Marcus,
I thought creative designers, such as you, weren't deskdrones. What have I
missed or mis-assumed? What shards obstruct my view? What lead weighs this
brain freight? Where have the glassy combinants lodged, if not in your
imagings? Can a lunch at the mall be so appalling, if you can block it all
with small and tall constructions of your heart? Welcome back.
And now I'm flying away!
See you all in a month, then,
Judy
----- Original Message -----
From: "Marcus Bales" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Wednesday, October 12, 2005 1:02 PM
Subject: What's a snap?
> Does this qualify?
> M
>
>
> To the guy with his starched shirt collars sticking straight out
>
> You slumped and bent to do your work
> And now you look a proper jerk.
> No doubt you think you're very smart
> And hold your work to be an art;
> You're diligent, you work alone,
> You git 'er done, but you're a drone.
> The company's your fold and queen
> That bought your soul with gold and green
> She likes it that you're unaware
> Of collar points out in the air
> Because it means no other fold
> Will offer you more green or gold.
> And so you'll work from eight to five
> Imagining that you're alive;
> And then, thank goodness for my rhyme,
> You'll work your unpaid overtime.
> So walk the mall to get your lunch
> And get back to your desk to hunch
> Again, your half an hour gone,
> Go home and get back in at dawn.
>
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