User ID0353779 (Codename: Colossal Prick) reveals his thoughts on the untimely departure of Emma Rice as artistic director of the Globe
A response to this comment on a Guardian article.
Get an excuse for a working class artist to splatter ironic bodily fluids!
An orgy of my fears, the stupid things that I love to hate in my loud voice.
Excuse the mess? I love the mess, I miss the fluids, I’m dry inside, I’d kill
for a cup of the blood that runs in you, a thimble of your full-bodied spit,
a pinprick droplet of anything, I’m so thirsty. I try to feel things but it’s not
working, every time I come close the dogs of scorn start to bare their teeth.
Class consciousness? I flunked it. My horse is so high my head's in the clouds,
artist-what-the-fuckery spewing out of my ears and coming down as flaccid rain.
To you I’m just another keyboard-biter with a stick up his arse, a
splatter of roadkill opinions with a PDF of Butcher’s Copy-editing who says
“ironic” like it’s a swearword, and I am, but I just want to be picked up
bodily and churned like so much duck butter until I come to a pulp and the
fluids start to flow again. I’m just a thirsty man!
A response to this comment on a Guardian article.
Get an excuse for a working class artist to splatter ironic bodily fluids!
An orgy of my fears, the stupid things that I love to hate in my loud voice.
Excuse the mess? I love the mess, I miss the fluids, I’m dry inside, I’d kill
for a cup of the blood that runs in you, a thimble of your full-bodied spit,
a pinprick droplet of anything, I’m so thirsty. I try to feel things but it’s not
working, every time I come close the dogs of scorn start to bare their teeth.
Class consciousness? I flunked it. My horse is so high my head's in the clouds,
artist-what-the-fuckery spewing out of my ears and coming down as flaccid rain.
To you I’m just another keyboard-biter with a stick up his arse, a
splatter of roadkill opinions with a PDF of Butcher’s Copy-editing who says
“ironic” like it’s a swearword, and I am, but I just want to be picked up
bodily and churned like so much duck butter until I come to a pulp and the
fluids start to flow again. I’m just a thirsty man!
