Wednesday, May 21, 2008

"Agent 4338971047656543210.0097 reporting for duty"

I am a drone now. I am one of the masses. A worker bee. beep.

We wait in the freezing cold huddled together but miles apart in the frosty mornings, shivering in our separate pairs of boots in barely suppressed terror, the ubiquitous wires hanging from our brains out of our ears and into our skin pouches. A small robot man tells us what we hear.
I am plugged in to the main stream. The calming ocean sounds [piped into] my head prevent me from experiencing full blown panic attack as I climb, we all climb into one metal box on wheels and settle against one another, packed in like gooses. Ass to cheek but miles apart.
We stare vacantly and rock back & forth gently like the tide.



Blogger Gorilla Bananas said...

Ah, that's a pity. I wish you could run off somewhere and make babies. Or find a job sailing around the world in a cargo ship. Use your time in the metal box to imagine things to write about.

7:46 AM  
Blogger Face said...

I think I'm barren

4:00 AM  
Blogger Face said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

4:00 AM  
Blogger Gorilla Bananas said...

Maybe you should adopt then. Adopt a boy who'll be like Eleven Sons.

11:22 AM  
Blogger surly fag said...

aw.. it's all too beautiful, come on, sing it with me! it's all too beautifuu-ul

3:06 AM  

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