118 lines
6.6 KiB
Plaintext
118 lines
6.6 KiB
Plaintext
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Underground eXperts United
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Presents...
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[ A Meager Attempt ] [ By Sophia ]
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____________________________________________________________________
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____________________________________________________________________
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a meager attempt
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written by Sophia
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It had been four months since the last time we saw each other. The cramped
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attic was burning hot. Had to gulp down saliva, the smell of filthy body
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almost made me throw up.
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No walls. Kitchen, living room, bedroom - all in the same area. Instead
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of rugs, scattered magazines. A score of wine bottles were lined up by the
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window. Odd, but she had always been odd. I suppose my nervousness shone
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through, because she asked me to sit down with a calm voice.
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"How's business?" she asked, while still rubbing a grey lump of concrete
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with sandpaper.
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"Excellent, great, there's nothing more profitable than the mail-
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ordering business in this day and age. You know, people got no money,
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economy is down the drain. No one can afford shopping at the malls
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nowadays, but primarily...," rhetorical pause, "... people are so damn
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lazy. Sitting in front of the television set and gorging themselves with
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peanuts, that's how people are today - they're LAZY. At this point I enter
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the scene. My concept aims for comfort. Just chose your garment in the
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catalogue, check a box and, whoosh, you got something fresh in no time.
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We're even on the Internet, gotta go with the flow, ya know. Got frigging
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good brands too, familiar with La Plume, no, what about Forever Young,
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nope, but Lord Lancelot then, it's leading, oh no? Okay... okay, Mickey
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Mickey hey, ha ha, remember that golden hit? No, we really gotta quit
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talking 'bout me, let's chat about you instead, what are you up to these
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days, why don't you ever gimme a call? Ha ha, I always resort to that one
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whenever I meet some old buddy."
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Not all that unexpected, she did not even indicate the faintest smile.
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She had never grasped my sense of humor. But she eventually decided to
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answer me anyway.
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"At the moment, I'm a part of an artistic group, Unicorus. Unicorn, in
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ordinary language. That's what we call ourselves. You know what the unicorn
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symbolizes? Didn't think so. It symbolizes purity and power. And that's
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exactly what we wish to obtain with our art, the purity and power around
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us, the purity in every unborn child, the human power, in everything from
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the unobtrusive buzz of the fly to the world-wide chant of the whales, yes,
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in everything, and this - yes, this - is the mission of every true artist
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to delineate."
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The sandpaper had been abandoned. Now she squirted paint over her lump.
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"Red, red, that's my color, powerful, aggressive, vigorous and allied
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with Fire." She prolonged, emphasizing the e, Fireee. "And green, the
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lovely color of the Earth," she laughed and whipped the brush against the
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lump, now slightly covered in a dirty reddish shade.
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I had been silent for quite some time, wondering what to say, when an
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awful feeling crawled up on me. Something did not make sense. But then I
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found out; green was not the color of the Earth, brown was! which I
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informed her.
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"Cut it out," she said with a low voice, an initial sign of the oncoming
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eruption: "Here we go again! You always know best. What do you know about
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color symbolism? Nothing! Have you read H.W. Sohmner, 'The Color Symbolism
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of the West-Coast-Salish Mythology'? Have you ever tried to interpret the
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language of nature? No, you haven't. And do you know how it really is to
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struggle for your art, day in and day out? To never have any money? You,
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with your fancy cars and plastic cards, old gold cards, what about sharing
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a bit of your wealth with people who actually NEEDS it, instead of wasting
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it all on expensive drinks, bimbos, whores."
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Rage overwhelmed me. "Now you gonna listen to me for a change. You think
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life is some goddamn kindergarten? Don't you think a lot of people would
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love to switch with you, playing all day long and enjoying a tiny bit of
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freedom? Don't you think I would like to..."
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I fell silent, catching my breath while trying to figure out what to say
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next. She had said 'bimbos, whores'. Now it was my turn.
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"You, with your shabby werewolf, the tramp whom haven't got anything
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better to do than attending courses where you sit and shit out your anxiety
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all over the floor, not to mention that effing negro on your damn drumming
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class, do you really think I'm so stupid I don't realize that it was just
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his big fu..."
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Someone interrupted me. "Oh, you're here too, daddy? I'm so glad you
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and mom are happy together..."
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In guilt, we looked at our ten-year-old son. I ruffled his hair, the way
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I used to do before me and my wife decided to split up. A time associated
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with Bad times. And it certainly had not become any better. The carrot cake
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stuffed to the limit with fibers, together with some awful thing refereed
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to as coffee, ecologically correct shit, filled me with anguish. When it
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was all over, I enjoyed a deep sigh of relief. This was the way life was
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supposed to be. Wasn't it?
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A long time ago I used to work as a remedial teacher. My wife was a social
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secretary. After she had read a book on the subject of happiness, we
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decided to do something with our lives. I longed for the life of commerce,
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get on the market and make money. My wife wanted to develop her artistic
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talent. And, after all, our sex life was quite meager. So, it came to this.
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But at least we had made an attempt, which is more than people usually do.
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------
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uXu #414 Underground eXperts United 1998 uXu #414
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Call RIPCO ][ -> +1-773-528-5020
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