How dreary is the world of work with its tedious "hours" and ludicrous "bosses." Working is the frustraing pointless process of trying to reinvent the flush toilet to suit an unfamilar buttock of unspecified dimension. Confronted by the vague, unseeing eyes of workers, one instantly recalls the hunched and frightened figures who haunt the black paintings of Fransisco Goya, particularly the inhabitants of his La romeria de San Isidoro: an anxious and uncertain mob, hitherto seeking Eudemonia, yet now incapable of proceeding without the ambiguous sanction of existential dogma.
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Althought it apparently inspires you to highly original prose, I'd say it's time to look for another job.
Posted by: Laurent | April 27, 2011 at 03:37
unseeing eyes of workers, one instantly recalls the hunched and frightened figures who haunt the black paintings of Fransisco Goya, particularly the inhabitants of his La romeria de San Isidoro: an anxious and uncertain mob, hitherto seeking Eudemonia, yet now incapable of proceeding without the ambiguous sanction of existential dogma.
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