April
Friday 4 December 2009 photo 1/1
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En fredagskväll kunde Kuse inte komma och festa med oss, han annordnade högstadie-disco i Grebbestad...detta är hans historia (ingenting är ändrat utan detta är sms:en jag fick, fram till idag vet jag ännu inte om han har överlevt):
Rorshach's journal, 4th of December, 2009, first entry:
"Loud trance music and heavy dance beats begin to pound against the walls in a smoke filled room at the edge of nowhere. In less than an hour the first of 90 elementary school students will come through the front doors. It is time to find a place to stand my ground, before it's to late..."
Rorshach's journal, 4th of December, 2009, second entry:
"Was promised pizza. Reduced to eating hot dogs in the shadows instead. It is quiet here now. Surely the calm before the storm."
Rorshach's journal, 4th of December, 2009, third entry:
"Tiny rodent-like eyes are watching me from the dance floor. Our distaste for one another is mutual, but they have numbers on their side. Can't act now. I'm staying behind the counter, reading about creative ways to torture prostitutes in a book I bought, until I'm strong enough to strike."
Rorshach's journal, 4th of December, 2009, fourth entry:
"A discussion about whether a certain new pop star is a hermaphrodite or not just took place. I'm looking at dark shapes in expensive caps and hoodies dance in a strobe light like mad to her...or his...latest hit song. All of them truly look like the same person. A person without a personality, what a paradox...I suspect that even if someone would turn the lights in the ceiling on, the people in this room would still remain dark, soulless sihlouettes of real humans, dancing to the fiddle of the unisexed devil. I wonder if pouring the hot, black coffe I have in my hand over their Nike-hats would have any effect in the matter though."
Rorshach's journal, 4th of December, 2009, fifth entry:
"I managed to escape somehow. I am walking the quiet streets in search for some kind of...emotion. I am far away from the place I left behind and I no longer hear the pounding music. The silence feels cleansing. I stop for awhile to lean against a tree trunk, resting my aching body. Cars hiss by and I am unable to avoid their piercing search lights in the long run. I must keep moving, got to stay alive."
Rorshach's journal, 4th of December, 2009, final entry:
"As I walked by a window, I noticed a young woman leaning over a workbench inside, her back facing the window. She was working on a woodensculpture of some sort. I stood and watched her for a while through the glass. After a while she flinched and turned around, suddenly facing me. I recoiled, but was unable to find a proper reaction. She slowly, as if in slow motion, picked her sculpture up and threw it against the window, shattering the glass with a loud bang. I suddenly found myself back where the poor music was playing and the multi-coloured lights were flashing. A mug of coffe was in my hand. I am still here now and I curse myself. A brutaly remixed version of No Woman No Cry is playing and it hits me; I may never leave this place. I don't expect you to pray for me, but if the world doesen't end too soon, see to it that you publish this story."
Rorshach's journal, 4th of December, 2009, first entry:
"Loud trance music and heavy dance beats begin to pound against the walls in a smoke filled room at the edge of nowhere. In less than an hour the first of 90 elementary school students will come through the front doors. It is time to find a place to stand my ground, before it's to late..."
Rorshach's journal, 4th of December, 2009, second entry:
Rorshach's journal, 4th of December, 2009, third entry:
"Tiny rodent-like eyes are watching me from the dance floor. Our distaste for one another is mutual, but they have numbers on their side. Can't act now. I'm staying behind the counter, reading about creative ways to torture prostitutes in a book I bought, until I'm strong enough to strike."
Rorshach's journal, 4th of December, 2009, fourth entry:
"A discussion about whether a certain new pop star is a hermaphrodite or not just took place. I'm looking at dark shapes in expensive caps and hoodies dance in a strobe light like mad to her...or his...latest hit song. All of them truly look like the same person. A person without a personality, what a paradox...I suspect that even if someone would turn the lights in the ceiling on, the people in this room would still remain dark, soulless sihlouettes of real humans, dancing to the fiddle of the unisexed devil. I wonder if pouring the hot, black coffe I have in my hand over their Nike-hats would have any effect in the matter though."
Rorshach's journal, 4th of December, 2009, fifth entry:
"I managed to escape somehow. I am walking the quiet streets in search for some kind of...emotion. I am far away from the place I left behind and I no longer hear the pounding music. The silence feels cleansing. I stop for awhile to lean against a tree trunk, resting my aching body. Cars hiss by and I am unable to avoid their piercing search lights in the long run. I must keep moving, got to stay alive."
Rorshach's journal, 4th of December, 2009, final entry:
"As I walked by a window, I noticed a young woman leaning over a workbench inside, her back facing the window. She was working on a woodensculpture of some sort. I stood and watched her for a while through the glass. After a while she flinched and turned around, suddenly facing me. I recoiled, but was unable to find a proper reaction. She slowly, as if in slow motion, picked her sculpture up and threw it against the window, shattering the glass with a loud bang. I suddenly found myself back where the poor music was playing and the multi-coloured lights were flashing. A mug of coffe was in my hand. I am still here now and I curse myself. A brutaly remixed version of No Woman No Cry is playing and it hits me; I may never leave this place. I don't expect you to pray for me, but if the world doesen't end too soon, see to it that you publish this story."
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