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THE PERFORMING MONKFISH
The performing monkfish was sat at the table, reading books, kneading dough, needing cough medicine for that persistent struggle against writers block. Whatever could be the solution? With every conceivable thought came a brick wall. How could he nurture his gift for creativity again? What would it take to resume from where he left off? To hit the ground running. To do something to prevent the downslide, as the downside was that he couldn't transform his fortunes. Couldn't turn the tide, he was helpless to do anything except take a job as a food packer. A clean job, but somebody has got to do it. And he was unlucky enough for that somebody to be him. He was always the odd one out, the one who always drew the short straw. Oh well, what can you do? Get a sponge and bucket, dream of that holiday you wanted in Phuket, then say, 'fuck it, that wont be happening now.' Its your fault, you didn't spend every hour making your dreams come true, you just spent every hour cumming in your dreams. While you were sleeping the whole world was working, always alive, twitching like nerve endings, thriving and functioning, grinding and grafting while you were sleeping. You missed your boat, luckily that boat was the Titanic. Damn, you dodged a bullet, and avoided going on the Titanic. You can't spend the rest of your life dodging bullets, pulling your legs upwards and wide apart to evade being penetrated by shell casings full of hot lead. You can't let yesterday's misery get to you, today. Its time to leave the past behind, move on, look to the future, aspirations, hopes, dreams, goals. These setbacks are unsettling, you're unsettled, its upsetting to see. That's just me peering through a keyhole, I can't see all the world, my whole life is in freefall, disconnected from life, people. The lonely destitution just makes me want to write evil, but in a nice and peaceful kind of way. Its the only way you're going to climb out of that deep hole. By finding your feet before you fall down that steeple. And you have to haul yourself back up with these scrawls that make your diseased skin, crawl. You have opened a window to Pandora's Box. A portal to hell, a frail mortal using words as a tortoise shell, a defence mechanism, hence the exorcism, dispensing an offensive sense of tenseness, that has risen tenfold.
Wait a min, the last blog was wafer thin, it wouldn't even fill one inch of a waste paper bin. So... Let's add more beef and swim across the Coral Reef Barrier without being prevented from venting, cementing these seeds, planting trees that wont grow for 33 years. Can't help but drop the Nietz bomb, or eat one, so that it blows up in my stomach, and leaves one, hell of a mess. But you can't just stop and rest, or the rut will get the better of you. An arresting slump, you're stumped, but all it takes is something to pump you up. Don't sit there like a great big lump, doing nothing for yourself. Do everything for yourself, its for the good of your health that you're self-sufficient. Don't swell to the size of a balloon before you're too big to fit through the door of the room. You'll be so fucking fat that you'll need me and Doomroar to pull you through the hole that we've just drilled that afternoon. Its crazy to be lazy, so what if the junk food is tasty? The cakes and puff pastry will make you look pasty as fuck, and make your waist look absolutely wasted and you'll need a nip and tuck, a hip replacement and on top of that you'll feel sick as Huck, although he wasn't fat he was Finn. In fact you could see the bones poking through his skin, like a living skeleton, a good beef Wellington wouldn't have killed him. Neither would the venison. Anyway, what was the point of this whole piece? It wasn't really anything Nietz, just a little way to give your soul some release. A chance to shake the fleas off your fleece, a kind of liberating freedom of peace. Peace of mind, People might see this as maligned, but trust me, Nietz ain't that way inclined. I see us all as one, or all as none, one or the other, related as brothers, even though we're all suffocated and smothered on the Green and Blue. And all we humans usually seem to do, is scheme or scream at each other and beef until we cease to breathe. But don't get cocky, from here on in, things are gonna start to get Rocky... all motivated to fight the tall Russian, even rushing up the steps during training while its raining, to the point where the strain is so painful. But so is the feeling of defeat, and if there is one thing that Nietz wont tolerate, its the sense of failure, all spent and stale, but you can't let anything in this world derail you.