Unauthorized Transmission

-ostensibly from Spooky via Ecto Van Plasm via Kingo

Life is getting me down currently. I feel entrapped by my own decisions and destined to live a life of no significance at all. One could be forgiven for assuming that a life of no significance would be a life of little effort, yet despite the absense of raison d'etre; I still find the whole process of living to be an extremely difficult and frequently painful experience.

We are what we are, and I am what I am, and nothing more. I am ill equipped, badly constructed and poorly designed for such a task as living in this world. Despite the shortcomings in my basic construction, I utilise what I have (that which I am) in navigating my way around this place with a sense of sickening incredulity, and I shall no doubt continue to do so until the time comes to stop.

I find myself praying for that time more and more as each day passes. In the meantime, I long to return to my home town, and to play, and to care a little less about 'this season's bullshit' and 'the right way to wear a snarl'. I have long since tired of the endless production of Spring/Summer savagery, the colourful lines of Souless accesories for the young urban zombie and the revolutionary products designed to revitalise the colours of my crippled heart.

I find myself shouting lunatic rants at clients. My spittle prickling their eyelashes, and causing them to twitch and pull comically animated expressions of surprise at my sudden change of heart. My ability to maintain any interest in all of this bullshit weakens daily, and I can only maintain the facade for shorter and shorter periods of time. As a consequence, my meetings with these blind, stupid, greedy, mindless assholes have become increasingly short, allowing me grace to retire well in advance of my violent reaction to their world. My last meeting was seven minutes long, and by minute five, I could feel myself dissolving into an acidic pool of pure hatred. By minute six, I had begun to lurch and range about the place like a rabid mongrel, and by minute seven, I had the client pinned against the wall with his neatly word-processed purchase order halfway down his throat, a look of unreserved terror on his face, and his limp sweating hand forced into a businessman's handshake with my own blood rich fist of tempered brutality.

On a slightly lighter note though, I drew a lovely snowdome for Marks and Spencer's Christmas Department last week.


Yours,

Ecto Van Plasm
The House of mis-used Yo-yos,
Ilkley.