The World from a Bread Factory.

I used to work at a bread factory, and then when I was home for xmas I worked some shifts there again.

The union warehouse workers are all the nicest guys. They have more fun than I ever could, and I am envious of their smiles. We talk about work things, for that is the common language -- and there are always complaints. The way these guys get jerked around is indicative of everything, really. It's all there. The fiat banking dictated hierarchy and the unseen hand. And the the ever-churning mixer of luck: the management can't really say anything to me cause I'll just walk out. I need that job like I need an erection problem, but it could have easily been different -- who knows where I will end up when I am old. The mixer churns: the Canada Bread guys need their job, and they take a lot of crap. I wish they would win the lottery or something. I've wished for that a couple times now. I know money won't solve my problem, cause the problem is money: why should some get it and others not?

The majority of the guys there are Asian of some type. One guy is Japanese, another is Korean, and most are Chinese. In this language sense, it's an immersion into a world I'm not as familiar with; it's another world, away from mine: everything else. They've all been there for like 30+ years and for the most part, they're kind of too old to be doing the types of things we are. One guy is pushing seventy, I think. I, being young (and I guess a bit taller) could lap some of them if I wanted to. Simple luck that it should be this way. My point? We should be able to care for the elderly, and not slave away with them like peons pulling the Pharoh's bricks. It's a soul-foul, plain and simple. We'll see it on the replay in the afterlife.

The global community has already been long established. Technology has already been long established. So why are things not getting better? Why, instead of a Utopia, does it look like we're heading into a hellish green prison? Why is it these conditions in the west are actually among the best? Where else but Satan's backyard can the young and old slave together and have that be the apex of societal advancement? And did he not mention? -- it's not even a Bread Factory anymore, it's a Distribution Warehouse. Once proud bakers from a different age now wear back braces so they can stack the (surprisingly heavy) trays of bread sixteen high. Freedom is not being able to move in chains. It's just not. It is a quiet warehouse now; the flower of the heart wilts under those stale lights.

But then, these guys go home to their loving wives. They are loved, and that is what allows us to exist, stubbornly holding our candles into the blowing darkness. Without it we are lost and the darkness consumes.