TheDeceased
Ex-Bluelighter
When I was a teenager, I called my father a Suit - not simply because he wore one to work every day but because of what it meant to me. The piece of clothing represented everything I despised about the world that I was embarking upon. It was the ultimate symbol of conformity.
Over the years, I frequented various professions, eking out an existence by washing dishes, driving taxis and wiping people's asses -at first metaphorically, then literally. Time went on and about ten years after leaving school, something strange started to happen. Upon seeing the suit-clad prisoners I had pitied and despised in my youth, I began to feel something undeniably similar to envy. And finally something horrible dawned on me. There was no difference between me and them. Or rather, there was -but it had nothing to do with morals or ethics, or conforming to the norm or any of that bullshit. It was the costume. The suits themselves.
Business men hate their jobs like everyone else. They wear a particular style of clothes, like garbage men or karate instructors. They clock in and out each day, each week, each year. The only thing that separates us, is the suits, and what significance do they have other than being a reflection on quality of life?
I put the bins out every Monday. I pay taxes and water the garden.
I am a conformist: a Suit without a suit.
They are Diamonds.
I am a Spade.
Over the years, I frequented various professions, eking out an existence by washing dishes, driving taxis and wiping people's asses -at first metaphorically, then literally. Time went on and about ten years after leaving school, something strange started to happen. Upon seeing the suit-clad prisoners I had pitied and despised in my youth, I began to feel something undeniably similar to envy. And finally something horrible dawned on me. There was no difference between me and them. Or rather, there was -but it had nothing to do with morals or ethics, or conforming to the norm or any of that bullshit. It was the costume. The suits themselves.
Business men hate their jobs like everyone else. They wear a particular style of clothes, like garbage men or karate instructors. They clock in and out each day, each week, each year. The only thing that separates us, is the suits, and what significance do they have other than being a reflection on quality of life?
I put the bins out every Monday. I pay taxes and water the garden.
I am a conformist: a Suit without a suit.
They are Diamonds.
I am a Spade.
