How immature am I really, I wonder? How big is a piece of string – isn’t that what they say? Some questions don’t have an answer, some questions are just pure stupid. I won’t dwell on that however – if I did then I could be dwelling on it forever. It’s a mire and – very often – the more we thrash around in the mire the deeper we sink into it. I’ve spent enough of my life sunk in the mire to want to sink any deeper into it. I’ve got very sick of it to be honest. The mire has got into my very bones. The mire permeates my very being, it permeates every last bit of me. I know what you’re thinking of course, you’re thinking that I have probably lost my identity to that mire at this stage. You’re thinking that there can’t be very much of me left having spent so much time in the mire. To a certain extent you’re right of course – in the case of such a long exposure to the mire molecules of corruption find their way into the body and intermingle with all the non-corrupt molecules, the wholesome, decent molecules. This is as we all know an irreversible process which means that whatever degree of corruption has already set in has to be kept. Kept because is no getting rid of it; kept, whether you like it or not. And who’s to say you won’t like it? Who’s to say that you won’t get to like it? Maybe you will learn to enjoy it, enjoy and celebrate it. Nothing strange about that, nothing strange at all. It happens all the time in fact. It happens as a matter of course. We all learn to enjoy and celebrate corruption sooner or later, don’t we? What else is society but a club for people who have learned to enjoy and celebrate corruption? If you can’t beat them join them, as the man said. If you can’t beat them join them and you can’t beat them. You can’t EVER beat them – everyone knows that. Instead of vacations they have staycations these days. Did you know that? I didn’t know that. Pull up an armchair in front of the television and watch one of those programs about when plastic surgery goes wrong. I get angry from time to time the same as anyone else. Angry and enraged. It’s all utterly futile of course. Utterly, utterly futile. Nobody gives a damn, nobody could care less whether I happen to be enraged or not. It’s utterly inconsequential. I’m throwing a fit and it’s completely inconsequential. In doing my nut but no one gives a damn. I’m so bloody small-minded that it is incredible but some things you just have to live with. The squalor of my life is absolutely incredible but that’s all I’ve got. And you think anyone gives a damn? Do you think anyone is actually interested? I still try to tell them about it of course. I still try to tell people all about my life. I want everyone i meet to know about what my life is like. I want the spotlight of other people’s attention. It’s a source of warmth to me in what is really a very cold existence. Emotionally cold I mean. Lacking in any sort of emotion at all – I’m just stuck in the mire of my own psychic excretions. ‘Why not take a staycation?’ the advert on the billboard insinuates sleazily. Relax in the comfort of your own mire. Pull up an armchair. No one minds the smell of their own farts, after all. Many people find that particular fragrance to be quite convivial. All too convivial, in fact…










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