.home sweet home.
Fucking security. Maybe they’ll screw me over on my housing deal. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing.
“Your home wired for a better tomorrow.”
“Productivity in leisure and perfect harmony.”
Sure. Enough radiation here to keep my boys from swimming upstream.
God, things used to be so simple. I knew what I wanted, and I took the steps to get it.
Now I don’t know much of anything, except that I’m being watched 24-7. Like the TV show. Without the chickens... or the stripper.
Not that I care. We’re all voyeurs.
Let them watch.
Not much to see here, anyway.
Can’t remember the last time I cleaned this place.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe a disorder.
I knew a guy with CFS once. Always tired. Forgetful. Depressed. The biggest problem was his lack of appetite. Doctors gave him an anti-depressant. Three weeks later he jumped from a window in accounting... and was impaled on the umbrella of a hot-dog cart.
I can see the irony.
I’m starting to see a lot of things.
Patterns within patterns.
Plans within plans.
More bullshit.
. layout.
Home. A room with a door that is slammed shut.
Move from one room to the next...
and the next...
and the next.
Leaving the contents of each behind.
They all start to look the same... until there are no doors left to open.
No way of retracing steps...
or changing paths...
or finding what you left behind.
“Your home wired for a better tomorrow.”
“Productivity in leisure and perfect harmony.”
Sure. Enough radiation here to keep my boys from swimming upstream.
God, things used to be so simple. I knew what I wanted, and I took the steps to get it.
Now I don’t know much of anything, except that I’m being watched 24-7. Like the TV show. Without the chickens... or the stripper.
Not that I care. We’re all voyeurs.
Let them watch.
Not much to see here, anyway.
Can’t remember the last time I cleaned this place.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe a disorder.
I knew a guy with CFS once. Always tired. Forgetful. Depressed. The biggest problem was his lack of appetite. Doctors gave him an anti-depressant. Three weeks later he jumped from a window in accounting... and was impaled on the umbrella of a hot-dog cart.
I can see the irony.
I’m starting to see a lot of things.
Patterns within patterns.
Plans within plans.
More bullshit.
. layout.
Home. A room with a door that is slammed shut.
Move from one room to the next...
and the next...
and the next.
Leaving the contents of each behind.
They all start to look the same... until there are no doors left to open.
No way of retracing steps...
or changing paths...
or finding what you left behind.