Chapter 1 

"Let me tell you about conversations I've had: There were all those talks with R----, existential talks without an ounce of grace in them; then the kind couple who engaged me in talk about child-rearing and jobs no one liked having; there was the good guy M---- full of bluster and ego when filled up with good drink, swaggering, blustering kind of conversations; or MS and her conversations of the inner self, artistic talk; with D it was history and experience, practical matters of one sort or another; cocky banter with my brothers; that guy I worked with out in construction, B, who talked with me for hours about work, life, and society as we worked on the house; crazy H monologues on why he carried a knife with him into the city and how he'd eaten the aborted fetus of a doe in the woods; convicts I worked with out on the Straights demolishing a company town; the guy who smoked a pipe in the warehouse and Klaus, the German shipping clerk; the fine, neurotic women of the hospital, how I loved their sweet conversations, talking out dreams with my friend by the fence when we were kids; tales of Gummy the wonder pisser flying over the city of drunks to old Pat the Irish warrior; I used to tell my buddies that my dad had won the war, single-handed, and they quizzed him about it next time they had a chance; oh an endless diarrhea of conversations with the good, bad, and the ugly."

The Job is the cowards Army; responsibility is transferred from brute authority to financial-economic authority to produce a very facile freedom that everyone struggles to maintain. "My relations with those working here are not bad by any means. I've known these people for years; they've crossed my eyes and imprinted themselves on my sensibility for so long all I can do now is breathe with them. There is something to be said for learning through new experiences, pride notwithstanding. The only thing I don't stand for is the horrible pressure to remake myself in the image of a slave. These people are so nice, accommodating, ineffectual, rather bumbling like myself and yet exert a force by their presence that is difficult to shake. One smells not fear but with fear I suppose."

My relations with co-workers is always poor. I've known these people for years; they've crossed my eyes and imprinted themselves on me, somewhere, for so long that all I can do is breathe with them. There is something to learn everywhere, under all circumstances, pride notwithstanding. One wishes they could dismiss folk as in the old days but it is not au couture these days. Yes, my pride is bruised. I will not relent to the horrible pressure to re-make myself in the image of a slave. A nice, accommodating, ineffectual, rather rumbling slave.

David Eide
January 24, 2014