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Throw rotten fruit at my face.
Bitter tears of shame and remorse streak my filthy cheeks, culminating in a puddle mixed with my own drool and snot, as I blubber incoherent repentence with a hoarse, cracked voice which eventually trails off into mournful wailing, as the last of the disgusted onlookers shuffle away disinterestedly. Hypocrite. No more shall polite society welcome me to its warm bosom, to suckle on the teats of fellowship. Outcast. Tossed aside with yesterday's rubbish. My life is forfeit.
__________________
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There's a level of facility that everyone needs to accomplish, and from there
it's a matter of deciding for yourself how important ultra-facility is to your
expression. ... I found, like Joseph Campbell said, if you just follow whatever
gives you a little joy or excitement or awe, then you're on the right track.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Terry Bozzio
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