Brigning it all back

I attended an inane MOE schoarship presentation today -- not because I was interested in qwhat the minister -- who has never been a teacher -- had to say but because I affirm the life-gigving impulses that all who want to teach have -- inherent in their mixed motives and less than altruistic aims. I nbo longer side the machoine with its impulses and superficial comments abot refoire. I am my own institution -- I believe in the idiosyncratic melange of curiosities that spring from tbe heat oppresssed brain. I pay back every bond in full knowledge of the social condemnation that teachers must sufgfer oince they decide to exist within the System. Once you call yourself an officer of the MOE , a Head of department or a supporter of the initiatives, YOU yes you (not me) are a cog in the system -- a willing servant in the machine -- a willing victim waiting for your moment when you can stop pretending and spring from the camo of being liberal and unmask you puritanical conservativism -- your need for the inante order your need to stuff everyone's loose ends into your own arse, into your own broom of the system never keeps clean but mops up the excrement that flows from the looseness of your ever-refined never tight enough system. Youir speeches about blue skies, innovation and screwing enterprise, are a prize gem gangrened and rotting like an amputated limb that twiches and squirms and will not declare that its end is nigh. I forsake you ALLL -- you screw balls high on political correctness and polite applause -- you believers that you will change the methods of divide and conquer -- there is nothing more. I screw with tartlets and cream, reigning supreme in the dream of vast empty spaces where we are left, finally alone.

I attended a scholarship presentation today. You could tell, from the eager faces and the firm naivete who is gonna be the one screwing my ass in ten years time. Work hard -- you screwers -- then you can tell me to file my ass in your purple and pink folders in tens years time -- and demand that this wine that I consume be bled form me -- like the sap from a trunk that has lost its loins! Now's the time to wonder how archaic memory is when it remain lost and searching in the peninsula of half forgetting and purple fortutide. I am so pissed on red -- I am missing my every other key stroke. I have the precision of a padfoot -- pronged and screwed inside out by and inceipient desire to be different -- an original taste of the never more ever after.