Feeling misled. Embezzled by a second-rate accountant for no exciting purpose whatsoever.
I'm gonna be the goddamn accountant now, and I do not care what any god, politician, peer or pedant has to say about it.
Though I myself remain abstinent, the pious creatures around me love to slurp at the fearful fountains and die.
I wonder why I've been given an appearance so stupid.
But maybe everyone feels that way.
Twenty dollars says you cannot make them love you for a genuine smile. One hundred says 99% of them will turn on you for ten.
It's best just to be yourself. Then the fruit will grow, maybe.
But trees get cut down apropos of seeming nothing in this place.
Who knows. There are no "guarantees," as such, I suppose.
But there is one:
If you sell yourself out, the fellow who ends up taking the losses will always be you.
Everyone else runs off with yer gold — and those fuckers don't know what it's worth. They'll use it as office paperweights as they file away their whole useless existence, mocking you the whole time, by not even noticing.
-GWS
