Friday, 18 November 2011

Citizen # K (subsection A)

Imagine, walking around all day behind Citizen #K

She got the tempwork off some market app on her smartphone. Yeah. Probably play was where she shopped. Right after coldcuts cooked in a rice cooker with just a bit of olive oil... okay, water will suffice because we have no olive oil no stovetop no facilities and no mind after it all. Call it the redeeming virtue of the conscious woman today. She has a nose for inventory. She will arrive the very day the prime rib and the leftover Alaskan king crab legs are let go. She catches the loaves of bread on MLK. She flaunts her strategic coverage of the most coveted recyclables. Okay she dumpster dives like a champ. Lets repeat it, Jim, and this time notch up or two the amp.

All she had to do was provide electronic signatures on top of her email address and the # of her phone. She could talk however she wanted, with false accents or simply drooling monotone. She figured minimal interaction with the world might stem her heavy feeling of being truly alone. Sure, she might never look her authority in the eyes, or meet coworkers for calzones or talk in escalated excitement of motivational capitalist ideology.

Girls were almost expected at times to jump into falsetto, she remembered, having been a corporate slug for a horrible epoch in her twenties. She saw the stressed out blood green ghost on the sixth and seventh chords strike out from the roots of her beautiful long dishevelled hair.

She found herself, she did. Post some toilet paper diploma bricking up the fast food management scene, headed toward airports and rental limousines. That was when her head fell in love with a bicycle she saw being pedaled by a young woman not unllike herself in age and carriage. Among all the industrious nonsense and heavy sounds of friction between metals and vacuum sucking and air pushing machine breath. Among all the crap that was baseline for any goddamn capitalist monster of a dream. Starfux takes no prisoners. Show up like soldiers, wear your uniform. Shine your teeth for the smile. Do not clock out late or dare stay a while.

She fell out just in the knick of time. Shook off the seduction of quarterly sales dinners and napa valley small batch merlots and pinot noir to polish you off and cast a vineyard cover of night over your dissipating understanding of hell on earth within the context of a six figure salary and hardly time to sleep off the corporate burn off of the true yearning for rat race recidivism rates skyrocketing and She turned over lots of her understanding to the phone. The phone now told her the time. Not the sun. The phone oriented her with its cool hd compass. She no longer learned how to get out of getting lost.