Collect
I call it "inspired fiction"...
And how does that make you feel? Standing there all high and dry as another person gets knocked down into the dark water... How do you think it makes us feel as you continue to throw us under the bus, being splashed by the mud for your personal gain?
And what about you? The show-off, the kiss up, the suck-ass... working for the man, no thoughts of your own just, "Yes, Ma'am," as you take another order. Wearing your trendy, expensive suits with the pink silk tie, the gold and onyx cufflinks, the brown slip-ons that you got on sale at Nordstrom Rack. As you hold your latte and the double cafe mocha hot no-whip for your boss, how does it feel that no matter how high up you get, no matter how much an image of mass-acception you are, that you will never be good enough? That you will never have your own life and make your own decisions?
Look at you, you're not out of this one - this is my time. MY TIME. You aren't fooling anyone. Can your smirk get any more annoying? As you pretend to be perfect, you still are governed by the sheep that are the majority. The ninty-nine percent. The fast paced, airplane neck pillow wearing, battery-free watch generation. Sky Mall at its best. The world is so small to you, so manageable, you're beginning to look for office space on the moon. Good riddence. The world is too small for you - more room for me to spread out and enjoy what it really has to offer. As you drive your fuel-cell hybrid, thinking that makes any difference - oil still sells my friend... you aren't changing anything, certainly not with all the flights your taking - you know how much JP8 that jet pumps out?
No, you all better just listen up. LISTEN! Not to me - who ever cared about me? Listen to the leaves... listen to the laughter - where does it come from? Where did the collection of beautiful noise come from? Where did it go? Was it replaced by engines and horns? Construction and news choppers?
The phone rings - you don't need to even look because your earpiece tells you who's calling - you say "answer" and it answers. You talk to yourself. The supermarket, the bookstore, the car - talking to yourself, and whoever sits in your ear. The world isn't too fast for you, is it? Nothing stops for you. Your enjoyment is getting the massage at the hotel spa, while talking to yourself. It's sitting at the park during your lunch hour, talking to yourself.
The world is not small. It's huge. Right now, somewhere, someone is crying. Crying because years ago they had a problem, and it has never been solved. Crying because someone died. Crying because he left. Crying because you're broke. But that someone manages. Those tears are reality - those tears are fears, hopes, pain... it's not the hotel gym or a deadline, this is real. That someone is living. Living the dream they think is a nightmare but no - I think it's a fantasy. Pain is a fantasy as that person, that one person is not the ninety-nine percent. They are the one percent. They are the ones that live outside from the trouble free easier life. They never hit in the fairway, they don't have the advantage. They are the underdogs, the ones that stand up for their rights, their dreams - even if that means they are broke, or tired. Even if it takes tears. Even if it takes pain. They can make it. When you die - will you say "Well done?"
Even when the bill collectors call are they backing down? Are they stopping? No, they are strong. They are the one percent.
It's the "B" people that do it.
The "B" people. The ones that shop at Target or Walmart. When they get coffee its a tall, not a venti - or its from the office pot o' shit. And they're happy to have it. They don't take advantage of it.
The "B" people are the artists. The artists that the "A" people look at, listen to, steal from. The "B" people are the blue collars. The dirty jobs. The leaders of themselves. The "B" people help the "A" people have a better life.
But they don't say "Yes Ma'am" because they want to kiss ass, they say it because they have bills to pay. They say it because they don't care about the man, they care about getting theirs and helping others like them getting theirs, who in turn help their kids get theirs. They won't be appreciated, they won't be recognized on the news. They'll be looked at as weird, as geeks, dorks, crazies. I see them as geniuses. I see them as the people that think "outside the box."
Outside the box... fuck you.
That phrase was created by the "A" people's bosses because no one has a brain anymore. No one knows how to think for themselves and say "Wait, this doesn't fucking work."
They just say "Yes, Ma'am."
There should have never BEEN a BOX.
But its all good. The "B" people know how to handle it. They will speak but will never be heard. They will warn but they will never be taken seriously. They will hope, and that's all they'll ever have... hopes.
Time to collect on those hopes. Dreams. Ever wonder why you have to pay more when your credit sucks? Yeah cause that's helpful. If you couldn't afford to pay it now, you're going to make it harder? Neat.
Hope your pink tie chokes you just enough to make you appreciate the day you almost died.
Hope your lips get off the ass long enough to taste some pain.
Hope the bus you threw him under splashes mud in your face.
Because it's kind of like kharma for the masses. Here's your first warning.
