steal our numbers? Everyone wants our time and money. Me? I just want the freedom of words.
Imagine a world in which thoughts and words were currency. Time spent thinking is the same for everyone. It would be impossible for people to be homeless. A penny for your thoughts? You can have mine for free. Unendorsed entertainment. A man can only dream.
We live in a crazy world. Thought is becoming trivial. People dream about objects and numbers. Never ideas. Its almost like they're against some unwritten law. What will you watch when work releases you?
Me? I'll still be watching time tick by...
The King of Nerds,
Zigathon Vouraun
Me? I make snarky comments on forums and smoke cigarettes. Here in quiet solitude, one can concentrate well enough to think up some good lines. Hell, here in this place, one has plenty of time to think.
City vehicles come and go. Eyes at every window. I'm being watched by a camera. Also owned by the city. It watches everything I do and every word I type. I must refrian from giving too much away. Who knows what they would do. However, this isn't a plea for help. I need no form of rescue. Today was payday, and I am liberated by that thought alone.
Here in the booth, time is a sticky syrup. It clings to everything. It becomes easy to measure just how long it takes the human body to accomplish certain tasks. Like eating. Here, every swallow is a welcome sound. It breaks the monotony. The taste of food a wonderful sensation. Here in the booth, you get used to the smell.
For the crime of living, you're jailed for a paycheck. That's how I see it. Pick your poison, you're stuck with it until you retire. Everything you do measured by ticks of time. Just more numbers to count. Life reduced to digits. How inspiring. A whole life judged by a checkbook. For the crime of living, punishment is death.
The sounds of the keyboard count off the miliseconds until my release. Recess in life's prison yard. After my release, when I return home, nothing changes. Still the monotonous task of solitude. Why can't I get paid for that? At least I have the voice of someone trusted on the phone at night. I like to think she keeps me sane.
I read in the newspaper today how couples often watch different television programs. After work of course. Everyone needs some kind of program, be it internet or TV. I began to wonder why people just don't spend time together. Rather, we seem to enjoy being isolated with the thoughts of others. Celebrities are prison wardens. Give me American Idol or give me death. Are they really much better than us? Or late night liars trying to steal our numbers? Everyone wants our time and money. Me? I just want the freedom of words.
Imagine a world in which thoughts and words were currency. Time spent thinking is the same for everyone. It would be impossible for people to be homeless. A penny for your thoughts? You can have mine for free. Unendorsed entertainment. A man can only dream.
We live in a crazy world. Thought is becoming trivial. People dream about objects and numbers. Never ideas. Its almost like they're against some unwritten law. What will you watch when work releases you?
Me? I'll still be watching time tick by...
The King of Nerds,
Zigathon Vouraun
