i do more than merely fetch inks and type, and kill myself by the
solvent stink, i also create flags and banners from scratch… something
my supervisor doesn’t do, and the others i work with are far too busy to
be able to do my job for me, the printer’s devil at work perhaps… maybe
i am some lesser aspect, or greater aspect for that matter since we’re
being hypothetical, of that patron demon of scribes Titivillus while i
work the printers role Here… it makes wonder how much of this is the
living mystery play about it, that fascination we see glimmering in
others eyes as it does in our own when a gratifying vision comes into
view, and it seems only a matter of time before the vision becomes real
and takes on the life of its own… the villain fills my shoes sometimes,
it has only recently become my assessment of the situation both at home
and at work, but mainly when i have figured that work mode was the focus
for this frustrating energy to begin its journey… where i work i am one
of five now, and i am the only one to fit the role of the production
artist, whatever title that would be… my supervisor knows a little bit
more about the actual printing games that business-people play, passing
the bullshit around until something actually works to size, but his
managing of the printers could fill most of what i do… the other side to
this situation, one of a few sides i might add, is the seamstresses who
do the bulk of the manual labor throughout a day… since there are three
working now, much gets done in a day rather quickly, and only
occasionally do i have time at lunch or break to do any writing or
reading… i feel like now i can combat the rest of those inane feelings
and habits mocking my resolve and integrity towards my work, with the
idea of a printing demon gremlinizing my abilities, it seems far easier
to avoid the pitfalls i normally associated with trying and failing and
wasting materials… if i can afford to tarry this in my favor, then maybe
a raise doesn’t seem far off the scale, but we must have patience to
guide us further than we think we can go….distance never really matters
anywhere you are now… sometimes the greatest gift is the present of your
presence, as the sleeping rest through the drifting lapping waves of
struggle, and i wander dreamily shrugging as though the intent were ‘i
cared and this is what i get’… to call this place a hellbox where all
the wasted pieces fall, and then taken to be melted together to fill the
machine again, to make more phrases with which we speak and chatter
together… we still utilize this grotesque adaptation of a system to
further plunder and suck from a cruel world...