1.19.09

the classics, pt. 1.

(re)Cycle

Its 4:34 am.

You sit there, staring.
Staring at this blinking line.
Fuck you blinking line.
Taunting me.

That little insignificant blinking line is attached to a word. That word, is hooked on a sentence. The sentence, is clinging to a paragraph and that paragraph is splashed on a page. The page is attached to a document, and that document is nice and warm inside a screen. Soon that document will be thrust out into the cold cruel world, and then soon after stuffed inside a nice, secure, hard cover binder. That binders goin inside a soft pouch and that pouch is slung on an arm. That arm is going to pilot a car to a class where that document is destined to once again be ripped from its security, soon to be scrutinized and judged for its content. After its involuntary beauty pageant that paper is getting a tattoo. That tattoo is going to be copied in to another nice, warm, computer. Then it will be sent out with a bunch of other tattoo's and become a math problem. That math problem will be calculated, revaluated, and printed again, thrust out onto a transcript. That transcript will then be stuffed inside an envelope with another document ,full of suck ups and kiss ass. That sucking, kissing envelope will then land you in another place, in another time. Time will pass, years will fly. Soon, youll be handed a shiny, gold leafed document that says you turned in other documents and did other math problems, cheating on the original ones. You take that shiny document and show it off, where it gets placed in a lock-tight super secure cherrywood frame, behind freshly cleaned glass. Soon enough, that shiny gold leaf piece of paper will get you a desk, inside your very own warm, secure, hard cover cubicle. At that desk, will be a computer. In that computer will sit a document, holding a page, supporting a paragraph, precursing a sentence, maintaining a word, with a little, blinking line at the end of it.

You sit there staring.
Staring at a line.
That line, points to a number.
It has another, shorter line attached, pointing to a different one.
Fuck you line.
Taunting me.

Its 4:34 pm.