I'm a Model, an Alienated Labor Model

I’m a model, an alienated labor model. Work’s been so tedious, repetitive, bobofying, and dehumanizing. I have metamorphosed into one of the office furnishings. I’m just one of the pieces of furniture occupying office space. And I’m exceptionally tired of repeating to ask why.

My life felt like a Kafka novel.

And I feel useless. I’m as useless as the in-and-out tray for letters, at a time when everyone e-mails everything.

I wouldn’t have noticed that I’m actually alive if I didn’t hear some chillout or late 90’s music from my launchcast station. And if I didn’t sit beside a window behind the broad metropolitan sky, with a daily serving of sunsets during late afternoons.