Intraconnectivium

“a gradual crescendo of nonsense”

-Jean Bricmont

Was flipping through a report today, trying to pick out the key numbers, flipped the page, and somehow

I think you make me happy and sad, both at the same time.

And therein lies the trouble.

It's dark and lonely work, being a semi-professional comic character and Blogger extraordinairé. Sometimes one yearns for the opportunity to apply oneself to more glamorous, powerful or meaningful pursuits. Maybe a profession, of some kind. Professional Masked Man?

But what does it all matter? Work is work. As it is, work in the cubicle wasteland, completely deficient of willpower and lacking any and all seniors with managerial wherewithal or motivation, leaves one feeling like a wasted vessel.
Sit staring at the symmetry of cubicle geometrics. Each cube unique, each cube the same. Collecting paycheck after paycheck with inky hours of such opacity and length that all are suitably stupored into complacent homogeny.

In Infinity
There’s everything. That’s why I’m

Afraid, don’t you see?

Sometimes, I wish I could fast forward my life to see if you're worth waiting for

Relatedly, today at work I had this quick ray of light on my brain and I had this multireferential ultrafastidious insight into the nature of the void. The computer blipped at me bored and disinterest. A trans-dimensional machinic catalyst of sorts, I suppose. I stared off where colors started mixing and the taupe office floor started spinning. The transversalities of scale, each of us the cubicle bound pathic non-discursive characters expanding exanimously like heaving chest breaths, two lungs rising to life in one lurching motion.

Heartrending, ruinous, illumined.

We’re all the same melt

And nothing has ever seemed
much more depressing

One time when I was still living down by the river bottom, working double shifts to pay off my credit debt from school, I was walking home from the Warehouse and this homeless guy started walking alongside. We got to talking and eventually he started asking me this shit like "If you are you and I am me, what are we?".

This was before I moved to California and started running into homeless all the time. Truth be told we were in the middle of fucking nowhere. Some windswept hedgerow trail through the country. There was nobody around and I was feeling more cut off than ever before in my life what with the being a drop out and being in credit debt and working 2 jobs and living in a van (down by the river, I know! I know!). It was a cold night and all deserted. We walked by the tall empty dealership where all those fucking birds live on the roof of that building and squeal and shriek like demonic pigs. I think I told him it sounded like hell froze over. He laughed. I think he thought I was stupid.

Two guys out there walking together as one for no reason.
The computer and I crashing day after day in this tiresome navigation of paperwork irrelevancies.
This girl who doesn’t call, and doesn’t call then leaving a message late last night sounding smooth as hot silk.

None of it means anything. We’re all the same.

“the truth is commodious, abundant: we
must make a room so sufficient it will
include till nothing will be left
over for walls”
-A.R. Ammons