I am an important part of the computer
Say you don’t know me or recognize my face
Say you don’t care who goes to that kind of place
Knee deep in the hoopla sinking in your fight
Too many runaways eating up the night
Marconi plays the mamba, listen to the radio, don’t you remember
We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
Someone always playing corporation games
Who cares they’re always changing corporation names
We just want to dance here someone stole the stage
They call us irresponsible write us off the page
Marconi plays the mamba, listen to the radio, don’t you remember
We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
Built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
It’s just another sunday, in a tired old street
Police have got the choke hold, oh then we just lost the beat
Who counts the money underneath the bar
Who rides the wrecking ball in two rock guitars
Don’t tell us you need us, ’cos we’re the ship of fools
Looking for america, coming through your schools
(I’m looking out over that golden gate bridge
Out on another gorgeous sunny saturday, not seein’ that bumper to bumper traffic)
Don’t you remember (’member)(’member)
(what’s your favorite radio station, in your favorite radio city
The city by the bay, the city that rocks, the city that never sleeps)
Marconi plays the mamba, listen to the radio, don’t you remember
We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
Built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
Built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
Built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
(we built, we built this city) built this city (we built, we built this city)
It already looks as if this marks the returning of the Macall Super Post™. In case you didn't know, I've started taking notes at work. I think maybe, like the other day, I'll start giving it it's own segment. But just to be a jerk, I'll give it a new title every time, not just Voices From the Workplace. But ow that I think about it, that has a certain humour to is that I quite fancy. I certain idiotic pretentiousness, as if I was trying to name a Maralyn Manson album/CD. As if I was trying to put a spin on a common expression, but really it's not a common expression, it just sounds familiar. Or maybe it sounds like Notes from the Underground (which I'm going to start reading again tonight. SO maybe I'll call it Notes from the Workplace, seeing as how it is all based on notes I write myself over the course of the day. Lets get to that then.
Shit From the Workplace: The Tricks of the Trade*
*I almost wrote "The Ticks of the Trade." My what a creative play on words that would have been hmm?
I know it's been said many a time, in many a fashion, but I'll say it right now. The toughest thing is always the big come down. No Nine Inch Nails reference intended. My recent lapse into sanity, as it may be seen, has proven more difficult than I had imagined. I guess I kind of see this as proof that it wasn't all in my head, so to speak. Though I am now able to keep my mind on things other than... Horrible things, I do occasionally slip back into it. Today at lunch, after eating a burger, I found myself consumed with a violent rage. All I could do to calm myself was take a stick and mutilate my burger container. I stabbed it a bunch, and ripped it open in several spots. I'm leaving some stuff out here, because to be honest sometimes a scare myself. But in a sexy way. There are other thoughts that often jump into my head. Sick ones. Arguably perverted ones. No there's really no argument about it. Though it is proving to be difficult to fight these things, I haven't really started yet. Every day seems to bring some new promise of a reason to save myself. To stop myself. But that's another problem. Towards the end of the day at work I was feeling... regular, I guess you could call it. All of a sudden I felt really depressed. Then it dawned on me, what if the way I've been going, the way some people go, what if it's just a natural defense mechanism. What if psychopathy is just the bodies natural reaction to certain states of mind, to ensure survival. Shortly after that brief stint of depression came on, I was struck with another violent rage. Then I guess this little theory came into my head. I certainly don't hate myself anymore. I feel as far from depressed as I've been in a while, when I can think of plenty of reasons why I shouldn't. So maybe in that regard it's for the best. But anyway. Certain things have come to light. I found me a reason (several actually), so check me tomorrow. And the next day. I can sense me again though. It's hard to describe, but it's like i can see the place where "I" exist, but for the time being I just can't figure out how to get there.
But then I also sit and wait and hope for an excuse to stop existing, like zombies, or aliens, but we'll get back to that.
I also realized why I liked No frills the way I do. It's because there, in comparison to this job, it was like family. When I say family, I mean it was like a foster home. All us kids, varying ages, were all stuck there together. Some were asshole, some were great friends. But all around there was this sense of brotherly love. I realized this when I was crouched on the floor at work, and as someone walked by me I expected them to rub my head, something that happened only 2-3 times at No Frills. It was always by this guy, my supervisor, who was otherwise cold. But every once in a while he would do something like that, it's hard to come up with examples. It could be something as simple as making a face. I miss that, that's what my current occupation is lacking.
Today at work I learned the fine art of deception. It's not as cool as it sounds. First I leaned how to use the forklift, illegally of course. Then another of my bosses taught me rather elaborate ways of looking busy. I will use these ways, they were good.
Man I really like The Clash. The only band that matters indeed.
Yesterday. There's really no time for this. I'll tell you about it. Maybe Mike will as well.
Patrick Bateman. Leave me alone.
Say you don’t care who goes to that kind of place
Knee deep in the hoopla sinking in your fight
Too many runaways eating up the night
Marconi plays the mamba, listen to the radio, don’t you remember
We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
Someone always playing corporation games
Who cares they’re always changing corporation names
We just want to dance here someone stole the stage
They call us irresponsible write us off the page
Marconi plays the mamba, listen to the radio, don’t you remember
We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
Built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
It’s just another sunday, in a tired old street
Police have got the choke hold, oh then we just lost the beat
Who counts the money underneath the bar
Who rides the wrecking ball in two rock guitars
Don’t tell us you need us, ’cos we’re the ship of fools
Looking for america, coming through your schools
(I’m looking out over that golden gate bridge
Out on another gorgeous sunny saturday, not seein’ that bumper to bumper traffic)
Don’t you remember (’member)(’member)
(what’s your favorite radio station, in your favorite radio city
The city by the bay, the city that rocks, the city that never sleeps)
Marconi plays the mamba, listen to the radio, don’t you remember
We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
Built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
Built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
Built this city, we built this city on rock and roll
(we built, we built this city) built this city (we built, we built this city)
It already looks as if this marks the returning of the Macall Super Post™. In case you didn't know, I've started taking notes at work. I think maybe, like the other day, I'll start giving it it's own segment. But just to be a jerk, I'll give it a new title every time, not just Voices From the Workplace. But ow that I think about it, that has a certain humour to is that I quite fancy. I certain idiotic pretentiousness, as if I was trying to name a Maralyn Manson album/CD. As if I was trying to put a spin on a common expression, but really it's not a common expression, it just sounds familiar. Or maybe it sounds like Notes from the Underground (which I'm going to start reading again tonight. SO maybe I'll call it Notes from the Workplace, seeing as how it is all based on notes I write myself over the course of the day. Lets get to that then.
Shit From the Workplace: The Tricks of the Trade*
*I almost wrote "The Ticks of the Trade." My what a creative play on words that would have been hmm?
I know it's been said many a time, in many a fashion, but I'll say it right now. The toughest thing is always the big come down. No Nine Inch Nails reference intended. My recent lapse into sanity, as it may be seen, has proven more difficult than I had imagined. I guess I kind of see this as proof that it wasn't all in my head, so to speak. Though I am now able to keep my mind on things other than... Horrible things, I do occasionally slip back into it. Today at lunch, after eating a burger, I found myself consumed with a violent rage. All I could do to calm myself was take a stick and mutilate my burger container. I stabbed it a bunch, and ripped it open in several spots. I'm leaving some stuff out here, because to be honest sometimes a scare myself. But in a sexy way. There are other thoughts that often jump into my head. Sick ones. Arguably perverted ones. No there's really no argument about it. Though it is proving to be difficult to fight these things, I haven't really started yet. Every day seems to bring some new promise of a reason to save myself. To stop myself. But that's another problem. Towards the end of the day at work I was feeling... regular, I guess you could call it. All of a sudden I felt really depressed. Then it dawned on me, what if the way I've been going, the way some people go, what if it's just a natural defense mechanism. What if psychopathy is just the bodies natural reaction to certain states of mind, to ensure survival. Shortly after that brief stint of depression came on, I was struck with another violent rage. Then I guess this little theory came into my head. I certainly don't hate myself anymore. I feel as far from depressed as I've been in a while, when I can think of plenty of reasons why I shouldn't. So maybe in that regard it's for the best. But anyway. Certain things have come to light. I found me a reason (several actually), so check me tomorrow. And the next day. I can sense me again though. It's hard to describe, but it's like i can see the place where "I" exist, but for the time being I just can't figure out how to get there.
But then I also sit and wait and hope for an excuse to stop existing, like zombies, or aliens, but we'll get back to that.
I also realized why I liked No frills the way I do. It's because there, in comparison to this job, it was like family. When I say family, I mean it was like a foster home. All us kids, varying ages, were all stuck there together. Some were asshole, some were great friends. But all around there was this sense of brotherly love. I realized this when I was crouched on the floor at work, and as someone walked by me I expected them to rub my head, something that happened only 2-3 times at No Frills. It was always by this guy, my supervisor, who was otherwise cold. But every once in a while he would do something like that, it's hard to come up with examples. It could be something as simple as making a face. I miss that, that's what my current occupation is lacking.
Today at work I learned the fine art of deception. It's not as cool as it sounds. First I leaned how to use the forklift, illegally of course. Then another of my bosses taught me rather elaborate ways of looking busy. I will use these ways, they were good.
Man I really like The Clash. The only band that matters indeed.
Yesterday. There's really no time for this. I'll tell you about it. Maybe Mike will as well.
Patrick Bateman. Leave me alone.