Technology and big business married us to paperwork occupations.
Sometimes I wonder about the pieces of paper I copy. So many go to so many different places. Some pieces even require me to jot an inked number across before moving it forward in the human administration machine. Other pieces simply find themselves loosely, stapled or paper clipped in files in the metal boxes that decorate the office space. These are the pieces of paper that stay for there's some slice of information that might be needed at some point down the line. Just what is all this paper for? Usually said after a jarring paper cut. And why am I the one shoveling it?
Give them a copy.
I write:
cc: Prof. Weather
10/2/02
I make copies.
I have proof.
Do I not trust them,
Or perhaps it just a highlighted organizational tool.
Passionless.
Proof. All the paper comes down to proof. Down to the dime. Down to the discovery. Down to the signature. Our technology has mislead us. And now society's big business doesn't trust us; therefore, it can't trust itself. Walls of files are the proof.
