a speaker for speech, at relay, ten thousand feet

the ways and distance at which we communicate.

ahhhh, jobs. job one (1) = restaurant. job two (2) = wine store.
1+2 allow cussing. which is nice, but taken for granted at this point in my life.
2 requires specialized language, but you can really say whatever you like within that frame. to the co-workers in my department, we can talk at will. to the co-workers outside my department, we can talk if we want, but we don't. normal grocery store workers, outside of the wine cellar, seem seperate at the moment, not much contact with them at all. BUT, freedom of speech is nice. pays much less though.
1 contains free speech within co-workers, but much restricted speech with customers at some times. but pays quite well. ?
at 1, i was bussing and thinking of all the beautiful things i could've become, when i answered questions posed by tables and got the reprimand for talking. TALKING. the job calls for no talking. they look the other way usually, but in this instance, i cannot talk, even when spoken to. ??? i talked my way out of the situation, to the boss, basic human rights as my defense. but still, a weird thing to feel. people right in front of me, but my place within the structure of the job/establishment overrode my natural instinct. lame. but i put up, i keep composure while giving in and keeping quiet. of course, 20 minutes after that some people come in, ask me what's cool in the area. they're from tucson, just here for the night. they ask where i'm from (flagstaff), they ask if i know adam fromhoff, who just moved in with them. of course, they say all this, and i have to answer on egg shells so as to not make management mad. but it worked out, i dealt, and still do, due to position.



then i come home to the comforts of satellite driven communication that keeps me sweet with all i knew. know.
i should keep those face to face closer. i come home to one of my best friends and talk on the phone; he makes a beat on the computer. i type into this glorious box while he gets tired, watches the other box, and heads to bed. is it the alienation of the city, or my prospect of keeping close when far away? the west coast is all i know, the east coast is new and unknown, the midwest may just be middle ground. but purgatory always was the best for talking, the waiting for judgment, the cleansing and suffering, the threat and promise of something new, some change, some verdict. the process.
the absence of the spoken word is replaced by clicking, the sound of music, television characters, foot steps. microwave *DING*. more subtle clicks, then a small inaudible chirp and a brain twitch that signifies a message being sent on wireless waves, national networks, the orbit of shallow thought. though shallow in diction, mode, and medium, not in meaning. texting 160 characters can still bring quite the smile to my face at times, make the heart race ten. but then the sounds wind down. the sound of one book closing. creaking of thin metal frames, wooden bases.
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i put on a small fan for familiarity, and for some soft steady noise to drown out the voices on the street below.
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