DAILY PHOTO: Sweetheart, It Feels Like Something Is On Your Mind
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Is there a they?
Or is they us?
On the same old day,
riding a different bus?
Tilting heads at the same places.
Different route, same blank faces.
Electrified through the same lines.
Picking fruit amid the same mines.
Is there a them
amid your dreams
deep in the REM
the field of screams?
No. There you are each shadow monster.
The bright and the dark, indivisibly you.
You may wish to be not the mobster,
but you can’t ever cleave yourself in two.
Maybe “they” are an illusion.
A genetic glitch now passe.
A wanton act of collusion
to create an invisible they.
For almost 900 years poor schlubs have had to scrub their way around this temple, washing its ornate carvings.
I wonder how similar or different the workers of past generations looked? Obviously, they didn’t have molded plastic water jugs, but the pottery version might have looked similar (not the day-glo lime green one, but certainly the brick-colored one.) No dress shirts or ball caps back then, but the turbans and sarongs are probably not so out-of-place.
Of course, the scaffolding, rough-cut wood lashed together, gives it an ancient feel.
Probably, the most striking difference is the female job foreman.