i zombie (too)

the little box screams and my eyes open. in a flash the world transitions from meaningful, to real. the world forces me to crave brains, decisions have to be made. my feet hurt when i wake up from spewnding hours standing on tiled floor. just part of some cosmic penance i must pay for. I must have been a natzi or worse in a past life, and now i work retail to atone for those sins. I hobble to the washroom and feel the cold tile on my shoulder as i lean. the wall creaks under my weight , but it holds. it has to hold, as i drain my self of the work my kidneys have done through the night. What must have they been in a past life? the mind recoils against chaos theory. its easer to believe i was a natzi marching thousands in to bleach showers; to believe that i could choose to be so evil, and that this life is my cosmic jail term. instinctively i reject that this life just happens. cause and effect, my scientific brain pleads for a reason. "no rest for the wicked" i murmur to the emptiness. I'm quoting a kit-cat commercial.

the showers never warm, but at least today theres water pressure, some days it just fades away. as if the pluming in my building has gone on dialysis. those days you stand under the trickle of watter using the sides of your hand like a squeegee trying to pull the shampoo away from your self. whats left of the personality still feels shame when it realizes that its failed in this squeegee task. it still manages embarrassment, when some customer with rotting tooth breath pauses from berating me for the pricing decisions he feels i have control over, pauses and breathes the rotting tooth smell heavily at me, looks in disgust at the soap residue left lingering on my collar. the personality still manages shame. i wince slightly as the gum i'm chewing to make sure that same decaying bone smell doesn't waft into another's face, the gum finds its way in to one of my own missing fillings, maybe i kicked puppies in my last life as well.

i look to the stupid with a mixture of envy and rage. i want to bash there head in and gnaw on the gray matter inside. it makes sense to them that a part time employee sets the price, is at fault. what wonderful deeds must they have done in there last lives to have earned the blissfulness of being stupid.

theres a sign by the punch in clock that reminds me to smile, because to the customer , i am the company. i wounder what the brains of the moron who devised that sign would taste like, would it taste better if i had fallen on him as he submitted his little slogan to his superior, begging for approval like a dog thats fetched the wrong stick?

mmmm brains BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAINSSSSSSSSSSSSS for the love of god please some one show you have brains!