Productive/Creative – Analog Man in a Digital World
There comes a time in every man’s life
When he grows tired of all the strife
But soldiers on, despite the pain
To keep the paychecks flowing like rain
The mental fog occludes the will
And quenches man’s desire to fill
His mind with passionate joys of love
With corporate idiocy from above
But one day, friend, he will be free
Retirement ends the misery
Only to find there’s no more drive
He sits resolutely;
American Idol’s on at five.
The bitter cold snaps through my thinning exterior
As I spend another day on my posterior
Crunching through numbers and tables and graphs
When I should by out cycling I sit on my… plush office chair.
Forever ago when I still knew my name-ish
I swore that I wouldn’t become what I came-ish
Now to my chagrin I am choosing to sit
And listening to people who are all full of.. non-value-added information.
Yet even with corporate methodical junkle
I know deep inside their theories are bunkle
That someday I’ll willingly fly from this dirge
And fly south for the winter: corporate life’s for the birds!
clicking and flickering letters they fly
onwards and upwards lest nimbleness die
the tongue from which henceforth forever proceeded
yet rapidly languishing, no longer is needed
yet the rapping and tapping can never subside
for the ravenous metrics we have to provide
together the syllables clutter and run
into pieces of meaningless information
and so now at last, my keyboard has died
a weapon that all geeks should have at their side
for writers, no greater blade can be drawn
but I’m stuck with a cheap piece of junk from Taiwan
Into the deep belly of the Beast I ride
I furtively gird myself on the inside
Foreknowledge that at least I tried
As silently ever onward I glide
Between what seems one world and the next
I struggle and fight, but am only vexed
Indiscriminately from me they wrest
Until I emptily concede defeat in my chest
Why must everything be dreary
Performing mundane tasks makes weary
The strongest soul’s desire to yearn
Or even care about the will to learn
And then you sit, and talk to a fern
And next thing ya know, it’s all like
“Yo, izzit Friday yet? Uh. This sucks.”
Don’t be a sheeple.
Stumbling, grumbling, the groggy-eyed rush
Try not to significantly fill your mind with mush
Rushing to accomplish something you can’t understand
Knowing that whatever thoughts you have will just be banned
Working at the mercy of someone who’s underhanded
Deciphering the drivel coming forth not understanded
When trying to explain to them the error of their ways
It only leaves your spirit crushed and lamenting for days
Forgetting what’s behind, I press on towards the goal
Remembering I’m working for what’s bigger than the whole
Releasing every thought that threatens to be desperation
I close my eyes and visualize the one who’s my salvation
Sputtering, stuttering, making excuses
Acting as if there were more than two uses
For the asphyxiated grey matter within
To think outside the box would be considered a sin
Assimilating ammunition knowledge at large
To undercut and stupefy the people in charge
Of the mass-generated complicational trope
That underestimates resistance in both focus and scope
To articulate futility of endless frustration
Simply pound your head against the desk in your isolation
Or pretend you’re writing emails to the biggest of cheeses
Instead of doing nothing like we’re full of diseases
And yet there’s still a glimmering, a flicker of light
That maybe someday we’ll be freed to do whatever we might
Oh yes, and heaven forbid it might be something productive
Instead of simply making money and ending up self-destructive
in a moment of weakness I feel myself slipping
the vultures surrounding me eager for ripping
pushing my patience to the point of it tipping
over the edge, but to hang on I’m gripping
tight to the precipice rife with complaint
but falling on deaf ears my voice going faint
I’m losing the urge to fight with restraint
I’m hoping that things will improve- but they ain’t.
we are soldiers of the mass conglomeration
unspoken cannon fodder of the corporation
subsequently fed into a dead-end generation
forever relegated to the bottom of the nation
we tirelessly toil to fight the managed conflagration
while we simulateously extinguish innovation
we struggle endlessly to kill the ravenous cessation
of everything we might hold dear before elimination
to those who toil away their lives in quiet desperation
I challenge you to stand and look around your situation
unless you choose to think and rise above innoculation
your fate will be no different than a man’s incarceration
In the early morning rain I stake my claim
To only temporarily disguise the pain
So many things I’ve been forced to leave
In order to compartmentalize my brain
Forever I toil to the beat of the drummer
Forbidden to rest till there is no more summer
The crushing of weights with the brightest of smiles
And every day added makes me even dumber
Yet once I have conquered the unending ladder
And the dust has settled and the company’s fatter
I realize I’m gripping the shifting of sand
And that after all, it just plain doesn’t matter
Curmudgeonly zombies with dotted lines to power
Throw hand grenades willingly to sabotage their friends
Fighting tooth and nail to climb the allmighty tower
Till they realize too late the climb never ends
Yet hopefully optimism beams as a light in the void
An isle of tranquility amongst the rages of dread
Cause wherever you look there are empty stares to avoid
Occasionally mentioning how they’d be better off dead
But I refuse to go along with all of the the bored zombies
I smile as a tactic to confuse the ranks like a joke
Resplendant in their khakis, ties, egos, and Abercrombies
They will never know the taste of freedom until they are broke