Would just sit there and the stuff would roll.
Roll and roll
Without being conscious of anything, it kept rolling down and out.
Out of a confusion, interrupted and fractured narrative of all kinds....
But never ever the Idea came to it that it can be something rather than nothing.
The broken down, fractured narrative of nothing and nothingness can be something....
The self hatred was so strong that no matter what came out of that head of it....
It was never good enough.
Not for it but for the others
The fucking others who will eventually judge it.....
But there was no other than the broken down thoughts and sad, confusing un-related, related episodes which would have made no sense to that,"Other." and that's why the interrupted narrative was interrupted further out of depressions and horrendous loniliness
and lack of any belief in itself or its uniqueness and variety of style which was absolutely different than any one else's...and it without knowing that had jems and gold in its possession,
Condemned itself constantly and maliciously.....
Nothing was good enough, nothing was worthwhile for it unless it had the approval ofthe authority.
No matter if the so called,"Authority." was any Tom Dick or Harry which usually it was...
"The technique is not good, the narrative is not good, the plot is not good, the story is not good, the structure is not good, the lines are not good, the fable is not good, the timing is not good."
According to it nothing about, "ITS." work was good unless some asshole in an important position will tell it that it was great and it had no contact with any asshole in an Important position so, IT constantly put its work down and got more and more despondent by the day and by the minute and by the second and by the moment, every Goddamned moment of ,"ITS LIFE."
AND DESTROYED IT BY ITS OWN HAND AND HATRED..................
THAT'S THE SAD AND TRAGIC AND WASTEFUL STORY OF ,"IT."
IT WOULD JUST SIT THERE AND SIT THERE AND SIT THERE................AND LIFE PASSED IT BY......................
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