Some theatre each day keeps the doctor away…

Not Quite

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406/whatever.  Damn and blast and damn and blast and damn it all to kingdom come and into the centre of the sun!  I meant to finish it today, this Mansfield Park of mine, but have, through idleness, through dalliance with the unproductive, through an undecided yet pernicious campaign of subtle frippery, left myself with too many pages before bed to have any hopes of finishing it in a recumbent state.  Oh, bother most keenly felt!  Oh, foul tarnish on this my work ethic!  Flagellate, Adam, flagellate, and spare not specious excuse or petty deceptions.  Take whip to soul and spurn the slow cancers that lumber your form!  Take an almost pride in this failure, and make known its extremities to the world, so that you may blush at that which should make you ashamed, and whisper apologies forevermore.

You will die one day, Adam, and though cares may be of no concern when once you’ve passed that one-way gauze, know now, know ’cause of this, that pages have been left unturned by lazy hands, and while this book may be finished in simple time, that one you read then, as your life flows the other way, will not be.

Wail, wail, wail at such a fate as that!


Written by epistemysics

September 5, 2013 at 4:09 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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