Friday, January 07, 2005


nothing makes me more red inside these days than the search for work--- and the criticism from everyone around me, for still being unsuccessful. Red, or brown inside, that i still have nothing with which to prove myself-- nothing with which to defend myself from accusations, which are approaching and often-times exceeding every day, that i am doing nothing at all; that i am *being* nothing at all-- indeed that i *am* nothing at all... it is making me half insane, this battle from inside and outside at the same time, which makes me a half-inorganic shell, a hollow battered tube... i can't seem to make the accusations stop, no matter what i do either in truth or in theory, or in plan... i can't seem to make anyone actuallly look at me and see other than nothing there... it is hard enough to live alone with me, who attacks me every day on waking for still being nowhere and still being no-one, but now i have the whole of foxtown on her side, all against me, all trying to see how long it will take, how many beatings per day it will require, before i finally give in and at last become the person they actually wanted to give birth to.


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