You'll be Treated Just Like Everybody Else...
I feel so extraordinary
something's got a hold on me
I get this feeling I'm in motion
A sudden sense of liberty
After going to the gym, the week falls into a more balanced perspective. I can't really tell what I'm going to be like, how I'm going to survive the onslaught of mundane work and starch walls until the endorphines are pumping through me.
I spoke to someone in the locker room - a guy who works on my floor. I used to think that the day would never come, that my life would depend on the morning sun. No prizes for guessing that the sun has left England and won't be coming back until Spring (or when Big Brother hits our tvs again - I believe the Sun is now copyrighted.) I go 3 times a week to a place with bad pop music, old sweat in the air, shell-shocked students, and not a word comes out of my mouth. It's almost tantric.
But I feel extraordinary for doing the monkey jump every week, like I was born and raised in the office circus. In a world that's so demanding we fall into the cracks that won't hurt us too much... if you believe boredom doesn't hurt.
But you can wait until the weekend, you can watch Tarantino, you can walk through Richmond Park with your friends (because the biking expedition got cancelled) and watch the dears play out your notions of nature. They defecate on the grass, we applaud. You can eat in the Lettuce & Ketchup chain of pubs, get stuffed and roll to the nearest cinema. You can clash with your videogames and you can clash with your sundays when they give nothing back to you.
The box says 15:14 and I must get back to work.
something's got a hold on me
I get this feeling I'm in motion
A sudden sense of liberty
After going to the gym, the week falls into a more balanced perspective. I can't really tell what I'm going to be like, how I'm going to survive the onslaught of mundane work and starch walls until the endorphines are pumping through me.
I spoke to someone in the locker room - a guy who works on my floor. I used to think that the day would never come, that my life would depend on the morning sun. No prizes for guessing that the sun has left England and won't be coming back until Spring (or when Big Brother hits our tvs again - I believe the Sun is now copyrighted.) I go 3 times a week to a place with bad pop music, old sweat in the air, shell-shocked students, and not a word comes out of my mouth. It's almost tantric.
But I feel extraordinary for doing the monkey jump every week, like I was born and raised in the office circus. In a world that's so demanding we fall into the cracks that won't hurt us too much... if you believe boredom doesn't hurt.
But you can wait until the weekend, you can watch Tarantino, you can walk through Richmond Park with your friends (because the biking expedition got cancelled) and watch the dears play out your notions of nature. They defecate on the grass, we applaud. You can eat in the Lettuce & Ketchup chain of pubs, get stuffed and roll to the nearest cinema. You can clash with your videogames and you can clash with your sundays when they give nothing back to you.
The box says 15:14 and I must get back to work.