Festering Carbuncle: The other night (documented photographically)

With the way my job works, a lot of time can pass between the last time you work with somebody and the next time you work with them. Sometimes this is a blessing, other times it can kind of suck, but mostly it just means that I get to work with a lot of different people and mostly don't have to be around any of them long enough to get sick of them. In any case, recently I worked with this guy who likes to read books, and I don't mean like no supermarket paperbacks, but real, honest to goodness lit'rature. So, were down in the hold of a rail ship and he asks me, he says, "So, now that you got your promotion did you quit reading." "No!" I said, "the last thing I read was... Well... Fuck, I guess I did quit reading, but I guess I make up for it by still writing. Oh, wait, I don't write anymore either... hmm... Well, I still watch cartoons. Yeah, I watch the fuck out of 'em"

So, I get to thinking about this whole exchange the other day, about how I don't read or write much anymore and how it is all work's fault. I think of D. Boon's lamentations on the soul crushing nature of the workaday life and I feel like a hero, or a martyr, or something. But then I think of the passage in Bread and Roses that tells about the philosophical atmosphere in the shoemaker's shop, the days spent reading and discussing the masterworks of the greatest minds of all generations, and I can't help but think that maybe it's not work's fault. I consider this for a moment before I remember those pictures I saw on the tv of Chris Benoit's brain. Man that guy's brain was all sorts of fucked up. They said it was from concussions. So I get to thinking, I wonder what my brain looks like. I figure it's all sorts of fucked up too, with like, big dead spots that don't do anything anymore, remnants of long lost abilities like maths, empathy, and deductive reasoning.

But anyways, more work pictures, because I know that everybody loves me, and by extension, everything I do and see.

Two spouts in one hatch, 'cause we're crazy like that.