… busy working leather for the masks, busy honing drafting / painting skills, busy crystallizing ideas for new works, busy with Life in general, and blissfully ignoring all that Does Not Matter —

— and in my life, happily, I am the sole arbiter of that.

I stumbled over this delightful clip the other day, and was reminded of  a line from Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, about the “slimy things that crawl with legs upon a slimy sea”:

Tracy Ullman is a genius.

But how does one finally free oneself from sycophantic parasites?  You know them, the ones that come crawling out of the woodwork only when they want something from you, usually your car, your house, your spouse, your wages, or a kidney,… but only after having made your own life a Hell on Earth.

These parasites *so* need to buy [or as their wont, steal] a frakkin’ clue, and get over themselves, already.  It’s their damned fault that I just can’t accept the idea of vampires as protagonists, in any medium.

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