for believers, doubters and hopeful pouters, rockers, ravers, lovers and sinners, poets, fighters and smokers everywhere fighting with their lighters.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
alien
to be the alien,
alone,
a man dead to his work is,
not extraterrestrial life,
not unauthorized immigrants,
but a man divorced from his passion,
survival,
competition,
to endeavor without significance,
to labour without meaning,
a stoic resolve,
repetition,
duty,
owned by the market,
the appearance of contribution,
how long can he stay busy?
the heart is neglected,
creativity is resented,
cold,
distant,
financial projections,
neurotic over-management,
transparent relationships,
chronic fatigue,
to escape one's own longings,
to be a product of duty,
self-unknown,
to be asleep,
to the freedom of choice,
to be the alien,
this is the essence of loneliness.
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1 comment:
Work has been kicking me in the soul last little while - I'm letting go - I've had enough of Adrenaline surges at work - that stuff will kill you.
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