2003-12-17 - 11:54 p.m.
My Day: A Florilegiumor,
Epiphenomena Epiphonema
Being an Account of Various Occurrences and Observations Throughout My Day Unreservedly Collocated With Factitious Imaginings Until the Very Line Between Sense and Nonsense Vanishes
or,
A Series of Reflections Expressed in the Form of Weird Fabricated Workplace Tarot Cards
1. The page of cell-phones. A conference call. An odious conference call. Please enter the shreds of your soul, followed by the pound key. At the tone, please state your name. Tattered remnants of spirit. You are entering the cosmos as a Guest.
2. The nine of new-employees. Appetite, not passion: the prose, not the poetry, of the Flesh.
3. The king of payday. A capricious and intemperate young man, a bon-vivant of exceedingly liberal, catholic tastes, an adherent to joyous Epicurean life.
4. Death, reversed. You, sir, are hired.
Praise be! Issue #3 of The National Pist is now in print! Regina folk can, in the next few days, rush out to their favourite pub and grab themselves a copy, while all ye brave outlanders are consigned to merely seething and writhing in bitter jealousy. Those near enough to do so, get your copy today and look upon our works and despair. Or read. Read, or despair. Your call.
