Hey
Do me a favour and read the following for me, and tell me if its any good. I would appreciate anything you have to say on the thing, because I would like to know if I have a future with writing.
Thanx
Gfuff
Spar cheap arse paracetamol. You would think that I would be able to afford better. Here I sit, 21 years of age at a dirty coffee ringed table, and you know what? I can’t tell for the life of me if this table started life being yellow or white. The room I sit in is at about the same stage of disrepair, and as I lean forward, my head falling on to my arms, a low grown escaping my lips I feel that I disserve no better.
Cheap paracetamol, just plain cheap and nasty. I sit here with the packet in my hands and it is worrying the way in which I can relate to the thing. I feel empathy for a packet of paracetamol. It’s a front, that is what it is, its all packaging and no performance, selling itself of off the backs of other paracetamol companies, reputable ones that have a history in medicine. Companies that employ teams of researchers dedicated to finding new ways of making their product excel in its field. These are people that care about what they do, care that what they are doing is helping people not to hurt. I bet they work hard at what they do, I bet they come home tired and with a sense of satisfaction born of the fact that they have just put in one more day of tireless work in the pursuit of removing pain for peoples lives.
Imagine that, could there be anything more satisfying?
Its not just the pride in the one area of what they do though, nothing so narrow minded and egotistic, it is the company pride that they feel, knowing, that not only every man is like themselves, a worker dedicated to relieving pain, but that what they are putting on the market is the best, pure and simple.
Can you imagine the sense of community these people must have? Each man there must look upon the next as his very own brother, safe and secure in the knowledge that they are good, strong and caring. That must be such an incredible bass upon which to grow, such an incredible foundation on which to bass one’s life.
Such people must be such incredible pillars of the community in which they live. Such positive forces that their fellows rally round. You know what, I bet they have the most fantastic home lives. I bet each and everyone of those fellows has a husband, or wife (no sexual discrimination here!) that is more devoted to them than I can ever imagine. I bet their partners feel like they only breath air so that they can be with these people and I reckon that feelings mutual too. How can it not be?
Imagine the children that these people would have, there could be no more devoted parents than these!
And then I look at this pack of paracetamol in my hands and imagine the disgust that these people must feel at them. This pack is the giant leach of their lives, greedily sucking business away from them, caring not that the product is shoddy, but only that it is profitable. There would be nothing more than disgust in the hearts of these people for this shit spar crap. Worthlessly emulating the reputable paracetamol companies, while having none of the soul that they carry with them. A shallow meaningless existence superficial at best, evil at worst.
But fuck it, at least the packet is empty now and I no longer have to worry about it, though the shadow of its existence will fall forever over my heart. But even that I shall not feel for much longer, I can feel my conscious slipping away. Suicide by a packet of spar paracetamol.
[ 28 August 2002: Message edited by: Gfluff ]
Do me a favour and read the following for me, and tell me if its any good. I would appreciate anything you have to say on the thing, because I would like to know if I have a future with writing.
Thanx
Gfuff
Spar cheap arse paracetamol. You would think that I would be able to afford better. Here I sit, 21 years of age at a dirty coffee ringed table, and you know what? I can’t tell for the life of me if this table started life being yellow or white. The room I sit in is at about the same stage of disrepair, and as I lean forward, my head falling on to my arms, a low grown escaping my lips I feel that I disserve no better.
Cheap paracetamol, just plain cheap and nasty. I sit here with the packet in my hands and it is worrying the way in which I can relate to the thing. I feel empathy for a packet of paracetamol. It’s a front, that is what it is, its all packaging and no performance, selling itself of off the backs of other paracetamol companies, reputable ones that have a history in medicine. Companies that employ teams of researchers dedicated to finding new ways of making their product excel in its field. These are people that care about what they do, care that what they are doing is helping people not to hurt. I bet they work hard at what they do, I bet they come home tired and with a sense of satisfaction born of the fact that they have just put in one more day of tireless work in the pursuit of removing pain for peoples lives.
Imagine that, could there be anything more satisfying?
Its not just the pride in the one area of what they do though, nothing so narrow minded and egotistic, it is the company pride that they feel, knowing, that not only every man is like themselves, a worker dedicated to relieving pain, but that what they are putting on the market is the best, pure and simple.
Can you imagine the sense of community these people must have? Each man there must look upon the next as his very own brother, safe and secure in the knowledge that they are good, strong and caring. That must be such an incredible bass upon which to grow, such an incredible foundation on which to bass one’s life.
Such people must be such incredible pillars of the community in which they live. Such positive forces that their fellows rally round. You know what, I bet they have the most fantastic home lives. I bet each and everyone of those fellows has a husband, or wife (no sexual discrimination here!) that is more devoted to them than I can ever imagine. I bet their partners feel like they only breath air so that they can be with these people and I reckon that feelings mutual too. How can it not be?
Imagine the children that these people would have, there could be no more devoted parents than these!
And then I look at this pack of paracetamol in my hands and imagine the disgust that these people must feel at them. This pack is the giant leach of their lives, greedily sucking business away from them, caring not that the product is shoddy, but only that it is profitable. There would be nothing more than disgust in the hearts of these people for this shit spar crap. Worthlessly emulating the reputable paracetamol companies, while having none of the soul that they carry with them. A shallow meaningless existence superficial at best, evil at worst.
But fuck it, at least the packet is empty now and I no longer have to worry about it, though the shadow of its existence will fall forever over my heart. But even that I shall not feel for much longer, I can feel my conscious slipping away. Suicide by a packet of spar paracetamol.
[ 28 August 2002: Message edited by: Gfluff ]
