slavery never was intended to be pretty

todays poem is another from 4-93. the poem sort of reflects the mental state of becoming a pawn for another mega-company. slavery never was intended to be pretty, i don't think.

nothing new from the Day 1 realm. Just waiting around, dealing with a lot of nervous managers and uncertainty about just about every sort of detail. Lots of paperwork to be presented, and some obvious changes, like a new employee number. Pretty mundane stuff so far. Too bad the jobs won't be upgraded and all. These bones are really telling me they dislike working on the winder anymore. Ah, poor old bones. There ain't no relief anytime soon.

Summer continues. Pretty nice days lately. Not extremely hot, and actually cool in the mornings. Not like autumn and those wonderful rains, but not too terrible.


I TELLS YOU, POOR OLD HENRY

i tells you, poor old henry, busted shoes & socks wet as a river.
sing boohoo for idealism. weez just footprints in sand again.
but visions aint my cup o tea, i whispers, blinded by lights of my own desperations.
no sugar in my bed. no hot chocolate in my sack. just torn pages
i have failed to read. fantasies die cruel-like in this world i knows.

i tells you, god was born a mean bastard, sucking on hard tits
of disillusionment. he bites like dogs in heat when it feels a hurt.
poor old henry, sore & bleeding. no knee pads in his arsenal of dreams.
drinking hard liquors of damnation. sober aint bliss, he weeps.
god, like a pimp, selling pleasures for prices of slavery.