The Golden Warrior

I'm a warrior. Like a mythical warrior with golden locks of hair. My armor is thick. Really thick. And I battle body copy, price points,and legal all day. Sometimes I walk into a conference room, and I can overhear people say, "there is the mythical warrior with golden locksof hair." I blush. It's hard to take sometimes. But when my pricepoints ring true $14.99, $19.99, for the first three months, I can't help but think how much worse the world would be if people had to pay the full price for those first three months.

Sometimes when I'm migrating databases, and talking to programmers I think maybe I'll use some of my magical powers of mind persuasion and make this programmer work faster, and then I hold back. I know that that would be against the mythical warrior with golden locks of hair code of honor. When I was sworn into the legion I knew that this was it for me. That I had found my calling. That I had finally found a group of warriors who all had golden locks of hair like me, and really thick armor. It's hard to find people with the same hair and same armor.

And then when we do the secret hand shake which entails shaking hands while reciting the best way to make a selection in Photoshop, which of course is by using the pen tool to draw your selection, going into the path window then choosing make selection, I knew that I could take on the world. I could take on all the price points. That the logos and body copy would be so easily dealt with knowing that I had the backing of the mythical warriors with golden locks of hair. But then one day, there was this price point. It glistened. $29.99. It was way too much for me to handle. I had been very lonely battling price points. I was overcome by a strange attraction to its height, and the way it wrapped just right in a certain block of copy. The Art Director had put a wonderful gradient in it, that made it just pop out against all the other price points.

I didn't know what to think of myself. I had been programmed for so long that I was never to take allegiance with a price point. That they were evil, and that my job would be more complicated as amythical warrior with golden locks of hair, if I took sides with any price points, logos, body copy, or legal. But I could not contain myself. And then it happened, my golden hair started to fall out. It all fell out, all of the gold and all of the locks.

And then one day I got the invitation to the annual mythical warrior with golden locks of hair pep rally. That morning came, and it was hard to get out of bed. What would they think of me now, without my golden hair? What would they think of my bedding down with $29.99. We had started living together, and I had a dresser drawer over at$29.99's apartment next to the legal copy. I could put my really thick armor in the drawer when we engaged in relations. Sometimes I knocked her dollar sign right off. It was nice.

I felt like I had finally found what I had been looking for all this time battling logos, price points, body copy, and legal copy. I didn't care anymore. I didn't have golden locks of hair, but I went to the meeting anyway. Hand in hand with my price point, with that wonderful gradient. The dollar sign of $29.99 was much bigger now.At that point $29.99 was in her third trimester, and we were expecting a little $14.99 at any moment. It was a strange pep rally this year. They didn't even acknowledge me. I didn't even wear my really really thick armor and all my golden locks of hair had all fallen out. They made us sit in the back of the auditorium. It was a scene.

And then at the last moment my dear $29.99 screamed in agony as she was grabbed from behind. Another warrior with golden locks of hair had her by her first nine, as another warrior with golden locks of hair grabbed me from behind and pinned me down. I was upset that $29.99 was being so mistreated. How could they mistreat a price point when all she wanted to do was have our little dollar sign and give consumers a deal on their first three months?

Then it occurred to me, warriors with golden locks of hair are programmed from birth. Their really really thick armor keeps them strong and unsusceptible to the gradients and dollar signs of any price points. All I needed to do was to work harder, grow my golden locks longer, and wear thicker armor and I would be fine. The warriors with golden locks of hair all attacked after that. It was awful. Like a pack of rabid programmers sitting around doing nothing, not responding to your emails, leaving you hanging on projects that need to get out the door. It was too much for me to handle. My precious dollar sign and price point were now being eaten by the pack of golden warriors with golden locks of hair. My family's future were all down the tubes. I trembled in fear.

Then all of a sudden, I realized. She is just a price point. That once you are golden you are golden forever. That no price point or dollar sign can ever come between me and the magic of being a mythical warrior with golden locks of hair. I mean seriously who would trade being a mythical warrior with golden locks of hair just to be with some price point? I screamed out, "Anything but me. Don't sacrifice me. My hair will grow back. I'm one of you. Please. Please. Kill $29.99. Not me. Eat the dollar sign."

After that day it took several months for me to get my head straight. My doctor says I'll be Okay in a few years. I'm on meds now, and everything is much happier and brighter. I don't dare think of relations with price points, but I still can't get the image of my precious price point being eaten, and my dear dear dollar sign. But sometimes if I go to my happy place where I'm surrounded by golden locks of hair, and really really thick armor then I feel much better. Do you have golden locks of hair and really really thick armor too?

Mantra

Day over. Another. Again. Again. Do it again. Lifes circular rhythm. The alarm clock goes off. NPR is on the radio, muffled through clogged ears. Oh, I don't want to get up. I don't want to go to school. I don't want to go to work. I don't want to do this all over again. Again.

Hit the snooze button. One. Two. Three. Four. One hour passes. I knew. Knew it was going to be mundane. Again. Again. Again. Searching again. Searching for truth. Truth be heard. Truth be known. Tomorrow is another attempt of making the right choices. Of being what you know you can be. Of not letting yourself down. Of treating everyone like equals. Of treating everyone like friends. Through the connections we make on a daily basis, we can make this worth while, for a while. I think. I know... Brush your teeth. Get dressed. Start your car. Drive to work. An Emergency light is lit on the interstate. Traffic is slow, five miles to the JTB exit. NPR is droning on the radio. Another day. Another glorious day.

Killing Games

Radio waves reflecting off of rectangular uniformity. Soldiers trying to find solace in their requiem. There is no room for individuals here. Walk around the post. Find time to not think. Try and block it out by sitting on sweat, spit couches, and watch Hollywood take it away by mimicking the life you try to escape.

Soldiering skills are built by joystick pistol clicking. Play killing games to forget about the chance of you one day being involved in killing games. But we want good jobs. We want to feed our families, and we see the big green machine one day feeding and dressing our queens. Cause your lady wants diamonds, Gucci, and Ralph Lauren, while gorging her face, and taking phen, phen. Soldiers, mental health isn't
found in a bottle.

Flowers and Candy.

Invisible. Intangible. Can't put my finger on it. I found something I can believe in. I found something I can't live without . I found my unit. I found my I-Pod family cohesion. Adhesion. Glue. In you.

We live our whole lives to find meaning. Something. Someone. Conference Call in ten minutes. The admin. site is ready for the first tour. We have been waiting for this for six months. I want to add, delete, and link with one breath. One step. While Cheney has shot someone while hunting. Valentine's day lead pellets flying through the air finding their target in human fleshy fat deposits built on drive-thru French fry moniker. Love. Bliss. All with this kiss.

The Ideal Deal.

Spit shined and polished ideals. You gave us apple pie. You painted the whitewash fence. You prepared Thanksgiving dinner, and wrapped it up under the Christmas tree. Under the ideal deal we made for this utopian society. You ignored the hunger, and racism surrounding you in order to present us with trophies. Trophies showcased in glass boxes for everyone to see. And for this gift I am proud to strive to be what you wanted us to be. Thank you Mr. Norman Rockwell. I will envision your perfect world for my own children, and pray that it is a possibility. Good people. Working Hard.

Hindsight is 20/20

Indigo Flamingo sprinkler junky. Funky salty brackish water flowing North Nile St. John's Wart city. Urban sprawl shopping district mystic feel the sales, Jedi. Feel the $9.99's, and two for ones. The NOW only for a limited times. Constant absent minded homegrown Americana. Where we not only intimidate, but outweigh. If we can't beat you, we'll out eat you. Stuffing our muffins with genetic antiseptic crafted in laboratory glory, by scientific graffiti. Stuck on by super glue stick mystic transgressions of an unholy time. U.N. glory mind. Where bully's lie in shame.

No Faults. No Alarms.

A pound and a half of tri-tip nip, and dip, in my belly. Fry day on Saturday. Hands smokey. Taking out the trash. Taking out the always present disposition of negativity overflowing here. I'm dreaming of new beginnings. I'm dreaming of packing up and checking out. I'm dreaming of foreign lands, and lengthy train rides to green pastures. Greed pastures of golden herb. Growing in tranquil halogen packed herbicide ridden science project. Yielding pounds of freedom. Yielding pounds of I do what I want, when I want, always. I'm dreaming of France. I'm dreaming of calling political asylum. I'm dreaming of us taking a trip, and not coming back. Border countries. Flying, driving, train, thumbing it. But leaving. The grass is always greener. Things always get better. Then in retrospect. Nostalgia for lessons learned. I have a scar for learning that. And It is very noticeable. The grass was dead when I got there. It had turned to earth. The earth had turned to sand, and nothing would grow. Nothing but scar tissue as far as the eye could see. I am not receiving my transmit. It's getting all looped. We have to put up a simulation, to see if the distant end is getting us. Looking for all green. No faults. No alarms.

Impress me Harley Davidson

Can't get right was late again, late in life, and luck, and found himself homeless again, and hungry. As the cell phone rings from Whitey. Rings from quotidian complaints of driving constant improvement. Constant consumption of programmed reruns, of I want a Fat boy, all draped in leather studs. Impress me Harley Davidson. Impress me with why I should buy you. Why I should find freedom in your persona, all dolled up, and chocolate coated. Of why I should want to find escape from success, as I drive by the failures, and know that they wantme, and know they are jealous, because I have found IT, in your chrome coated American Dream.

Cornbread

Click here. Submit. Upload a new file. Make it work. Make all the information fit in one box, but think out of the box while doing it. Rub your head, and pat your belly. Now do it counterclockwise. Mix it up. Talk on the phone, write an email, schedule a conference call, make sure you have gas in your car, go to the doctor, I still have to go running. Make a list. You didn't forget the milk did you? I did. I forgot the milk on the top of the car. And it spilt on the road, and I cried. Cried like a baby. I could not hold back.

Apathy is Running for President

Elitist beist here. There are content people somewhere. Somewhere under the rainbow lays a pot of gold merriment. In Suburban Utopia strip mall supermarket sidewalk heaven. I saw it on the Tele. They were smiling and looked well fed when we found enemy number one shivering and gaunt hiding in his spider hole. America turned the channel quickly too, because another reality show premiers tonight where TV emulates a reality of overpaid prize winning glamour contestants who live together in seemingly careless workless realities forged by the blood sweat and torn scarred body's of another countries indigents. Implying hope, tranquility, and a peaceful content country. Apathy is running for president. He is promising nothing. Nothing but the truth.

Snap to Guides.

Surgeon. Split and slice and dice the file to fit the space. Guides
and rulers and optimize and fit this space. Fit the clients review. Fit in. Please everyone. Please yourself. Wonder where smooth smiles of times spent sipping tea on rocking chair porches free of cell phone escapes went? Smooth breeze blowing through wide open fields of knowing who your family is. Of having an intimate relationship with them. Seeing them evolve in mind and body. Look within the dream of better days. Of better days having long talks surrounded by the people you love. They are all around you. And they want the best for you. Not attacking. Full of care. Old wounds healed. Always and forever.