Every day the same dream
A short, existential game about alienation and refusal of labour from molleindustria.
The full-screen works best: http://www.molleindustria.org/everydaythesamedream/everydaythesamedream.html
Source: molleindustria.org
At different times in my life I have done jobs that have been hard to do. Thinking back now the hardest thing was having to do something I hated & being told that it wasn’t that bad and I would get used to it.
In retrospect those experiences were valuable. You learn a lot from that stuff. And I do think sometimes things are hard for a reason. But I remember then thinking that it would drive me mad if the rest of my life was going to be like that. It seemed to me then that work, what we do with our days work, would need to be meaningful. It would have to matter otherwise I would struggle with it.
I have my suspicions where that idea originates. It is interesting to me that from pretty young I was interested in what people did for a job, what they did with their lives & I hoped that I would do something fulfilling.
For me, the hardest times at the worst jobs are touchstones of sorts. When I see people losing it in the supermarket car park after work on Friday I wonder if their jobs are like those I suffered through. But they’ve been doing it for years & years. How much is it reasonable for a person to go through?
It seems to me that things shouldn’t have to be like that. That kind of awfulness is not fated or destined. It is like when they say on TV “…and the markets bounced back today after consumers embraced the long weekend”. That’s not consumers, that’s me, that’s you, that’s us! And when we buy stuff we make decisions, choices.
Recently I read something about how we can agonise & preach and be very vocal about the merits of a certain type of cellphone or mp3 player but we go strangely silent on the bigger topics. Well, that makes sense, how do you talk about those topics in everyday conversation? But I wish we would. Somehow I think if we were better connected to people around us, and talked to them, we would find it harder to shaft the people we don’t know or haven’t met.
I just want to acknowledge that the Spice Girls reforming and playing to sold out shows goes well beyond beating a dead horse. This is kind of like hybrid cars: look, here’s something that is a bad thing dressed up to feel good in new marketing! New marketing! Oh man, now that makes it suddenly all better.
That the Spice Girls are playing a sold out 17 night run of shows at the O2 Arena in London speaks to the indoctrination of many young girls during the Spice Girls first run as living Barbie Dolls regurgitating manufactured production-line pop on demand. It was crap then and it is crap now. They are not important, useful or nostalgic. May they harvest the masses for their gullible dollars one last time and cease to exist.
Seeing the Spice Girls in their push-up bras singing about “girl power” is far from empowerment and much more about selling out all over again a generation of women to their right to liberation.
Dear Friend,
The ballot has come in and I’m sorry, your number did not come up. That means you have not won, do not try again, do not pass go, do not collect $200.
Recent surveys have suggested customers feel a sense of detachment from the Company when receiving these letters and we have tried to remedy this by supplying the popular phrase: Life’s A Bitch Ain’t It. We hope this improves your state of being and provides some positive emotions at this time.
That said, we ask you refrain from entering again and to ensure this have issued a standard 30-day cease and desist against your estate. Surveys indicate you should refer to the popular phrase Life’s A Bitch Ain’t It and if this does not improve your view of the Company we recommend the following popular phrase: Build A Bridge And Get Over It.
A number of customers have responded well to this phrase.
Please realise the Company is not a relational entity per say and as such is unable to respond to your direct correspondence outside of normal channels on issues within classes 4a to 4g. In this circumstance your number has not come up and as such your criteria is applicable. Your circumstance is categorised:
Class 4b
There are a number of reasons you have not been successful in this instance:
– the numbers were not good
– you were unavailable at our time of calling
– we require a personal connection as filed through Forms 19, 20 and 27. This process may have been incomplete (Form 20 can be filed later)
– anathema
The Company has stated customers outside of the accepted number range must comply with the terms accepted at the beginning of your trial period. Please note at this time refunds are not available.
Thank you for your business.
wishing won’t make it so
I found this in the files from last year in November:
Last night was a fusion of Pulp Fiction, Guitar Hero and the throb of recent surgery. I woke up in the middle of the night somehow confused I was going to get shot/killed/die, that I had been wounded and that my wide-open wardrobe was a gate to a dark void.
I must have lain there for about 5 minutes, head spinning, trying to work out why I needed to be playing Guitar Hero, why I was convinced I was going to get shot and why I hurt in so many places…my toe, my shoulder, my back? I didn’t even get operated on my back…why the…?
Unfortunately I can’t recall events of the witching hour with great clarity so the exact reasons for me being convinced I was in serious trouble will remain a mystery. It is interesting though how real pain segues into dreams and is then explained…my toe was throbbing because it had been blown off by John Travolta.
Pretty soon you’ll be an old bastard too
Source: CoffeeIceCream
Newmarket is the richest vein of despair we have in Auckland. It doesn’t matter the time of day or my frame of mind, it gets under my skin and makes me feel queasy. Was it something I ate? While in fact all Newmarket should be is a collection of shops sitting in the shadow of the motorway and down the hill from the Auckland Museum, it is an oily slide that pools outside Supre. A slick shopping precinct you climb out of with a pair of faded hipster jeans between your teeth.
Source: markwp
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