I wake up every day to go to work. I don’t wake up at the same time everyday, but every day I go to work. I’ve always felt that my job is of little concern, both to you and to myself especially. I am alive. That fact is undeniable. No one will ever be able to convince me that I am not alive. And it’s not because of that dubito cogito bullshit either. I move therefore I am. You don’t have to think to move. You have to move to think. My brain is at this moment carrying little buckets of water across a system of pulleys and levers, spilling droplets into other buckets and the abyss splashing and splashing and splashing and boiling with an incomprehensible monotony punctuated by catastrophic failure that occurs perfectly.
If I saw you on the street I would scream at you. Except I wouldn’t. I don’t want to spill a piece of you onto the sidewalk and watch it squirm at the exposure to a condition it is never built to endure. I just want to scream at a snapshot of you. I want to freeze you in the exact moment that you are in right now and remove all of your awareness, your motion, from the picture. Stepping inside the frame, I would scan the detestable image and gnash at the impurities until exhausted I jumped forward to the place that you walked away from minutes or years before.
But I have slipped away from the purpose of this. I do have a job, but it is not my job. I will leave my job for you to uncover. I challenge you. Along with this challenge comes a curse. I have cast a spell upon this text, which will not take effect until you have moved through it. If you uncover my work easily, you will not believe in it. If you never discover my work, I will merely tell you and you will justifiably think it idiotic. Other possibilities exist; they are pointless to discuss.
I wake up for work. I am not performing the idyllic honest work, the work we all imagine we would be capable and fulfilled in doing. That work doesn’t exist anymore. Farmers don’t rise and fall with the sun. They operate ten tons of machine at a time. They perform the work of the invisible hand, but they are elevated from the act itself. They don’t farm for subsistence. Soon, they will not even operate their own equipment. They will fund the farm. They will make a subsidized profit from the farm. That will be the long and short of it.
My work skips straight to the future. I am a futurist. I look forward. I sit at my desk, and I look forward at monitors. Many people and vehicles containing many more people cross my monitors. I pretend to care that they are allowed to be digitally beamed into my retinas. I often fantasize about what would happen if some nefarious force of nature wanted to wreak havoc upon my employer. I would not interfere in the slightest. I take a perverse pleasure in this knowledge. If you took the five individuals with the worst intentions out of all of us billions and set them loose inside our parking garage, I would cut the feed and take a nap. I wish I could somehow communicate that to them. I wish I could silently broadcast my complete negligence to those special few with the disposition and abilities to do the most damage. Who gives a fuck. I’m staring at the world’s most beautiful Newton’s cradle locked behind a tempered glass. It doesn’t stop me from reaching my hand out to the glass in the place where I would pull the ball up perfectly perpendicular to the rest before releasing.
I don’t have to do this job. I can do what I want, but I do and I don’t and that’s what I want to do. It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. Maybe you think that if something nasty was happening, I would report it. That’s pure of you. Do you know that you risk your life every time you exist in public? Guns are powerful. They have the power to turn off your movement like a switch without giving you a chance to process the infinitesimal time you have left to process. Just boop, you’re gone. That’s power. It could happen at any moment. One hole in your head, you’re wholly destroyed. Any person anywhere here is capable of doing it. Every single person has the power to turn off any other single person instantly. That’s beautiful. I have to respect that. If that power wants to exhibit itself to me, how can I stop it? I’m supposed to be like water. Water doesn’t try to stop people from dying. Water’s still going to be water whether those people die now or later.