Ratrace rants |
Gridlock. Their last attempt to find some shredded identity without dignity. Their ego chariots jammed onto the cold morning tarmac crisp early air befouled with their pollutants their black coffee the stench of the office workers petty pride in pinstripe shirts grey suits compliment their thoughtless existence in concrete office prisons. Instincts beat into their feeble hearts they cannot lead, so they follow the shallow stream of materialism. The dancing lights of emotionless cities lying in wait to claim it's workers independence. Clouded skies ablaze with fluorescent studded smog. Cold steel eyes trailing to their soulless lives like keys without locks no purpose. dull constructions crumble with telephone wires and faxed type. The same image of everyone caught in a rut of work, sleep, work, die. seen through tainted glass reflections . Another faceless worker a deformed creation born of an urban mother in the rat race masses Sentenced to solitary in the success march. Has finished his time in a prison that doesn't need walls it's all they can get when they're down and out across the initiative front. they call success, conformity,normality. But he's not happy, with their hollow praise and patronising glances at the awkward watercooler board walk meetings. The torturous hours are yet to break his naive spirt. Expecting from his little towerblock world, of ashen aspiration. Wallowing in misery, swallowing more bitter black, if only he hadn't sold his soul for a one bedroom apartment in the city. |