Sanity - Chapter 2

Out of the dark and into the sun

The florescent lights that light up this hell hole blink on and off of their
own violation.

If you stare down the rows of the cubicles in this office you could get
the feeling that you are in that scene in the Matrix where it shows the
endless rows of computers or guns.

That background noise of voices you hear is the white noise lit up to
keep everyone calm. To keep people from going insane by listening to
the sounds of a hundred human beings talking at once, and taking out
their entire floor with an ak-47, a bomb, a knife, or a fire.

This white noise, the way it works is that it sounds like a thousand
whispers talking at once. A thousand voices all talking at the same
time, in every tone that a human can hear.

This is how we quiet down an office.

Everything is in grays, light yellows, whites.

This is done to keep everyone emotionally calm. This is done to keep
the sheep from killing themselves every time they walk into this
prison.

These colors are there to inspire alert feelings, quiet, peace,
organization. This is done to keep the sheep in order.

I don't know why I ever felt surprised to have my dead great
grandmother's picture talking to me. I don't know why I was surprised
by any of it.

I hadn't seen a living person there in years.

During the work day all I could think about was the way her jeans
angled up toward her ass cheeks.

Someone asked me what the projected sales numbers were for the
year and I thought about the perfect curve of her hips and wondered
how it could be expressed mathematically.

I was on ten conference calls during this time. I sat through ten
different meetings with assholes about nothing, which accomplished
nothing. I sat there choking down my hatred with pieces of my nails
that I chewed off till my last meeting of the day with Bob.

While Bob from accounting was asking me about how many computers
I thought would need to replace for next years budget all I thought
about her ass. That and the way her voice was sincere when asking
me if I was alright. What kind of question is that anyway?

Did you ever notice people only ask that when something is terribly
wrong? If you are walking and trip over a trash can, that is the first
question out of someone's mouth.

Are you alright? Are you in pain? Are you suffering?

Your parents die in a plane accident. Your house is burned to the
ground. Your soul is sucked dry by the horrible machine that is society.

Are you alright?

No I am not fucking alright. My soul is bleeding on the floor. Help me?
Is that what you want?

I didn't think so.

Bob asked me again, "How many PC's do you think may need to be
replaced this year?"

I am asking Bob if I look like Nostradamus.

"Do I look like a fifth-tenth century alchemist?" I asked.

Bob blinked and said, "No."

"Well just let me just check my crystal ball right quick, I will be back
with you in ten minutes." I said.

Bob thinks I am being witty. But I am not.

Bob smiled that, aren't you amusing smile. The smile that says, please
just tell me something, I don't care if it's a lie I just need something.
Bob says this is an urgent 'issue' that we need to resolve before the
board meeting.

Bob says "This is something we have to 'resolve' now."

Bob doesn't know that I tuned him out with the first usage of the
politically correct double speak that permeates our society now.

Bob doesn't know that I would like to take this silver plated company
letter opener and find out if it opens other things.

I am not violent natured. I do not have a violence problem. It's not a
violence 'issue'.

I am just aggressively challenged.

Bob isn't a retarded, short, slovenly tub of fat.

Bob is vertically challenged. Bob is weight impaired. Bob is mentally
needy.

Bob doesn't know that he is very close to having a silver plated
company letter opener implanted into the side of his neck over and
over until my arms hurt.

Bob would then be what you could call, living impaired.

I tell Bob, 87 is a good number." Bob just stares at me.

Perhaps Bob is also deaf.

Perhaps he is hearing impaired.

I tell Bob I have a meeting to get to and another that I am missing
because I am meeting with him now.

Bob says he has to get this BPC report done.

Budget Planning Committee Report. Another acronym made by an
asshole.

Bob said, "My boss didn't say he would fire me if I didn't finish the
report, but he did say finishing it on time is a previously existing
condition of employment."

"87" I said. Standing up and gather my things.

While I was getting on the elevator Bob stood there looking at me and
mouthing that I only have 12 people in my group.

This I say is not my problem.

I make it home after work and Jon is sitting in my living room sitting in
a lotus position. My neighbor the Spirtual Zen master.

Making it home from work may not seem like a great wonder.

Making it home from work may not seem like a thing worth to telling
about.

Making it home from work may not seem like it is something that you
would write home about, but it is.

I mean think about it. In this day and age I had every possibility of
being carjacked, mugged, robbed, raped, murdered, shot at, bombed
by terrorists, beat down by cops stopping a riot, meeting the devil who
would steal your soul, destroyed by a stray asteroid, killed by a deadly
new virus or have a car wreck.

Oh wait, we did have a car wreck already.

Then I just thought about me touching her, it made my skin burn
thinking about it. Fingertips in flames.

Now all I can do is wash my mouth out and gag involuntarily at the
thought.

This is what you could call a change of perspective.

This is what you could call reality setting in if I knew what reality was
anymore.

It's kind of hard to know what is real when you are crazy.

These days in the space where my guru neighbor sat in my living there
is a spirit who hovers around saying he is a demon from the city of
Babylon who saw the towers fall. I think he is full of shit personally.

Probably some dead teenage kid who thinks that is funny.

Jon said, "Party this weekend for the wife at our home" As he said this
he didn't open his eyes or move.
"I got in a wreck today. Didn't even dint my car, but totally shattered
hers."

"Oh?" Jon replied while taking in deep breaths to making the ever
present Omm sound that the eastern idiot mystics mutter.

Jon nodded and continued to sat in his lotus position. He says my
house is perfectly aligned for Feng Shui. He says that the energy lines
project good harmony and power throughout the house.

If you want a good mate you need to have a door facing to the
southwest.

If you want to have a good night's sleep don't position your bed facing
the door. It drains your energy.

If you want to sleep well, don't sleep on the floor and here I was just
aching to sleep on my floor. Just what I need is a good night's sleep on
the hard floor with the bugs. Genius. Feng Shui has many good hints
just like that.

Bullshit.

Don't sleep in the middle of a crime laden area with your headboard
next to a window. This could lead to your energy being sapped out
from a knife stuck in your throat in the night.

Jon changes religions like most of us change clothes. Last month he
was a Mormon. The month before it was Jainism, before that a Voodoo
priest, a Catholic, a Baptist, a Jehovah's witness, a Shinto worshipper.
When you ask him about it, he says he wants to make sure he believes
in the right thing. If he gets to heaven and finds that god really does
think that the All Souls Unitarians are the chosen people that he has
an edge in.

He likes to keep all his bases covered. He is hedging the bet.

Still he was the closest thing I had to a friend.

"How was work?" Jon asked while taking deep breaths in.

"Hell."