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Cognitive Disobedience December 4, 2015

Posted by The Typist in cryptical envelopment, FYYFF, New Orleans, The Journey, The Narrative, The Typist, Toulouse Street.
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Yesterday I walked away from the prospect of a job, a job job with health benefits for all the fun stuff that comes with growing old, life insurance to replace the policy I just lost (again, like my COBRA over and over) because, well, Aetna. Back to Moloch, with banker’s hours and all the usual holidays paid. Back to the racket, automating ways to shake you by the ankles until all the money falls out. A job job, in an office full of clones who wear a full undershirt beneath a polo shirt, with razor sharp faces and clean shaven hair. Razor cut. Razor. Cut. The blood of the lambs on my hands.

Again.

But I might die tonight.

Comments»

1. Denise Colby - December 6, 2015

I really enjoy this one. thumbs up for “cognitive disobedience”. It’s a bit slapstick as well. There’s a physicality, like you’re not in your head so much.

I’ve realized lately that people work themselves stupid to get to unemployment, taking the huge risk of getting knocked off before they get their prize. How many don’t win the race? It’s quite a pyramid scheme, this Murica.

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