Slow Death Among The Toner CartridgesA Poem by Nico ReznickQuit your job.
It's a mundane sort of hell.
There's a mug waiting for you in the canteen cupboard. There are people who know whether you take sugar in your tea, how much milk you have in your coffee. Your computer has desktop wallpaper you picked for yourself. There are appraisals, and sometimes biscuits. You get a card on your birthdays, scribbled with a score of sincere, benevolent, utterly generic messages. It would be all right, if it wasn't so awful, if it wasn't so meaningless, if it wasn't so always the same for the rest of your life. But it pays the bills, almost. Your boss has told you you've got management potential. It's a steady income. In a few years, you'll qualify for the pension scheme. We don't all get to be astronauts. And besides, there's always alcoholism to fall back on. The prospect of this orderly, straightforward, functional future stretching away into the waning grey distance has the brain shutting down, synapse by synapse. Nothing bright or unpredictable can happen anymore, not inside this standardised skull. You're not getting paid enough for this. Get out. Get out before they drive you sane. © 2015 Nico ReznickReviews
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5 Reviews Added on September 18, 2015 Last Updated on September 18, 2015 Tags: Work, Hell, Mundanity, Death of Imagination, Office, Life, Repetition, Routine, Brain Death, Horror AuthorNico ReznickStratford upon Avon , Midlands , United KingdomAboutPoet, spoken word performer, author of transgressive novel, ANHEDONIA, and all-round pretentious b*****d. more..Writing
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