Homage to my old office. 03/03/11

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This is a picture taken from my last place of employment. The chair in the foreground was where I used to sit in contemplation of all this crap they had, and that I, elected high lackey, was supposed to put this chaos into some kind of order. I used to sit and wonder about the purposes and meanings of life instead. Doesn't the universe, doesn't Nature, doesn't God self-organize? I still remember being so lonely, so cold down there, while I had to be careful to listen for someone coming down the stairs, (my boss almost caught me once), reading my book, "Buddhism without Beliefs", that I had hidden above the ventilation ducts above this chair. I would make a copious amount of notes in my little notepad that I always carry with me, for all the regurgitations of my mind that I hope to put into some kind of narrative in the future when I know what to do with these arcane writings. Over my head were the offices of the people I should have cared about, their opinions, their thoughts, their feelings. I didn't because I can't, I can't make myself care about something if I don't truly feel it. Perhaps that is why I may never be successful in life. Life is smelling other people's farts and saying, with as much sincerity as possible, "that smells delicious". Much of the stuff in the basement is leftover parts from construction sites that the company used to allow the foremen to order the whole warehouse of the supplier, and several months later, when the job was completed, most of it had to be recollected and brought back to "the shop", although this time without the proper boxes, mixed with other stuff, dirty, filthy, broken, etc. Then the foremen would get other jobs, want the same stuff but it was all mixed together, and the worthless lackey couldn't make sense of this shit that would eventually get thrown out anyway. I know I used to help the process a lot by throwing whole boxes of rusty, dented, mixed together crap, as well as perfectly good shit in the dumpster when no one was looking. "You already have too much shit", I would tell myself. These people piss more money away on their lunches in a week than the cost of this shit going into the dumpster. They were good to me, or rather I could have been rewarded a lot better than I had been at other jobs. But I don't fucking care. I work for myself getting you to think I do work for you. My problem in life is that I do not see myself as some low level lackey, only capable of doing manual labor for the whims of discombobulated people. Yet that is all I am capable of until I get a degree, write my novel, or blow my fucking brains out after going on a shooting spree. I am a desperate man and I will drag you all down with me. Recently, back in October or November, the kings of this place saw fit to burn their own place down like Nero saw fit to do in Rome. "Ashes in a trashcan", the secretary told me when I reinitiated contact with her via the Facebook. Smokers. Chain smokers. Puff Puff Puff Puff Puff. Right in your face. I wonder what it is like to burn down your family's business as well as your own apartment? I fucking laugh. I am an asshole. I am giving up on trying to play by society's rules. I just have to sophisticate the techniques to my game is all. I'll be looking for work again soon. Wish me luck. I need it.