overheard

“i use these words pretty loosely...
there's so much more to life than words” ~OTR, latter days

“tell mr. man with impossible plans to just leave me alone
in the place where i make no mistakes
in the place where i have what it takes” ~elliott smith, waltz #2

"there are two kinds of people:
sinners who think they are saints
and saints who know they are sinners" ~pascal, pensees

a long overdue confession

dear readers, i must make a confession. i am a calculating, undercover agent of the customer (secret) service. to my co-workers i am simply a comrade in arms, a simple customer service representative who longs to fulfill lifeway's mission of salvation by softcover. however, to my controller, i am a confidant and source of information, a Christ-centered, corporate killer who can scarcely conceal his sinister ambition.

although evidence of my true identity abounds, the lemmings that languish in the cubicles next to me remain quite clueless. thus, they do not know when they are chastised by the controller for excessive chattiness, that i was her primary source of information. further, they are unaware that the reason i am unexpectedly released from monotonous projects is so that i can engage in phone center surveillance and counter-surveillance. finally, when apparently composing salvific spam, my "comrades" do not know that i am encoding messages (often utilizing keywords like pearl, penetrate and purpose) that will reveal their blatant inefficiencies and illegal access of company facilities to my controller.

i am a cube dweller with connections. i am the customer (secret) service. do not fuck with me.

you can't force comedy

somewhere past lost creek, but a bit short of nutter fort, a couple of friends traversed I-79. their caffeine fueled, kerouac infused journey felt less like a relocation than an epic, for somehow, in the midst of this dissonance, dreams that had died bled onto sheets of new desire. as a result, neither new birth nor death seemed remote.

as they passed nutter fort two roads diverged, two pills were offered, two doors stood open. i could clarify the options and speak of conclusions foregone and forgotten, but wonder whether it would matter. the roads diverged and the stories unraveled, producing some episodes that were manic and others that were morose. so the story went and so it goes.

my only hope, indeed my half-hearted prayer, is that the stories unravel to the beat of burroughs and the storyteller is indeed sympathetic.