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Expedition Contributions
Joined: 20 Jul 2005 Posts: 47
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Posted: Mon Apr 17, 2006 12:47 pm Post subject: Seattle 07 |
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Go to Room 4 |
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Fernsprechteilnehmer
Joined: 05 Apr 2006 Posts: 7
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Posted: Fri May 12, 2006 6:38 pm Post subject: |
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Haiku 1
Blank space. The eyes move
Restlessly from left to right,
Right to left. Blank space.
Last edited by Fernsprechteilnehmer on Wed May 17, 2006 1:11 am; edited 1 time in total |
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oi Guest
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Posted: Sat May 13, 2006 9:01 pm Post subject: the ocean doesn´t want me today |
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lali puna (an excerpt from a song):
Was no reason to complain
It´s all been candy cream
Neatly smooth and clean forever
Was no reason to complain
Never felt no pain
Then one day, it came a little
Was no reason to complain
Realize your fate
To shut it down increase depression
The ocean doesn´t want me today. (Seattle 7)
Give me a break
Remember waking up without a single thought,
Breathing the blue greyish light
Then taking a coffee
Remember kissing your wife
When you still knew her first name
Tasted sweet to say it
Give me a break!
This color is invasive
Creeping and enveloping
Rushing and suffocating
It is a jungle
Uncanny noises are itching my spine
Snakes and spiders
It will punish
Any idea of escape
There is no idea
It has swallowed the objects of before and made them unfamiliar
A secret plastic garden
Is now flourishing in me
Though somebody planted it
I am the gardener
So, give me a break.
I know it all
My fault is infinite and insensible.
Invisible to anyone but myself
My arms, my brain, my stomach, my white shirt
Maybe the pressure?
Outside, the ocean
The ocean doesn´t want me today. |
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jan_v
Joined: 18 Apr 2006 Posts: 2
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Posted: Sat May 13, 2006 9:07 pm Post subject: Office Anarchist |
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Nine to five. There you go. This is the real thing. It could have been so sweet. Now I need to get these efficiency reports done by the end of the day. Pretty exciting. Just what I was looking for my whole life. So let me please introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth and taste. Shipwrecked in an awfully painted office, reminiscing about the good times I had with Curly, Fat Mike, Ruby and the others. Anything but obeying the moral laws of society. Coming home at noon the next day, if we came home at all. The sweet sound of shattering shop windows. Lighting up the night by burning down Boss boutiques. Standing by, our fists raised. Yes. Baby, I’m an anarchist. This is not the Randy YOU know I guess. ‘Randymonium’. That’s how they used to call me. Yeah, that’s right. We were the ones who poked Uncle Sam in the eye.
It’s a miracle to me how I can even remember half of it. Fucking stoned and wasted as we were. Ruby supplied the PCP, while Curly’s was our executive liquor distribution manager. That wasn’t the most laid-back task as you can imagine, regarding the extent of our alcohol consumption. I can’t say I suffer any late consequences, though. A little twitching, a little fluttering now and then. That’s about it. Scars don’t count. Luckily, the only one visibly to public is this one right here on my forehead. Told Boclund I got it from roller blading. You wouldn’t think anybody would actually buy that. He did. At least that lard-ass signs my paycheques. Regarding my efforts around here… incredibly over-paid. But show me a moron who would admit that and I’ll show you the Ché tattoo on my left buttock. I mean, seriously…
“Good morning, Randy. What’s happening? How are those reports coming along?”“Just greeeaaat, Mr. Boclund. You’ll have them in your inbox as sooon as possible!”
“Wonderful. I knew you’re my jack-of-all-trades.”
”Always there to help, Mr. Boclund. Always there.”
”Fabolous. Well, let’s get it on then, Randy.”
You better get on that exercise machine, fat fuck. Let me tell you a secret: the trick is to look over-worked or annoyed, that way you can always pretend to be concerned about your job. Bob was wrong. You actually can fool all the people all the time. You need to have a mask. Whether you tag walls or you want to prevail in our society. At night I take the public mask off and put the balaclava on. Really, the fire of revolt is still burning. Maybe it has turned into a heep of glowing ash, but believe me, it’s still there! It just needs a spark to be lit up again. Seriously. When working late, I sometimes crank up my computer speakers and play my Sex Pistols MP3s that I legally downloaded off iTunes on the loudest setting. The other day, I hit my head on that ship over there while I was doing the pogo dance. That’s why it looks a little crooked. Still need to fix that. Maybe I won’t. I’ll leave it as a sign of nonconformity. Just say: Fuck it! I don’t care. It’s 4:20, might as well call it a day. Those reports? Worry about it tomorrow. My wife’s preparing supper and I have to take the dog out. |
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julia p Guest
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Posted: Thu May 18, 2006 5:23 pm Post subject: Mr. Wilson dreams |
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Mr. Wilson is sitting in his office on the 24th floor of a skyscraper in Seattle. It´s just after lunch break and he hasn´t yet found back to work. His mind is still troubled by disturbing images he had a glimpse on in a magazine he found at the Diner he ate his lunch in. This is what he thinks: “The fascinating aspect of our contemporary society is certainly the immense possibilities inherent in genetic manipulation and other technologies enabling people to reconstruct their bodies. Men become women, women become men. Sexuality becomes a concept of pleasure obtainment, a wellness product which is not coupled with a restricted scheme of sender and receiver. All made possible by the abolition of pain.”
“Why don´t we embrace technology as beneficient then?” Wonders Mr. Wilson.
But then an idea strikes him! “Religiously imposed taboos hinder us in taking up this step lightheartedly! To treat our body as sacred and accept it as god given is to condemn our influence on our life and appearance as sinful. Where would we get with a point of view like this? Back to the Middle Ages! An artificial construct meant to subdue us mentally to an authority represented by the church, or just any authority! Wait! Isn´t the whole idea of right and wrong unlogical from the start?..”
Since he was a boy, Mr. Wilson has been of a dreamy nature. |
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