The hallways will always get longer, lined with pictures of former supervisors and chiefs of staff, their facial hair strange and foreign to modern eyes. Linoleum echos of footsteps on hard, waxed surfaces reverberate. Cold florescence. An edifice. A monolith.
One day it will be our faces on the wall. Distant memories. Questionable fashion choices. Yet the edifice remains.
(It was the Greeks who got it right, not Shakespeare. Our tragedies are not the faults of fatal flaws. They are the inevitable results of monolithic, immovable forces of nature.)
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fuck the bosses
ReplyDeleteThebes, city of death, one long cortege
ReplyDeleteand the suffering rises
wails for mercy rise
and the wild hymn for the Healer blazes out
clashing with our sobs our cries of mourning—
O golden daughter of god, send rescue
radiant as the kindness in your eyes!
Great laws tower above us, reared on high
ReplyDeleteborn for the brilliant vault of heaven—
Olympian Sky their only father,
nothing mortal, no man gave them birth,
their memory deathless, never lost in sleep:
within them lives a mighty god, the god does not
grow old.
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ReplyDeleteQ: What's your Name?
ReplyDeleteA: Huh?
Q: Your name!
A: Peanut Butter and Jelly.