taking a break at work. 11:00 AM - 11:15 AM.

could be worse.
source: christopher david ryan

I am standing outside of a beige office building. The building houses the company I work for, the cubicle I sit in, the colleagues I work with to produce writing I am not too proud of… with every line of text I edit I surrender some soul. Not because I am dramatic, or a drama queen, and yes, the thought has crossed my mind. But because I contribute to the defilement of the every day. Ad text. Ad title. Small bursts of bore mined by search engines, the hated and the loved king Google.

Everything is popping and sudden and quick, nothing takes it's time, slowly grows warmer, like a whitman poem.

Occasionally I let my mind wander to thoughts of next year, my next life. The term “entry level” withering in my memory.

But for now I keep editing and changing and conversing with the middle man. So many middle men that I don’t recognize people at the ends. Are they even there?