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Dean Whitbread 2013

Dean Whitbread 2020

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Written on September 28, 2007, and categorized as Secret and Invisible.
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It’s a horrible thing to get a reputation. As soon as I have one I want to lose it. Reputations are millstones of expectation, hung around my neck, mostly by people who have given up on their own talents.

I seethe against and resent accolades especially. The laurels may as well be poison ivy leaving scars on my scalp – I do not want to wear them. Supposed glory means nothing to me, moments of other people’s bliss which have no bearing on my own state of mind. I have several times looked about me as a delighted throng cavorts for some reason connected to an action of mine I consider insignificant.

I have sometimes even been mistaken for a kind of hero, or worse, genius. I work particularly hard against those last two insidious lies, trotted out by the complacent, and deserved by scant few in this life and certainly not by me.

It’s a sign of self-esteem to refuse flattery, although it’s often confused with self-hatred. No, mate, self-hatred would have me pissed in the gutter, with a cocaine nosebleed, and I gave up drugs and alcohol years ago. It’s a tougher and less gratifying path to travel most of the time, this sceptical philosophy, but one I find fulfilling.

Now, dance!

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This thing has 4 Comments

  1. treacle
    Posted 28 September, 2007 at 1:07 pm | Permalink

    ok but play me a tune first, innit?!

  2. Indigobusiness
    Posted 28 September, 2007 at 5:58 pm | Permalink

    Well, aren’t we wonderful?

    I’ve carefully crafted my hard-won and well-deserved bad reputation.

    You could learn from me.

  3. twit
    Posted 29 September, 2007 at 1:56 am | Permalink

    A courageous post -from my perspective anyway.
    & I really do mean that.

    I just want you to quote some of these, “accolades”.

    Could you stoop to my request, dear Deek?

    ¦:¬þ

    You’re ‘bad’, Indi – but you haven’t made me cum yet.

  4. La Sirena
    Posted 30 September, 2007 at 5:37 am | Permalink

    Excuse me, please — I dance to a different drummer.

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