Plucked out for our salaried lives

Another morning, whereas the sun’s reluctance to rise, radiates as visual aids to our informal education on the magnificence of the aurora, my mom is, once again, her son’s short-term enemy. For the first five minutes of the day, mom is the point of his hatred; she is the one to be blamed because she is the one who is always there to remind him to pluck himself out of his bed. And it is always before the right time - time that would never be ripe enough - into the basket of another salaried day.

Before his pillow-marked face is washed; before his smoke-stained teeth are brushed, the concise diatribe, written in his ridiculous head (and often, hair) - that floats through the morning haze, and space, measured by the steps between the room and the bathroom sink - has a conclusion where the parallels between plucked-out-of-bed and being-thrown-into-existence is clear. Mom is the perpetrator of these two wrongs: wake and birth. Behind her façade of domestic care, ornamented with house chores and structured by motherly virtues, she is an agent of the spectacle; the administrator of thrownness. His continual suspicion of family members as the mutual agents of Capitalism is revitalised…

The running water, the few splashes, in flashes, such unfillial thoughts are washed down together with the nocturnal dust on his face, into the plug-hole once again. But like the little moles on his face, certain blemishes are here to stay. And with a friend who often agrees to parts of such conceptions, these moles can only grow more obvious than diminish into oblivion.

Therefore, as a disease bringing unease it persists, and as a song without a tune it continues.

I laughed at your one-liners, punchy salaried jokes which
filled the gaps of our silence with such salaried wits.

Salaried crowd, salaried cheers
Let’s forget the unpaid jeers

Salaried love
Salaried leisure

Salaried husband and salaried wife begets
A salaried child and salaried bliss

Salaried son, salaried dad

I despise your hopes, your taste and your dreams.

Salaried priest, salaried monk
preach us another salaried tranquillity
and devotion,
salaried emotion

Lunch with my salaried colleagues
Dinner with my salaried friends

Passing three packs of tissue clamped by a wrinkled hand,
I missed another opportunity to do salaried charity.

Where’s my attention? My salaried stare.