"managerial" poems
Dear Miss ********,
We regret to inform you that unfortunately at this time we do not have space for you at our company.
Yours,
Xxxx xxxxxxxx
Dear Miss *******,
We regret to inform you that unfortunately at this time we cannot offer you a place with our company as you are under qualified.
Yours ** xxxxx
Dear Miss ********,
Thank you for your application. We regret to inform you that you are over-qualified for the position.
Yours, xxxxxxx ***
Dear Miss ******,
I don’t think so love. This isn’t even a letter, this is my managerial position on you handing me your cv.
Cheers, bahbye now
Dear Miss *******,
This isn’t really a letter either, but despite how un-pc this is, we can’t hire you due to your gender.
Thanks anyway, save your paper.
Dear Miss ********,
Thank you for your application, unfortunately we had stronger applicants.
Yours, etc., aaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaa
Dear Miss ********,
Thank you for your application. Unfortunately we are not hiring at the moment even though we had advertised the job you applied for.
Yours, xxxxxxxxx xxxxx
Dear Miss ********,
We had left it between you and another applicant, and couldn’t decide so we flipped a coin, and she won. You’re a lovely girl though.
Yours, fffffff ffff fffff
Dear Miss ********,
I refer to your claim for Jobseekers Benefit/Assistance at VVVVVV’s CCCCCC local office. Jobseekers Benefit/Assistance claims are subject to periodic review, consequently, I would appreciate if you would attend this office for interview on the 31/17/78 and bring the following :
1. Proof of Identity (i.e. Passport or Driving Licence or Long version of your Birth Certificate)
2. Proof of Residency (e.g. Letter from landlord/ Rent Book/ Lease/ Mortgage Receipt/ Letter from Parents + Household Bill)
3. Written Proof of recent job applications and replies.
4. Proof of job applications made through FAS
5. FAS courses applied for.
6. A copy of your Curriculum Vitae (CV): unemployed from
7. If your spouse/partner is an adult dependent on your claim, please bring his/her GNIB and Passport/Travel Documents.
Failure to respond to this letter may lead to suspension or disallowance of claim.
Yours sincerely,
**** *****
Local Officer
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
My name is ____ and I have an eating disorder.
I am _____ years old, five foot-something, 157 lbs, blue eyes, brown hair, & no thigh gap.
I go to the gym five to six days a week.
I have a degree, I work full time in a managerial position, and I have a eating disorder.
You cannot see my bones, you cannot see the space between my thighs, you cannot see the rings underneath my eyes for all the thousands of tears I have cried.
I struggle with something real, something people rarely talked about, no one reveals.
Punishment, self affliction, addiction, no type of healing medical prescription.
I don't eat, I eat, I binge, I drink, I purge, I cry, and still I try.
I try to battle every day, "don't count those **** calories" I say. "You know better" they cry but I remark, "Do I?"
All I know of is to hate, hate myself, my body, a disgusting self image that I formulate.
You see beauty, you see curves.
All I see
Is something that no one deserves. A body of disgust, a fat piece of skin.
As a 157 lbs living a 300 lb within.
- [ ]
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 3:48 PM UTC
Cheap imitations and prestidigitation
A head full of acid and water on the knee
Punch in
Punch out
I'm filing a work related grievance
For managerial negligence
I protest and picket
My picket sign parade along the picket line
Put me in the Warsaw ghetto
Make me wear a star
Put me to work
Until I starve
I want my independent identity
But the in-crowd beckons me to live in anonymity
-Tommy Johnson
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
Let me
rephrase this
Letting go ask
my (Big Sis)
Tis the Season
All his letting go
I am confusing myself
My shelf still but stubborn
Born to know the
death Urn
Its been a long time
Thinking how the
world turns
I am not the one to be
letting go
Letting go of
your maid
Letting go of
your
Guilt-free Gardner
But how can
people ever leave
their Mother
I cannot get you
out of my mind
Pineapple upside down
Bent out of shape upside cake
And you know my downside
Always laying on
my left side
Like the right fashion flash
H & M
Of him Hmm___?
I believe
in miracles
The learning process- Go principles
Like the Pinnacle
What a disciple
But I am not your
Raggedy Annie
Oakley
Like your ready
to choke me
I remember you lived in a slum
I'm' the better "Bazooka Chewing"
Gum hum yum
All Graffiti
****** off painter the
whole lump
sum
The Egyptian
Queen Nefertiti
The Sattelite Taurus
Bull Ram
The Mad-men but
the ladies big slam
The first plan
didn't work
Always Plan B
So Brutal darling
Please believe me
When I tell you
I love you
Website Prim and proper
portal
Knowing your place and
All the trademarks
Central Park or
Rockefeller
The Center of attention
The Goodfella detention
Over ice the Skaker
Her beauty marks
The true kiss comeback
bump-hump note
The camelback vote
Presidential Trump
One-day- creation
Two day-letting go
exhaustion
Such maturity
to realize my mission
I didn't have to
overwork
my mind
How General
things can be
Managerial so cordial
Or the materialistic me?
If I sang out all your affairs
Like the Pedigree
Shop until I drop you
Like Gum-drop
HBO I'm the Boho
Mr. Spencer shop
Mess
College drop-out
What am I chop liver
Letting go I don't really no?
What is on the next agenda
to Deliver not Pizza
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
The breeze sits in your palm.
the sun is a whimpering haze
of orange and white.
It has been a while since we
have been to church.
We twine our hands together,
Perched like birds on a row of knees.
the crooked pews, aquamarine stained glass windows
the empty space swirling around our panting bodies
in great whorls,
father david spewing forth the gospel, we speak in unison
thanks be to god in the highest, have peace to his people on earth.
Beforehand, we had a family lunch
in the fast food court of the local mall
my father had his name tag, his hat,
his managerial shirt and company-approved trousers,
and the same plate of food he has
consumed for eleven years,
we chew methodically,
enjoy the four-part silence,
glance shiftily at intervals,
let the words hang,
never leap,
off our tongues.
My father is a brave man, defeat is in his posture,
but never his spirit,
he has spent years of his life
in fast food courts, barely daring
to move an inch
for our sake
now he has shrunk into himself,
a man for all men. He sits, patiently.
listen, listen to me,
what I do,
I do for my family,
to let his last sigh be one of relief,
to salvage my mother and father's
hidden grief, to hold it
close to my heart, and let them know that
I understand.
We stop by a cherry orchard,
little Knopp's farm where every item
is home-made.
I strain the very tip of my fingers
to reach that dark purple cluster
of cherries that are warmed by the sun,
and taste like the earth,
it is a hawk and tumbleweed sort of a day.
my brother drapes the weight of his body
over the tree branches, my mother
is on tiptoe on ***** buckets to rip the berries
from the stem,
I watch them both and bristle, struck
by their loveliness.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
I heard someone utter the words,
"Sober is just another word for thirsty."
And I did not believe her.
Until my throat started itching,
the moment I stopped the stitching
of molecules that altered me,
turned me around,
I had been treading backwards.
My body ached with vacancy,
my hands trembled with an appetite
that played the part of
of my hands on the wheel.
It is an agonizing contradiction,
to be weighed down by nothing,
every drop that plunged into my mouth,
every plume that escaped
the narrow path to my lungs
was a nail in my soles,
keeping me firm to the ground,
I became stagnant,
only dipping under the influence
to ask for what I thought
was needed assistance.
My temporarily
stainless bloodstream
bred venomous ideas
while the darkest parts of me quivered
with insatiable hunger,
and made a show of it
with my fluttering fingertips.
I had dreamt
on nearly every day of the week
with my eyes open,
of clawing my out of this
canyon of flesh
I had been trapped inside of,
the echoes of an empty heart
were enough
to keep me awake for days,
witnessing a continuum,
of sunset,
sunrise,
sunset,
sunrise,
yet the sky never brightened.
The darkness was addictive,
I became a ****** for the murky,
and I have been buried.
Underneath habits
that stifle me.
Smoke that leaves my lungs
no room
for new air.
There is an invisible layer
of soot
caked onto my skin
falling from my nights spent
drunk and unaware
of which direction
I was growing.
My odometer
slowly screams
for me to stop,
to reverse,
begin again.
My shower head works hard.
It tries to bathe me in rebirth.
The shampoo bottle whispers
with its shape,
asks me to sing again.
Why did I stop singing?
Because I no longer enjoyed the sound of my voice.
I stopped believing in it.
Drenched in half truths
and uncut delusions,
my tongue was poison.
I had denied the beautiful methods
of me.
And employed the ugly.
I gave a managerial promotions
to the mean
the spitting mad
and the angry
slices of my heart.
But I will dig through
these concrete slabs
of toxic routines.
And I will take back my beauty
and revive my love.
And become who I am,
climbing out of who I have been.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
What if you don't want to be saved
You want to live outside the box
And you would rather the bubble be popped
Not have to claim ignorance
Living in the naïve land
Of innocence
Its tempting
And sometimes its a better option
But reality should not be an illusion
Racism and freedom
Class divided systems
To chase the dream
Or see reason
Where are the black barbie's
And who's your boss at managerial
Minority controlling normality
Scapegoats and state treason
Sacrificial lambs of the season
Corporate crimes with no repercussions
Why is black history
A month set aside
Equality or special treatment
Raising awareness or reinforcing difference?
Conform to standards
Tick box rules and regulations
Invasions of privacy
For your health and safety
Treated like guilty suspects
Looking to incriminate
Social norms and subjective realities
Powers of authority
Puppets of the same ideologies
Filtered through hierachies
And you become a product of the system
A convenient but replaceable minion
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC
Holding *** when the muscle requires some effort directs attention to the lower body away from the eyes and the head area which is the normal place of reflection.
It makes me think of releasing it and of the bathroom and toilet to do so, as if I was constructing a plan to carry out.
The other muscles used to concentrate can be relaxed as the new concentration is on the bladder area.
Yet this pulls the attention to the seat if seated, like placing attention on the foundation of the meditation posture.
The focus spreads to the thighs and solar plexus.
Finally to the back of the head, but with pressure that will not allow anything to replace it.
The management mind states next that the task at hand is more pressing than bladder release.
And I remember all the times I've had to hold my *** and the places and situations that precipitated them.
I start to tell myself that I'm suffering needlessly as if I was being bullied by my situation.
Thus the parts of the body actually take the center of the personality over other parts of the body.
The managerial aspect will offer motherly comfort to the childlike personality of holding ***
I start to go into wishful dream mentality just like holding *** while in the early hours of the morning trying to still sleep.
And the attention is tranquilized back to reflection with the hold tucked away in the background of the mind, reflection aspect now being more parental in nature.
What is transcendence? is sort of a moronic question, and I notice my words start to be more bullyish.
This question is rather asking is there a particle of transcendence?
No, it is a function of frequencies of the body.
Consciousness can be the essential aspect of transcending, but no more than consciousness is the essential of concentration.
Tranquility and insight, just as taught, happens, without attention on tranquility, and without tranquility within attention.
Mar 3, 2021
Mar 3, 2021 at 2:27 AM UTC
he's in the news
practically every day
for the things he'll
unthinkingly say
often he's seen signing
a managerial piece of paper
which is very important
in its draper
the heads of other
nations
aren't fond of his
aggravations
the word great tumbles
out of his gob
within every sentence
that word he'll lob
when he finally
moves off the stage
will it be filled by
another of his gauge
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 5:11 AM UTC
I had a panic attack in an American Eagle dressing room recently.
As I sobbed quietly
and begged my racing heart
to please slow the **** down,
I listened to the chatter in the adjacent stalls;
other girls proclaiming their depression because
that top did not come in their size.
My mother stood
on the other side
of the locked door, suggesting
that I just
"stop."
While I struggled to catch my breath,
my mother went out to the floor,
feeling the need to tell the tale
of her poor daughter who lost everything
to the sales clerks and managerial staff.
They brought me water
and a cookie
and cleared out
the dressing room.
It's too bad that my demons didn't really give a ****
about their kind gestures.
Eventually, I was able to **** in air long enough
to call out to my mother and tell her
I needed to go home now, please.
I hid my face from the customers in the store
casting condemning looks in my direction.
I was ashamed, because I knew
everyone else knew
and I never want
people seeing me
like that.
But,
at least we got
a 50% discount.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
Henry Kissinger Has Left His Multi-Million-Dollar Apartment
The bodyguards, the security details
The long black cars, the cooing movie stars
The expensive dinner jackets tailored just so
The best cigars, the rarest of champagnes
The jeweled watches and those golden cufflinks
The many underlings awaiting his call
The fawning bishops at the Al Smith dinners
The publishers eager to print his latest screeds
The voice that commanded armies and fleets
And left presidents quivering in fear
The millions of corpses rotting in the sun
I live in the Managerial Age, in a world of "Admin." The greatest evil is not now done in those sordid "dens of crime" that Dickens loved to paint. It is not done even in concentration camps and labour camps. In those we see its final result. But it is conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried, and minuted) in clean, carpeted, warmed, and well-lighted offices, by quiet men with white collars and cut fingernails and smooth-shaven cheeks who do not need to raise their voice. Hence, naturally enough, my symbol for Hell is something like the bureaucracy of a police state or the offices of a thoroughly nasty business concern.
-C. S. Lewis, Preface to The Screwtape Letters
Dec 1, 2023
Dec 1, 2023 at 3:05 PM UTC
questioning my core competency
_______________________________
*man or woman, an irrelevancy,
we all believe that we possess
certain core competencies that
reflect our managerial skills, the
hows of how we organize and smooth
the daily mishmash of our otherwise
would-be-totally-hellish-lives*
minor stuff, that have the risk potency
of the skinny tail of the curve, where the
highly improbable
seems to happen as if regularly scheduled.
let the gas tank go to E, worse, unnoticeably,
but on a small isle, with no AAA, a single gas station,
in howling wind, and summer rain mael-strom,
forced to risk a brief trip over hilly terrain, fearful of
being gas poor on the stuck-side of the road, with
no one to call, no savior to summon, and my sense
of self, now shattered-glass on the side of the road.
*did I mention that the night prior when the situation
was yellow lit to get my immediate attention, I had
forgotten my instrumental human connectivity, my
Inshallah cell phone (1), at our dining out restaraunt,
making necessary a seven point four mile R/T detour,
to preserve my integrity, pride, communicability, and
the few(er) left, shards of my lesser antilles’ ego and pride.*
turns out that even on E, for long periods, you still
can go some distance for the car designers, all liars,
to nice people like me, leave a gallon reserve undisclosed,
for the vain and statically stupid of which I am a member.
more details of my ineptness, shameful, shall not be herein revealed, but when we meet, gladly be disclosed over alcohol.
*but it is now between the hours of nine and ten AM, and despite
imbibing 22.5. ozs. of Jamaican coffee, I return to bed,
having made it to the local station with gnawed knuckles,
and chewed lower lip,
lower the shades, announce to no one in particular, hello,
do not disturb, for-up-all-night-poet-ite, is exhausted the
exhaust of depression, for his core competencies have
been renamed, now and forever, his*
gored incompetencies!
p.s. E, having consulted the owner’s manual,
stands for more precisely ,
Empty Headed
Jul 16, 2023
Jul 16, 2023 at 10:14 AM UTC