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Archiv für Dezember, 2006

Das Wort zum Samstag – Kommentieren

Samstag, 30. Dez ’06

<makk> saddam to be hanged within the next 2 minutes
<XmasBB> yes
<XmasBB> lucky bastard
<makk> it’s done
<makk> he’s dead
<XmasBB> great
<XmasBB> yawn. :)
<uwlas> feel better?
<makk> not me, but i’m sure a ton of iraqis that he affected do
<uwlas> ya sure.
<uwlas> you remind me of jesus. you man of compassion ;p
<XmasBB> i wonder if the iraqis are better off now.. with the civil war and all

Tony, do me a favour. – 2 Kommentare

Mittwoch, 20. Dez ’06

Ecstasy – Kommentieren

Freitag, 15. Dez ’06

His pill was kicking in, and the music, which he had had a resistance to, was getting into him from all sides, surging through his body in waves, defining his emotions. Before it had seemed jerky and disjointed, it was pushing and pulling at him, irritating him. Now he was going with it, his body bubbling and flowing in all ways to the roaring bass-lines and the tearing dub plates. All the joy of love for everything good was in him, though he could see all the bad things in Britain; in fact this twentieth-century urban blues music defined and illustrated them more sharply than ever. Yet he wasn’t scared and he wasn’t down about it: he could see what needed to be done to get away from them. It was the party: he felt that you had to party, you had to party harder than ever. It was the only way. It was your duty to show that you were still alive. Political sloganeering and posturing meant nothing; you had to celebrate the joy of life in the face of all those grey forces and dead spirits who controlled everything, who fucked with your head and livelihood anyway, if you weren’t one of them. You had to let them know that in spite of their best efforts to make you like them, to make you dead, you were still alive. Glen knew that this wasn’t the complete answer, because it would all still be there when you stopped, but it was the best show in town right now. It was certainly the only one he wanted to be at.
He had looked back over at Lorraine and her friend. He couldn’t tell at first, but he was dancing like a maniac, and when he glanced over at them, he realised. There were no poseurs here, they were all going crazy. This wasn’t dance, that wasn’t the word for what this was. And there they were: Lorraine and her friend Yvonne. Lorraine, the goddess. But the goddess had multiplied. There wasn’t just one of them now, like when he came in, there was just Lorraine and her friend. Now it was Lorraine and Yvonne, in a dance of crazy, rapturous emotion which, while conducted at ninety miles an hour, slowed down to almost nothing under the onslaught of the throbbing strobes and jerky break-beats. Lorraine and Yvonne. Yvonne and Lorraine.
A mass scream went up from the crowd as the music left one crescendo and changed its tempo to build up to the next one. The two women, danced out, collapsed into each other’s arms. At that point Glen knew that there was something wrong in their body language. Lorraine and Yvonne were kissing, but Yvonne, after a while, started to resist and was pulling away. So slowly, under the strobes. It was as if she had snapped: as if she had gone beyond the range of her emotional elasticity. She jerked free from what at first seemed a symbiotic hug with a violence the strobes couldn’t disguise, and stood in cripplingly uncomfortable rigidity as Lorraine appeared to look at her with a brief, odd contempt, then ignore her.
Yvonne headed from the dance-floor, making her way towards the bar. Glen looked at her departing, then looked at Lorraine. Lorraine. Yvonne. He went after Yvonne. She was standing at the bar drinking a mineral water. On the night his life changed he tapped her on the shoulder.
– Yvonne, innit?
– Yeah … she said slowly, then, — you’re Glen, aintcha? From the hospital.
– Yeah, Glen smiled. She was beautiful. It was Yvonne. Yvonne was the one. Yvonne, Yvonne, Yvonne.
– Didn’t know you wos into this, she smiled. It was as if her big white teeth burrowed through his chest bone and ate a hole into his heart. She was so fucking beautiful, Glen decided. This is a woman to die for.
– Oh yeah, said Glen, — Most definitely.
– Having a good one? she asked. He was gorgeous, Yvonne thought. He was a fucking hunk. He’s fucking well noticed me big time.
– I’m having the best ever, and what about you?
– It’s getting better, she smiled.
This was also the night Yvonne’s life changed.

<3 Irvine Welsh.

Immer noch nicht GEZahlt. – 3 Kommentare

Mittwoch, 6. Dez ’06

Das Dilemma ist freilich, dass ich kein gebührenpflichtiges Rundfunkgerät besitze und folgerichtig gar nichts muss — nicht mal antworten. Warum man mir trotzdem, offensichtlich von meiner Schuld ausgehend, anmaßende Drohbriefe schreibt, erschließt sich mir nicht und kann nur mit weiterer Ignoranz gestraft werden. Und dann wundern sich diese Bürofaschisten, warum sie niemand leiden kann.

Keine Angst, das krieg ich auch so hin.