Damn tired I am;

seems like the sun just set and this clock is

yelling at me already…Already!

Oxygen yawns into me

coffee drip heroin into my blood;

The Forbes 500 oligarchic monolith is waiting for

me to press those buttons;

to stare at them, beckon for them, wake live eat die sleep for them

How silly of me for not having gratuity for their crumbs

these many hours pre-dawn;

Maybe today is the day I finally quit

after I load my trunk

then unload, then setup, then load again, then unload again;

Maybe today I break the pattern;

It is just too early to look at

the bright side of life;

The sun even refuses to have a bright side at this hour

 

At least it’s quiet

At least there will be no traffic

At least there will be some microwaved ovum

and dry cured fried salted cobroller back fat

waiting for me

 

At least what I am doing

is a third cousin second removed from the passion

I always swore to follow

…All is not lost, I suppose.

 

I suppose I could try to make the best of today

True, it is the eighth month of winter

True, I am almost there and still cannot feel my hands or my soul

True, I am fighting the good fight, as the alchemist says

True, I am a department of one, necessary and invisible expendable, insignificantly important within daemon’s cinematic society;

but I could make the best of it

plan something exotic;

Yes, I could map out brainstorms of creativity,

wake decaying projects from the back of my intentions,

inspire a laceration to bleed out the monotony

 

Who am I kidding, though?

I’ll arrive to a producer who not only won’t remember my name

but will not even know my position in his animal kingdom;

I’ll talk the good talk, laugh, take a piss in the bathroom that

some bulimic actress just shit out her four pieces of fruit in,

hustle for hours over tasks meaningless to

the impetus of the human condition

then spend sixteen hours of rinse and repeat while

a dozen porn-interns-turned-high-ranking-advertising-execs

pine and argue over the cosmological significance of the

upward vs downward inflection of the name of a product that

will accomplish nothing but anally leak the life out of

frightened ignorant consumers during the segment breaks of

Judge Judy

while I eat obscene amounts of high fucktose corn solids

disguised as craft nourishment,

watch Youtube, text my wife the repetitive revelation of

how today is the day I take control of it all,

she’ll laugh, say I’m charming and

that she still loves me;

I’ll eat some more, have lunch, force my own

constipated fecal protoplasm into filthy toilet water

entertain my epiphany of freedom once more over

small coffee and small talk

then shuffle back to my metal auditorium chair

Roll Camera

and fill out my day contacting whoever else I had

the honor of contracting for, hoping to book more and more

of these days until I make enough

money to make one of these booking’s my last

 

—

 

—

 

—

 

…alright

 

…time to get out of bed and begin.

 

 

 

 

af

 

 

 

(written on computer, about to get back in the biz)