Your postmodern, western-culture disillusionment with the drone of the office is not postmodern, nor did it originate with advanced western culture. Nope: You, dear subordinate, are a cog in a very longstanding wheel:
Poem Without a Category, by Liu Jian, 216 AD
Office work: a wearisome jumble;
ink drafts: a crosshatch of deletions and smears.
Racing the writing brush, no time to eat,
sun slanting down but never a break;
swamped and muddled in records and reports,
head spinning till it’s senseless and numb—
I leave off and go west of the wall,
climb the height and let my eyes roam:
square embankments hold back the clear water,
wild ducks and geese at rest in the middle—
Where can I get a pair of whirring wings
so I can join you to bob on the waves?
From the newest issue of Lapham’s Quarterly, "Lines of Work."
There is no escape. Enjoy the rest of your week!
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