daily purge

I’m stalking along the lackluster corridors of non profit power, where the walls have ears and every shadow has eyes. I’ve got a Shaggy from Scooby Doo kinda swag going. Lately, the crazy fat girl whose my cube neighbor huffs and puffs in frustration. I crack a big ole grin time to time at her, she acts as if her job were the most important thing in everybody’s universe. To bite a line from Gone Girl ‘In her defense, she is from St.Louis’.

Well, she just landed right next door to the cities most annoying cat alive. And to add a bit of comedic juxtaposition the most handsome, underrated, under appreciated, and unenthused alleycat in the city of hot air.

Out of sheer boredom I grabbed a cubical map and began creating a ‘Game of Cubes’ map, turning all of the departments into the Great Houses. I passed it onto my co-worker, who seemed mildly intrigued. I added some house emblems, prettifying the document even further. Apparently the map was leaked by my buddy, who bequeathed it to some chicks in another department.Continue Reading »

Daily quote

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.


The fire rises

I am stressed, I am bent out of shape. There are external forces rallied against me. I do not feel self pity, I don’t hold pity parties, I don’t require your charity or your good will. I want to be honest with you, I want to be frank. But I don’t know how, because we settle for the immediacy of stupidity. We’ve become gluttonous pigs, incurably self loving. There’s no room in there, we retreat to our safe places, our inner man caves, our preferred realities.

I’m not judging, but I am. I want to say all the wrong things in order to make things right again. I think the 80’s were better than today. How much fucked upness until we’ve obliterated our own destitute souls?