Killers of Work
April 11, 2010
A poem
Draw the red lines / Cross out the black ones
Killers of work / Much killing work to be done
A glance at targets, numbers / They’re going down, holding steady
Head shaking, the killer snips away / The weary workers ready
Pull up
Somewhere engineers building illusory numerical bridges / Most failed
In the wake of collapse they sigh and document / Full benefits entailed
Somatic ripples in the arms and heads of work killers / Furrowed brows that just say no
Committees form, protest, elapse, sigh and document / Fingers pointed away: “Just go”
Pull up the ladder
Architects of micro-components for the common good / Their moment has come
They are society’s esophagus, stomach, vital organs / Workers but cilia in the guts, glum
Seekers of ideals and prophets selling 12-step programs / Psycho-tricks are the new culture, always were
Don’t you want to game-change? / Become a self-subsistent curve in the blur?
Pull up the ladder behind you
The killers distill helplessness into their lives / Secure jobs in pained regret
“A leaner meaner” business or institution, they say / “Mean” for “mediocre,” I bet
Leanness – a denial of the body in favor of the coat-hanger / Taking the human out of the design
What’s left is the killer’s likeness / A subdued killer with career in mind
Pull up the ladder behind you as you march
Contracts dishonored / Agreements unfulfilled
Late night meetings / Projects quietly killed
Mortgages make the hands shake / Hands steadied by killers through force
Futures must be signed away / They belong to the entitled few, of course
Pull up the ladder behind you as you march up through the institutions
The elderly retire to watch their jobs killed / Unimportant labors and lives
Killers educate to save, save to save / Important killing positions must survive
The very best advice that a killer can give / Learn how to kill, target work, strike home
No public or public good justifies passing work on / Just billions of people collectively alone
Pull up the ladder, and claim the comfort that is your due
Shake your head and sigh at the generation behind you.
The Battle to Reside
September 29, 2009
In the darkness before the darkness before dawn
In the isle of desolation amidst a city of color
A few figures, shadows and backpacks, congregate
A few form a haphazard line extending back from the gate
This gate of the LABO is the absolute border of the country
This gate demarcates our courteous selves
From their mechanism of human reduction and
From our stampeding hive selves, desperate
But all is now quiet as the sky re-casts itself from black to gray
But all is silent, though we all know a little broken English
More vehicles drop off more shadows, the line grows
More vehicles drive by their early shifts, perplexed drivers
Wonder about the line, its curvature along the industrial river bank
Wonder about the Ausländer, Fremden, Farbigen, Amis
No reasonable person save s/he who needs a living
No reasonable anonymous group should be up at this hour
Lights flicker on behind the gate; the dawn is drowned
Lights flicker on to slip silhouettes on forgotten shadows
All are of one mind – the page with the stamp is needed
All are well-informed – only here, only now, only when first
And the gates open
And the flood patters forth
At least 30 meters down the cement walkway to the door
At least 100 desperate shadows suddenly illuminated
Trampling desperately, cattle running to feed
Trampling desperately, the line’s composition changes
Now it’s a smashed amoeba up against a tower of cement and glass
Now it’s time for the shadows to hurry up and wait
The sun’s time has come, its beauty covered by a train
The sun’s arrival is heralded by few anymore, let alone by the shadows
More conversation – civilization resumes its “civil” root
More conversation – mutual vipers flick tongues in ignorance
Rumors fly: some have been standing there since 3 a.m., you need to get your visa before you can register for classes, only 50 people were given numbers last time, this is the 4th time I’ve been here, when they open the doors you have to squeeze in, they’re denying Egyptians for some reason, Americans have it easy, Americans have it hard, our late friend’s Irene’s going to join the line, this is ridiculous, this is stupid, I thought the Germans were supposed to be efficient, what kind of visa do you need to stay? we ran out of days three days ago, I have a child – coming through, you should see the bathrooms in there, are we even in front of the right door?
Cantankerous, an official warns us to back away – they need to get in
Cantankerous, a surly Polish woman scoffs at this absurdity
“The ones who’ve been working are us!” she barks
“The ones who are making it worse – that’s all of you!”
Pronouncing his German very slowly and loudly makes him understood
Pronouncing his syllables for the 25% who know the language
The rest look around for broken English translations
The rest mock and jeer and call and mob; the only right they have now
We are to be let in a few at a time, so we don’t crush our way in
We are to let those lucky few with appointments through, the ones with papers
So many stones have been laid in the basket of our visas, yet
So many blasted hopes have been laid at the LABO’s threshold
7:00! Yet another surge, the waves like in concerts crashing against security
7:00! Yet more shouting from the German official, letting a few in
A guard with his back to us puts his arms across the door
A guard lets those few who ran first to get their prize
Hatred swells in the mass: against them, the guards, the officials inside
Hatred swells in the guards: against the unruly students, some of them scientists
Half-an-hour later, the crush subsides, hope shoved to another dark morning
Half-an-hour later, guards mop the sweat from their brow, cursing the hordes and their
Inconsiderate outright forthright savage uncouth unprecedented impolite forceful
Impudent adolescent murderous screaming bloodthirsty thrashing crushing breaking
Dark skin American clothing headscarves shifty eyes hairy ears bushy eyebrows
Greasy hair unwashed faces grabbing hands strange accents broken English
It isn’t their fault – talk to the boss, get him to hire everyone back, make extra hours
It isn’t their fault – people need visas to eat and the visas eat the people
This is what Ordnung looks like.
