mood elevator

thursday. pm

starin
at some reflective floor
some polished hall

waitin
4 the doors
to meet

a light
a chime
a bounce

the bottom
falls out

i rolled in
all atomic
uncontained
energy

now ima
hydraulic
haul ina
box

a simple
toe turn to
taxicab flag
hell

friday. am

going up?
ya             (im down)

bouncin
friendly
coffee sloshin
mornings

suspended in
definite
frenzy

the mood

only sleep
can break it
 up

casting Madison Avenue fishbowl eyes

Our spirits, in the spaces between and apart and far from, are yet to be hemmed in, anyway, they sway in unison with and out of synch then, consonance and dissonance together holding hands, not necessarily about coming together by choice, some were forces above and beyond our bell curved comprehension, and more out of synch are the spirits with the reeds with the grasses with the grains. Ceres. Above overlooking the whole operation, downtown Chicago, casting Madison Avenue fishbowl eyes... against the grain as pressures come to bear in our espresso machines in our offices in our relationships in our lives.

people work better when driven (insane) -- vi/i

people work better when driven (insane) -vi) 

subparticle i/iii
 by Katya Mills

The mouth has been watering for some time for a little taste of the really real! Far from the office-as-is. Far from the home-land-security-cam. Far from the life-support system. The Business class. The identical non pinstripe suits. The ladies unable to wear open-toed shoes. Life which is not a beach, even when you live directly on a beach. The gentleman frowned upon for windsor knotting their ties. This isn’t England. We don’t have time for that shit. Deducted from your paycheck. The mentality here. The program we must follow or else. Leave your dreams at home. Put your unpublished novels in the shredder. There’s no glory in your personal story of desecrated ennui. You owe yourself and your country some restitution, for all that rest. Bipolar? Autistic? Schizoaffective? Come one, come all! People wait in line for a diagnosis, just to get away. Fuck the stigma. Be the illness. Covet the experience no more. Self-actualized mental illnesses. You wanna work it like that? Stranger things are happening, so get in line. Start somewhere. Let a county physician try and know you better than you know yourself. Cognitive behave yourself badly. Be a kid again, or role reverse your kids into parenting you. This is the quiet desperation of those who have spent the better part of their wonderful miserable lives within cubicles.