I am so paranoid
I'm so paranoid that I am afraid of losing things that I don't even care about. I'm scared of being fired from a job I merely put up with. I'm freaked out about being killed thus ending a life I'm impartial to. Maybe it's not that I'm scared but rather just a sign that I am the ultimate control freak.
I don't know if I am more afraid of failure or success. The biggest fear I have is the truth. For most the truth will set them free, but for me it is merely a lock and key to a prison. Reality is the ultimate punishment for a dreamer. Fear is merely another weapon in the fools arsenal, for fear is another thing that we can control. It's an internal implication that our mind manifests to deal with the outside world.
Fear precludes actual living but solidifies the walls of the internal world created. I'm paranoid to do anything for fear of the consequences thus I do nothing. I fear death because I am not living. I fear contentment because I am not content. I fear love because I am not in love.
My only weapon against fear is my disillusion. I am prolific at creating something out of nothing, and nothing out of something. But now my walls are crumbling. Paradoxically the only thing that can keep me from the dream state is being tired. My brain can't move at lightening speeds. My brain runs on water time. My mind is Einstein's relativity in action.
Work compounds the deceleration of my brain. The sound of boredom radiates through the hollow soul of the office. When the elevator dings you check the life running through your veins at lobby level. Inevitably when you go to pick it up at the end of the day the valet has taken it for a test drive leaving it a little worse for wear when you put it back on. Work creates a slow vacuum for the soul. It's a vacuum that never seems to be filled. I suppose a blackhole seems more appropriate, it sucks you in never to let you out.
The clicking of the keyboard has become my tell tale heart. Every stroke taunts me. Click. Click. Click.
The only thing that keeps me amused is the alternate reality that I've develop, where my co-workers live. The setting is the Real World house. I suppose a college dorm would be more like it with 125 employees. 125 strangers picked to work to together. This is where people stop being polite and start getting real.
Each character has their place in the story. Everyone contributes their own idiosyncrasies to the game. They will become known and referred to by such attributes. This will not be a story of reality but might possibly be a portrait of insanity.
I don't know if I am more afraid of failure or success. The biggest fear I have is the truth. For most the truth will set them free, but for me it is merely a lock and key to a prison. Reality is the ultimate punishment for a dreamer. Fear is merely another weapon in the fools arsenal, for fear is another thing that we can control. It's an internal implication that our mind manifests to deal with the outside world.
Fear precludes actual living but solidifies the walls of the internal world created. I'm paranoid to do anything for fear of the consequences thus I do nothing. I fear death because I am not living. I fear contentment because I am not content. I fear love because I am not in love.
My only weapon against fear is my disillusion. I am prolific at creating something out of nothing, and nothing out of something. But now my walls are crumbling. Paradoxically the only thing that can keep me from the dream state is being tired. My brain can't move at lightening speeds. My brain runs on water time. My mind is Einstein's relativity in action.
Work compounds the deceleration of my brain. The sound of boredom radiates through the hollow soul of the office. When the elevator dings you check the life running through your veins at lobby level. Inevitably when you go to pick it up at the end of the day the valet has taken it for a test drive leaving it a little worse for wear when you put it back on. Work creates a slow vacuum for the soul. It's a vacuum that never seems to be filled. I suppose a blackhole seems more appropriate, it sucks you in never to let you out.
The clicking of the keyboard has become my tell tale heart. Every stroke taunts me. Click. Click. Click.
The only thing that keeps me amused is the alternate reality that I've develop, where my co-workers live. The setting is the Real World house. I suppose a college dorm would be more like it with 125 employees. 125 strangers picked to work to together. This is where people stop being polite and start getting real.
Each character has their place in the story. Everyone contributes their own idiosyncrasies to the game. They will become known and referred to by such attributes. This will not be a story of reality but might possibly be a portrait of insanity.
posted by Whit at 7:21 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home