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Rant #25
(published February 1, 2001)
Musings After Overtime at the Porn Factory
by Luke Bruhns

Here's Luke's thing: Better living through chemistry . . . seritonin replacement . . . caffinated refreshments . . . nicotine sticks and liquid pain killers on tap . . . networked, coaxial opinions streamed from satellite, scrambled, descrambled, neatly reassembled on a cathode ray tube with surround sound . . . flashing lights . . . talking boxes.

Organized, numbered, assigned cubes with name tags.. boxes.. high rise boxes with numbers and wires.. motorized boxes to move from one to the other. Office Space.. conserve space... no room for humanity....Personality Cross marketed.. demographic, presliced individually wrapped individuality.. sold in packages marked with religious symbols... PRAISE NIKE, and our Lord Ford. Define a generation at The GAP. Coca-Cola can be our parthenon, carving their name in the heavens with rocket fueled righteousness. The food we eat, the fuel of our existence, has been vacuum sealed preserved and/or otherwise processed within looming beasts with smoke stacks where our parents go to work.

Every where there are children there are children crying; won't anyone think of the children?!?

Born into a beautiful world and forced to devour it. So sad. Amen.

"NO" is the first word we all learn:

"NO you can't touch that"

"NO; grow up"

"NO you can't leave the house dressed like that"

we are raised by sitcoms...

"NO! Go to your room"

electronic flashing toys distract us from our natural instincts.

"NO!!! Do Not play with yourself"

push the right buttons and your black shining box lives the adventure you wish you where living.

As children we see tremendous machines which say in a stern voice: "You can't play in the street," "You don't belong here; this is no place for children."

but streets are every where.

We are told to stand in line like every one else; MONSTERS!, men with ties, are allowed to tell us what to do. Raise your hand and ask permission to perform the most basic of bodily functions.

learning through repetition

push button . . .

turn knob . . .

push button . . .

turn knob . . .

don't ask why;

the men with the ties will tell you how.

We are told at a tender age not to trust strangers and that everyone is a stranger except the man in the tie, the badge: bold statements of superiority.

We are told that our water— the most abundant resource available to us— is poisoned with our own fecal matter.

This is why children cry... children are scared. So am I . . . so are you. As adults we define fear— defining being just one of many ways of nullifying— with comforting phrases: "Momma said there'd be days like this"; like as though that's just the way it's gotta be . . .

But momma didn't say every day would be like this . . .

Did she?

We have motivational speakers and posters to absorb our tears, words like:



Personal Growth

Phrases like:

Let's drive sales

Life has it's rewards

Work will make you free

We no longer cry. Did we forget? Do you still want to?

Are you afraid to?

I am.

Let's all put our heads down on our desks for 5 minutes, children

and let it all lose

and cry ourselves a river

that'll short out the Pepsi machine

and turn my computer into a crackling, $789 paperweight;

and then we'll fold our 401ks into paper boats

and float the fuck out of here.

(put your legs here, cross them, an arm behind your head, look at the camera, spread, bend, close your eyes now, curl your lip, half of a fist, curl your toes, now turn this way, roll over slightly, the slope of the hip, you see it, there. Legs. Arms. Torso. Perfect. Every part in its place.)

and float the fuck out of here.

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