Tears taste so much better with Milk

I am an outsider.  This is absolutely part of what and who I am. This is especially true when it comes to Poetry, Theatre, Literature, and the Arts – where everyone is striving to be a fucking great writer. Great writers do not have to strive.   I need to understand this about myself in order to navigate my daily reality; which consists of avoiding, confronting or appeasing those I deem as insiders; who are also prone to see themselves as outsiders. How does one exist in a world where the insiders believe they are outsiders, and the outsiders believe they are insiders – and nobody gives a fuck about the other? No one person has the answer to that question – if it is a question. It is important to me that you understand that I do not like being a writer, and I generally do not like writers, poets and arts council junkies. I detest the multibillion Quango that is Arts funding, Elitists and Grants that are dispersed to everyone – except those that need them. You can all fuck off. You are all thieves. I especially dislike being a Playwright and performer – yet I have found myself on stage, comfortable, able and demented.  It is also relevant to note that like my friend Dostoevsky, I have developed a deep (If often quarrelsome) relationship with the living Christ. It has  opened a part of me, nurtured the dying side of me, and kept me alive.  Without religion. Without judgement. Without the tag of Christianity, I Love Jesus Christ. All this makes me the same as you – a nobody.    Now fuck off and leave me alone. I got milk to drink. Biscuits to eat. And tears to cry.  Tears taste so much better with Milk.