Sounds like suckitude at work. Sorry. Wisdoc went thru about 4-5 years of her boss demeaning and degrading her, taking her windowed research suite and sticking her in an oversize internal closet. After 26 years of service to our nation's mentally ill veterans. He got shitcanned in the recent DVA unpleasantness for many, many instances of the same. Things are better now, but man it was shitty for a long while. Hope it's not so much so for you.
Work'snotsobad, standard gah. Was actually stunningly beautiful light at time of photo (and I'm going to ask Earthgirl if she wants to try to paint that photo) and I was the only one in the area so I didn't have to share it with anyone I didn't want to. View now sucks from temp cube, though new cube has no natural light at all. Move back tomorrow.
comment at youtube 'new cube' is from me despite differing cybernom
now that cubicles are a two-day topic, i give myself permission to repost once again a james tate poem with my anagogic commentary - adding, this time, a pointer to the song from the movie babe [plot not so different from the first part of tate's poem] -a musical tribute to the joy of living while under the gun of mortality set to a tune from Symphony No. 3 of Saint-Saëns
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sAqJLXmjZOY
"The Promotion" by James Tate
I was a dog in my former life, a very good dog, and, thus, I was promoted to a human being. I liked being a dog. I worked for a poor farmer guarding and herding his sheep. Wolves and coyotes tried to get past me almost every night, and not once did I lose a sheep. the farmer rewarded me with good food, food from his table. He may have been poor, but he ate well. and his children played with me, when they weren’t in school or working in the field. I had all the love any dog could hope for. When I got old, they got a new dog, and I trained him in the tricks of the trade. He quickly learned, and the farmer brought me into the house to live with them. I brought the farmer his slippers in the morning, as he was getting old, too. I was dying slowly, a little bit at a time. The farmer knew this and would bring the new dog in to visit me from time to time. The new dog would entertain me with his flips and flops and nuzzles. And then one morning I just didn’t get up. They gave me a fine burial down by the stream under a shade tree. That was the end of my being a dog. Sometimes I miss it so I sit by the window and cry. I live in a high-rise that looks out at a bunch of other high-rises. At my job I work in a cubicle and barely speak to anyone all day. This is my reward for being a good dog. The human wolves don’t even see me. They fear me not.
My analysis: I conclude that the cubicle dweller of Tate's poem is worse off in his current incarnation - his "promotion" to a human life has not gone well - for two reasons.
1)His emotional needs were much better met in his life as a dog - Tate evokes this beautifully, and anyone who has loved a dog must be moved by this.
2)Contrariwise, Tate's protagonist, looking backwards at his former happiness, has not yet grasped his current opportunity and responsibility for "the development of his soul", to use old-fashioned language.
See the Monty Python creed - movie excerpt
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2QJvc_SxFQ
An exegesis of the above scene:
http://tinyurl.com/25wbddu
Tate's protagonist is "reborn" into human circumstances, but he is immature in the sense that he is only reacting to, rather than mindfully and proactively responding to, his current place in the universe - he needs to be reminded of the possibility he has to "shine":
Sounds like suckitude at work. Sorry. Wisdoc went thru about 4-5 years of her boss demeaning and degrading her, taking her windowed research suite and sticking her in an oversize internal closet. After 26 years of service to our nation's mentally ill veterans. He got shitcanned in the recent DVA unpleasantness for many, many instances of the same. Things are better now, but man it was shitty for a long while. Hope it's not so much so for you.
ReplyDeleteWork'snotsobad, standard gah. Was actually stunningly beautiful light at time of photo (and I'm going to ask Earthgirl if she wants to try to paint that photo) and I was the only one in the area so I didn't have to share it with anyone I didn't want to. View now sucks from temp cube, though new cube has no natural light at all. Move back tomorrow.
Deletecomment at youtube 'new cube' is from me despite differing cybernom
ReplyDeletenow that cubicles are a two-day topic, i give myself permission to repost once again a james tate poem with my anagogic commentary - adding, this time, a pointer to the song from the movie babe [plot not so different from the first part of tate's poem] -a musical tribute to the joy of living while under the gun of mortality set to a tune from Symphony No. 3 of Saint-Saëns
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sAqJLXmjZOY
"The Promotion" by James Tate
I was a dog in my former life, a very good
dog, and, thus, I was promoted to a human being.
I liked being a dog. I worked for a poor farmer
guarding and herding his sheep. Wolves and coyotes
tried to get past me almost every night, and not
once did I lose a sheep. the farmer rewarded me
with good food, food from his table. He may have
been poor, but he ate well. and his children
played with me, when they weren’t in school or
working in the field. I had all the love any dog
could hope for. When I got old, they got a new
dog, and I trained him in the tricks of the trade.
He quickly learned, and the farmer brought me into
the house to live with them. I brought the farmer
his slippers in the morning, as he was getting
old, too. I was dying slowly, a little bit at a
time. The farmer knew this and would bring the
new dog in to visit me from time to time. The
new dog would entertain me with his flips and
flops and nuzzles. And then one morning I just
didn’t get up. They gave me a fine burial down
by the stream under a shade tree. That was the
end of my being a dog. Sometimes I miss it so
I sit by the window and cry. I live in a high-rise
that looks out at a bunch of other high-rises.
At my job I work in a cubicle and barely speak
to anyone all day. This is my reward for being
a good dog. The human wolves don’t even see me.
They fear me not.
My analysis: I conclude that the cubicle dweller of Tate's poem is worse off in his current incarnation - his "promotion" to a human life has not gone well - for two reasons.
1)His emotional needs were much better met in his life as a dog - Tate evokes this beautifully, and anyone who has loved a dog must be moved by this.
2)Contrariwise, Tate's protagonist, looking backwards at his former happiness, has not yet grasped his current opportunity and responsibility for "the development of his soul", to use old-fashioned language.
See the Monty Python creed - movie excerpt
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2QJvc_SxFQ
An exegesis of the above scene:
http://tinyurl.com/25wbddu
Tate's protagonist is "reborn" into human circumstances, but he is immature in the sense that he is only reacting to, rather than mindfully and proactively responding to, his current place in the universe - he needs to be reminded of the possibility he has to "shine":
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Y6S1-Jj8cE