Norm
MalBeggar's Belief (2005)
“I would have to lead my life again,” I remarked remarking on the overall pattern of humanity which we all are part of. Whatever my place whatever my standing; I am valid; I am necessary. Necessary in so far as I function as an individual in society. This may only be my perspective bearing in mind the mind of a serial killer. The hard boiled nature of the egg struck twelve and my hard earned self-realisation had yielded nothing but gut-wrenching vacuum of self.
It had taken me years to clean myself up and realise that I was as hollow as the immigration minister’s words. Artists reverence for Rembrandt is as a politicians is for Hitler. This kind of thinking occupies my days as the light is clear and the coffee is particle free.
The room I occupy is small and cramped, unfinished board games litter the floor and the walls are caked in yellow from the exhaled smoke of so many pipes. The smell of burning pipe tobacco is a smell that registers in my brain and brings memories of my childhood. A childhood spent down pit. It was I who spent it there.
“So a retired painter of self-repute wishes to undertake the development in pioneering work in astralnautics.” Were the words of the centrelinky lady as she typed on her little keyboarded electonica. I scoffed and signed a few times and knowing I was somebody fairly special I expected to be renumerated for my endeavours in the field of welfare recipience. Oh my feats in this field were legendary but I wanted to race my own race. That race I’m always on about.
It had taken me years to clean myself up and realise that I was as hollow as the immigration minister’s words. Artists reverence for Rembrandt is as a politicians is for Hitler. This kind of thinking occupies my days as the light is clear and the coffee is particle free.
The room I occupy is small and cramped, unfinished board games litter the floor and the walls are caked in yellow from the exhaled smoke of so many pipes. The smell of burning pipe tobacco is a smell that registers in my brain and brings memories of my childhood. A childhood spent down pit. It was I who spent it there.
“So a retired painter of self-repute wishes to undertake the development in pioneering work in astralnautics.” Were the words of the centrelinky lady as she typed on her little keyboarded electonica. I scoffed and signed a few times and knowing I was somebody fairly special I expected to be renumerated for my endeavours in the field of welfare recipience. Oh my feats in this field were legendary but I wanted to race my own race. That race I’m always on about.
