“You’re a waste of space”, teacher prophesised, “a bloody disgrace…

…No big daddy from cradle to grave. Nobody to watch you wave…On your own baby: no society, tribe, or extended kinship clan. Only market economy; consummerisation, individual-labour-statistic plan.
Dead in your soul, empty soldier dipped in egg-yolk…forgotten by lunch-folk. A mere memory on somebody’s tie”, He said.

“You watch the world rush by”, continued he, “a blur of marble features; large-eyed, tight-lipped compressed human-animal-matter-creatures.
You awoke one day from puzzled dream to an alien world, born from room, untimely ripped, your reality breached, or unzipped to harsh white light: your scream…then hung on a rack to beam!
A leftover on somebody’s plate”, He intoned.

“I’ll teach you, little sink-boy kitchen scum, less than nothing thou art: don’t you know it’s my face on all sides of the dice my plum? Either slave for me on a minimum wage and less or consume what I produce, no mess! Your choice.

Zero tolerance for wasted life, or sub-zero self-esteem without comfort and wife…,”continued he vehemently.

“A miasma of lost opportunity I create, drug addicted, alcohol-maladjusted sloth await.
Such weapons serve me well, worldwide in history and on housing estates made from hell!”
He laughed unexpectedly, obviously relishing his introverted joke, but then continued musing aloud to his nervous audience...

“No longer able to speak the language of Lilliput, washed-up detritus, loud and useless mythological Bigfoot! Head full of large ideas in school, with diminishing means of fulfilment, and a tongue so foul and hairy even gets abuse from self-contrary, (such an unsavoury tool)…

Third world marginality exists here. Round your corner and in every swig of glyconol swallowing your ferment”, he murmured. “It’s true!”



Paul Ellis


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