The struggle for time is the time struggle to feel one's self as a human being and more than just a worker. How do we parse the pain of having only two jobs and no time to read to our children? How do we keep from dehumanizing ourselves and recasting ourselves as ads? How do we stop judging single moms for the demands we make on them-- the punishment for failing to marry a man that works and resents us for it?
Marxism was rooted in the goal of freeing humans from industrial work. Stalin turned Marxism into a raison d'etat, a glorification of work, a production ethic. America is so materialist and non-subtly Stalinesque. Your job defines you.
Danish poet Dan Turrell read poems aloud to jazz like Rexroth and Ferlinghetti. He is buried in Assistens Cemetery in Copenhagen near Hans Christian Andersen and Kierkegaard.
Incorrigible idealist believing the future absolves bleaches of days past. Strange mythoscrotum of roots, fake blonde, cawl and all, commercial skat.
Blaise Pascal had us pegged among the men who seek turmoil as diversion, the object acquired now guilty of failing to elate. Happiness runs on four legs. We don't think to nail the pursuit itself against a wall and leave it for Americans on vacation to purchase.
There is a machine in you. A twinkling tin frame with special buttons.
As economies shifted towards industrialization, man's success was increasingly likened to his ability to perform machine-like functions. Assemble a motor. The efficiency qualifier.
The irredeemable flesh of laborers is worth less as the value of machines rises.
Aubade to skin.
Threnody of tonsils.