Yes, I’m right back at fat. And yeah, I think my desire to transform chrysalis like into the Monarch (an actual ruling King, not a butterfly) I’ve always been pretty sure is the “authentic me,” is SO very interesting. Various persons have even been directly asking me to “please write some more of those fat kiddy things.”
Throne shopping is fun…
Why not write a little story, or post a couple pictures of some super fruit recipe I think is the shit?
I guess because being depressed is a full time job. And when I’m depressed I see and feel how depressed A LOT of other people are too. Not the X-Men “gift” I’d wish on anyone.
So when people email and ask when I’ll resuscitate the lifeless fat kid (picture jumper cables and a bowl of death grey Jello), I just hear, “I’m fucking miserable and fat too and wish you’d at least entertain me a little with your prancing and patheticisms!”
And then there is the whole pollution thing. The putrid litter people let spill from their mouths while talking to fellow body-snatchers on the other end of their cellular sticks, the online East Rivers percolating with the filth we shamelessly call “forum,” and the worst, fastest growing STD of them all, Facebook. There’s the cat! And she just won’t stay in that bag! Can I participate in modern life–can I live–without socially transmitting my own dis-ease?
Dogger
I don’t know. But lately, and this would take some explaining, I’ve been feeling like a monkey. It’s just become obvious to me–I’M A MONKEY. All that Judeo-Christian bullshit, our fingers stuffed in our ears as our mouths froth and blubber over and over, “We are NOT monkeys! I am not a MONKEY!”
Anyways, I’m trying to say that even though I’m personally against my doing so, I will probably blog soon about all this monkey business.
Thinking burns a lot of calories, I think.
Fat Kid Suit 