Maanantaikappale

Herää, unikeko!
Aurinko nousi jo kuudelta!

Laita sukat vääriin jalkoihin
kaada myslin sekaan kolaa

Unohda avaimet kahdesti
ja jätä ovi lukitsematta

Mumise epäselvästi bussikuskille
ja istu penkistä ohi

Säpsähdä stop-valon syttyessä
jää väärällä pysäkillä pois

Älä tunnista ketään vastaantulijaa
ja nuku onnellisesti töissä!

Kommunikaatioterapia

Hiljainen kylä, vaitonainen suu
  sanomatta jätetyt sanat, asuntolaina, se toinen
  ja kaikki se muu

Miksi lupasimme toisemme toisillemme
  sanottiin sanat katteettomat, ruman halvat
  kumppanillemme
  
"Kaduttaako?", kysyin yhä uudestaan
  et sano mitään, lauseet sanomatta jää
  myös tälläkin kertaa 

Veit lapset pois kun en puhunut enää
  ei ymmärtänyt äiti eikä isä
  ei kummankaan perheenpää

"Penni ajatuksista", voi kohtalon ivaa
  viskikonjakki ja rikkinäinen vyö
  solmio hukassa
  sukassa reikä

  olen vain hiljaa

Epätietoinen

Onko pakko nauraa mukana hänen huonoille vitseilleen?
Onko pakko iloita hänen puolestaan kun hän ostaa ruman urheiluauton?
Onko pakko muistaa miltä se tuntui kun hän veti sinut syliinsä?
Onko pakko itkeä kun hän jättää sinut toisen vuoksi?

Onko pakko tuntea niin kovaa?

Voinko valita oman tieni onneen?
Voinko nähdä valoa tunnelin päässä?
Voinko ostaa suosikkilimonadiani kysymättä lupaa?
Voinko itkeä itseni joka ilta uneen?

Voinko saada luvan tuntea niin kovaa?

For Sini

Standing in front of the opaque portal
   gazing past the lives beyond
Forgetting why I originally came here
   and why her name was to me so fond
"You can never have him", they said
   but you refused to listen, my black dove
And when came the time to make a choice
   you took a stand and you chose love
Forget-me-not, anemone, lily
   rosemary, parsley and thyme
Show compassion to me and them
   and we'll stand the tests of time

Kuka varasti punaisen haimani? (tajunnanvirta sensuroimattomana #1)

Olin kaupungilla kävelemässä väistellen katselijoiden luoteja joita he ampuivat muovisilla valopistooleillaan kohti minua. Yritin väistellä niitä mutta käsiini kasvoi karvaisia kasvaimia jotka eivät tahtoneet että vahingoitun. Ne muodostivat ympärilleni kudoksistaan kilven joka suojasi minua kaikelta, mutta pian huomasin, ettei sen sisällä voi hengittää. Saatoin kuvitella sinertyvät kasvoni kun vedin sisään pahanhajuista uloshengitysilmaa kudospussin sisällä, ja pian korvissani alkoi myös surista. Fandago grimoire, ajattelin kun näkökenttäni supistui pieneksi valkoiseksi vaakaviivaksi ja tiesin tajuttomuuden olevan lähellä. Kaaduin maahan enkä enää sen jälkeen tuntenut mitään.

Luomiskertomus

ajan alussa nousin järvestä
  keräsin kappaleet ihmisen
muoviputkea ja tähtien valoa
  unohdettuja lupauksia monta

kasasin kaiken parhaani mukaan
  mutta en osannut ilman ohjetta
rautalankaa ja liimaa
  ja punaisen jumalan alttari

~katso: hän elää luonamme nyt
  kuka meistä olisikaan aito~

otin ja rakensin toisen
  kumppaniksi keinokaliffin
nimeksi annoin sille jordaania
  vastukseksi kysymysten

hän avaa silmät hän avaa suun
  henkeä haukkoen hän istuu
katsoo minua - minä häntä
  en osaa sanoa enää mitään

~kirveltää kun itkettää
  ja ilma on sakea savusumusta~

a game design for a school project

The game is a “moody” adventure game, the term moody referring to a type of game play with no actual goal. The game is an experience, an interactive movie of sorts with no right or wrong outcome.The player experiences the story through discussions of other characters and settings, acting as a narrator of sorts to the story.

Set in a world where time has turned backwards, the story is told from the viewpoint of three characters, all stuck in a snowstorm in a cabin high up an unnamed mountain. The game is divided into three equal parts or chapters, each involving one character and his/her story.

The world and setting is a reality where time runs backwards, which has eliminated death from the lives of people, and now the end of a human life is birth (turning into a sperm and an unfertilized ovum). Time has gradually slowed down, and then, starts reversing. Past events start recurring.

People eat by regurgitating foods into food containers. Raining starts from the ground up. When people start fighting they suddenly get all hurt and then the opponent heals them by attacking them. Old buildings are re-built with wrecking crew equipment. Dead people raise from their graves and start getting younger. The universe is bound towards the Big Bang again, and thus, an Armageddon of un-birth.

The player characters are different people caught in the early days of “The Event”, as the time-turning is called in the game universe:
The three main characters are:

“A” – an undertaker, reassigned as “wake-upper”, i.e. a person responsible for patrolling graveyards and finding dead people coming back to life.

“B” – a novelist, now disenchanted as she has to unwrite all her books

“C” – a Christian priest battling with the new unnecessity of religion.

Koti

yritin mennä pahaa maailmaa piiloon peiton alle
   mutta sängyn alla oli mörköjä
äiti heitti minut pesuveden mukana pihalle
   ulos yksin pahaan maailmaan
katsoin rannekellosta suunnan metsään
   ja riisuin hiljaa kaikki vaatteeni
hieroin itseeni mutaa ja sammalta
   unohtaen kuka on ihminen
tapio ja otso elämäntovereinani
   söin kaarnaa ja käpyjä
kerroin salaisuuteni revolle
   psykiatrini oli keltasilmäinen
en enää huomannut kylmyyttä
   en ennen talvea ikuista
hiljaista

heräsin alta sammaleen
   raahauduin kohti aurinkoa
näky kumma ja vieras ja silti tuttu
   unohtaen kuka on ihminen
hän katsoi minua ja minä häntä
   tunsi villin voiman kutsuvan
otti minua kädestä kuin vanhaa ystävää
   sanomatta tarpeetonta sanaakaan

aurinko istui taivaallaan
   
hän riisui vaatteensa ja liittyi mukaan
   älkää etsikö meitä enää

Nuuskamuikkuselle...

Oli talvi ja pakkanen, kun lähdit kauas etelään
Jäin yksin taloon, puiseen, pimeään
Unta hakiessani kuvat mielen täytti tummat
Olo yksinäinen oli - varjot huoneeni kummat
Ajatukseni täytti matkasi määränpää
Nyt kaukaisien maiden kolkat sä yksin vain näät
Kyyneltä en päästänyt silmistäni silti lain
Mutta mielessäni olit sinä, yksin sinä, vain
Kun unihiekka silmäni vihdoin vangitsi ja täytti
Unen kuvat sinut vihdoin minulle näytti
En enää yksin talveani vietäkään nyt
Kun luonain unissani olet viipynyt
Pian koittaa kevät ja silloin taas tavataan
Ystäväni, rakkaani, minua silloin tule halaamaan

Calligraphic "faction logo" designs for a game project

More information later :)

The Astral Gears

Heart of the Atom

Entropy

Neo-Christians

Imperials

The Spawn

Galactic Order of Puritans

Le Petit Prince

it's like I had transported into a new plane of existence
looking at the common three dimensions as through a lens

reality was distorted, yes, but nothing else was
people were still the same, still had the redeeming quality to them

the reason for living is other people, one might say
but I add: "yes, if you Love yourself first as well"

as I sat there in the outskirts of the chromospheric disturbance
and shot wondering gazes towards supernovas and stardusts

I couldn't help thinking how much I'd rather be there
there, in your arms, in a warm embrace

and time became just another dimension to me
breaking the barriers wasn't very difficult in the end

let's just say that kindness knows no boundaries
not even four-dimensional

Eureka!

So I dropped down on my knees
And shouted the name again
An answer was given to me
In a bright flash of light

This was no act of God
The mirror image was displayed clearly
for the first time in
thousands of thousands of years

A world where a man can challenge gods
Endless greed, want and envy are gone
The old statues are broken down
for they are but images of men

Letting go the old superstitions
Challenging the knowledge of fathers
Displacing belief with knowledge
The world beings anew

Hand in hand the sons of man
walking together towards a brighter tomorrow
Fairness, honesty, kindness
These are the values I serve now

A glad servant I am
And no doubt I feel

Eräs ilta

Kadulla kävelee mies joka ei ole musta eikä valkoinen. Hänen vanhempansa ovat kotoisin eri puolilta maapalloa. Hänen äitinsä on suomalainen. Hänen isänsä on afrikkalainen. Hän on puoliverinen mulatti, rotupetturi, of mixed blood, ei-arjalainen "somali", kuten häntä kutsuttaisiin yön pimeydessä, vaikka hänen isänsä onkin kotoisin lähempää Pohjois-Afrikkaa. Jonottaessaan grillijonossa hänen takanaan olevat teini-ikäiset, pilottitakkeihin verhoutuneet pikkusielut kommentoivat tarpeettoman kovaan ääneen näennäistä fyysistä pahoinvointiaan, jonka miehen olemassaolo saa heidän elimistössään aikaan. Mies on hiljaa, hän ottaa verbaaliset veitset vastaan tottuneesti, tahtoen välttää tarpeettomat välikohtaukset. Sitä he vain kuitenkin haluaisivat. Kun miehen vuoro tulee, katsoo myyjä häntä lyhyesti kuin kirpputorilla lojuvaa, kulunutta taistolaiskodin vihreää joukkoistuinta. Pienet siansilmät lähettävät pikapostilla salamointia kirjattuna kirjeenä. Myös tämän hän ottaa vastaan hievahtamatta, välittämättä lainkaan siitä mitä tämän kunnioitettavan nakki-establishmentin henkilökunta ajattelee hänen monikulttuurisesta perimästään. Myyjä varmaankin pohtii, että pitäisikö tässä nyt muka ruveta solkottamaan viidakkoslangia kun mies avaa suunsa ja tilaa ranskalaiset perunat sinapilla, puhuen virheetöntä suomea lievällä hämäläismurteella. Saatuaan pikaruokansa hän poistuu nopeasti vasemmalle pilottitakkien huomaamatta. Hän palaa takaisin kaupungin yöhön lautanen ja haarukka kädessään, syöden grilliherkkujaan kävellessään.

Poimittu hetki

Joskus yritin järkiinnyttää itselleni, että ymmärtäisin tämän maailman toiminnan. Todellisuus kuitenkin on, etten oppinut ymmärtämään juuri mitään. Kun yritin ojentaa kuvitteellista kättäni ajatuksissani kohti korkeampaa totuutta, kohti onnellisen elämän salaisuutta, käteni ulottui vain hyvin lyhyelle, eikä sen tarjoama ote antanut hakemaani lämpöä tai helpotuksen tunnetta. Miksi tälläinen olisi missään tapauksessa mukava olomuoto, hän kysyi ei keltään saamatta vastausta.

Ajatuksessani on käynnissä oikeudenkäynti. Istun todistajan kopissa ristikuulustelussa, ja totisesti myös tuomari ja syyttäjä ovat tuttu näky, sillä minä itse täytän molemmat puolet oikeustapahtumista. "Miksi teit sen? Sosiopaatti! Hullu! Mielipuoli! Pervo! Deviantti! Huligaani! Loinen!". Pystyn vain istumaan tyhjä ilme kasvoillani, antaen sanojen tulvan pyyhkäistä ylitseni, tulvan, joka mennessään jättää oksettavan tunteen kurkun pohjalle ja joka saa vaatteet ylläni tuntumaan entistäkin epämukavimmilta.

Tuomio on selkeä: Syyllinen. Kaikki osakohdat luetaan minun kannaltani raskauttaviksi ja lautamiehet (jotka muistuttavat erittäin läheisesti myöskin minua) toteavat yhteen ääneen tuomion kaikki alakohdat paikkaansapitäviksi ja oikeudenmukaisiksi. "Oikeusmurha!", ajattelen hiljaa mielessäni kun minut raahataan kahleissa ja pakkopaidassa ulos puuseinäisestä huoneesta ulos hiljaiseen, linoleumilattiaiseen pimeään käytävään, jonka loppua en näe. Siellä minua odottaa pimeä tuntematon.

Käytävä kaikuu hiljaisista nahkakenkien askelista, kun kaksi oikeusavustajaa raahaa minua olkapäistä käytävän mustaa päätä kohti. Hitaasti matkan edetessä näkemäni kehon osat alkavat peittyä mustaan vaippaan, pimeyden kylmään syleilyyn. Ohittaessani ikkunan näen tähtitaivaan, jonka äärettömän kaukaisuuden salaisuus pysynee lopullisesti minulta nyt piilossa. Epätasainen nakutus kuuluu halvoista kangaskengistäni, jotka osuvat rytmikkäästi epätasaisten muovilaattojen reunoihin ylittäessään niitä viimeisen matkani edetessä.

Vihdoin pimeys valtaa kaiken läpitunkevalla olemuksellaan.

The one that asked too much

Hanging my legs over the bedspread
Trying not to think of the obvious
The fleeting images filling my mind
Over and over and over again

I can't get no relief
I must be the underdog again
I must be the underdog again

The bills keep piling up on the floor
But even money would not be the release
I want a new drug, they sing again
Over and over and over again

I can't get no relief
I must be the underdog again
I must be the underdog again

Thinking the way that I am not allowed happiness
But this is the way things have always been
I've always been the one left standing in the corner
While others dance the night away

I can't get no relief
I must be the underdog again
I must be the underdog again

The morning kettle boils for just me
Never nobody to share my day
The cold floor chilling my bare feet
Competing with the coldness inside me

I can't get no relief
I must be the underdog again
I must be the underdog again

The last leaves fall in the winter frost
Fractal patterns filling my kitchen window
The crackling sounds of electric trains
Alone in this cold and empty world

I can't get no relief
I must be the underdog again
I must be the underdog again

Hoping someone would learn to love me
And to see me as I am
Small words and simple wishes
That's all I can ask for

I can't get no relief
I must be the underdog again
I must be the underdog again

Fleeting moments passing in a blur
The vision slowly begins to dim
And as I exit in a dizzying embrace
It's all going to finally end

I'm given relief
But still, I'm the underdog again
I'm still the underdog... again

punaista vihreää keltaista sinistä

vihreä punainen keltainen
valitse värisi - vaikka se onkin aina väärä
valitse puolesi ja puolueesi
muista olla aina kaikkien kanssa samaa mieltä

ole holtiton ja käytä järkeä
unohda mitä äitisi sinulle opetti elämästä
kaikki mitä tiedät on väärin
haukoitus kertoo hienovaraisesti tylsistymisestäsi

hyppää pois ja pysy mukana
kuulu joukkoon heikoimman kustannuksella
viha on sallittu sosiaalinen puolustuskeino
suojavärisi on tasaisen harmaa

tunne yhteys tuntemattomien kanssa
hyväksy ideologiasi kysymättä mitään
vaikene esikuviesi edessä
lue raamattuasi joka ilta

pahoinvointi on osa tasapainoista elämää
ongelmista nyt ei tarvitse puhua laisinkaan
löydä onnesi kemikaaleista
massaviihde on parasta huumetta

punainen vihreä sininen
taivas on auki siihen uskoville
uskotko että esi-isäsi kuolivat maasi puolesta
elä elämäsi sen velkaa maksaen

ole kiitollinen siitä minkä ansaitset
yltäkylläisyys on onnesi mittari
kyyneleet ovat elämäsi voiteluaine
tasaisuus on tavoiteltava olotila

vaatteet tekevät miehen
kirjaa ideologiasi t-paitaan
hanki lisää omaisuutta
muuten et ole mitään

luurankosi ovat visusti kaapissa
lepakot asuvat pysyvästi kellotornissasi
vatsasi on täynnä perhosia
silti kaikki on niin tyhjää

pidä mielesi avoinna vaikutteille
omaksu ympäristösi elämäsi mittariksi
käytä solmiota ja kauluspaitaa
älä koskaan kyseenalaista mitään

paavo lipposen alttari on kotisi nurkassa
sen täyttävät yleisradio ja mainostelevisio
sosiaalidemokraattinen filosofia pitää sinut kurissa
muista katsoa muiden olohuoneisiin

joidenkin asema nyt vaan on parempi
sitä nyt vaan on synnytty kultalusikka suussa
ei ole minun syyni että vanhemmat antavat minulle kaiken
rahako muka ei tee onnelliseksi

osta kaikki uutena
kaikki vanha on likaista ja rumaa
menneisyys on parasta unohtaa
alennusmyynnit ovat köyhille

"Restless?"

The needle gently nudged the record with a cold metal kiss turning a scratch into the powerful opening strums of Anarchy in the UK. Viewing the mustard/baby shit combo wallpaper with a daffodil pattern behind the record player, Stim now raised his head, standing up from his slouching position. The cheap, worth-pretty-much-shit off-brand player creaked quietly in the background as a sort of mournful effect track backing up good old Johnny Rotten. Stim's hand moved slowly up and down on his side: he was scratching his itching side, a probable side effect of using way too much off-brand washing powder. Actually, everything in his tiny Camden apartment was pretty much off-brand. An off-brand life, as a 1990's hipster poet would imaginably describe this oh-so-good slice of life.

Lying in the bed next to the record player, with the condiment paper backdropping, lay a guy he had met three hours ago in Camden Market. The guy was extremely thin: Stim could easily make out the lively human skeleton patterns of his ribs and pelvis bones. His body looked like something stolen out of Trainspotting, a canvas of drug abuse, street life, fast love, quick pound and deft suck and tuck in a cold dark London back alley. Stim, however, in his mind, refused to see these paint strokes as imperfections on this God's lovely creation. To him, this man was an escapee from the classic paintings, the most beautiful and pure depictions of Christ sprung to his mind. He sat on the side of the bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping cherub, still staring at the naked, almost aggressively truthful beauty of the human body.

He moved his face as close as he dared. breathing a hot breath at the sleeper's mouth, then quickly pecking a tiny little sleepytime kiss on his mouth. His target made a tiny quiet half-asleep noise which sounded something like "Mmmhgm". Stim grinned, his tobacco-stained upper teeth showing in his trademarkish style the girls on fourth grade used call "irresistable". He slowly lied down and rested his head down on a small brown pillow, still warm from his own body. Closing his eyes, he let out a long, restful breath, which also seemed to relax his whole body going out. He smelled the scent of the sleeper, catching an aroma of sweat, cheap mouthwash, and lip gloss. Mr. Sleepyhead had now silently turned his head sideways, and was facing him, a scene Stim witnessed while looking at him with only one eye halfway open. He grinned again, having no control over his own feeling of simple joy and childish happiness. "I think I love you", he said half-consciously, almost only thinking the words in his mind. He was not heard.

Outside, a church bell rang three times; slowly, but surely, going the three necessary bongs. On the third bong, Stim got up, making sure that he didn't disturb his sleeping friend. He browsed the mismatch pile of clothes and underwear on the apartment floor, trying to spot his dirty broken jeans. He came across them on the top of a wooden bench. He pulled the Levi's on top of his goodwill underwear. and started heading for the door. He left him 85 pounds and the rest of the cigarettes on top the second pair of jeans. Johnny Rotten had progressed to bigger and better things as he closed the door behind him, entering the dark and lonely hallway.

Vacation from the bonds of yesterday

Caricature of a human sits on top of a high pedestal
thinking of thought best left to be alone, forgotten
this wretch of a man is a smitten old fool and he
thinks the world runs around him like a clockwork
of pure red and white satin... but he wails on through
the night, howling his mad monologue in the blackness
of the setting sun... must be a thing of contempt...

A wretch of a man stands in front of the pedestal of
Aphrodite and he hears only the missing pieces of
himself; the terrible, unforgiven sins. What is will
not be no more.... IT MUST BE ALL FORGOTTEN...

And so he lies sideways, on the stone gray throne
of rulers past forgotten... naked... alone... thinking.

"Whatever is the quality of man?!", he asks himself in
a terrible fit of rage, his muscles spasming in an animalistic
terror... of animalistic instinct....

Give yourself freely to the flesh!

I must feed! I must feel pleasure! I must be whole again!
PLEASE MAKE ME FEEL SOMETHING PLEASE!!!!!!.........

But the answer is never heard. Only the Carnivore hears him.
She is the feminine force of the land. She wants to be lusted after.
And so: she is. The pleasures of the flesh are given unto her freely.
Pain, pleasure! It's all the same to me now... I can only feel the aftershocks
of pure torture anyway. The love I know is of pure ribald torture.

I want to be your slave. I want to sweat in front of you.

Naked.

My body responds to your commands. And I am, I am under your command.

The pulsating beat of the universe controls me now. There is only the bloodflow and the pleasure. And I give myself unto you freely. I am the well which you shall drink of. I am your Pleasure. I want you to have me.

And so is written: your flesh is the source, and I am the end. Give me the gift of true partnership. Share with me the true nature of the universe.

I see! I see the light! Finally, the shales have been cast from my eyes and I can see clearly: For there is only pleasure and pain, and there is you and I. And we both give equal shares of ourselves for the passion play.

And the metal cutting into my flesh serves as a reminder of your evercompassing love. You transcend the mere mortal chains and act as a cloud of raining compassion............ I am finally, truly...... at peace. I cry.

.......but the tears are of happiness. And I accept them as a gift.

Thus, everything clicks into place. Pain, pleasure, unforgiving, love, truthfulness, even pure servantship..... It's all meaningless now......

For we are the Lovers. And the sign was written for us. The ancient legends told of this moment...... And we shall enforce the prophecy.... together!

Godspeed!

Rauhaniemi 1993

A. listened to old techno tracks on his Walkman as he walked through the main street in Tampere, "Hämeenkatu", as the Finns called it. I was a rainy and snowy night, something that is only possible in Finland, a weather combination of both rain and snow for the maximum fuck-you weather experience. The dark gray streets were almost empty save a few drunks trying to find their respective ways to homeward bound. The subtle hints of hi-hat continued to blast their way into A.'s ears as he listened to "Music reach (1-2-3-4)" by The Prodigy. The sampled and sped-up female vocals smoothened his gaunt and made him feel very happy as he walked down the street towards the Central Railway Station. He was already 10 minutes late.

The song had progressed to the three minute mark on the second playthrough when he arrived at the station front yard (as it was not uncommon for A. to play the same song twice or thrice. The reason for this is that he just enjoyed this method and manner of music-listening for some reason (i.e. no reason)). His target and destination was the part of the city known as Rauhaniemi or to be exact, the sunny beach cliffs of Rauhaniemi. The simple idea of that name (ed. note. Rauhaniemi in Finnish means Peace peninsula or Peaceful peninsula) brought him a simplish, borderlinely adolescent feeling of joy. The kind of feeling you get when you are a seven year old child and you receive your best Christmas wish for present . That toy car or video game you wanted so bad after hearing about it or seeing it somewhere. This feeling made A.'s walking very quick and pleasurable, as he turned from the broken concrete of Hämeenkatu to Tammelan puistokatu. The trees in summer bloom in the park of Tammela gave the location a kind of Sherwood Forest of Ye Olde Romantic English feeling to the part of street encompassing the park grounds. "My mind is glowing", spoke the vocalist in The Prodigy's "Claustrophobic sting" playing in A.'s ears.

He was almost there when the ticket was finally bought. The ride was taken.

The air was filled with transparent overlay images reminiscent of Incan pottery designs or Spanish pottery-painting patterns with binary colors of black and white zig-zagging towards infinity. They seemed to "bump-map" (ed. note: a computer graphics algorithm which basically entails using a map of height information which is then used to calculate a three dimensional picture of an image with height information available) the air with their rectangular and symmetrically pleasing shapes. Moving his eyes or his head also seemed to "color-cycle" the patterns with a slow gradient colors. All these little quirks were very enjoyable for him, as it didn't really bother him at all. In fact, all the images seemed to react to the music pounding his eardrums as well, so it functioned as a sort of "music evaluator" for his current state. "I feel like a computer", said A. out loud for nobody particular. The green trees were his only audience in the darkness of the Rauhaniemi harbourside.

He caught the first glimpses of the lake in the midnight darkness. It was a beautiful sight with a Picasso-like composition, and A. couldn't help smiling and thinking of the New York Museum of Modern Arts. "A masterful composition", he hought to himself then switching his thoughts toward René François Ghislain Magritte in a connection of the words "composition" and "Magritte".

Everything was alright.

Multiplici-city

06:51 PM. CITY STREETS.

The smell was that of burned plastic when Gabriel Steinham woke up from
his drug-induced coma state on the wet concrete street of Multiplici-city.

Sitting up, he felt sharp pains all around his body; in fact, upper torso seemed
to be riddled with bullet holes. Looking half-stupidly at the bright blood on his
shirt, he still couldn't help thinking: "Where the hell did I left my keys?"

[fade out]

Title: MULTIPLICI-CITY

[the TITLE with fast zooming letters towards the viewer, with black and white colors, think Psycho.]

[slow fade in from white, scene in a park]

We return to GABRIEL as he walks through a Middle-England park during
early spring; a few trees have started blossoming, and there's also just a few tiny patches of snow left. GABRIEL is walking on a small park walkway made
of gray concrete. He seems to be in a hurry.

[...]

Experiment #455

The wallpaper crawls with images of unknown forgotten lore
A glass ball is installed into a dead eye socket of a forest fox
Sharp teeth of a broken skull call out to you with a primal force
You answer hesitantly / Breaking free / Shedding the clothing of humanity
No more decency / No more inhibitions / Only fear and hunger

You are an animal

Embracing the primal instincts sets you apart from them

Metallic taste of blood fills the mouth, the nose and breath
Tasting this ancient potion makes you almost insane
Cannot really tell what direction is which
The yellow eyes are filled with madness and rage
Red foam forms around the corners of the jaw

Only fear and hunger

In a quick fit the bookshelves are torn asunder
Tomes of knowledge now sprawled across the room
White pages riddled with striking bright blood
Old knick-knacks broken apart every which way
The scars telling a vivid story of betrayal

All meaning and rational thought is useless now
The lifeblood turns into a powerful humming noise
The face turns into a twisted mess of lustful aggression
Death / Hunger / Lust / Aggression / Fear
These are the five forces you now obey.

And you must. You must obey.

John and Jill

John woke up one day, with a zapping lasers and a whirring noise in his ears and the white mist that emerged from the HappyHuman Klono-O-Mat 4000 humanoid cloning add-on. A timer beeped silently on his synth-flesh wrist: This was day #45443.

DAY #45443

John made a slow movement on top of the watch, thus ending the timer alarm on his PersonoComTron or PCT. This clock-like gadget was the latest in small-scale personal electronics, which was slang for a your regular computing unit, virtual reality port / mental uplink and entertainment system. The "screen" (which was not actually a screen, but a sort of information overlay that was embedded in his visual image non-intrusively) displayed a few fun statistics about his earlier day:

==

YESTERDAY: XX day

Day length: 23hrs 11min 5sec

Daily highlights:

11:03:05 ROUTINE _WAKEUP (Waking up): XX day.
11:03:05 REGULAR DAILY UPDATES: XX.
...

==

And so on. These statistics were of little interest for him, as he wasn't really able to remember what usually happened on the woman-days. He has tried reading them a couple of times, but usually was unable to grasp the full image of what this person was like. Moving his hand again in slow manner, the displays closed and the view was replaced with a locator and a map overlay he liked to use helping him find his way around the city.

==

TODAY'S TASKS: Meet the Group. (due: 1hr 5min 2sec) :)

==

The display also told John that the meeting was only twenty minutes away from his home, a fact he already knew full well anyway. "I'm goin' I'm goin'" he shouted tiredly at the happy blue text on his view. The cloning process always left him feeling tired, which was rather odd knowing that he never should have been tired right after his molecular regeneration. He thought to himself that it must the way cloning is analogous to an actual birth anyway, and the brain just knows it is new, for some quasi-cosmological reason.

John got up, and started his way toward the meeting...

Summer of '07

this gift i give to you of
my innocence

i have chosen you to be
the one to make me whole

we're still so young and
forgiving

nothing is unbearable yet
if we face it together

but then again, we're only
children

what we are doing are just
the hormones talking

shouting at us
pulsating

the veins hardening and softening
with the hot red blood coursing

making a maddening shriek and a
deafening hum

thump thump thump thump
your heart beats a rhythm

and i hi-hat myself to the snare
the bass drum steals the beat

and we understand that this is
what they mean about making

beautiful
music

together

MC Love Bandit presents...: volume #1

fuck it suck it baby
we got the whole night ahead
try my mystic jello
i've heard it's a special treat

maybe i will go down on you
or maybe you on i
it doesn't really matter
as both are equally fine

they call me the midnight soldier
they call you the amazon queen
whatever we do together
it is bound to be okay

love is good, sex is better
i am also known as the sex getter
you go by the name of funky lady
they say that you are give excellent head...y

bad sex poetry
coming from my mouth
when we are done with the intercourse
your mother will move to south
(because she is so outraged by our shameless display
of carnal love...

...baby.)

travelling at the speed of sound

move forward
move backward
move towards the light

on the train
clank-clanking on the tracks
taking you quickly
to somewhere you have not been

shawford
clapham junction

the way out
or is it?

mind the gap

the metal box
separating you and nature
your nature
you

grass fields
trees
sheep
what am i doing here anyway

everything goes dark

a tunnel perhaps
or is it?

maybe you finally
managed to see the light
and die

closing your eyes
you sigh a little

thinking of all those
moments you could
have been with
someone

a girl
a boy

someone

you think to yourself

"what is it all for?"

being alone
surrounded by people

the difference there is
the perception of yourself

loathing oneself is easy
when you have no self-image
at all

just think of you as
the disembodied narrator
of agatha christie novels

whodunit?

you did it

you well perfectly know
why you just sit and
pretend

passively

active action needs to be
taken if love is to be
achieved

smile
dress nicely
dance well

have a fucking collage degree
in journalism or interior design

whatever is needed for them
to love you

embrace the expectations of
other people

and you may finally acquire some
sense of self-worth

finally some action!

stop deluding yourself

you... you, you you...
you bastard
you fiend
you asshole
i hate you

me you i

we are not meant to be
together

you don't make me
happy

i want to get out
i want time for myself
i want to watch ugly betty

me me me me me me me me me

i never loved you at all

it's only an addiction anyway

i am a love junkie

i sniff affection
i devour kindness
i inject myself with happiness
i get high on romantic sex

what about you
what about me
what about i

question: what are we doing together
anyway

i cannot let myself do what i want
she sends me mixed messages

my captain cosmos translator ring is broken
i cannot understand her
out-of-this-world behaviour

why don't you just sit next to me
and hold me

be with me

love me

embrace me with your warm body
and whisper into my ear

"i am yours"

and you bet
i'm yours too

now we can face anything
any sort of hurdle
any sort of mistake

a strong bond will never break

under stress
under duress

be my yoko
be my john

and let us be
the plastic ono band

the two virgins
the gallagher brothers of love

and fifty years later
on a sea shore

we look each other deep into
the eyes

and we see no regret

no missed opportunities

no missed calls

open your eyes

you have arrived at
your destination

mind the gap...

...mind the gap