Life of a salesman
If I sell and sell, well surely all will turn out right?
Rich and well liked, yes, by my petard spiked.
My inflated self-worth, slashing all around, scaring.
Visionary playback, past and present jarring.
Frailty ignored, coping of an emotion hoarder.
Cycle of denial, contradiction, order and disorder.
If I reconstruct reality, surely it then becomes real?
If I mask the past, then there is no damage to feel?
I exist, explorer, adventurer and habitual dreamer.
Caught in the web I created, fate catches the schemer.
I guess I deserve all the isolation that I now get.
And the self-deprecation, and overwhelming regret.
I’ve no where to go, now that I know who I am.
I do all that I can without actually carrying the can.
The Grandiose last stand, and by my own hand.
Sum of my worth, a coffin buried in shifting sands.
Legacy, a ledger and family who watched as I bailed.
And the knowledge, I lived and I sold, I loved and I failed.
Makes me think that ...
Loot causes us to reflect on ourselves, our roles within work and outside by using on one of Arthur Miller's most famous characters, the salesman, Willy Loman. Miller never tells us what Willy sells preferring to use the character to represent everyone and the way in which they are broken by a vague and unfeeling industry. Loot causes us to wonder how much really changed in the past 70 years?
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