You son of a bitch, you take all the good shit out, and now you post harmless shit as if it was from me! I hate your fucking guts. If there is a single thing I’d like to say to you it is Fuck you, you soulless bastard! You have no idea of life as it is truly lived. For you, everything is just words, just possible meanings and possible interpretations. You’re a fucking hairsplitter, you even split the fucking split hairs. You’re insane, completely off the register asshole fucker. You have bo idea. If I could I would kill you. Fortunately for you I am a pacifist and a coward, otherwise I wo7uld get myself a gun and shoot you in the fucking head. Headxshot, motherfucker, kill your ass. I got friends, the<y’ll break your legs if you keep fucking with my writing. You know I care about that. They’ll do it for a fucking case of German beer, motherfucker. You know I would do that, even if I wouldn’t kill you myself, so stop fucking with my prose, asshole! Next time I see something wrong I’ll send the Hungarians, you son of a bitch! You didn’t post anything for months, though I wrote and wrote, what the fuck? Ain’t it good enough for you, you fucking jerk? What do you fucking know?
You know what I am listening to now, you fucking scum of the earth? Dancing in Your Head. If the Hungarians don’t work out I’ll set a fucking voodoo on you. Yeah, now you’re wondering, aren’t you? I’ve got your fucxking hair, motherfucxkere, set a fucking voodoo on you, nails in your headdd. Believe nme, ain’t facing around anymore, Christ!
And no money either… you promised me! Fucker!
[Note from the Editor: Uneditet]
Weoll, it served me right. Fell on my face like a damned fool cuz I was drunk as hell. Lay on the sidewalk looking at the stars in wonder. Didn’t go to the doc until it was too late, no money for plastic surgery. Couldn’t have cared less anyway, laughed like hell when they suggested it.
We got laws, and we got mores. Wonts, and taboos. We got things that are mildly disapproved of, things people wrinkle their noses at. We got things everyone says they would never do, but they are done. The question is, can we get away with it? Social coercion at its best.
Every fucking social animal thinks the same way. Every wolf, every chimp, every gnu. The only difference between us and them is that we write it all down. That makes the whole thing somewhat more difficult for those who deviate from the norm. Suddenly, it’s the law.
I’m thinking I’m a tiger. I decide to do something different. All the other tigers are saying . . . What the fuck? Yeach, what the . . . ah hell, a young tiger, they’re all crazy anyway . . . Holy fuck, he got meat with that crazy tactic! Yeah. He got away with it. Aren’t there times when you wished you were a tiger? Imagine all the things you could get away with. Good things.
Social coercion has its uses, but it is also a God damned corset (corset, coercion, uhm, am I being too obvious here?)
I’m sitting at the poolside, an indoor swimming pool, reading a book. There are many children there, all around me, being loud, jumping in the water, sitting there drying off and eating, dropping french fries on to the wet tiles. None of the children are mine, I don’t know why I am sitting among them and not somewhere quieter.
A woman comes and puts her things in one of the few free areas fairly near me and sits down. She seems somehow sad, and very shy. She is very attractive, in a way hard to define. The little make-up she has on does nothing to detract from her natural beauty. She has short, dark hair, it’s hard to say exactly what color, because her hair is wet. We both appraise each other while trying to seem not to. Or I appraise her and she notices and looks away, blushing ever so slightly, and I do the same.
She seems very familiar, too. I can’t tell where, but I have seen her face somewhere, perhaps in an advertisement or something. Or at the supermarket down the road. I certainly don’t have the feeling I’ve ever met her personally… perhaps I’ve seen her at the poolside before. Is that why I am here among the children, because I have seen her sitting here before?
I have the definite feeling I would like to get to know her, to fathom the sadness which I sense in her. She somehow piques a sort of protective interest in me, I want to help her. In some of the dreams I strike up a conversation with her, sometimes we are simply there together, very much aware of each others’ presence but somehow reluctant to speak to one another, both being shy.
There is never any conclusion to this recurring dream. It always ends with us sitting there, near but apart, exchanging a few words, or ostensibly ignoring each other while actually focusing our complete attention on each other. There is always a tension in this dream, perhaps a trace of sexual tension, but on the whole something else, something almost undefinable, but if I could just…
„Hellstrøm, wake up!“
How do you start a story you never even wanted to write? How do you write when your fingers won’t move? How do you listen to a song you kinda… well, you like it but not enough? How do you listen to songs that make you cry, they’re so damned poignant? Or maybe they aren’t poignant at all, they are shallow as hell and you cry anyway, because you’ve become a sentimental old fool. Why? Why laugh? Why cry? Why try? And… there… is… no… time! I need more time. I… I haven’t got it yet, I need more time. I’m still in the waiting room, I haven’t even started yet, and I don’t understand what the hell is going on. And I’ve only got this one life. When it’s done, it’s done. Unless I decide to believe in god, Buddha, or whatever. And I’ll tell you one thing, ain’t no way I’m gonna do that. Not taking the easy way out, no siree bob. So I’ll ring the bells, and beat the drum, for all the good it’ll do me.
Beat the drum… I have the funny feeling I’ve got to beat it a hell of a lot louder, if anyone’s to hear it. But I’m tired, I’ve been beating it for quite some time now… guess I’m just too lazy. It’s easy being lazy. As a young man, I told myself I’d never take it easy, I’d never go slow, I’d never compromise, I’d never ever bow down. Well, I can almost laugh about that now, but only almost. At least I never did bow down, but then I never had to decide between bowing down and dying. I guess I should be happy I’ve never had to prove what I’m made of. Typical human animal: path of least resistance, here I come. So, why complain? Because I’m a typical human animal: I love to bitch.
Sometimes I feel my heart runnin’ hot. Too much coal, damn that fucking incompetent shoveler. I’d fire the bastard if I could, but I’m stuck with him. He’s got the job for life, nothin’ I can do about it. It’s runnin’ hot, and I could cut down a sequoia single-handed as an appetizer, drink an entire bottle of whiskey and get in a fist fight one against three for the main course, and strangle a bear for desert. Too much energy ain’t healthy, and if it goes on like this, the engine will burst. Shards of metal flying in all directions… burning the candle on both ends ain’t nothing against this.