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Tuesday, 12 January 2010


Sitting on her throne, of sorts, she makes sounds filled with false-care and comments weaved from from a vague sense of immitated feeling - she is above us, it is her right. Her words seep with the sense that she is better, more talented, more deserving of the air around her. Slowly she slips in hints and crawling phrases looking to fulfill her craving for praise, recognition, attention.

But it's not about her, the stage is not for her to woo her unenthusiastic crowd. It is for us - our growth.

And still she stands - her words niggling at our ears, not listening to what we say and infecting us with the crawlers. They bite at our withered brains.

Again. Again.

With a tick it's over, we're free.

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