Thorns Of Platitude, Cornfields Of Virginia

23 May

thorns

Thorns of Platitude

samplex

Fri May 21 13:41:40 1999
From: Dana Hudson

Since it took Sue and I nearly the entire day to produce 1 scanned page, I would request that the next time we have a detailed project, such as the equine ads, a consultant come in to set it up. (perhaps Gabriel?) It may only cost a $100 or so and 2 or more people wouldn't be monopolized for the entire day. Needless to say, I barely touched the work I wanted to
accomplish today. Just a thought! Thanks!

Suzy Woo—what in the husky cornfields of Virginia is wrong with Always & Forever personnel that they don't pick up the ball when it's tossed to them? Bless Dana, but the rest of them wrangle around an idea, stomp it and me into the ground, and then try to replicate the issue somewhere else without ever recognizing MY niche as their provider. At the very least they could put someone else on the job who knows and operates by proper protocols if they think I'm too shit for them to engage. And you say there is no conspiracy to stupidity...

Even with these thorns of platitude hanging around my head like a crown of asswipe sponsors, I can't break through the lines of communication with a so-called grass roots communications firm without people, many who have served me stiff drinks and fine food at their stately homes in acts that I was lazy enough to perceive as acts of friendship, treating me as an interloper without a sense of self with or without you, of business great and small, and of most importance, business with them, and the billing receipts to prove it. Don't call us, we'll call you? Those words make me want to screw the pooch, or as they say in the Navy, fuck things up royally, starting with Rolodex Nancy. Right there on the spot with Otto the Rotweiler.

People just don’t want to give me money, whether I earn it or not, whether I’m professional, hip, smartest person in the room, or just a nasty splat on a park bench. I can’t earn my keep. Seems I wrote that line in a poem long ago, rhyming it in couplet form with I am the yellow sheep—speaking of my Chinese astrological sign—among other references, but not so far away when I was only 25 and full of vigor. Compare what I’ve done to the world to what it has done to me.
To reboot my life I'd rather walk the trail of no regrets with Dylan (and no, the disk ain't playing but it's in my head) than waltz to these quacking quivers where nothing seems to mean anything and anything always leads nowhere with this idea of making my knowledge, my know-how and my burning ambition to publish work for me. We've both been pioneering all along and showing them our aptitudes, of how bleeding edge the two of us really are on the Mac desktop across nearly every discipline, one or the other of us tapping nearly every skill, and we've invested heavily in the technology, hardware, software, learning curves, and have a studio the envy of the larger user groups, and yet this bunch of "professionals" can't seem to pull their heads out of that dark and stinky place. Ink well I say, ink well...

The unwritten laws of office politics at Always & Forever being what they want them to be—can you say nepotism—spell at least my dismissal in season of their choosing, as they who wield the influence instead bank on empty flattery, only then to ignore first you—all those years ago as you introduced the first computers into that office single-handedly with negligible (and even that, begrudgingly) benefit of purse or appreciation in terms of your net worth to that firm—then me, and the value I can demonstrably bring as an Internet consultant. I tend to kick up gruff when I see ridiculous people behaving badly—turnabout's fair play—so they simply work double time to fog over or avoid great chunks of what we've presented to them, play dumb, then laugh in their own aces while they regroup to exclude what essentially amounts to negation of both of our skill sets and surpluses.

I may finally just have to walk away from this account, at this very stage, rather than see it slip all away as a direct insult to my intelligence, or more to the point, my undithering sober personality. But whining is not a tool for the job. I know the score. I wrote my own game. Walk away I must from this so-called horn of plenty that is gorging me with terminal anxiety and missing pieces to the protocol puzzle. You and I both know where the dysfunction originates, and it's not the way I handle business, it's theirs. Should I bill for this second issuage? Nah, but it sucks that I ALWAYS have to handhold at a distance with your firm.

Gawd, am I snorting a bird awful bad mood, or what, but if something painted Gabriel doesn't break soon, I'm damned to limp away no head for anything to disappear into this cold mighty night. But then perhaps that's the point. People just don't want to give me money, whether I earn it or not, whether I'm professional, hip, smartest person in the room, or just a nasty splat on a park bench. I can't earn my keep. Seems I wrote that line in a poem long ago, rhyming it in couplet form with I am the yellow sheep—speaking of my Chinese astrological sign—among other references, but not so far away when I was only 25 and full of vigor. Compare what I've done to the world to what it has done to me. Am I reaping what I've sown? I hardly think so...

Maybe I should just sow to the world less, and keep myself my harvest for myself and for you, my sweet tender applesauce kid...

Back to the Dollhouse. I'm still painting Mother's room. Thomas will all but finish. Chris is nearly there too. But by day's end the two wide windows still will need white trim work and windexing along this windup pitch for the spring. To the point of the fence, I mentioned painting the inside parking area, and letting that show us how unwhite the rest of the fence truly is, to Chris, as a finish up. Fed them brown bag of KFC chicken and extras. Best lunch this week, they both said.

Talked to Bracken. He's coming over this afternoon to dicuss the deal to get the GT book together. I want some 250 pages at least. He seems excited. We'll discuss terms and parameters then. I will use the Performa & printer as a $400 chip.

GT

© 1999 - 2013, Gabriel Thy. All rights reserved.

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"Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw. Souls grow on bones, but die beneath bankers' hours.""


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