God I love coffee that delicious brown bean
Grind it up and press it. A brew that's black and mean
Smooth velvet--sumptuous. Chocklit brandy--unctuous.
Still, it's my favourite brew, pour it down--delicious.
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Coffee
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Contemporary Puppetry
He put his hand up the bottom
And slipped his fingers into the sleeves
Make it dance, play, juke and jive
That's one way to feel alive
I have never liked work. Well. That’s not entirely true. I have had jobs where I’ve had a good time, where I’ve made friends and met good people. But sooner or later, that frequent visitor comes along and asks, “Is this it?”
I liked being a chef. I did it for more than ten years of my life and if it weren’t for the long hours, the high stress environment, the low pay, the lack of weekends and holidays and sick days, and the unpaid overtime–if it weren’t for everything, I’d still be a chef today. If you took away 99% of that job, there would still be a sliver of camararderie and joy remaining.
If you can imagine it. A Tuesday morning with the sun peaking through the restaurant windows. The venue hasn’t opened yet. You’re in the kitchen with two of your now closest friends (every week you spend 60 hours with each other). The tunes are playing. And, you’re cooking. You have fresh vegetables at your fingertips and the smell of chicken stock brewing. There’s fresh bread in the oven, and the front of house manager has just made everyone coffee.
No matter how you press it, cooking food is still a joy.
I didn’t like being in an office. But it’s likely I was working in a slaveship. What a horrid place. Rows upon rows of uptight individuals hunched over desks, clacking feverishly. The whip cracked so hard that everyone ate lunch at their desks. A plastic container, nuked until deformed, sitting in between their keyboard and chest. Leaning over the container, shoveling spoonfuls into their mouths so as to not get food everywhere. You are allowed 30 minutes ONLY.
I did like the feeling of having my own business. If the restaurant had been successful I could have done it forever. It was easy to wake up every morning knowing that all my efforts contributed to my own livelihood. To my own existence.
I think that’s the key thing here, a job can be done indefinitely if there is belief in the ideology. If a person is going to put a hand up my bum, and have me as their puppet, I gotta at least respect them.
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