The Office Files: Pain and No Gain

Fingers pound away at the freshly air dusted crevices of the clacking keyboard. My migraine begins to strain with incessant force, driving my sanity through an endless spiral. The phones ring, screaming like a banshee…calling for its next victim. These echoes send my brain pinballing inside my cranium, bucking like a raging bull at a rodeo. My wrists begin to ache.

The skin on my fingers peel away as flesh flies off, narrowing down to my bone as I clack away at the alphabetical panels. The only relief comes from my spinning to staple together the latest memorandums requested from my boss…only for it to be redacted and shredded within the coming hour. The pixelated screen puts my eyes in a trance, raping the sockets that quarters my orbital vision. Survival is uncertain…lunch is a light in an endless tunnel. You get so close, yet…you are never quite there.

Among the uncertainty is the anxiety of catching the ever contagious Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. *sigh* just saying the acronym sends my sympathetic nerves into a frenzy twist like a Twizzler. As the days go, so do the people around me. They fall…and they fall hard. Shrieks of pain fuck with my conscience. When will I become symptomatic and meet my fate? Ibuprofen in hand, I must avoid the pandemic that permeates through the cubicle forest of mediocrity. Pray for me friends…pray…for my health…………

The Office Files: Cubicle Asylum

Lightheaded from the incessant spinning of my rolling chair, I find myself trapped. Trapped…in a poorly lit chamber. Only source of light radiates from the far Exit sign perched above the wooden door. Just like my chances of survival, that light is also flickering…time is running out. The only signs of life echoes from the clicking of expensive leather suede shoes that pass by with no end to the incessant and otherwise aggravating clacking as it patters down the marble floor to its destination. My pleas for help are useless, as they bounce around the asylum walls of my condensed cubicle. Open door policies appear to have been completely eviscerated from the business etiquette as I raise my hand, yet no one comes to my aid. I am alone, until…

Hark! In the distance there is light. A blue hue of a computer screen seeps from the cell just a few clicks down. Friend…or foe?!?! I cannot tell. Nor will I venture out into the unknown and face certain peril. Peril…in the forms of additional labor for my already strained corneas. They will request database input, audit reviews…the list can go on and on. Armed with top of the line armament compliment of Staples and Office Depot, I must defend my fortress. I wait in utter silence…eyes affixed to the strange light and its inhabitant (or inhabitants) that remain sheltered from public eye.

For in this endless maze of cubicle confusion, I am fighting for survival…and sanity. Resources are low, the bagels are gone from the break room, and the coffee is burnt to a crisp. No more can the break room (which wreaks of week old egg salad) provide solace to my disheveled and slowly rotting white collar existence. The only option…is survival.

Pray for me friends.

Signing off……….

Identity

Laying on the canvas white and vast,

Are the charred remains of my life’s past.

A life lost wallowing in endless dire,

Still searching for sentiment and desire.

Idle and lost in self-reflection,

Solving this state of personal perplexion.

Aspiration hazy and blurry,

Leaving me in emotional worry.

After a journey of endless bruise,

I seemed to have paid my lengthy dues.

For destiny has shown its head,

The anticipated light has begun to shed.

Replenished with invigoration,

I begin to draw up my new creation.

An identity stronger than before,

One that I can admire and adore.

I work away sitting and grinning,

Re-structuring my life’s new beginning.

Weather the Storm

Lost in a trance,

Of what was supposed to be a simple glance.

To the violent night,

Sweat beading down my face in frozen fright.

Outside of my window pane,

Was the downpour of incessant rain.

Complimenting this sleeping plunder,

Came the booming sound of angry thunder.

And if that wasn’t enough to give me a jolt,

It was followed immediately by a flashing bolt.

Unable to sleep and left awoke,

I sat on the patio for a simple smoke.

Cigar in hand with a side of rum,

I sit and admire the midnight scrum.

For I cannot resist and cannot conform,

Time to sit back and weather the midnight storm.

Action Figure

Strapped down by copper wire,

I smile with bleak desire.

On a pedestal for someone to admire,

I stare out with a hidden dire.

For my shoulders big and broad,

Is only just a plastic façade.

Constantly admired, constantly awed,

Machismo is obsolete and flawed.

As I stare out from the glass,

I watch them enter in endless mass.

Though I am revered with superior class,

My only hope is that they will pass.

One-Way Street

Sitting idle on this one-way street,

I often ponder in self-defeat.

For in this town it is insane,

To go against the familiar grain.

A grain which does not condone,

Heading out and on your own.

Seeing the world from a different lens,

It is a thought they would like to cleanse.

For families cling and attempt to control,

Keeping their young in an uncultured hole.

Engine revved in this monotonous lane,

I flip the script and break this chain.

Breaking free and past the congestion,

Met with stares of obvious question.

They peg my future with scornful doubt,

As I drive away towards my adventurous route.

Rum

Frozen rocks clink against the glassed chalice,

The oak distilled solution drowns its empty space.

Down the hatch of his withered soul,

Poison seeps down the esophageal walls.

Smooth tasting,

Caramel lacing,

Its contents provide a comfortable basing.

For the mind begins to tease,

Dissipating under a falsified guise.

When morning hits,

He’s hit with a blitz,

Embarrassed and ridiculed,

He is brought back to his sensible wits.

Coffee Shop

The dark roasted aroma wafts throughout the parlor,

infiltrating the senses with a warm, lush tone.

Smoke emits from the espresso,

dancing in spirals towards the ceiling in a choreographed ascension.

Bossa Nova tunes echo in mellow timbre throughout the café walls,

enticing myself and its patrons to embrace the cozy blanket of serenity,

and sink into the escapism of a literary novel.

Dream

Space stars and nebula as purple abstract background

Floating aimlessly,

Almost in utero.

My body remains limp,

But my mind wanders in frivolous amble.

Attempting to decipher an alien realm,

Of unfamiliar visions.

The darkness begins to shift,

Stars begin to appear.

My once darkened environment,

Now a galactic canvas of tranquility.

Soothing me down an invisible avenue,

With no conclusion in sight.

Blanketed and protected,

Nestled from the realities of the outer world.

Suddenly, a vortex takes hold,

Siphoning me upward, away from my peaceful state.

My eyes now open from my slumber,

The sound of my alarm pulsates through my head.

Reality has hit,

And it is time to arise.

Partisan Puppeteer

Hidden under the regalia of newsroom garb lies the puppeteer. Sticks and strings in hand, he sways the marionette of fear-induced propaganda and satirical concoctions to the unsuspecting crowd. Panic and pandemonium ensue, erupting a duration of discontent and a breadth of public outcry. They are misled and misinformed by an enigma of sensational appeal. For under that whitened enamel of an impeccable TV smile lies a forked tongue of biased aggression. For every word that is uttered poisons the well of a devoted community in search of the truth. In a voice of wishful thinking, their only hope is to sever the strings of their constituent and wander into the depths of bipartisan waters…