blank canvas of Pysche
What can I see???
A curvaceous, bull-faced wench with a tattooed breast…A glum baby with a frog’s mouth, her countenance dull, almost morose, but what can be expected?? Dressed like a doll, constrained to a pram, wheeled around aisle after aisle of food products wrapped in carefully designed, strategically coloured plastics and foils…This is no place for a fresh, innocent pair of eyes and ears to absorb Life, to begin adding shape and form to the (seemingly at birth) blank canvas of Pysche…Take the prissy mound of delicate, vulnerable flesh to the park. Let it watch the birds playing in the pond, the bees buzzing between the flowers, the dogs barking in demand that a stick be thrown…let it bask in the sunshine, lay it’s hands and feet on the grass, stare into the faces of it’s dwarf brethren…For fucks sake, take that baby somewhere natural, to a place which at least offers a glimpse of the organic realm from whence we, as a species, were borne.
This supermarket is the epitome of Man’s determination to Master, to control, to dissect and convert, the non-human world into Convenience, into a steady flow of electronic fund transfers…It is daytime, there is Light outside, but no windows in here, just glass tubes blasted with electricity in exchange for the release of high wattage photons…What other creatures, of species near our own on the genetic pyramid of existence, spend so much time inside???? Even rabbits who spend vast periods of time scurrying around subterranean highways feel the need to set afoot on the surface more often than the average homo sapien of The West…Sometimes I wish I was a wolf, or better still a fox. I already have the fox’s cunning, it’s furtive supersonic nervous system, it’s fear and distrust for most human beings. And I would love to live in the wilderness, for good or ill…
…writing at work has become a risky routine. Who knows who or what could be sitting in the security room ogling my pensive facial expressions and high speed penmanship as I stand behind this butcher’s counter. I have been warned, reprimanded, told in no uncertain terms, that this is place of work not literary endeavour. But fuck them, and their laws. I am employed, for a few pennies above the minimum legal wage, to serve fish and meat and give sterling customer service. And on those counts, I am untouchable, unchallengeable. Not only are my skills with the blades befitting a man born and reared in a Chinese fish market but my social skills transform these two pitstops of dead, but well presented, former marine and land dwelling creatures, into the social hub of this part of town. That fact, the latter, is recognized by the Suits perched a few haughty steps above me on the Company ladder and my usefulness, commercial value if you will, does afford me a modicum of leeway in regards to my interpretation and implementation of Company policy…However, the mix of my self-confidence and complete disinterest in climbing their ladder, at times, seems to prove abrasive. It is as if they see my unwillingness to conform and show them subservience as an attack on their own horribly flawed internal basement of pride and self respect…Live, let live and try to Learn and Grow. That is all…
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