That is how the worth of my days

and days, and hours, long

hours, all of those very slow

minutes, and every last wasted

second is determined.  Working

on the clock to labor my wage.  Every

beautiful thing is so disdainful.  At first

it loves you, then it’s burned, so you must

continue seeking and seeking and

seeking, OH GOD WHERE IS

THE GAWDANMED THING?  That thing you have

that is called a soul.  The one.  The everlasting needing

and denial for yourself of so many, many

moments that make you catch your breath

despite no FUCKING

exertion at all.  Effortlessness is totally

unobtainable.  Being a number, 1 is denied being

a person by a Corporate Personhood

with a math of imaginary

numbers and so many meaningless victims.


1 Comment

  1. it doesn’t take much to be a number does it?

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