meaning of life according to st
I was sitting outside a room of feverish activity, with Susan Weatherly,
Inside a select group of people who were individually called on a rabbit tannoy to enter.
And I just waited and waited for my name to be called, I was envious of those that were called.
We waited in complete luxury, lifting our arms languorously to a feeling of silk, cashmere and mink, grasping bundles of light and energy.
And my name was not called.
She started to congratulate me , she spoke of the big musical I did when I was 15 and on the verge of being an adult - she said I was very good in it!
I said it was good that she remembered - it was incredibly emotive for both of us seeing as she played the piano throughout.
But I felt awful, my name wasn’t being called on the rabbit tannoy and I didn’t know how to cope with all the luxury? I felt excluded.
She kissed me on the head saying that I was the most appreciated and worthwhile person she knew out of everyone she knew, and she knew a lot of people.
This annoyed me somewhat, and suddenly I burst through into the room.
I saw everyone I had ever met industriously leaning over piles of little pins and needles and tiny metal shapes!
Looking over them was a little man, who was ordering them about and dishing out more piles of metal to sort out.
I saw what they were doing but everyone was ignoring me. They were in complete labour, and I wanted to join in, I still felt excluded.
I suddenly launched into complete hysterics at the little boss man, telling him that Susan Weatherly made me feel patronized, and why couldn’t I be doing what everyone else seemed to be doing? They seemed to be doing a real worthwhile task? Like I was jealous of the inane jobs they used to give concentration camp prisoners?
Nothing would satisfy me more than if the little boss man put his shovel into a big pile of little metal filings and give me a pile. So he did.
I tried to put them into piles, but they all blew away like haze.
The little boss man was frantically trying to gather them all together to dish them out again to the select people. It all seemed so pointless. I longed to be outside again in the luxurious waiting room. I didn’t mind Susan Weatherly and her annoying asides.
No-matter what I did my fillings of metal pieces were catching the wind and turning into mist and clouds, and that was all these select individuals were doing! Just sorting through my dreams.
That was the meaning of life. I was an artist - pleasing myself in luxury, whilst other ordinary people were laborious their whole lives, doing nothing.
Susan Weatherly was an angel, I realised. She chose me to be different, when she heard me sing all those years ago!
I wouldn’t have to join in the regular work ethic of regular human beings! That’s why she rang up and got me expelled from school, just after my A-level mock exams. She wanted me to escape the path of a ritual work nonentity!
And the meaning of life is happiness - where you need to be happy in the luxurious waiting room - earth - waiting for your name to be called! Enjoy now - work is terrible but a necessary component of life!
Work is getting the earth to spin - whilst the select few dream dreams that inspire all the workers!
germansingergirl
origamiaround
baratheonpilled
annaxmalina
kianamaiart
prguitarman
areudirty
