Stale, this coatrack meme, though as necessary as ever, really. Much
like other things in life, I push it aside and focus on what's in
front of me. When I take this sweatshirt off, it will be in front of
me briefly, long enough to get an idea and watch it disappear with the
Meanwhile, still no convenient place for things. Winter's approaching,
quite ready to settle down, but my coat and sweaters and this
hoodie, no place for them. They get thrown on the closest horizontal
surface and wait there for morning or whenever they'll be called up
Me too, really. Just another number, punch in codes to indicate my
every move (ok, hyperbole) to the evil machine watching me, comparing
my codes to scheduled codes... checking adherence.
It doesn't click; I don't stick to this artificiality, this sliced up
existence that makes me have to watch the clock, watch ticking tocks
or oscillating atoms, keep tabs on how the hours add up. Not my
bag, being a number. If anything, irrational as pi, all of us, not
meant to be mangled into numeric nonsense that justifies expenses in
terms of acronyms.
A cog in a greater wheel, and that's not a clockwork kind of cog, more
like an acronymic COG and I'm free to be a Child Of God or a Childish
Old Grump or a Concurrent Original Gesticulation...if intellectual
property law allows.
My brain leaks out in puddles I can't hope to protect.