The Absurdity of Hope
Silverstein Mode: ACTIVATED
🌀 A Scribbled Dispatch from the Department of Delirious Determination 🌀
“The Absurdity of Hope”
As Found (Unopened) on Mr. Cochran’s Desk
—Next to a Sandwich from 1987… Probably
There once was a Hope with a hole in its hat,
It tap-danced on carpets, and juggled a cat.
It slept in a sock drawer, it snored like a bell,
It dreamed up a ladder from paper and gel.
"I'll fly!" it announced, with a giggle and shrug,
While Reason just sighed and gave Logic a hug.
“You’ve got no degree, no clipboard, no tie—
No clearance, no passcode, no how or no why!”
But Hope didn’t care—it just moonwalked through rules,
Blew kisses at memos, made paperclip tools.
It tangoed with faxes, it breakdanced on dread,
And rewrote the handbook in glitter and red.
It wore purple boots that squeaked out in Morse,
It rewired despair with a teaspoon, of course.
It mailed a banana to Capitol Hill,
With a note that just read: “Be warmer. Be still.”
They called it absurd, irrational, weird—
They banned it from boardrooms (the staff even cheered).
But still it kept tap-tapping deep in the vents,
Filing reports under “Improbable Events.”
Dear Mr. Cochran, sir, take off your frown,
There’s joy in that stapler, a circus in town.
And that crack in your coffee cup? Not just a leak—
It’s a grin trying hard to sneak out and speak.
So scoff if you must, or blink twice and flee,
But somewhere beneath all that Normal™ debris—
There’s a pebble, still humming, from 1982…
And it misses the nonsense you once dared to do.
🌀 Filed under: Ridiculously Important Things
🌀 Also see: “Hope with Holes: A Case Study” (Appendix D)
Thompson Mode: ENGAGED
Filed under: Goddamned Evidence of the Last Good Laugh in Bureaucracy
Recovered from the cluttered ruins of Mr. Cochran’s desk—beneath a dead Bic pen, a stapler loaded with regret, and a half-eaten fig bar wrapped in Nixon-era foil.
🌀 THE ABSURDITY OF HOPE 🌀
(or: How One Deranged Optimist Attempted to Hijack the Status Quo with a Crayon and a Dream)
There it was.
Hope.
Frayed at the edges, stinking faintly of citrus and Elmer’s glue, wearing a busted hat like some outlaw poet at the end of a nervous breakdown.
This thing didn’t knock. It pirouetted into the office at 3:17 PM with no badge, no invitation, and a goddamn jellybean stapled to its chest like a war medal.
“I’ll fly!” it shouted, mad as a March ferret.
Reason—dressed in corduroy and clutching a compliance manual—spit out its coffee and muttered, “This isn’t protocol.”
Hope grinned. A grin stitched from unpaid invoices and discarded fortune cookie slips.
Then it did the unthinkable:
It stamped a “DENIED” form with a smiley face.
It graffiti’d a mission statement with lines from Neruda.
It duct-taped a toaster to a letterhead and mailed it to Congress with the note:
“Warmth, you cowards.”
Insanity? Perhaps.
But strategic insanity.
Weaponized whimsy.
The kind of lunacy that makes bureaucrats sweat and poets twitch with inspiration.
Mr. Cochran hadn’t laughed since 1987.
Not since the HR firestorm of 'The Incident' (see: “Muffin Day Massacre”)
But now—now—there was something scratching at the underside of his desk drawer.
Something small. Round. Defiant.
A pebble.
From another time. Another version of him.
Back when he believed in impossible things—like honesty, and cartoons, and chairs that talked.
And goddammit…
Was his coffee cup leaking trust?
Maybe.
Or maybe, just maybe, the whole system’s rigged against wonder—and this absurd little bastard called Hope snuck back in with mismatched socks and a list of demands scrawled in sidewalk chalk.
Filed Under:
Contraband Imagination
Emotional Contrariety, Grade A
Reasons to Be Gently Terrified by the Mailroom
Exhibits:
One crumpled Post-it with Bukowski quote: “Find what you love and let it kill you.”
Evidence bag containing:
• 3 jellybeans
• 1 pebble
• A receipt for crayons
• The torn edge of a dream
Recommendation:
Proceed with caution.
Or better yet—
Join the dance.
Carlin Mode: SYSTEM OVERRIDE
Translation of “The Absurdity of Hope” into Plain Damn English, for People Who Don’t Speak Whimsy
Alright, here’s the deal:
You’ve got this thing—Hope—and it ain’t polished. It ain’t credentialed. It sure as hell didn’t get invited. But it showed up anyway, wearing two different socks, carrying a half-baked plan and a toaster with a message taped to it: “Warmth, you cowards.”
Now that’s not a metaphor. That’s a strategy.
So let’s break it down—real terms, actionable terms. For anyone stuck in a cubicle wondering what the hell this fever dream means.
🛠️ ACTION PLAN FOR ABSURD HOPE OPERATIVES
1. Mismatched Socks are a Tactical Choice.
Translation: Stop waiting to be polished or approved. Show up messy, weird, honest. If you’ve got heart and a ridiculous idea, you’re already more qualified than half the people in the meeting.
2. Ignore “Reason” When It’s Wearing a Tie.
Translation: Skepticism is useful. Cynicism is lazy. If someone tells you change is “impossible,” they probably sell staplers or fear joy. Laugh politely and proceed anyway.
3. Stamp “Denied” Forms With a Smile.
Translation: Reclaim rejection. If they tell you “No,” write a better version of “Yes” and tape it to the copier. Make resistance look fun.
4. Send Toasters to Congress. Literally or Metaphorically.
Translation: Disrupt the system with warmth. Unexpected kindness, satire, or absurd gifts can short-circuit cold institutions. Don’t just protest—surprise.
5. Chalk Is Mightier Than the Memo.
Translation: Use art, humor, and story as your weapons. Bureaucracy fears imagination because it can’t file it under “Q4 Deliverables.” So doodle, dance, and publish nonsense with purpose.
6. The Crack in Your Coffee Cup Matters.
Translation: Your burnout is not a flaw. It’s a signal. When the systems break you down, that little leak is your soul trying to get your attention. Follow it. Don’t patch it.
7. Find the Pebble in the Drawer.
Translation: Remember the part of you that used to give a damn. Before the deadlines, before the dress codes, before despair got tax-deductible. Dig that rebel out and give them the floor.
FINAL NOTE:
Hope is not naïve.
Hope is offensive to those profiting off despair.
Hope breaks into boardrooms wearing joy like a weapon.
So if you’re still asking, “What do I do?”
Here’s your checklist:
✅ Show up strange.
✅ Break the script.
✅ Say the thing.
✅ Mail the damn toaster.
And if someone says, “That’s absurd”?
You’re probably on the right track.
