There's a piece of (or in) the title which works in my favor. I'm all about keeping strangely quiet when those who labor to, simply, understand, go to their homes in the evening and consider whether our putative equality is a piebold fiction. Every one of them sees our arrangement as a stark, utilitarian nightmare. I remain the sanguine one, always polishing off a roster of comely surface agents so the real work can find its obligateur and those who ply me with rum and drills won't look bad in light of weekend recasts. It's telling that they offer me a seat in the nactual backing plant while participating in a subculture of atomized grief at a stage where gruffer heads prevail beyond any need for supplemental amprigens.
All of us have rounded off one number after another. The way we look inside each of their compartments leaves a charge on the floor under which we've refused all offers of trouble from a stacked round of double-dealing bantry surgeons.
Is it true that not one of them will arrive any time soon? Now that their wedding has been postponed, they've decided to move my miniature house to the border and lie in wait on a veining slide. When I get up and running in the spring, one of the most striking debutantes in our structure will be asked to plop down and read some figures into a pancreatic device. She needs to be shown the whole capital flight scenario to help her let her guard be pummeled safely off-shore.
While I pace alongside one of our most trusted ad-mins, I'm given to understand that even leaking my initials to randomly complected colleagues could embroil the least of us in a never ending game of deny and delay, approve and approach. I take her 'lucky brooch' from under my lid, eye her into a comatose coöperation and send a trio of debauched marketing honchos into a reeling cylinder of icy brindle-toast. For this I am rewarded with a seat for one in a unitary kneading suite. There goes my sincerest Abplanalp! Gets 'em every time! Who is the official 'do-gooder'? Pesmo!
___________________________
I love the organizational chaos of this place! Or is it the chaosed organizationality? It is wonderful work for my brain to try to spelunk my way along in this wonderful turn-of-phrase room. Building?
ReplyDeleteCongratulations Sir! You are the second person in the one and one half year history of this blog to be blessed with sufficient coonies to actually make a comment!
DeleteI don't know but this may be only your first, second or perhaps third visit here. If that's even remotely accurate, there's a ton of stuff here, which, in small doses, can serve as an excellent 'mental palate cleanser' after whatever wallowing in so-called 'reality'-based bullshit and attendant opinion mongering one may indulge in online.
In short, please don't let this be your last visit--or comment!