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All Saints Day before/after New job, new weirdness. I am a corporate whore, a pawn in the money-shuffle. The thing is, the game is vast and wide, and really, even if you say you are not playing it, inevitably you're still caught by their rules in some fashion. Credit scores from the credit bureaus are the new Mark of the Beast. I wish I could believe in Revelations anymore, but just have grown to love the language. Its as if we are a generation of no escape and no destiny. A fate forged by others, and repressive baby-boomer parents who went from free love and electric coolaide to just say no in thirty years. Fucked by their decisions that turned casual sex choices into a risky run with death. Where rain kills, and so does speed. Praying for the meteor and catyclisim is anti-climatic after growing up with the bomb. Lets live in tribes and fuck like the animals do. Lets get together and imagine it anyway. Maybe it will lead somewhere. You can wear a grass skirt and sway in the wind. I will be on the beach, looking at the topless swedish girls, arranging marraiges for my tribe, fornicators that we are. Just save me from the corporate pimpery, even as successful as I may be ordained to be. Dollar bills are no way to keep score, but it seems the only way most people imagine things these days, and end up being what they respect. As my soul gets slowly sucked away, I think of Robert Johnson, who purportedly sold his soul to the devil at a desolate gravel crossroads in the deep south, for Satan to teach him to play the blues. "What did your soul ever do for you?" He got immortality of sorts. I'm a cheap, hypocritical whore. Burn your parents, throw your babies from the walls of Troy and think of me on All Saint's Day.
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