the system
it's is a place which shouldn't be familiar, but is. everyone there was grave and either well dressed or hardly presentable. by comparison to most I felt like I had little to fear; I committed no real crime aside from simply not showing up in the right place at the right time which didn't actually hurt anyone or cause any trouble aside from a few minutes of frustration and paperwork. for this, my 'privileges', according to an impersonal control system, have been revoked. until the right people get paid the right amount. my transgressions have once again been replaced with a number-shaped hole that, when filled, absolves it all. says who you ask? these despondent men passing papers speaking to us all in the same tone, the same gray suits loose skin little hair and no state to recall what they once were before they decided this was the best thing they could do with ther lives but long past realizing that being here does nothing for them and it never did - these people are all the same, their misdemeanors of equally minimal import to anyone themselves included - and far from realizing they don't have to do this, really, it's just expected by now is all. says them, that's who. and see, they are as bound by this as I am. I guess that understanding is what allows me to play by the rules most of the time. but it doesn't mean I can't fantasize about telling it like it is, shaking my fist and dreaming up a world where people are free of all this foam-injected bull shit, free to live and even free to die if they can't figure out how.