I am sitting at the quiet in this square. Meditate me, dim the bright.
"So Tom, What are you doing?"
My chair squeaks as I turn. "Good Morning."
"What is so good about it?"
"And denial makes it bad."
"So Tom, why aren't you working?"
"I am thinking."
"And that is working?"
"Yes. Do you have work for me?"
"Not yet. Hang on I will get some work for you."
But make sure that you complain to me that I am not working. "OK, tell me when you do."
I turn and start thinking again.
Here I am, sitting among the savages. I suppose all savages think that they are civilized. These are truly deluded. This is not savage in the dictionary definition, but all words change even if it is a personal definition. These people are here for power, money and pleasure. I told you the definition was personal.
It is not as if I am not afflicted with the same diseases. I'm human and it's normal to want these things. I guess they just don't have quite the same hold on me as they do on others.
So why am I sitting here? Since I am in the market for dinner, since I am still somewhat effected by the savages (infected) - I am here, sitting.
...
Let's see, green tea, a little honey. March back to my desk and sit. At least I have value in this world, in this job. OK, no I don't.
I post pictures of dead people on my cubicle. It's mostly because I read the obituaries. When I find someone interesting I cut out the picture and post it on the wall. I tack the new picture on the old one. I will also tack pictures of important days, such as Pearl Harbor Day, and the day of John Lennon's death. I don't always put them up the same year since one follows the other.
My cubicle is also a treasure trove of oddities and non sequitur's. I place my name plate at an odd angle and wait to see how long before an obsessive compulsive fixes it.
