Excerpts from Elsewhere
Hola amigos y amigas, I swear that is all the Spanish I know. So how are we under this sweltering sun, this scorching heat? I've been mentally out of touch lately, no no i haven't gone mad (the jury's still out on that one), I merely meant that my minds been somewhere else that's not here in this little spot of ours under the sun. Life in this slave camp just hasn't been eventful enough to keep my mind glued here. So i sent it off to St Barts, or San Tropez to get a much needed vacation, while the rest of me stayed here and kept the hounds of boredom and superficiality (is there such word?) at bay. Alright so that really didnt happen, as if i could tell my mind to go along and purchase plane tickets, shop for summer clothes buy a big straw hat and sip daiquiris in south america hmp! maybe if it grew legs and some boobs. So like all the rest of the slaves Im stuck here in this slave camp toiling away the hours to days and the days to months. Im not complaining mind you, just stating a fact.
Its not like nothing happened between New Year's and now, its just that I pointedly detached myself and observed everything with the eye of an outsider looking in. So this little unit of ours in the slave camp has seen unprecedented growth in the last bundle of months so much so that the powers that be have trained their sights on us. Yes my dear friends and would-be lovers, we are under much scrutiny of late, much like a specimen in a petri dish, magnified, poked, shaken, stirred, on the rocks... hehehe now that sounds more like a jack daniels than a specimen. Suddenly and without much of a heads up, everybody thats somebody would like a slice of the pie, they would like to dip their noses where it shouldn't be and they are going about it with the subtly of a bull in a china shop. They're all here and they want all of us slaves not just to acknowledge that but be thankful for it, maybe to stretch our arms to them in supplication if we can manage it. Again, don't get me wrong, its not that I don't like it, all Im saying is that its a bit strange that's all.
And if we're under this kind of up-close-and-personal closeness with the powers that be, what's a slave to do but pose and preen and pretend to have everything under control and spankingly running at full speed. "Oh no no no you cant find anything wrong here, and if you ever do then I didn't do it for sure, its that half assed output of one of the sub-units, led by an incompetent but highly fashionable mid-level slave. Its all her fault, she did it, stone the bitch!" Yes there's been a lot of fault-finding and finger-pointing and in keeping with lent, a lot of doubting thomases and cheating judases and hand-washing pontius pilates swirling around in the place these days.
"And our patrons? Well what about them?" chirps the high-level slave rather matter-of-factly as he struggles to keep his nerves under cover but is totally given away by the sheen of sweat above his upper lip, "...they're perfectly happy and that's all because of me and me alone!"..."i alone know what they want, and nobody else. i alone can give it to them, not my mid-level slaves, not my supporting-role slaves, no one else but me! I am the slave camp and the slave camp is me!..." that's how the motion picture running on my head goes. There's an ongoing monologue of all the high-level slaves, all of them, all the same addressed to just about anyone within earshot. And what's wrong with that you ask? Nothing if you're into that narcissistic, autocratic, communistic drift, which im not. This slave camp is drowing in an endless reeking river of words, words, words. tainted words, words for knee-jerk reactions. When will we ever learn that its work and not words that get us paid? Sometimes when Im forced to hear one of these monologues, I see a picture of a manic street preacher telling a long but meaningless story, complete with huge hand gestures. Nobody listens to the words really, they just want to drown in them and be fascinated with the hand expressions, or maybe they're wondering when the hands are gonna come off from too much gesticulating. Yep that's what i see, and what do I hear? I hear a droning sound like a motor running or an alien ship landing. Because im actually listening to myself think, and usually my thoughts say "when are we going back to work, there's still so much to be done"? I hope I could record these speeches and play it back to them so that they'll hear how they went on and on about abstractions that do not mean much, about pretty shallow points that could be driven with one clear, concise sentence. And not words upon words that are starting to come out of my mouth and nose and ears and piss and shit. I wish they could hear themselves, they could be subjected to the same kind of torture they're subjecting us to.
Recently the stench of what ails this slave camp reached a new high, and in its wake we are witnessing the near demise of some high-level slaves, the good ones regrettably. High level slaves that have lost the drive to fight for their poor minions. One such high-level slave was struck by the venom that is rumor mongering. After spending some out of work time with one of the patrons this high-level slave was tagged as unclean and unfit to lead her minions. It didn't matter that the high-level slave in question was actually doing all of us a big favor and a great job at fostering strong ties with our all important patron, or that everything this high-level slave does is above board and on the level. Im wondering if it has now become a crime these days to share a few laughs with the mighty patrons. Be careful lest ye be branded unclean. I swear we suffer from ignorance, simple-mindedness and utter stupidity, we do. We are a collective tight ass, not willing to budge an inch and compromise our jurassic belief system. You learn a lot about someone from the words gushing out of their pieholes and from all that I heard, i deduced that a lot of us still suffer from oral diarhhea. All the shit in our brains always find a way to spread and fester outwards through our mouths. Notice i am not separating myself from this common affliction, at least I know what's wrong with me, and I'd like to think I know how to cure myself. I really couldn't care less if all the rest die away from spewing too much shit, serves them right for thinking they're better than everyone else.
Now on to better things...the time is ripe for some slave fun. It is after all summer and already my thoughts are flooded with the beach, the scenery, the little drinks with little umbrellas sticking out of them. For what else should we do with the pittance that we make from all the back-breaking work but blow it all away for a couple of days in the sun or under the moon. Think about it fellow slaves, if not now, when then? if not us, who?
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