I hate it

the Marquess of GransbyI was feeling just about as low as I cared to feel on a Sunday. Old time urges to get the monkey off my back and retrospective thoughts about other paths I could have taken, other people I could have been. I was at a point in time where it felt like I knew too much, but had so little ability to act on what I knew. I was like a clown without a clown suit, left trying to make mime jokes without an audience, without hands and without an appreciation of mime. Fuck mime, I hate it.

2 Responses

  1. Dan says:

    Easy Groover – know what you mean. Things always appear bleaker on a drizzly when you fear you will forced into a life of arty miming…

    “Story”; a wicked and obvious new category by the way.

    Don’t let the weasels get you, they have no sense, just an instinct to swamp you and drag you down.

  2. Coybag says:

    I feel your pain. In fact you seem to have taken on the haggard look of someone quite familiar. He said: “You can take the face mate, just give me your brain in exchange. With the manual – seems like a complicated instrument” Then he fell in his soup.

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