The Middleman is at the start
with a fistfull of pockets.
He walks more than he talks it, with
empty hands.
Orange Peel knuckles; peeling, showing
A segmented truth. He mocks it.
   Wholly revealing hisself with
waterbottle lungs,
   Breathing, squeezing; knuckles popping
   cracking, rabble-rousing-
The
Jenga game of a rib cage -
   - sounding skeleton and shouting -
As the beating heart un-falls apart
Unprotected, Uncontained.

By what unscrutability
can a pure heart be blood-stained?
   As his vain-ed cadence flows below the stone
The stone; a frame, posed.
Humble, yet reigns.

Like, the middleman comes to the end and
By God! Someone's killed the messenger, By God!
   Inadvertent
   Changing channels, all this
   static passive
   staging Battles
   A rib cage match like unintended, homicidal rattles
      As spinal shivers, the Middleman Delivers.

You
  could cut
        the air  
with a knife
it was just that thick
it had me
  chewing my nails
     gnawing them to
        the quick.

A small voice
  inside my head said
- you are not the boss of me -
     No question about it
         I work hard to be free.


I plan for
the worst
but I hope
for the best
born to create
I take my imagination
and put it to the test.

They say that a bad
   attitude is like a flat tire
       you have to change it
   if you're going to get very far.
     Free will,
         choose the things you choose
            But you just can't go pinning all
                your hopes on some far away star.

As life goes and go it does,
I hold on tight and
leave my past in the dust.
I've come face to face with my demons
and lived to tell the tale,
I was backed right up against the wall
but my morality is in tact,
this cat's not for sale."

I'm alive for two reasons
        yeah it's down to that.
Reason number one I was born
                and two I didn't die yet.
    I am no go between
        it hasn't come down to that
           I can't deliver what I never had
       Although sometimes I have to
give my head a shake. I always remember
to give a sucker an even break.

©2013

You could cut the air
With a knife, it was just that thick
It had me chewing my nails
Gnawing them to the quick

I plan for the worst
But I hope for the best
Born to create
I take my imagination
and put it to the test

They say that a bad attitude
Is like a flat tire
You have to change it
If you are going to get very far
Free will
Choose the things you choose
But you can't go pinning all
Your hopes on some far away star

As Life goes, and go it does
I hold on tight and put my past in the dust
I have come face to face with my demons
and lived to tell the tale
I was backed right up against the wall
but my morality is in tact...
'' This cat's not for sale''.

I'm alive for two reasons
yeah, it's come down to that
Reason number one is I was born
And number two well, I didn't die yet.
I am no go between it has come down to that
I can't deliver something I never had
Although sometimes I have to give my head a shake
And always remember to give a sucker an even break.

When I was eighteen I worked for a company called GLENCOM. You probably haven't heard of them, you're not supposed to.
They're the invisible middleman.
What happens is, when a company wants to set up a call centre but doesn't have the space or the manpower to do it themselves, they call Glencom.
Glencom then puts together a team of people in Swindon,
teaches them the bare minimum about the product they need to sell and sticks them around a table with headphones on,
completely cut off from the people around them being force-fed phone numbers for eight straight hours a day.

They do this for dozens of companies. And there are dozens of companies just like it.
Producing nothing, just doing other peoples ***** work.
The jobs they don't want to do themselves.
Like Telemarketing. Cold-Calling.
You know when you've just got into the bath,
or you're sitting down to dinner and the phone rings and you think
'I don't want to answer that but it might be important'
and when you answer it it's someone you've never met desperately trying to sell you something you don't want?
And no matter what you say they don't seem to listen, or care,
they just keep reading standard procedure from a script until you can't take it any more and you just hang up?
Chances are, that person is a Glencom specialist telephone agent.

I loved that job, I really did.
You probably think I'm crazy for it, it's the kind of job that middle class kids do for a little extra cash while they're at university,
until they get sick of the soul-crushing routine of getting yelled at and hung up on, yelled at and hung up on and they stop showing up after six weeks.
Year after year, cold-calling is rated in the top ten things people hate about the modern world.
I was part of the problem.
And I loved it.

You see, when you get one of these phone calls, you don't realise that it's a real person on the other end of the phone.
Of course, you do know that it must be a person, that's common sense.
It's just not in your nature to think of that disembodied voice as having a face and a mind
and a favourite food .
and a family
and a history
and a home that they go to every night at seven thirty.
They're a spirit.
One-dimensional.
So you don't treat them like a real person,
and that's OK, really it is, we're used to it.
As far as you're concerned, whoever you're talking to is just a faceless corporation,
so you yell, and you swear,
way more than you would if you were face to face with someone, say, at your bank or in a shop.
Every little thing that has ****** you off that day gets unloaded onto that person because,
for those five minutes,
with your bath getting cold,
or your dinner getting overcooked and blackened,
they are everything that's wrong with society.

So by the time you finally slam the receiver down, and return to whatever it was you were doing,
you're face red, out of breath, can't remember the last time you were that angry
they've ruined your evening.
You swear you're going to complain,
but you know that if you do that you'll just get caught up in their red tape and rhetoric all over again.
There's nothing to do but let it go.
So you do, and with it, something strange happens.
All that anger and tension that you've been carrying around all day just leaves your body slowly.

The traffic that morning;
your workload at the office;
that cold you just cant shake;
the barista who got your coffee order wrong, but your were running late so didn't have time to complain and get a new one;

All those little things that you can't control,
it doesn't seem worth worrying about them now.
You think of how angry you were at that little voice coming out of the telephone speaker and you feel sort of proud,
like it makes up for bending over and taking **** from your Boss all those years.
from your bank all those years
from the gas and electric companies
and your phone company and internet service provider all those years
from your politicians all those years
all that doesn't sting so much any more.

Because you just stuck it to the man.
You stood up to the big corporations and you got the upper hand.
You start to see the funny side,
you'll tell everyone at work about this.

That's the thing about telemarketers: They're one of those little annoyances that people love so much,
like the weather or queue-jumpers.
Something we all hate, but can all relate to,
a lynch-pin of small-talk,
that inoffensive comedian you like so much was talking about it on tv the other night.

But this time you get a chance to stri ke back.
It's not like getting a parking ticket,
or stubbing your toe,
you get to yell at this inconvenience, tell it exactly how you feel without any fear of repercussions.

Without you realising it, that telemarketer has just done you a valuable service.
You've just saved yourself an hour in front of a punch-bag,
or a session with your therapist or *****.
Without knowing it you are in a better mood than you've been all week,
so you don't smack your kids when they spill paint on the carpet.
And you don't yell at your wife when she forgot to pay the electric bill.
You float on a cloud of air until bed time, and probably make love to your partner for the first time in weeks.
You sleep a healthy eight hours and wake up to breakfast  and coffee and drive to work feeling like you did when you first started there,
when you could still see a bright future ahead of you.
All thanks to that soulless,
faceless,
nameless
disembodied voice on the other end of the phone.
All thanks to me.

I worked out that in any given day,
I got yelled at or told to ******* or otherwise unnecessarily lashed out at maybe thirty out of every hundred calls.
That was thirty families who were going to have a nice dinner,
without the usual arguments for once.
Maybe a few times a week I could prevent an abusive husband from having that one whiskey too many and bashing his wife from room to room.
If you believe in a butterfly flapping it's wings in Tokyo, and all that,
then maybe I, without ever leaving my desk, could stop a ****** from happening, perhaps once a year.
I was making a difference and all I had to do was let my computer dial a random phone number and to introduce myself as
'whoever calling from wherever to let you know about a valuable promotion...'

When I realised all this I decided I would work harder to up my productivity.
A hundred and fifty calls a day,
two hundred.

And I had to provoke more anger.
Subtly of course, I would try to be more obnoxious and inept.
I got peoples names wrong;
I talked over people.
Soon I was getting fifty hang-ups a day.
So I, like a good employee, constantly tried to better myself.
I sniggered at peoples names;
I requested needlessly extensive and intrusive personal information;
asked to speak to 'the man of the house'.
I was getting balled out with every other call.
Seventy, eighty, ninety times a day.
Every time I was called a nuisance I gave myself a pat on the back.
Every time someone said they wanted to speak with my supervisor, I just said they weren't in and then rewarded myself with a cookie at break time.
I got more competitive with myself.
I considered it a personal gift when I got someone with an Indian name,
or a speech impediment.
Gay couples were a Godsend.
I corrected peoples grammar;
I cursed;
I slurred;
I made thinly veiled ****** references.

I was thorn in the side of everyone just trying to enjoy a quiet Sunday afternoon.
I was the itch that no-one could reach.
I invited venom, longed for hatred.
Because if it was aimed at me, it may as well have been aimed at the moon.
I was a necessary evil.
I was the common enemy of the whole country.  
I can't say how many relationships I must have saved,
how many lives I touched.
Suicides prevented? You never know.
I was making the world a better place, one botched customer service attempt at a time.
I was saving people without them even knowing my name.
The anonymous benefactor,
the masked hero.
I was Zorro, I was Batman.
And I loved it.
I thrived on it.
I had found something I was good at.
I could have stayed there, soaking up insults, absorbing peoples troubles, lightening their burdens, forever.

Until three months ago when my manager saw my sales reports.
He, of course, didn't understand why we were really there.
He thought it was about money, about generating figures for whatever company we were hired by that month.
He threw buzz-words and management speak at me.
Improving Revenue.
Optimising Productivity.
Promoting Synergy.
Utilising Opportunity.
Sentence fragments that wouldn't make sense if he meant them.
Nonsensical ramblings littered with capital letters.
By Glencom's standards, rather than my own, I was the worst specialist telephone agent that he had ever seen.
I didn't bother trying to explain.
He wouldn't have understood,
I wanted something real.
Glencom could have been the first call centre to truly,
what's the phrase he would have used? Attain it's Potential.
We could have been pioneers in the business world, providing a service that the public really needs.
But there was no point, he had listened to recordings of my calls and had no choice but to fire me on the spot.

That job was the only thing I had loved for a long, long time. T
he only thing that gave me purpose,
my reason for getting out of bed,
for putting on trousers and shoes.
It was all I had and I lost it,
blacklisted by the employment agency that placed me there.
For a while I tried calling people at random from the phone book but it didn't work out.
You have no idea how much it costs to make a hundred phone calls a day on a pay as you go mobile.
Ten pence a minute
times by sixty minutes an hour
times by eight hours a day  
minus a half hour for lunch equals more than jobseeker's allowance is willing to provide.
I switched to contract but these days everyone has phone number recognition,
so everyone can see that you're calling from a personal phone rather than a business one.

Eventually I started getting phone calls from the phone company explaining that I'd be cut off
and fined if I was using a personal phone for random telemarketing without a license.

The operator was clear, polite and ultimately very helpful.

******' Amateur.

The day begins with a friendly voice,
a companion unobtrusive
plays that song that's so elusive
and the magic music makes the morning mood.

A rider hits the open road,
there is magic at his fingers
for the spirit ever lingers,
undemanding contact in his solitude.

Invisible airwaves crackle with life.
Bright antenna bristle with the energy.
Emotional feedback on timeless wavelength.
Bearing a gift beyond price, almost free.

A familiar song plays,
and he starts thinking to himself:

It was a long, long time ago, wasn’t it?
I can still remember how that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
that I could make those people dance,
and maybe they'd be happy for a while.
But February made me shiver
with every paper I'd deliver,
bad news on the doorstep
I couldn't take one more step.
I can't remember if I cried
when I read about their widowed brides,
but something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.

I see the bad moon a-rising.
I see trouble on the way.
I see earthquakes and lightnin'.
I see bad times today.
There's a bad moon on the rise.

So bye-bye, Miss American Pie.
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
singin', "This'll be the day that I die,
this'll be the day that I die."

They’re modern-day warriors
mean, mean stride.
Today's Tom Sawyers
mean, mean pride.
Though their minds are not for rent.
Don't put them down as arrogant
their reserve, a quiet defense
riding out the day's events.

And what you say about their company
is what you say about society.
Catch the mist, catch the myth
catch the mystery, catch the drift...

“Who are you?”

The tap drips,
the rider finishes his whiskey,
“I've looked under chairs,
I've looked under tables,
I've tried to find the key
To fifty million fables.

They call me The Seeker.

I've been searching low and high.
I won't get to get what I'm after
'til the day I die.”

They look at each other, then back at him,
“Who? Whaddya here for?"

He turns his glass upside down,
slams it on the bar
and says on his way out,
“I like smoke and lightnin'
heavy metal thunder
racing with the wind
and the feeling that I'm under.”
He gets his motor runnin',
heads out on the highway,
looking for adventure
in whatever comes his way.

Yeah, darlin' gonna make it happen.
Take the world in a loving embrace.
Fire all of your guns at once
And explode into space.
Like a true nature's child
we were born,
born to be wild.
We can climb so high,
“I never wanna die.”

Company, always on the run
destiny is a rising sun.
Oh,
he was born, 6 gun in his hand.
Behind a gun,
he'll make his final stand.
That's why they call him
bad company,
and he can't deny.
Bad company
'til the day he dies.

Screams break the silence,
waking from the dead of night.
Vengeance is boiling,
he's returned to **** the light.

Then when he's found who he's looking for
listen in awe and you'll hear him
bark at the moon.

Years spent in torment,
buried in a nameless grave.
Now he has risen,
miracles would have to save
those that the beast is looking for.
Listen in awe and you'll hear him
bark at the moon.

It's all the same, only the names will change.
Every day, it seems we're wastin' away.
Another place where the faces are so cold.
He'd drive all night just to get back home.

He’s a cowboy.
On a steel horse he rides.
He’s wanted dead or alive,
wanted dead or alive.

In the day he sweats it out on the streets
of a runaway American dream,
at night he rides through the mansions of glory
in suicide machines
sprung from cages on Highway 9.
Chrome wheeled, fuel-injected, and steppin' out over the line,
oh, baby this town rips the bones from your back
it's a death trap, it's a suicide rap
he gotta get out while he’s young.

Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future.
He wanna fly like an eagle,
to the sea,
fly like an eagle, let his spirit carry him.
he wants to fly like an eagle
'til he’s free,
oh Lord, through the revolution.

But a storm is threatening
The Seeker’s very life today,
“If I don't get some shelter
I'm gonna fade away.
War, children!
It's just a shot away.
War, children!
It's just a shot away.
See the fire is sweepin'
our streets today,
it burns like a red coal carpet
and a mad bull lost its way.”

Out there in the fields
they fight for their meals,
they get their back into their living,
“We don't need to fight
to prove we’re right,
we don't need to be forgiven.”

The seeker feels around for his honesty,
“So, so you think you can tell
heaven from hell?
Blue skies from pain?
Can you tell a green field
from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
Did they get you to trade
your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
Did you exchange
a walk-on part in the war
for a leading role in a cage?”

“There must be some kinda way outta here.”
Said The Seeker to his radio,
“There's too much confusion
I can't get no relief.

Businessmen, they drink my wine,
plowmen dig my earth,
none will level on the line
nobody of it is worth.”

Invisible airwaves crackle with life.
Bright antenna bristle with the energy.
Emotional feedback on timeless wavelength.
Bearing a gift beyond price, almost free.

“No reason to get excited.”
The radio, it kindly spoke,
“There are many here among us
who feel that life is but a joke.
But, uh, but you and I, we've been through that
and this is not our fate,
so let us stop talkin' falsely now
the hour's getting late.”

But he knows
that we'll be fighting in the streets
with our children at our feet.
And the morals that they worship will be gone.
And the men who spurred us on
sit in judgment of all wrong,
They decide and the shotgun sings the song.

We'll tip our hats to the new constitution,
take a bow for the new revolution,
smile and grin at the change all around,
pick up our pens and poems,
Just like yesterday,
then we'll get on our knees and pray
that we don't get fooled again.

After this thought, he promises himself,
and any who’s listening,
“Well, I won't back down.
No, I won't back down.
You can stand me up at the gates of hell,
but I won't back down.”

Carry on, my wayward son,
there'll be peace when you are done.
Lay your weary head to rest,
don't you cry no more.

Once he rose above the noise and confusion
just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion.
He was soaring ever higher
but he flew too high.

Though his eyes could see, he still was a blind man.
Though his mind could think, he still was a mad man.
He hears the voices when we’re dreaming,
he can hear them say:
“Carry on, my wayward son!”

He hears! riding off he says,
“Don't stop me now,
don't stop me.
'Cause I'm fighting for my country, fighting for my love.
I'm a shooting star leaping through the sky,
Like a tiger defying the laws of gravity.
I'm a peaceful man who must fight
so I'm gonna go, go, go!
There's no stopping me.
I'm burnin' through the sky,
200 degrees,
that's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit.
I'm traveling at the speed of light!”

There's a place up ahead and we’re goin'
just as fast as our feet can fly.
Come away, come away, if you're goin'
leave the sinkin' ship behind.

Come on the risin' wind,
we're goin' up around the bend.

Bring a song and a smile for the banjo.
Better get, while the gettin's good.
Hitch a ride to the end of the highway
where the neon's turn to wood.

Come on the risin' wind,
we're goin' up around the bend.

In a place he only dreamt of,
where his soul is always free.
Silver stages, golden curtains
filled his head, plain as can be.
As a rainbow grew around the sun
all his stars of love who died
came from somewhere beyond the scene you see,
these lovely people played just for him:

“Green grass and high tides forever.
Castles of stone souls and glory.
Lost faces say we adore you
as kings and queens bow and play for you.
Those who don't believe us,
find their souls and set them free.
Those who do believe and love,
this time will be their key.
Time and time again we've thanked you
for peace of mind.
You helped us find ourselves
amongst the music and the rhyme
that enchants you here.”

Then the door was open, and the wind appeared.
The candles blew and then disappeared.
The curtains flew and then he appeared,
Saying, “don't be afraid.
All your times have come
here but now they're gone.
Seasons don't fear the reaper
nor do the wind, the sun, or the rain.”

We're leavin' together,
but still, it's farewell
and maybe we'll come back
to Earth, who can tell?
I guess there is no one to blame.
We're leaving the ground,
will things ever be the same again?
It's the final countdown,
it’s his final breath,
and with it
The Seeker finds his mark,

“We all hear the call of a lifetime ring,
felt the need to get up for it.
You cut out the middleman.
You got no time for the messenger.
Got no regard for the thing that you don't understand.
You got no fear of the underdog.
That's why you will not survive.”

It wasn't the fear of failure that sent me plunging into the pool of electric currents, it was act of failing.

I go into everything with a "**** it" attitude, with low expectations so I'm never disappointed,

But when things start spiraling down my immediate thought is to abandon ship.

If there's a chance I'm going to hit rock bottom, I want to get there on my own terms, before anything has a chance to drag me down.

Failed a class? Might as well drop out

Had some ice cream while on a diet? Might as well eat the whole tub

About to get pushed onto thin ice? Might as well start jumping til it cracks

If something is going to go, I need it to either go all wrong or all wrong