corporate sponsorship of "the Arts".

Amplified might be a good word to describe my mental state at this moment: synapses firing on all eight cylinders as turbo kicks in. Too bad my job confines me to a seat, a computer and 100's of acres to design and develop, a job fit not necessarily for a monkey, moreso a recluse who thrives off of the rote yet meticulous tasks required day in and day out. I'm focused and yet paradoxically driven to distraction as little white and yellow pills battle it out across the battle front of my mind, causing oscillating states of contentment and excessive frustration. He told me this cocktail would be the solution to myriad mental malfunctions, addressing anxiety and focus, sex drive and motivation. Too bad these couldn't have been bestowed naturally. Luckily, some degree of mental uncertainty, flat feet, and occasional bouts with acne are my only major malfunctions. I'd rather struggle with my own emotional shortcomings than be faced with a spine snapped in just the right place to immobilize the feet and arms I, and many of my brethren, take for granted. I'd rather take fifteen minutes outta my morning for corporate sponsorship of the arts than have a bullet come whizzing past my ear in a far off land amongst radical jihadists hell bent on exterminating Americans and their supporters in the name of God (what a fucking joke that is).

I know it's not necessarily one or the other: this career of climbing ladders and taking corporate cocks in the name of making a living, or strapping a gun to my chest and kissing a gold cross before throwing my life to the winds of fate and the mercy of delusional terrorist freaks. Of course America's Armed Forces are comprised of volunteers, young and old alike who "understood" the consequences of signing their asses over to Uncle Sam in the name of an education or a paycheck or good old fashioned patriotism. Of course there are other avenues to pursue in life, all I have to do is turn on the television and see for myself, right? Life can be like Entourage or Friends, American Idol, or even, God forbid, According to Jim. Riches beyond our wildest dreams, sexy acquaintances perpetually finding themselves in quirky, comedic dispositions, fame in the blink of an eye, an impossibly sexy woman attracted to an overweight yet loveable guy, all these and many more possibilities exist out there. Out there cameras are following people around, scoping their every move, finding the interesting and the dramatic in otherwise repetitively satisfying lives. Or at least I subconsciously ponder such a thought while searching for Crest toothpaste and Miller Beer down fluorescent aisles of the local mega-mecca for human sustenance; driven by jingles and fancy advertisements to consume, to support the economy, to state my independence loud and proud with the swipe of a Master Card.

And here, in the land of cubicles filled with drones who drive Nissan Altimas, who have children with mouths to feed, ostentatious over priced diamond rocks and rings for fiancs to buy , futures to think of and pasts to forget, I sit, amplified to a false degree of happy, focused consciousness, nonsensically expounding upon the wizard's illusions. Twenty minutes have passed and neighbors have been eager and nervous in anticipation of the internet's return. Sadly our internet has been down since 10 AM and the worker bees are lost, unsure of what to do. Yahoo accounts can't be checked, ebay purchases can't be monitored, gossip can't be ingested at the speed of now, sports illustrated swimsuit pictures can't be perused; the collective distracted consciousness has been redirected to retention ponds and sanitary sewers and they're growing nervous. How long until they can taste the sweet nectar of reality, the world out there, their secret addiction, that small sliver of time we all savor like pavlov's dogs after that long awaited lunch. The tension is riding my fellow robots, and I'm smiling all the while, lost in my own head: amplified, focused, content.