From a different place, older and gone now.

Skepticism, cynicism, nihlism.

I’ve swallowed enough of that poisoned water to get me in trouble. Now, I’ve got these lumps in my throat and I’m pretty sure it’s cancer. The rich doctor thinks I should het my tongue taken out. “Save my life, anyhow,” he tells me.

And you tell me what’s the point of a life without a voice? I’m a homo sapien sapien and that means physically, I’ve already lost the evolutionary race. Not even in last place – we didn’t even finish before the banners  ame down and the tents were all packed up. I mean bottom of the fucking barrel we are. So, don’t think I’d like to keep on in tbis ramshackle body with the couple of tools nature:s left me.

Language is one. Spiritual sensibility is the other. Put them boh together and you’ve got a story. That’s all this bllod and bone doll is worth and I know it.

I’ll stick to what I’m passably good at. And if its cancer and I’m dead tomorrow?



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