for whom the bell tolls.
i saw this shape, last night.
the view is from the lower deck of a co-worker's home... where i spend two nights a week, on a mangy couch, rather than commute 164 miles a day.
it's always been there... on a neighboring deck in "Stepford" (of which i "affectionately" refer, sarcastically, to that upwardly-mobile faux-city that existed only on paper until fifteen years ago). it's not the Ghost of Christmas Past... or the Grim Reaper. it's a drawn umbrella. but, last night, in that sepulchral lavender and orange light of a pre-snowstorm urban sky, i saw it in a most unexpectedly sinister light, though i'd never taken notice of it, before.
looming. waiting. presaging who-knows-what.
now, i know.
once awake, harsh reflected light leaked through the blinded windows from across the basement... a quality of light only achieved when the landscape is blanketed with snow. hard, unforgiving light. cold, before even felt.
even before i was fully awake, and became aware of it, my mind was preoccupied. Hell, my mind has been preoccupied for weeks, one of the reasons i've not pecked out any musings here or anywhere else, lately. increasingly, caretaking my late mother's house had been sapping my energies: the well briefly going dry; the oil tank empty on the coldest days of the year, forcing me to scramble to find ways to keep the pipes from freezing and bursting (until more fossil fuel could be added to my bill); paying the last of her debts.
i was also mentally composing ways to bail out of a concert, this weekend... bailing out, likely to cause an unpleasant scene with one of the few "friends" i have left. of course, this "friend" had made some pointedly inappropriate remarks about my choices in prior female companions, to the "point" that i was ready to deck him... so, playtime, tagging along with someone else's friends, watching old punk bands was not appealing in such company.
such were the thoughts that occupied my waking mind... ponderous, but nothing compared to what i'd encountered in the past twelve months.
well... maybe.
i slipped and slid my way to the parking lot at work, which was completely neglected by snowplows. walking up to the rental (that has temporarily replaced my wrecked car) was my boss, wreathed in cigarette smoke. in front of the building. prohibited by HR. something was up.
he wanted to give me a heads-up before i walked in. i was going to be met by the corporate flack from New Hampshire... the one who'd earlier that morning informed my co-workers that they'd all be laid off on March 27th.
who was it that sang that "History Never Repeats"? that theatrical New Wave band from New Zealand, Split Enz?
well, they fucking lie.
sure enough, i got waylaid as soon as i got in the door... spirited away to the War Room with the corporate headhunter. unlike last year, i wasn't warned about poor work performance hastening my departure... his eyes hardly engaging mine. just words like "economy". "infrastructure". "value added".
it all means the same thing: fucked.
but, having walked this same walk, last year (and packing as much information in my head since to keep a paycheck after having been reinstated), i remained dry-eyed... unlike my workmates. twenty lives, ruined, in one fell swoop.
maybe they'll come, eventually. they did, last year. it's all apparent if you read the archives.
this time, i won't lose somebody i care about, because of it... because there no longer is anybody (the gnawing possibility that the threat of an emasculated, unemployed man scared her off, lingering, still).
i can't lose another family member... because there are none.
since there is no Plan "B" to keep my place, maybe it's finally time to close up shop, put the commute, the mangy couches and the leftover food behind me...
...and that godforsaken, shrouded image.
the view is from the lower deck of a co-worker's home... where i spend two nights a week, on a mangy couch, rather than commute 164 miles a day.
it's always been there... on a neighboring deck in "Stepford" (of which i "affectionately" refer, sarcastically, to that upwardly-mobile faux-city that existed only on paper until fifteen years ago). it's not the Ghost of Christmas Past... or the Grim Reaper. it's a drawn umbrella. but, last night, in that sepulchral lavender and orange light of a pre-snowstorm urban sky, i saw it in a most unexpectedly sinister light, though i'd never taken notice of it, before.
looming. waiting. presaging who-knows-what.
now, i know.
once awake, harsh reflected light leaked through the blinded windows from across the basement... a quality of light only achieved when the landscape is blanketed with snow. hard, unforgiving light. cold, before even felt.
even before i was fully awake, and became aware of it, my mind was preoccupied. Hell, my mind has been preoccupied for weeks, one of the reasons i've not pecked out any musings here or anywhere else, lately. increasingly, caretaking my late mother's house had been sapping my energies: the well briefly going dry; the oil tank empty on the coldest days of the year, forcing me to scramble to find ways to keep the pipes from freezing and bursting (until more fossil fuel could be added to my bill); paying the last of her debts.
i was also mentally composing ways to bail out of a concert, this weekend... bailing out, likely to cause an unpleasant scene with one of the few "friends" i have left. of course, this "friend" had made some pointedly inappropriate remarks about my choices in prior female companions, to the "point" that i was ready to deck him... so, playtime, tagging along with someone else's friends, watching old punk bands was not appealing in such company.
such were the thoughts that occupied my waking mind... ponderous, but nothing compared to what i'd encountered in the past twelve months.
well... maybe.
i slipped and slid my way to the parking lot at work, which was completely neglected by snowplows. walking up to the rental (that has temporarily replaced my wrecked car) was my boss, wreathed in cigarette smoke. in front of the building. prohibited by HR. something was up.
he wanted to give me a heads-up before i walked in. i was going to be met by the corporate flack from New Hampshire... the one who'd earlier that morning informed my co-workers that they'd all be laid off on March 27th.
who was it that sang that "History Never Repeats"? that theatrical New Wave band from New Zealand, Split Enz?
well, they fucking lie.
sure enough, i got waylaid as soon as i got in the door... spirited away to the War Room with the corporate headhunter. unlike last year, i wasn't warned about poor work performance hastening my departure... his eyes hardly engaging mine. just words like "economy". "infrastructure". "value added".
it all means the same thing: fucked.
but, having walked this same walk, last year (and packing as much information in my head since to keep a paycheck after having been reinstated), i remained dry-eyed... unlike my workmates. twenty lives, ruined, in one fell swoop.
maybe they'll come, eventually. they did, last year. it's all apparent if you read the archives.
this time, i won't lose somebody i care about, because of it... because there no longer is anybody (the gnawing possibility that the threat of an emasculated, unemployed man scared her off, lingering, still).
i can't lose another family member... because there are none.
since there is no Plan "B" to keep my place, maybe it's finally time to close up shop, put the commute, the mangy couches and the leftover food behind me...
...and that godforsaken, shrouded image.
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