Dearest Esmeralda

Discussion in 'The Artist's Corner' started by weedguru.animal, Feb 13, 2009.

  1. Dearest Esmeralda,
    How the mighty have fallen. The righteous stomped into submission by the dark forces which are running amok in this once great nation which day by day appears more like an open sewer. I watch these grunts like a wild fox watches the farmer, knowing that at any moment the tide may turn and the ignorance I perceive to be the guiding light of the grunt mentality will be replaced with a 12 bore shotgun. My days, like theirs, are numbered, but while I am un-caged, free to roam, observe, marvel in disgust and distrust at the uselessness of their lives and the senseless struggle of my own existence, I remain feral, untamed, a beast more than a modern man.

    What drives them*** I often wonder, for they are bound by instincts foreign to those which fling me hither and thither, always pushing my nimble frame in direct opposition to the current of human evolution…Am I human or something else entirely***…It is true that I resemble, or can imitate, their customs, their style, but take a drop of my blood, send it for analysis to the Powers that Be and what will be uncovered will send shockwaves through the halls of Westminster, like a nuclear blast, for I am Dan, human by birth, but cat, fox, wolf, seahorse, badger, hamster and koala by NATURE, part of a dying breed hell-bent on adopting a stance of severe defiance…

    They want me to dance the fandango while they whistle ‘Candle in the Wind' by Elton John, they want me to aim for a studio flat on the second storey of a renovated slaughterhouse, they want me to say Sir, Yes, Sir when the call for attention is sounded out of large speaker attached to the top of a mini cooper driven by Chris Eubank…But I strut to the rhythm of one tune alone, ‘Man in the Mirror' by Michael Jackson, I aim for the celestial realm of Venetian Gods and Neptunian Bitch-Goddesses, and when I next see Chris Eubank I will puncture his eardrums with Mayan Magic then replace him, as pilot of the fabled Mini Cooper, with a black tongued gazelle who will drive around these blood stained streets screaming the words of ‘Pass The Dutchy'…

    Indeed, their chains and shackles restrain us all, but it won't be until they can read my mind that the Real Trouble will begin…When that point is reached on this perilous, relentless march, towards Total Control, Total Destruction of Soul, Total Eradication of the spirit once revered as the noblest of all; I will be done for, because there is no place in the New World for a man who sees only with his own eyes, hears only with his own ears, thinks only with his own mind, feels only with his own heart…I am not interested in Safety in Numbers when the Numbers are meaner, more cruel and dare I say, less decent, than I could ever stoop…The Lord says ‘Forgive them, for they know not what they do' but on this count the Lord was mistaken for the Swine know exactly what they do…

    I hope they are treating you well in the Tombs, Esmeralda, and look forward to your release…
    Until then,
    I remain,
    Biggie Smalls in Clown Shoes…
     

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