Stream of Unconsciousness:
Retreat Day 1
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
[name deleted to protect guilty] -- Dildo
R – E- S- P –E –C –T, tell you what it means to me…
Oedipal? Issues? Electronic Tunnel? Colon?
We’re in the Information Colon.
My name is Elma J. Fudd I’m a milwonaire and I own a yacht…
1 MM of talent per kilometer of bullshit
“Every time I hear the word ‘culture’ I reach for my gun” – Hermann Goering
Why am I here? Why did it come to this? I can’t live like this anymore. Must change or die
This is FUCKING POINTLESS!
Please, someone, hit in the back of the head with a shovel….
A nation of pussies…
The tunnel is a colon. At the end of the tunnel is a sphincter. The final destination is the sewer.
This should not be my life. I shouldn’t be here – I hate myself.
Pile Higher and Deeper
“Light at the end of the tunnel.”
The tunnel is a colon. The end of the tunnel is a sphincter and the light is merely the reflection of the fluorescent bulb in the toilet.
We are all heading for the sewer.
mind wanders at this point, a poem of despair:
Writing songs no one will ever sing
Wasting time on everything
Pointless use of energy
Nothing is worthwhile to me
More than the blahs
More than the blues
No more “ta-das!”
Everything is old news.
Nothing brings me joy
Everyone I know tends to annoy
All is useless
All is dull
I feel amuseless
I just feel null
You ask me what I want
Problem is I don’t want
Perhaps I can’t want
It’s too simplistic to say I’m nihilistic
I can’t even work up that much energy
A black hole has nothing on me
Back to the retreat:
How utterly pointless this all is
Why are we here? What crime did I commit in a previous lifetime?
I hate myself.
– from life
Retreat – from work
Retreat – from usefulness
Retreat – from consciousness
Retreat – from actually doing anything at all.
Not a fair comparison. – At least some pleasure is obtained through masturbation
Eliminate the negative
Something the interrogative
And don’t mess with Mr. In-Between…
[name deleted to protect the guilty] reads more management books
Flip the bird charts
This is swill
It makes me ill
This is sick
Just a bunch of ick
I hate these people
I want to drop them from a steeple
High above a sewer
Until they are fewer
I won’t feel well
Until they’re all in hell
For making me ill
As if I just inhaled swill
More Poetry of Despair:
No way out of this dark tunnel
No choice but to go straight ahead
Going down life’s long dark tunnel
Into the hole of oblivion
Till we’re dead
I feel like the incredible shrinking man – surrounded by gigantic amoeba, slugs and insectoids.
Even Kafka’s imagination was not this perverse.
Cynicism permeates my soul. I hate myself for being so cynical but the world offers no other stimulus. It is the only logical response.
access to insanity
Seamless access to stupidity
Seamless access to seem-lessness
Nothing to buy into
Can’t buy without intellectual currency.
Idiot director who reads management guides and hires consultants who waste our time with this bullshit.
Endless supply of consultants
Publication of more management guru books
More idiots and losers seeking jobs at [name of organization deleted to protect the guilty].
This year’s trendy management babble…yadda yadda yadda…
Searchable new acquisitions list – by subject specialty [the one genuinely productive job-related note over the course of the retreat]
Poetry of Despair, Guilt, Cynicism—
Have a Nice Day!
End of Retreat – Day 1
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