Ring of blue fire flickers into life
Raw meat hits the pan
The service door swings like a broken kid’s limb
That balding red-faced caveman’s got it in for me again
5:30 your ass is mine
He’s a nice guy really, he’s just under a lot of stress
No chance, would you accept that behaviour from anyone less?
He’s a nice guy really, but he’s been feeling the strain.
Poor man, what a shame.
I’ve got dry hands got eczema
To the Raven nevermore
I wouldn’t work here again if you paid me
The first proper job I worked - from age 15-18 - was complete shite. The head chef was a real bully. They kept underpaying the younger workers. Probably the older ones, too.
Track Name: Kids
My friends are fucking idiots who can’t handle the world
Grown men aping wrestlers, women wanting to regress into little girls
I’m no different, why try to pretend?
When life’s a constant struggle, with no payoff at the end
I want to live adventures, have a life of gravity
but I’m swimming against the pull of a blackhole anxiety
My hair always looks stupid, I’ve got a face like a Royal
I’m barrel chested, with thin arms pink skin soft hands filed nails
(I’ve a) distain for gainful employment, the idea of a career disgusts me
But I’ve got bills to pay, money talks and nothing’s free
We’re all kids having kids, still acting like kids
Work’s still work though you’ve got a ping-pong table and we ogle at marvel films
So play with your cars, or your video games
We’re mountains of human waste
I hate us all the same
Rise of the idiots. Breakfast cereal cafes. Multi-million pound spends on films about toys and comic book characters from the ‘80s. Multiple online platforms dedicated to curating your own personal brand, where you can use sleight of photographic hand to pretend your life is amazing whilst airing your anxieties to an audience of followers. Getting swol and looking ridiculous on insta… or sometimes secretly wishing you were swol. Not wanting to grow up. What the fuck is our problem?
Track Name: Job
Cats and dogs with fleas know
You. You’ve got no soul
Light breezes, heavy gales
Wail. You. You’ve got no soul
What’s behind your black eyes?
Pin pricks in night skies
Grey suits, blue ties
It’s no surprise
Cats hiss as you pass by
You’re a creature of the night
an unholy parasite
Plumb and endless well of spite
But one day when we change place
I look forward to kicking sand in your face.
I wish I didn’t work full time. At its worst, my job feels like I’m documenting the planet’s slow collapse. In work the overwhelming majority of people I speak to are awful human beings; professional liars and experts of misdirection attempting to shield the government from controversy (no matter who holds power - these are PR professionals, not principled people), avaricious and entitled minor lordlings working to maintain their grip on swathes of the countryside (which their families have often held ‘yea, unto the middle ages’), or slick, amoral, BORING corporate drones wanting to push their expensive products no matter the cost (to their users, wider society and the environment at large). This is a song for the people I meet at work.