Consciously Insignificant Moles

I kept a calendar at my desk, and I had binders of papers and a collection of pens, and a bobble-head that reminded me of saying Yes. I sat in the air-conditioning all summer, and got to stay home when it snowed. I had responsibilities and people who looked up to me for answers to their issues. I had a computer, two computers technically, and two computer screens, and I spent my days leaning back in a big comfy chair. I had a digital hub. Published articles and interviews and edited videos for the web. People ran around under me. I ran a website. I was the master of the fucking intraweb. For Poly Corp. I don’t understand what they did. But everyday when I walked in the squirrels would chirp hello from their nests tucked into corners of their gray cubicle walls. They’d tell me stories about their kids and their kids and what they did with their kids on the weekends. They played on the lawn. And I’d push past towards my office down the hall. Everyday for three years, the same eight-thousand square feet of office space on the fourth floor of a single wing in a single office building. Fourth floor — they couldn’t even give me a patch of ground. The window in the office offered such a little view, of a corner of the parking-lot and the office building across. That is what I had all day — the same drab gray patchwork of ultra-low-pile carpeting, and I’d piss the same urinal, and I’d walk back to my desk. And outside I’d see the sunlight I couldn’t feel through the window’s tint, and I’d know that that sunlight was the same solar beam that spread its gold across half the planet’s face. I’d pace in my office and I’d pace in the stalls and I’d scowl at the squirrels who passed me by in the halls. When man was the master race! When he had muscles in his legs and hair on his arms, an upright posture that saw the forests in the distance and the coyotes on the hills. What is this we were made for? To cower in our cubbies and strut the same lengths of floor? Moles that hide in burrows, sleepy weekends in suburban corners. Man-caves! Dust-motes in the stagnant sunbeams through the window; hide in our little corners of comfort oblivious to the gilded hills at dawn. Never to see the mountains purple with the distance, to feel the breadth of a continent pass beneath our feet. The city streets are there to be explored; the open passages of time and the highways that lie in the sun — they should be mine! To be conscious of the Redwood forests and the beauty of the Badlands, the cafes in San Francisco and the poetry of the pouring rain. We were meant to witness the way the Earth curves from the Carolines to the Blue Mountains to the red rocks in the desert, not to hide ourselves from this beautiful expansiveness of time. The faces we’ll never see! The millions of moments we all miss. The trees should weep for the people who no longer lay in their shade, and the poets should put down their pens: we have abandoned them. I will not disappear from the years by sitting at my desk. I am driving a rented Cadillac right through this building’s gate, blasting bluegrass and jumping in my seat, collecting my final paycheck. Give me the revolver, give me back my booze. I am taking back my liberty and with it to spread my virility ‘cross the face of this beautiful Earth. I won’t sit kindly in society’s pocket anymore. The Universe, it should know that I exist.



  1. oldepunk · July 29

    outfuckingstanding Mick, come pick me up after you run down the gate and grab the check. I’ll be waiting


  2. Sudden Denouement · July 29

    Reblogged this on and commented:
    A masterful work from one of my favorite writers. Mick Hugh is a genius, a wonderful writer, and a solid guy.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. davekingsbury · July 30

    Strong piece, pulsing with passion, deserves to be read – though with 15+ tags it won’t appear on the WordPress Reader or whatever it is, alas!

    Liked by 2 people

    • MickHugh · August 1

      Is that how those tags keep score? they get confused or whatever if there’s too many?

      Liked by 2 people

      • davekingsbury · August 1

        Somewhere on WordPress I read that a combo of 15+ tags/categories means the post doesn’t feature on their various pages. I usually restrict categories to 1 or 2 and then put a max of 8/9 tags, seems to work. Good luck!

        Liked by 2 people

    • SoundEagle · 2 Days Ago

      Hello Mick and Dave,

      I can’t agree with Dave more about your post. Well done!

      The restriction on the number of tags/categories is definitely quite inconvenient, as many of my posts are quite long and multidisciplinary. For instance, there is a post of mine containing nearly 100 tags/categories at

      Regardless, I would like to convey to both of you that I don’t always rely on the WordPress Reader. After all, I found Mick’s blog by reading his comments on other people’s blogs.

      Happy December to both of you!


      • Dave Kingsbury · 2 Days Ago

        This links to a fascinating and worthwhile post. The wonder of life is a shared thing, indeed. Happy December to you!

        Liked by 1 person

      • SoundEagle · 2 Days Ago

        Thank you, Dave. 🙂


  4. Angie · August 8

    And does the Universe know of your existence now, Mick? I think so. One word at a time, a sunset watched, a stop of whiskey savored, the smell of gasoline burning… waiting to hear more. I’m intrigued. Good on you.

    Liked by 1 person

    • MickHugh · August 9

      Thanks Angie! It was awesome to login and see your comments n likes – thanks for the follow!!

      Liked by 2 people

  5. John Lopes · October 23

    Well, that’s fucking scary. I have two screens in front of me at home right now and a bobblehead (Edgar Allan Poe with a stack of books and a raven sitting on them.) Well written, once again.

    Liked by 1 person

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