130 lines
7.0 KiB
Plaintext
130 lines
7.0 KiB
Plaintext
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Underground eXperts United
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Presents...
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[ Histamin ] [ By Pivic ]
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____________________________________________________________________
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____________________________________________________________________
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H i s t a m i n
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by Pivic (pivic@skom.se)
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The music is guitars in harmony with much dist. The people are jumping
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around on the stage and are stated geniuses. I can't handle them, or this
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new punk-scene which most of the Ostermalmchildren have taken to. Girls
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with black hair, black clothes - a skin-jacket with an anarchist-A on the
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backside - gets into her father's BMW as he comes to pick her up. What is
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she going to say to her little friends over the telephone tonight? That
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her father was SO pissed at her when he said he didn't want to see her
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with such people again? Hardly - he probably didn't even care. He
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probably sat and eased his belt, glasses and his conscience, while his
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poor daughter is dancing the-dying-yuppie-waltz by thinking of tonight's
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concert. The band's name was Plutonium.
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By Karlaplan, via one of the underground exits, there is a shop.
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There an old lady always sits on the summers with her feet on the counter
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and a GB-cap, one with an elastic band instead of just textile. She
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usually eats Piggelin. Her husband once said the preservative that's in
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the ice-cream helped you against the sun, that it was better than suntan
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oil and so. She didn't know that what she was eating really was huge
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amounts of a light-green pigment, which affected her skin in a most
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peculiar way. Her good friends noticed nothing, but customers who never
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had seen her before wondered where the colour came from, as if the shop
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had green plastic as roof.
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Have you ever met a person who likes to weigh things to see if they will
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fall or not - a person who likes to make big piles of books on their floor
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at home and then say it has to do with a lack of space, even though that
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person has space for whatever? Daniel was a person who lived on the
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fifteenth storey. He had loads of things on his balcony, which's door
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almost always stood open. The balcony was pretty solid, nothing one falls
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off if one doesn't wish to. The rail was pretty solid as well, which was
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something he made sure of before he bought it. Then the carpet-carriers
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came. The street below the balcony was crowded, during rush hour. NOW.
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They went into the balcony and looked around. They saw typewriters and
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goldfish-bowls on the rail, which made them look at each other with
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strange faces for a moment. After diverse chit-chat between the three,
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the two workers took a couple of carpets each and left. The first carpet-
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carrier banged a fish bowl which slipped off the rail with a metallic
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sound. The other worker then almost soundlessly turned around and stuck
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two typewriters off the rail. Daniel could hear music, when the three
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looked at the objects which fell towards the people.
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The cities are desolate. Two cars are going towards each other in a low
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speed over the old russian tundra. The wind is making the drivers think
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it whistles outside, because of chicken-nets which doesn't exist. Their
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speed is increasing. One is turning and the other one as well, so that
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they're directed towards each other. Time passes and when they smash it's
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frontally. The first car's petrol-tank which was on the car's top,
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smashed against the other car and sat fire to it. The fire spread to the
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first one. The fire was invisible because the temperature was below -40
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degrees Celsius and the heat was spreading fast. The cars were welded
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together. One man survived.
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I'm walking outside on the street and I see skinheads fighting outside a
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pub. The pub is brightly lit and I see lots of people fighting outside the
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pub as well. Mostly I see skinheads in dark jackets, probably from India
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or some other kind of developing country, which probably are the
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skinheads' most beautiful and valuable possessions and they're adorned by
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the Union Jack. They're shouting at and kicking people which seem to be
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the family who own the pub, the family Purrajabijn; my neighbors. I see
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how one of them, the youngest boy, Mamet, is walking outside with a tray
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of beers. A skin hits the tray and the beers break against the ground at
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the same time Mamet gets a couple of chair-legs in his stomach, the same
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legs which were used to break the beers. Two skins help their cause. And
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I walk on - I've seen enough. They can manage without my help.
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She's putting together pages text pictures. She is using a roller to paste
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pictures and text onto a big sheet of paper. The paper she later sends to
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the printing house on time. Somebody other than her is going to make the
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cover and the layout in details. They don't have modern computers. Or
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computers which they can use. Autumn has arrived and she often wishes she
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didn't work for a paper where she has to write for sellers when she really
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wants to write about the feelings she gets at autumn.
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She is the editor.
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The wall is getting hot, and I turn around in order to burn my other
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shoulder instead of my face. The people around me look strangely at me,
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as if I had some kind of plague which you have to scratch away. The wall
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isn't very high, which means that you can lean your neck backwards more
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than 44 degrees. A bunch of people are dancing before us, wearing clothes
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from the 50's. I suddenly hear the music. They're dancing the twist, but
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stop as they notice. I notice. The people around me start getting up and
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take my skin jacket and jeans. The shoes. Lord, we are in the wrong time-
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period. Help us.
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Timecircles are visible in the water. She is swimming towards me and just
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as she smiles, I dive cowardly, and she dives after me. I close my eyes
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and smile a bit. I'm looking under the water and I'm seeing her deadly
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beautiful smile. She swims up to me and takes a hold of me with both of
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her hands as she kisses me and I'm afraid. We kiss each other and I don't
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care if I'm drowning. Just as I'm drowning with her.
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------
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uXu #228 Underground eXperts United 1994 uXu #228
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Call THE ALLIANCE -> +1-612-251-8596
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