Witless Poem

It’s curious, the bent between…not actual signal to noise but instead signal to reception.

The billowing urgency, the message, the rising tide.


The pointlessness of the transmission. Dial a random phone number and speak into it without listening.

The same.

Grasp. Reach. Traction. Point. Morale. Effort. Institutionalized thieves, setting us against us and collecting the pittances into their own pocket.

(How many man hours are put into youtube? Yet who gains the profit?

But yet more people flock still.

They see glamour, when glamour is no longer attached to food and shelter.

They can’t see past their seeing. Which is the message.

And if you want to pass on a message, hand over your man hours to the thief)


And the silence in attempting to figure traction, when traction is all about not being silent.

Have I dialed your number?


Do you work to holiday, or holiday to work?

It’s pretty much a given you need to have a good rest in order to really work. Isn’t a holiday about having a good rest?

Is your holiday really for you, or does it set you up so you can keep on working so…you can have that holiday you really want, which…sets you up to do more work?

The old saying is ‘Don’t mix work with pleasure’. What if you need that holiday in order to keep working? Then it’s not really a holiday, is it?┬áIt’s just part of the job. Your just continually working.

If you think the reward for working is to rest and relax, it’s kind of a dragon eating its own tail, isn’t it?