“YEAH”

“I work in a big tent bureaucracy, where armed Neanderthal clowns prance about freely spewing forth misogyny, thinly veiled race-hate and bible speak; where horribly untrained therapeutic trapeze artists attempt feats far beyond their intellectual and clinical capacity and fall flat on their faces in front of the slightly amused masses; where that famed  slick talking phone-juggling science dropping MC, the one the only “Skye Izfallen” hypes average happenings up into behemoth balloons of exigent immediacy; where trained, caged and above average simian automatons churn out billable hours and widgets for the Revenue Generating Machine—in return for morsels and a fraction of what they’re worth but are regularly told by the general public they are shit and should be replaced. Meanwhile, the higher ups—zookeepers, all—bark, scold, minimize and crack the whips at them: Telling them they are expendable and a necessary evil. It’s a veritable freak show where bearded ladies, rotund retards, and megalomaniacal midgets are the norm and in charge of the whole Show…Every day I wander in there all askance, askew and suspicious; I look from face to face trying to get some modicum of understanding, some shred of empathy. As I make my way to my desk and fire up the Monolith, I’ll ask the proverbial Coppollian and Conradian question of someone—anyone—there who would listen:

 “Soldier, do you know who’s in charge here?”

“Yeah.” They always say…then they walk away, into the smoke and haze and horror unfolding under the Big Tent, with all its attendant white noise and distraction and second guessing and hidden agenda-ing and backstabbing and two-facing.  Maddening—at best. I start to sweat. Crack my neck. My inner I Should Fucking Know Better I Gotta Get the Fuck Outta Here starts to pitch and yaw—and drags me back in by the sheer algebra of economic survival and necessity. The battle begins then. And I’m ill equipped, unarmed and fall short of quick come backs, one liners or scathing indictments like this one. I say nothing. I am frozen—and sweating.

It’s not a bad dream; it’s the beginning of another day.