Commuter

I thought I’d see if I could record a demo in a day. Here is the result.

I’ve been loving Daft Punk so I thought I’d go where I shouldn’t with a vocoder.

The result is a lyric that is pretty much indecipherable, but it was fun making.

(Photo is “commuter deck” by arileu via Flickr)

The song is dedicated to muppets like me who get up every day and navigate Melbourne train stations, put up with regular signal failures, get diverted to Flinders St so Metro can meet its targets, have their station skipped, have the pleasure of paying a couple of hundred dollars each month to then get pulled up by ticket inspectors with a zero tolerance for mistakes and a complete blindness to your history as a good “customer”.

Here’s to those nights when the train stops halfway home because of our antiquated infrastructure, when you get to have a surprise dinner in Hawthorn and wait for your spouse to pick you up, or you have to hang around the city until things sort themselves out.

Commuters take cars off our roads, carbon out of our air, and generally act in a civic manner. These virtues should be ignored.

We should be punished. We deserve the oppression. There are no limits to a state when enforcing a $10 fare.

(…except it’s easier to go after concessional card holders like students because that light goes on at the turnstiles)

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Hunting Alone

I caught her eye briefly in the lift. She was well-dressed in a dark red, chequered jacket. Her hair was tightly organised. Creased make-up partially concealed her age.

I pitied her. She looked like she had worked here forever. I pitied this servitude. She’d lived and breathed – and become – the organisation. Here but for the grace of a bureaucrat. Stupid cow.

Then I hated myself and blushed with self-revulsion.

There was a time when people joined for life. This lady knew more about my work than I ever would. She’d know the essence, where I would only ever see functions, processes, people and “culture”. She’d know the reason the place existed.

Here I was. An uppity virtual worker. A portfolio careerist, restless and twitchy.

Treasure Hunt – (manpsing) Manpreet via Flickr

Thereafter all day I saw my desperation reflected back to me in the aversive eyes of fellow suits.

In this city of millions, I hunted alone.

No clan or tribe, but the writer of my own destiny.

Every disappointment and opportunity.

Paralysed by my freedoms.

Reality glares back at me with owl eyes.

Why do we hunt alone when we all want the same things?

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