I walk away from the office on my lunch hour. I bury myself in my music, drown out the world. Rush bounces through my headphones and runs in my ears. Neil Peart is beating my eardrums with controlled ferocity, and as my mind is not for rent, to any god or government, much like Tom Sawyer, my feet match the beat, with a mean, mean stride, riding out the days events.
Random direction sounds like the right direction to go in. Go north and west, normally I go in the opposite direction. The sidewalk is full of bustle and hustle, as is normal for a 12:30 pm lunch hour in midtown hell…err… Manhattan. I’m walking around my home, or what I’ve called home sweet workplace for the better part of two decades, so I am intimately aware of where I am…normally. Today I’ve taken my mind off of the hook and just decided to wander.
I don’t want to think about anything right now. I am only back in work for a few weeks, back making copies for far too little, as a temp for a company that cares little about it’s employees. I am back, and hating it. I realize that most everyone else does too. I hate the fact that I see so many people doing things they hate, things they would not, if it weren’t for the world they live in, do in a million years. I can tell they hate it because it is written in the way they walk, etched in their faces. Mouths can spout untruth after untruth without respite, but the eyes never lie.
And I am one of these zombie bastards. Office fodder, one of those who do stupid crap for evil people so we can almost live a kind of semi-non happy life, until the next set of bills comes due. Too much work and stress for not enough money makes for discontent in the hearts of all. If my people had balls they would have revolted by now, but they’ve been placated by toys and baubles that only fools would content themselves with. No one stops them but themselves, fear and unknowing keep them still.
And here I am walking amongst them, ignoring the world when I should be lighting it on fire. I without even realizing it, have walked to Saint Patrick Cathedral, which is only a stones throw from my office. It seems out of place, to me anyway, that the Almighty should have an outpost, a home, deep in the heart of hell. A place of thought and prayer in the middle of all the commotion. A home for selflessness in the heart of business country, which has never cared for a single human being. Once. Ever.
I decide to go in. The outside is kind of packed, and the inside is mobbed as well…to a point. There are people in the very back who seem to be held back from walking in, though they are welcome. No one stops them but themselves, fear and unknowing keeps them still. I walk past, headphones still in place, but turned off. Dip hand in the well, bless myself, genuflect, walk in.
Say hi to St. Jude. Me and him go way back. He is the patron saint of lost causes, and if I’m not one, no one is. We know each other, but i’m not there to see him. Having been dead for over a 1,000 years I’m sure he understands. Walk up the left side of the church to the altar to our lady of Czestochowa, say a quick prayer. There is no such a thing as sloooow or relaxed anything in Manhattan, even in church.
I’ve had a few minutes only in St. Pat’s but I find my time is running short, so I make my way back out. I notice bruised and sullen storm clouds on the horizon as I take my first steps outside, looming low and ominous, in twilight premature, as I walk back outside and fire up my headphones. Back to the city, and the life that is full of hatred, fear and lies, and the discontent it breeds after an all too brief moment of peace.
That’s it from here, America. G’night.