daisy monkey dance show

This morning, when I drank water, it tasted like apple pie. I missed the custard, so I made some. When it was ready, and I had a plateful of water, the water didn't taste like apple pie anymore, it tasted just like water. 

So basically I just thought that this was just some random bullshit spewn out right into our gaping mouths, feeding us like baby birds, stuffing our craving minds with promises. 

Was I the only one knowing? I'm just a John Doe, trying to get by, feels so unbelievable that I was above everybody else. But I could see no other way it could be. I was spared the lies, was I destined for something? Me? I doubt it. Makes me want to kill myself, just to stick it to them. Here's the prophet for you, bloated, a smorgasbord for crabs and fish, drifting about in the river. Hah. There's the prophet for you. 

Allright. Damnit, this pen blew, hang on. 

Okay, this one's better. 

Well, I'ma try to recite this as accurate as I can. It started with what I thought was voices, arguing about some procedure of the sorts I knew nothing about. Suddenly, they stopped, and I knew that second that they'd realised that someone was listening. It felt like I was listening through the keyhole of a door, and as they went quiet and all, I froze in place. 

Did I tell you that this all occurred in my head?

Anyway, I somehow managed to get myself moving away from there, and found myself standing alone on a snow patched field, on a gravel road stretching across it. Right by my foot I saw a cigarette butt, still smoking, but I couldn't see anyone in the vicinity, and I could see for miles, mind you. Made me uncomfortable, to say the very least! 

...

You know, they oft ask me whether or not I find this situation comfortable. I just tell them that it simply could not,under any circumstances, have even the smallest thing to do with them. They have nothing on me, nothing to do with me, no sway over me whatsoever. That and that alone should answer their question.

Regarding what I actually feel about it, let's just say I've locked that up and lost the key. 

All these people are looking rather weirdly at me, as though they've never seen a sick person before. They seem to shun me like people shunned the leprous in the days when people shunned the leprous. My face is burning and my back aches, it aches more than it should fifty years from now. To say that I'm not well wouldn't be to exaggerate, neither would the opposite, it would be the precise definition of my current state. At this moment, I feel as though I'm starting to drift away in feverish blubbering, which also would be a precise definition of my current state. Well, I won't, though. Or maybe I will anyway. 

At this moment I'm squatting down by a wall in the metro, partly because my legs ache like nothing else, and partly because my stomach kindly sends jolts of pain through itself, for some reason I guess only is clear to stomachs. And maybe guts. 

As of now, given my posture, I guess I really can't blame people for looking in that rather weird way at me, since the people of this fine country would gladly go miles, and by miles I mean a good lot plenty, a freight trains worth, to hide their weaknesses from others. For me, however, that train has left the station long ago, carrying in its cargo my dearly missed health. 

They call us Gaunt and Sow. Can you guess who's who? You know why they call him Sow? Well, a, he's got bigger tits than your ma, and b, you'll squeal like a piggy when he gets you in his sty. 

Me? I look gaunt, don't I?