Tuemckey writes the raw shit!!!

Music to listen to on headphones: Schiller-Atemlos

2010-03-13T21:21:00.002+01:00

Schiller has returned with another double album, Atemlos, after the great Sehnsucht, that most of his fans consider a masterpiece, that had to live up to another classic Schiller-Tag und Nacht, a double album again.And Sehnsucht played its part.

I had first come across Schiller's music around 2003 when he's released the Leben...I feel you single off of Leben. The track was rather bouncy( much more than the album counterpart), yet I loved it, but I couldn't accept it as electronic music, cause its sound was too house-ish/techno-ish( at that time my electronic music was made of Vangelis, Jarre, the Tangs, Kitaro, Kraftwerk and probably had heard of KS but not yet listened to his music.The Berlin School or Retro scene was unknown to me).And while the genre was automatically refused to be heard by my ear, I still liked the track.

Then 2008 arrived and KS' site was showing this 33 minutes track in his discography section he had made with Schiller for his new album Sehnsucht. That left me intrigued. Evidently KS has made some errors in choosing who to make music with across the decades he's been in the business, but I hoped this was one of the lucky cases.
Thus, I searched and found Schiller's site where, at the time, snippets of songs from his new album were played. And the track with KS had left me impressed, I was wondering how grand it had to be in its entirety, upon hearing just a few seconds of it. I dl-ed the album and liked it, loved it, got hooked on it. And I've been a fan ever since. And I sure as hell don't mind it!

Now, let's get to Atemlos.

No matter if you've got a super high quality expensive most of us can't afford stereo system with a Bang&Olufsen logo on it( I'm not up to date anymore with which products from which brands are considered the ''shit'' nowadays, when it comes to music devices. Come to think about it, 've never been.:)) or a 5+1 system that has a cool technical name ,this album needs and has to be heard and enjoyed on the good ol' headphones.
It's not that stereos are not doing their job, on the contrary. Although I'm a decent listener sometimes I still like revving the engine up and turning the volume up higher and hearing the music's power caress the walls, if anything else. There's nothing better than annoying the neighbours with high-volumed music you enjoy, especially when it's clear they don't share your tastes. But let me get to the point.
No matter how advanced the systems are, there's no way they can play emotions inside the music as much as some mere mp3 players. There's something about headphones, good ones that is, they can make you hear subtle harmonies inside the tracks that'd be left undetected otherwise. Plus, it feels a lot closer to your music need. It's always nice to hear this album, in perfect silence, in the dark and soak up all the sounds and let the music breathe through you.

The album is very crips-sounding, just like any other Schiller album, very well produced, you can clearly hear his passion for notes, for ambience, for music, for felt and lived music. Some fans have said it's too mellow and ambient, very much different to the more up-tempo Sehnsucht. And while they might be right, in parts, I'd still want to disagree.
Let's not forget that Schiller's work has been chill out since the beginning, yet considering the album's name is Atemlos-Breathless one should expect a calmer and more downtempo approach to each track and overall sound. That doesn't mean Atemlos is beat-free, there is plenty of rhythm, plenty of danceable tracks, plenty atmosphere and plenty Schiller style. Most likely the singles will be remixed and become huge dancefloor anthems, this summer , at least.

A thing that sets Atemlos apart from its predecessors are the vocal guests. Long gone are the days of Heppner or Jette von Roth. Kim Sanders only ''donates'' her beautiful voice on one song and the rest of the vocals are left in the hands of unknown acts, to me, of course. Well, except Nadia Ali and Anggun. The tracks are still very much thought-out and the fact that we don't hear any recognisable voices from any previous Schiller albums doesn't detract one bit from the quality of the songs or the voices of the singers. The songs work great and it's clear Christopher wants to keep things fresh at all times by getting new talent to work with.

Overall, Atemlos is yet another gem from Schiller, an album that I'm sure lots of fans will give the ''masterpiece'' stamp. I'm one of those.
I'm gonna go as far as saying Atemlos is one of the albums I'd take with me on a deserted island in case of shipwreck. Go buy it!!!It's well worth the money!

T.

P.S. Maybe now Christopher could persuade Harald Bluechel( Cosmic baby) to get his arse in the studio and make another Mare Stellaris.....

Valentine's day my arse....

2010-02-15T00:18:00.002+01:00

First of all I'd like to say that Valentine's day is pathethic. In my opinion, of course. Any day that gets ''created'' for lovers throughout the world to show their feelings to one another is, yes you guessed it, a bloody joke.
I hate Valentine's day...And I'm most likely sure that the vast majority of men out there share my ''ridiculous'' emotion too. If we could ever get it right, we'd turn off the tv, the radio just so that our girlfriends, wives, lovers and whatnot don't know about it. Of course the big ''surprise'' is spoiled once you'd venture out in the city and you'd find yourselves immersed in tons of expensive, yet of low quality, cheesy products that are supposed to be bought....no, scratch that...that should be bought so that the bond between you and your partner be felt. See, this is what I don't get: you love your companion but you need a day picked out randomly by who-knows-who to show off....??? Explain me the cards , the flowers, those bloody heart-shaped awful balloons...What's that all about?
You see, I've never understood why folks need a day to tell them to show their love to whomever they reckon they're worth it. Why not do it a day before, a day after, any day of the year? No, it has to be this day, named after a saint that has got nothing to do with it, but it had to be called somewhat and, well, he's got a cute-sounding name...like a metrosexual ..:)) What happens inside our brains on this day could be equalized to going to battle : ''Oh, shit! It's Valentine's day! Honey, I'm going out to buy some bread, milk, eggs and flowers... But you've never bought me flowers!...Yeah, but today the calendar tells me otherwise!''.
Do you see where I'm getting at?
I'd call it robot-acting/thinking. We enjoy being human and having our own opinions, yet sometime we're just too dumb to be ourselves and just follow the flock of remote controlled trendies.
It's Valentine's day, thus you got to love your wife! Any other day you can kick the shit out of her, cause hey!, there are no hearts in every goddamn store that read ''be my valentine'' or some other shit.
Same stuff happens with Christmas. You know what they say, when holiday season's coming we're expected to be more humble, to help each other out more, to be better persons. What happened to the rest of the year? Oh, I get it, we're just taking a break from poking our eyes out or strangling each other. Picture this : it's 3 minutes before midnight on December 24th and you're trying to slit someone's throat; the knife goes under the skin but then bang! it's Christmas and you, as a good person and christian that you've become on this holly day , patch the cut with some scotch tape and resume watching tv, while asking the victim ''so, did you get me any present?''. Nice, innit? Wrong.
You know, they had a day in September in Rome called La Notte Bianca ( The White Night)( it doesn't happen anymore due to the recession, or so I've heard) when lots of restaurants and pubs would remain open all night long and folks would flood the streets and get wasted big time. But they would do it just on that night! Any other past-midnight was clear and quiet like a government session when asked about salaries and pensions. My question: couldn't they, the participants, do that more often?
And my final point is we need some sort of approval before we do and think things. If everybody else does it, then it's safe to get out your bunker and give your lovely chocolate bonbons. Your neighbour does it too.....

P.S. Yes, I know you're thinking I'm bitter cause I'm single...Truth is, I hated this bloody day even more when I had a girlfriend...At least I don't have to buy flowers and shit..What a pathethic world we're living in....

Welcome back, folks...

2010-02-13T23:15:00.002+01:00

Yep, I'm back! Thought you had it with me, hadn't you? Well, the devil is hard to kill...
And now I'm back with a vengeance....No, wait, don't run, I ain't having a gun on me...:))
As some of you might know, this blog( well, actually, the ex version of it) was getting to be a big pain in the arse for some others.. Not that I'm not like that in real life, but at least strangers would expect less bullshitting from me than people that know me. I used to post links to music albums that I did not own the copyright for....you could guess what happened from that point on.
Thus, this new improved ( it's just a nice word, it doesn't mean anything) version of this blog comes back with no music links, no albums to be downloaded and no copyright infringements, just me, some rants, some music or film reviews and some of the stuff I'm writing, have written or will write. Ok, throw the rotten eggs at me already...!!!
That being said, I welcome everyone back( I'm not sure there were any , in the first place...:))) and let's get this going.

Tuemckey

P.S. Anyone out there with a slight humour can be part of the writing team and that means you'd have to bring your own rants and ideas to the table....

How to invent new tourism 2 ( Haiti edition)

2010-01-25T15:56:00.000+01:00

1. Going there by plane , cause the land is shaking

The capital Port-au-Prince is buzzing with injured people, foreigners, military and most important journalists. There are more journalists than so-called water and food aid supplies. For evey person taken out Death's grip there are 3 reporters. Hell, even MTV sent its reporters. MTV, for God's sake. MTV is a so-called music television. Why the hell would they send their people there. The Haitians need help, food, shelter, not fucking music. That's why they kicked Wyclef out.

Moving on....

The blonde reporter with an MTV badge is followed by a slightly over-weight cameraman drooling at the sight of her slim, tanned legs. She's wearing high heels, a very slimpy skirt and a red top, putting her twin ''intelligence'' in evidence. She looks good, but she'd look better in a brothel. At least she's clothed as if she'd just came out of one. They are in a part of Port-au-Prince that hasn't yet been flooded by middle-aged Americans flshing their 1500 dollars cameras taking photos of orphan kids butt-naked. Aquila was fun, but Haiti is now the paradise of disaster-tourism.

All the shacks around them are broken, shattered, on the ground. Suddenly the bimbo-reporter sees a woman burried under all the wood and concrete, only her head visible, grunting and trying to ask for help.

-Quick, this is my chance, Louie. Start the camera and pass me the lipstick, I've got to look sharp.

The Godzilla-sized cameraman starts shooting.

-This is Cheryl, reporting live from Port-au-Prince, where a devastating earthquake has devastated Port-au-Prince.

She puts the mic aside for a second.

-How am I doing, Louie?

The bulky, gum-chewing cameraman nods.

-Fine, Cheryl, we're from MTV!!!

The blonde cheers and puts the mic back closer to her mouth. She knows how to handle things close to her mouth.

-Behind us there's people trapped under the carnage, trying to escape, shouting for help....

-Help, help, save us! voices are heard from behind

-Unfortunately the military and UN forces have not yet arrived at this scene and folks are struggling for their lives.

-Help us, help us!

-The moments when survivors are found under the torn buildings are tensionate.

-Help us, help us! the voices grow louder

The young reporter turns her head towards the screaming victim.

-Listen lady, I'm trying to do a broadcast here, keep your yelps low!! Godammit!

The full-o'-burgers cameraman puts the cam recorder aside for a second and speaks.

-I think she wants help, Cheryl.That's why she's calling for it. And we should give her aid. Let's get her out.

The blonde puts a finger forward.

-Hold it right there. We ain't helping anyone. We're here to do a ''reportage'' bout these poor losers, not help them. Gee, Louie, what's gotten into you, the heat? We're from MTV , not WWF members.

-Those deal with animals, Cheryl.

The mic-handler babe adjusts her skirt and top and looks at her fingers.

-Besides, I've my nails done and polished. I ain't dirtying myself for no one. Keep the camera rolling...

Louie starts recording and says in a hush voice.

-It wouldn't be the first time you'd get dirty, that's for sure...

-What did you say?

-In one-two-three...

The bimbo restarts her intelligent remarks on the situation.

-Right behind us there's a woman severely hurt, trapped under the rests of what was her house, asking for help, feeling desperate about how her life seems to be slipping away.

-Help me, help me!

-Too bad there's nobody here to give her aid..

The victim's voice gets louder.

-Put a sock in it, bitch, I'm trying to work here!

And she rushes to her, smacking the woman in the face.

-I can't work like this! Louie, c'mon, I need a drink.

The MTV crew leaves the scene. Minutes later, two more buildings collapse. The new-arrived Eurosport reporters think they might get a Pulitzer out of it.

2. If you can't show suffering, allow your money to do it for you

The interior of the Romanian's president office. Lots of posters of naked gals hanging on the walls and a few framed mottos in Romanian lay on top of his desk. Roughly translated they would mean ''I shall not be a politician if I won't steal for myself'', ''Whatever's expected of you, do it on the contrary, only that way you'll be a prosperous politician'' and ''The voters don't expect of you anything else than promises, make sure they get their share''.

The President's bald head shines in the lit office. He's trying to change his profile picture on Facebook, but is not too expert at it.

Somebody knocks at the door, the President allows the person to enter his office. The closest of his counsellors, carrying a briefcase enters the room, salutes the President and takes a seat before him.

The briefcase is now open and files are taken out. The men look at each other.

-What is it, Horia? the President asks.

The counsellor looks a bit deranged.

-Mr President, the EU has asked us to make a donation for the Haiti Fund.

There is silence for a few seconds.

-Again with this EU! Give this, make that, allow this, cut that! Too many requests, all they do is ask! We've given them our gypsies, beggars, rapists and so on. What have they given us, Horia? What?

-Actually, they've given us back all the criminals we've left free to wander across Europe.

-Yes, you're right.But do we have to?

-Of course, mr President. All the other countries have already contributed to the Fund or will do so. On a global level at this moment only Somalia hasn't sent any help, but they'll dispose half of the 150 thousand dollars next week. Small amount, you know, civil war and all.

Thje President looks troubled.

-Ok, due to the economic crisis Romania wuill lend help of 50 thousand euros.

The counsellor remained in awe.

-Mr President, 200 thousand people have already died, there are more than double that number injured, they lack everything from water to toilet paper. I think this calls for more a substantial donation. This isn't your daughter's birthday. We'll look bad in the press!!!

-I said 50 and 50 it is. We're in the midst of a crisis here, Horia. Only the fireplace in my new viulla will cost roughly between 75 and 80 thousand. I'm decorating it with diamonds...Thus I can't afford...the country doesn't afford more than that. Besides there are lots of famous rich actors, let them pay more.

The counsellor remained in awe once more.

-But we're a country, in Europe, mr President! With all due respect, but this is a humanitary aid , not an actor's charity gala publicity stunt.

-Horia, there's the patio at my new villa that needs funds, you've no idea how much that will cost me! Are they gonna give it back?

-What? asks the counsellor

-The money!

-No, of course not, mr President.

-Well then, 50 it is. Besides they've got Wyclef and he's been stealing their funds ever since...

Horia stands up, puts the files back into the suitcase, files that the President hasn't even looked at, salutes him and leaves the office.

The President is left planning his new villa, while gratefully looking at his framed mottos and says to himself ''Traian, you're one hell of a politician!''.

The Facebook profile photo remains unchanged.

3.Let's all head to the beach, boys

A couple in their late thirties standing in the long boarding line to their flight to Haiti. They wear shorts and bermuda tee's and both carry a couple of hi-tech digital cameras and are head-to-toe clad in jewels. Behind them there's another couple, a bit older and more decently clothed, boarding for Paris.

The younger woman takes a look behind her and observes the kind-looking couple.They start discussing to make the waiting time seem a little less.

-Hi, I'm Marcia, this is my husband Steve. We're going to Haiti! the younger woman says

The men shake hands.

-Haiti? the older man asks

-Yes, we're on holiday. It's gonna be so much fun, you won't believe it! the younger male responds

The older woman and man look at each other, then resume the chatting.

-You might have not seen the latest news, but there has been quite a rough and devastating earthquake in Haiti. The whole country is under Code Red crisis. Don't you folks know that?

-That's the point! We know that! Actually we're so excited to get there, it's our first Code Red yet...Tons of stuff to do..

The older couple looks more relieved.

-Oh, you're working for the UN? Or a aiding fund organisation...

-No, we're tourists! the younger couple answered in a jiffy

-Tourists? But there's nothing to see there, at least not anymore...

-Of course there is : dead people, orphan kids, injured people, homeless people, sad people, crying people, hungry people, filthy people, desperate people. God, only the thought of it builds the excitement. We've taken 4 extra rolls of film for the cameras.

-You take photos of the desperation and devastation. What kind of people are you?

Marcia takes a photo album out of her handbag and starts flipping through it.

-Look, these were made last year in Aquila. The city looked so nice with the cracks in the buildings and torn concrete everywhere. Didn't it, honey?

Steve nods.

-We even met George Clooney! These were made a few years back in Indonesia when the volcano erupted. Top-class experience! We even got a kid killed. We had gave him a candy bar and soon other kids jumped on him and stabbed him to death to get the sweet. I imortalised the moments, but we've framed the photo and put it in our living room. It was one of the best moments spent as a couple, a defining one, for sure.

-I'm so proud of her! said Steve

The older couple kicks the album away with disgust.

-You people are......vultures!!!

They leave the queue, shouting at the younger male and female.

-We're going to donate money for the Haiti fund and to make them aware of scum like you two!

Marcia picks up the photo book.

-What's gotten into them? We were having such a nice talk there...

-Don't hate the player, hate the game. That's all I've got to say , honey.

They smile and kiss.

A few minutes later they pass through the metal detectors and have their passports looked at. The African American airport employee checks the names and looks at them.

-Where you headed, folks?

-Haiti! both Marcia and Steve answer simultaneously

-Haiti?......I hear it's great this time of year. Enjoy your holiday. Bon voyage!

You want more tourists in your country too? Well then, pray to God for a natural disaster at a grand scale and you'll see how digital cameras will flash into your face when you're about to mourn your next of kin. make it happen!!!

Bye 2009, let 2010 slide in....

2009-12-31T20:18:00.000+01:00

It seems like yesterday it was the last day of 2009. Time flies, they say. To me , it's more like it's sneaking up on us...and we are not even aware where it goes. But yet..another year has passed, and we're older :)). I've opened this blog that really goes fucked up, at least I'm honest....:))

What is it here for? I mean no one comments on the posts, the albums posted on rapidshare and to which I'm posting the links are barely downloaded, most likely cause people find them there instead of actually bumping into the blog. To top everything I've got just one ''reader'' with a name and photo of a boxer that's been dead for what...40 years..? What the fuck? Maybe it's his ghost haunting me and the blog, bringing jinx and shit...I bet he'll get off my back after he reads this...then I'll have zero ''readers'' :)). Don't tell me I asked for it, I know....

You know, when a year ends, that makes me think bout all sorts of things. Just like Christmas... I mean the holiday season is always full of all good shit and there's nothing lacking, on any level, from food to clothes and shoes and so on. But yet all that, I feel empty, cause I know there are ..what...thousands of kids and families only in my town that haven't got shit, may it be Christmas, Easter, New Year's or any average day....That makes me throw up all I've eaten and drunk (mentally) , why the fuck I've got everything and the others don't. I know you'll answer me with ''life is hard and unfair, nothing you can do bout it!!!''. I know that, that's the point, I want to do something about it but goddamn all of you saying that make the whole thing a lot harder. What I'm trying to say is we're taking for granted everything we've got. I know I've worked and you've worked your arses off to buy and enjoy stuff, but we're never content, we want more and more. Don't tell me you've never seen persons that have just bought sneakers for 100 euros and one week later they buy another pair, while on the other side of street, inside the second-hand store there's another person buying some second hand stuff but you can see they've worn their clothes at least 3 years before changing to new stuff. We never like what we've got.... It's like we're clothing and shoes anorexics.. Remember at school there was always a colleague that had one parent either a pensionate or janitor, and all the kids were laughing at him/her for that. The laughing part still happens now , how the fuck is that kid supposed to feel when he gets back home. His/her mom/dad work just like anybody else, trying to bring some money into the house, but there's never enough. And that kid grows up disillusioned, all the hope inside him carved out from his childhood...it's crazy!

I know it's cliched as fuck to say Happy new Year and whatnot, but here it is, Tuemckey wishing you all the best, don't forget you''ll create your next year so don't let anyone get to you with dodgy wishes and shit. Enjoy your lives, somebody else might want to kill to trade places. Peace out! happy new year!

Tuemckey

Tuemckey's The GREY CITY

2009-12-26T20:52:00.000+01:00

The city looked at its most uninviting in the morning. It was half past seven and the traffic chaos reigned over the cold, wet, grey streets. Cars along cars, barely moving one behind the other, formed a rather claustrophobic picture, much as a cow herd lined up to be slaughtered. But the morning was the best part of the day when one could flee. One could easily get lost between the waves of people using trams or buses to reach work or any other destination. And he was now getting immersed into full anonimity of faces, characters, bodies moving in chaos but at the same time coordinated like in a ballet.

He was leaving town, face buried deep in his foulard, a sad yet afraid couple eyes. He didn't know where he was going, neither did he want to know. He just wanted to get away. He was fleeing. It didn't matter he still had a few belongings left in his apartment, the backpack he was carrying felt like it comprised more than enough to start a new life, a new vision on things, maybe even a new name, a complete new identity, a new him. He hadn't taken much in his backpack, yet it felt so heavy, almost dragging him backwards, thus he felt like stopping, to regain his breath and strength.

He checked his pocket again for the envelope. He had to make sure he'd not lose it. That was the door to a new beggining, a new something he wasn't quite sure of, but what he thought he'd get a hold of, eventually. The white-blue striped envelope contained 280 thousand euros and he was given it a week before. It had taken him four days of thinking, battling his own self, making up plans and whatnot. He had come to the conclusion that was better to take the money and run, there was no escape otherwise. The men that had payed him were not playing and they had made him a promise no sane person would ignore. Their ''offer'' contained , amongst others, the words ''kill'', ''you'', ''if'' and ''not''.

''I've done something wrong!'' he kept repeating to himself in a hush voice, while constantly feeling the envelope resting in his pocket.

But what about his parents, his family, his friends. There was no way they could've been bought, they were quite a few. Someone from his entourage at work would notice his absence but the deal was that he was not to talk to anyone or let anyone know he was leaving. In a sense he was leaving forever, so there was no need to leave a phone number or adress where he could be reached.The place towards he was heading probably did not have any of these appliances, it didn't matter. Especially when himself didn't know which way his destiny might take him.

''I've done a bad thing!'' . He started imagining the discussions his acquaintances would have, with him as major subject, the things they'd say about him, the ''cowardness'' stamp they'd apply to his persona. But they weren't in his position, nor would they want to.

He boarded the first bus he could catch, blending with other pale faces, faces that somehow showed they were running too. From what, he didn't know, nor care. All he had in mind now was to get to the train station, grab any train randomly and see where that gets him. There was no time to write down itineraries and destinations. He had no time. He had actually left a day later than the term he was given.

He took a seat, guarding closely his pocket and tilted his head to the side, trying to forget he was a fugitive from a crime he hadn't commited. But soon most of the eyes of his fellow bus travellers dove onto him, making him hear little voices ''what have you done?'' ; ''why did you take the money?'' ; '' go back and face your responsability''.

But he couldn't go back. Just like he knew he couldn't do anything a week earlyer, standing there, frozen, silent, afraid, being the only witness to a murder.He couldn't do anything then, what possibly could he do now?

By the time he had started hesitating going to the police, the murderer and his accomplices already had found him, threatening him, giving him deadlines.In the end the killer had agreed to paying him so he can vanish, hence his murder was needed, not accidentally and did not want anybody else's blood on his hands. He had called himself a ''business man''. One that had businesses all over the city, wether it'd be drugs-affiliated or prostitution based. He was not a person to play games with, surely, although he wore a suit and tie and looked half-reasonable.

The bus stopped at its destination. More people zig-zagging across the streets, trying to get a free seat in one of the departing trains. He didn't even look at the panels above him as he entered the station, instead he sky-rocketed towards the train that looked the most crowded. Hopefully he'd have no more eyes pointing at him.

His running was leaving a cold-blooded murderer on the loose, minding his business, whatever that was, maybe even going to attempt a ''number 2'' crime, assuming that the one he'd witnessed was the killer's first one.

What did it mean going back? Speaking to the local authorities, tell them everything he'd seen and expect them to believe him, much less give him some protection. But the police might have been bought and he'd go right into the wolves' mouth, this time with no chance to escape with 80 thousand euros in his pocket. By leaving all behind, he was at least sure he'd get over what he'd seen and get on with his life. His family and friends would understand eventually, if he's ever let them know. But what if the killer's entourage had so many powerfull connections that by the time he'd give a new fate to his life their tentacles of greed and violence would spread till they'd catch him. His thoughts were zig-zagging all directions like a ping-pong ball. Balancing the truth and the odds was quite a tough task. He was getting a taste of a life he'd spend in hiding, doubting the very own departure and choice.

He looked out the window as the train started to get in motion and familiar places were left behind, forming a certain nostalgic feeling mixed with deep sorrow.

At around 15 minutes mark after the train had left the station he got off, boarded another train in the opposite direction and took his heart in hand, chewing heavily on his lips.

He wasn't sure the thought of running away from his responsabilities was the kosher thing to do. He wasn't trying to be a hero, at all, just be fair to himself.

His pace became swifter and a lot more nervous as he cruised through the morning streets. He knew exactly where he was going, yet a sentiment of a ''first time'' was bewildering him.

He arrived at the police station, not yet buzzing with people, may they be the prosecuted, the arrested or the ones just doing their jobs. He climbed the stairs till the second floor of the precinct and went to the information desk.

-I need to talk with whoever's in charge! he said sweating heavily

-Is anything wrong, sir? a bored voice responded from the other side

-I said I need to talk with whoever's in charge, miss! It's urgent and highly important.

-Sir, please take a seat on the bench behind you, one of my colleagues will get your name and seek to help you with your urgent matter. Thank you.

The bench behind him had one older lady seated, the type that goes to the police cause her cat got up in a tree, but she looked as if she had been waiting there for ten years, the least.

-Listen, miss, I'm not getting seated on no bench, I haven't got time to wait, I've been witnessing a murder, you either get me to the captain or I'll have to find him myself.

The woman behind the desk put the phone down and looked him in the eyes for the first time.

-Come with me, please.

She led him up to the fifth floor, where the captain was buried in paperwork, cussing right and left.

She knocked on the door.

-Not now, I'm busy! a growled man shouted from inside

She opened the door, enough to peek and spoke.

-I'm sorry, sir, but I've got here a person who wants to see you. He says it's important and won't speak with anybody else but you.

-I said I'm busy now. I've got so much paperwork to figure about, plus the mayor's up my ass so deep on the Ritter case that he's touching my vocal cords. Who the fuck is this lunatic and what does he want?

-He won't say , sir!

-Great, another son-in-law......Send the fruitcake in, if you hear me cuss more than normally, call up the boys. And next time do your job, don't bring anyone up if I've got a thousand things to settle. Ok? Miss?

-Yes, sir...

-Let him in...

The captain pushed some dossiers to the side so he could see this man when he'd be seated in front of him. The man entered cautiously, closed the door eficiently and looked around.

-Are you the person in charge?

-What do you mean? Yes, I'm the captain, I'm in charge of this precinct, of the persons that work inside this precinct, of the services provided in this precinct. How can I be of your assistance?

-Is it safe to talk?

The captan raised his hands above his head.

-The interogatory room is two floors below. My office has written ''captain'' on its front door. I'm listening...

The captain grimaced.

The man took a seat and leaned forward.

-I've seen a murder happen. I've seen the killer's face. I'm the only witness. And I know who the killer is...

-Ok..the captain responded uninterested but wanting to hear more of the loon's ''problem'' before having him thrown out his office.

-I don't know his name, but he's been in papers, I'm sure I'll recognise him from there.

-Well, we've got the database.

-I don't think he's ever been arrested or prosecuted before, he's a businessman.

-So you've seen a businessman kill a person......the captain sucked on his teeth. How come you know he's not in our database and how the hell do you know he's a businessman? Where were you when this ''crime'' occured?

-Listen, it happened more than a week ago, there will be some details I might not remember 100% spot on, but I just wanna make sure I'll have 100% cooperation from you and the department and security.

-Wait, you witnessed a crime a week ago and you come tell us now? the captain almost jumped out his chair. What the fuck were you doing up till now? Minding your own business, going fishing?

-Listen , I didn't know what to do. I was approached by these guys who offered me money to keep my mouth shut and my head on my shoulders and pretend I had never seen what happened there and then. I was confused at first, then afraid, afraid, afraid and so on. That's why I need protection. If I testify and the case goes to court, which I'm sure it's bound to happen, I want to feel safe entering the justice hall leaving my house, police station, supermarket or any other landmark I'm at. Deal?

The captain looked unconvinced by the whole story.

-Ok, we'll get the bad guy-guys, no worries. I'm still bugged bout the fact you took money, that makes you an accomplice to murder.

-What the hell are you on? Accesory to murder? I was trying to get away from something I don't want to be part of and now you're treating me as if I'm the murderer. Realise this, the killer is a cold-blooded person that'll do anything, and I suppose having his power and money and place in society really does get him that advantage, thus me bailing out on any ''normal'' responsabilities any ''normal'' citizen has when witnessing a crime occur is pretty much legitimate, to me at least. How many people out there on the streets do you see raising their hands yelling ''I've seen a crime, I'm a witness, the killer knows me, I've got two kids but I'll testify and point him out to you cause all I wanna do is my job as a tax-paying citizen!''. Not even one, everybody's scared. We're talking my life here, and I've seen how quickly a life can be erased off...In a nutshell, I didn't want to be-I didn't feel like being his next victim. For what, medal of honour?!

The man leaned back.

-Ok, alright, we'll leave that on the side for now.

-So, can I get protection if I testify.....?

-I'm pretty much sure we can offer you security till the whole process is due finish, all I'm interested in now is pointing the finger at the right person. Are you sure you can still remember his face when seeying a photo of him? Are you sure you can confirm the killer when you see him?

-Yes! Otherwise I wouldn't be here...

The captain stood from his chair.

-Good, I'll go call one of the officers to bring you to the data base room and then go to the morgue, maybe you can identify any of the recent John Doe as the victim. In the meantime I want you to remember what was he wearing, anything particular about his speach or just any other detail that might give away his identity. Please excuse me now, wait here.

-Ok.

The captain left his office in swift-mode for about quarter of an hour only to return with a bulk of folded pages with names and photos.

While he was away, the man started looking around and outside the policeman's office, cautiously, trying to figure out if he'd been followed or was out the danger zone. He then started flipping through the pages of the daily newspaper that layed atop the captain's desk. Boring sentences about uninteresting events or subjects formed the majority of topics the newspaper covered. There was just one article at the bottom of the third page, in the Economics part of the paper, written in small but bold letters that caught his attention. It read ''Billionaire owner and CEO of Ritter Industries makes partnership for future chain of realty agencies''. A small, almost indescifrable,black&white photo stood on the right side of the article, a man with a smile took out of toothpaste ads being the person portrayed. He recognised the man who he was running from, the one that had paid him to keep his mouth shut. The clock ticked and tocked, and the captain re-entered his office. He put the cup of coffee down and threw the papers in front of the seated man.

-Alright, these are a few people we want you to look at, they're not exactly businessmen, as you put it, but you can never know. Unfortunately the data base room is a bit crowded at the moment so we'll do with these for now. Plus I've got you an appointment at the morgue in an hour from now, so let's get this over with.

-I'm afraid those names and the photos won't be necessary anymore. I've got you a name already. And a face.

-Really? You're not a magician when you're not witnessing murders, are you? Let me hear it.

The man tossed the newspaper to the cop.

-Page three, bottom, left corner. That's your man...

The captain went through the article and asked after a while.

-Who?

-Him!

-Him who?

He paused, looked at the photo and then stared into the nameless man's eyes.

-You must be joking? Pete Ritter? The billionaire? You've seen him murder someone? the captain almost burst into laughter.

-Yes, it's him.The photo might be a tad bit blurry but it's him, I tell you. Now, I remember he argued the victim about a joint venture with a company, but the man he killed wasn't actually thrilled with his ideas. I suppose he was a pawn standing in the way of something much bigger than business differences, so that's why he had to take him out. The way he did it though, looked as if it was his profession.

The cop smiled.

-And you might know that ''profession''........You really want me to believe that Pete Ritter, a filthy rich man, with an impressive background on charity and city economy development has personally pulled the trigger and killed a man cause he din't agree with his business agenda? Are you a fucking lunatic? He's got the money and power to deal with any magnate in the country, yet you tell me he's killing business partners. Do you really know who Ritter is? Across the past 12 years he's been almost single-handedly turning this city in a thriving , booming economic center, allowing jobs to be given to...what, maybe a couple million people? Not to mention the charity work he's known for or all other activities he's been part of. Well, excuse me, but I just don't buy it. Are you one of his employees, trying to throw dirt onto everything he's worked for just cause he's denied you a raise? What?

-Fine, you don't believe me. Just have one of your men sent to Magmun Street, that's where you'll find the gun he's used, along with his prints on the gun. The bullet will match the one of the John Doe I'm gonna identify. Then, call me crazy.

The captain looked even more unconvinced than before. He felt he wasn't doing his job, just following an unknown man's rant, that involved the most powerfull citizen of the city, the President's equal in the area. He felt like hearing stories about the President's smoking weed days in college. Utter bullshit.

-Ok, let me give a few calls and get my men to work. Don't move from here, though! Don't move!

The cop exited his office again, shouting at his men, making threats that people will get fired and whatnot.

The man waited and waited, anxiously, figuring the police must've gone already to the killer's house to arrest him. He wasn't far from the truth.

When the captain came back, he bore a victorious smile on his face.

-What took you so long? the man asked.

-Police work does take a lot of time, Nick. It seems your story checked out..

-How the fuck do you know my name?

-Cause I've told him who you are, Nick......

A deep, manly voice was heard a split second later, as Pete Ritter, clad in 30 thousand euros Burberry suit, matching with custom-made Armani shoes, entered the office, followed by three of his bodyguards that took no blinking time to strap Nick to the chair and apply a short lesson of manners consisting in a few swift but heavy punches to his liver and chin.

-Captain, could I have some privacy , please? Me and the gentlemen here, have to talk business issues, said Ritter.

He took a seat in the policeman's chair and smiled at Nick.

-You must be really stupid, Nick, to throw away those two hundred eighty thousand and come here, with your chest up front, bursting dignity and social pride or whatever to give me in. I thought you'd be more intelligent than going to the police. At least you've shown you're pretty smart in all the missions I've given you, except one, of course. But to go to the cops? Bad mistake, bad one , indeed. What were you thinking? Mind you, I don't reckon you could've gone any place else, but still...

-You prick!

-How the hell do you think I've created my business empire? You might not need be reminded that everything needs authorizations, papers legalised, relationships, bureaucracy. Handshakes not so legal. Handshakes that guarantee payments to those people that keep things flowing like honey on a buttered piece of bread. Business needs to blossom and be kept alive, I don't need a hibernation season. Did you really think I hadn't payed the police up till now? Or the judges, attorneys? After all these years? I own the city, I've built it, I've created a large share of its economy with my bare hands. Hands that helped other hands and other hands and in the end there's this chain of hands that's impenetrable, and each hand does its part, having a piece afterwards, of course. You've worked for me, you know how these things work, don't you look at me that way, Nick! You're more guilty than me on this, and you know it!

-I know it my ass, you killed that man! I ain't guilty with shit.

-Let's not play the saint-part now, Nick. It was you that pulled the trigger, you're the murderer, you should be in jail now. But no, I give you 280 thousand, which is not a small sum by any means, tell you to lay low, and you go to the police to spray shit in my face? What kind of a fucking reward is that? Good thing the captain knows me, I actually had a convention down at the Wharf but run up till here to see what's going on. The captain has got a few rotten twigs within his branches that are not on payroll, but at the end they'll either be or be forced to find another job. Cause, who are they gonna rat on, their own superiors to their own superiors.That'd mean losing their jobs anyhow.

-So, what do you want now? Frame me and let the police take care of me? It'd be just the same process as you taking care of me. Are you gonna shoot me in public? These people might be on your payroll but seeying you shoot one that works for you might be a bit of a let-down. They might see themselves in my shoes one day, which would not be very pleasant, surely. You might get your whole posse turning against you with spears and a vengeance.

-''Has worked''......You don't work for me anymore, Nick. Which is a let-down, I might add. But you don't know my posse, as you call it. And I ain't letting no one starve, you know that...How the hell would they turn against me? They've got jobs...You think you had gotten me in a net, forming ideas about me based on your thoughts and the relationship we've had? You think you could draw a character portrait of me, Nick? C'mon, it's me , Pete! I'm ambiguous cause I have to, cause I want to, cause I am that! Besides, that ''crime'' there really got me hyped over using guns. I had thought money can make people disarm themselves and I never had to use any, I had you all to do that, but holding that gun really reminded me of the sheer power it has. It's great! It fascinates me so much that I'm really gonna start using it more often, thanks to you. Why should I allow my ''posse'' to have more fun than me? Ain't that right, Rob?

Ritter's bodyguard didn't flinch.

Nick-something tried to loosen his body from the strap, to no good results.

-Listen, Pete, cut the bullshit. We're not here to play chess, are we? If that's the case, send one of your boys to get me a fresh squized orange juice while we're at it.

A couple more fists plunged into Nick's left ribs.

-That's enough, Rob, please, said Ritter.

He opened the paper that stood in front of him. Didn't find anything interesting to read till page three, bottom left.

-That man was opposing the idea of merge. I couldn't have that, I'm a businessman. I've been one for twenty years, why should I stop being good at something just cause a minor bump in the road makes my car go slower. You see, that person was like a needle and nobody likes needles. They're small, you can barely see them but they cause so much pain, it's ironic. So that needle had made my tire go flat. I couldn't have that. All I had to do was get rid of the needle in the tire and throw the tire away. Which I've done, with your help, even though it was a quarter of a helping hand....Now I'm running on a new tire on the route of good business again . I won't bother you with any details, let's just say the ''needle'' story is an overall attribute I would've given that man. When you're in my position you can't think of any other alternative, there just isn't any. Follow me?!

Ritter lifted his head from the paper.

Nick, with his nose bleeding and fairly beaten, didn't look as fierce as he once used to.

-Thing is I've always liked you, Nick, that's the truth. You had that passion, that drive that nobody else in my crew, up till you and probably after you, has. The way you carried out the missions was genius. Now, good Rob here might pack a better punch than you, I'm sure, but he hasn't got quite the finesse you had and I suppose you still have. No offence, Rob.

The bodyguard didn't flinch, nod nor move in any way that made his employer's statement agreeable or not.

Ritter carried on his speech.

-What I'm saying is this: I'll give you two hours to run, hide, prepare, fuck, piss or whatever. After that, we'll be on your ass. If you manage to take out all my men then it's a bravo for you! Not only that, but you'll keep the 280 thousand and you'll never hear from me again. I'll close the books, and that's that. If I see you on the street I don't know you, I don't say hi, I don't shake your hand. Understood?

Nick nodded.

-Let me guess, there's a counter-offer with that, too, innit...

Ritter smiled.

-If you can't make it against my men, well...I've said it all already. Your time starts....now! Get the fuck out of here. We'll watch you so don't even come up with a stupid plan!

Ritter's men let Nick go. While he descended the stairs he felt dizzy, having too much information to cope with, that he had to sort into useful things that might help in his tactics.

The businessman and his men were discussing their own plan, that came with a strenght: it never failed.

-I'm quite sorry that a good boy like Nick had to go. I had big things planned for him.

-Why don't you let me handle this, sir. Me alone, I don't need these muppets.....the lumberjack-looking bodyguard asked Ritter.

Pete sighed.

-Cause you Rob are a brute! Try to be a businessman, like me. If you have to fight, physically I mean, why not let the others fight for you, with you being the winner anyhow.

Ritter and Rob smiled.

Nick had to think what to do. Ritter's words ''don't try anything stupid, we're watching you'' echoed in his mind. He had to gather all knowledge he had to get up front. He was aware of having two thugs keeping a close eye on him so the phone calls he'd make or the actions he'd start better be good ones. Of course, the years spent in the Elite Forces would certainly be helpful, most likely Ritter and his men wouldn't know what hit them as soon as the game would start. He actually thought being the stalked one was an advantage.

He tried to lose the two gorillas for enough time to make an important phone call.

-It's me, I need all the help you can give me at the moment. Guns, ammo, surveillance. You owe me anyhow. First, take the two monkeys off my back and give me a secure place. One's wearing a striped leather jacket and jeans, the other a brown hoodie and baggies. They're about 6'5 tall and maybe 20 meters behind me. Call me back on this number but be discrete about what you talk about.

-Welcome back, falcon. Nice to hear from you again, the mysterious voice on the other end said.

Half hour later the two thugs had dissapeared in an instance and Nick had been provided with a safe house, overlooking the police station and the captain's office in which Ritter was doing his reckoning.

He now had binoculars, enough guns and ammo to start a war. He already had the expertise.

Through the binoculars' lens he saw Ritter make phone calls to what he presumed to be the thugs. He didn't look very happy when no one answered. And he looked even more on the brink of having a seizure when Nick sent him a message ''Let's dance, it's what you wanted''.

Ritter soon stormed out of his office, followed by his cohort of bodyguards yelling and screaming.

-How the fuck did you lose him? Where is he?

Nick hesitated for a moment. He had Ritter on sight and it'd take one split second for the bullet to reach his former employer's cranium and make a mess around him if he'd pull the trigger on his sniper rifle.

''I'm gonna leave you for the end, Pete.''

He smiled. He was starting to have fun with it.

When Ritter got in the car and started driving to an unknown destination, Nick put a bullet each into the two guards on each side of Ritter on the back seat. The limo suddenly braked.

-What the fuck?!!? Ritter screamt. Rob, the bastard must be in one of the buildings behind us. Pronto, get him!

No guard left any other car, Nick shot continuous fire onto them, tires deflating, shrapnels ricocheting, people dying.

Nick laughed.

''C'mon, Pete, show me what you got!''

Rob managed to get behind the wheel and turn the car around and, although under heavy rain of bullets he stopped below the building Nick was using as sniper place.

Rob's bulky body made his way through doors, head-kicking anything that looked as an opponent, even inanimate.

Nick called his mysterious friend again.

-Look, he's inside the building, but I can't take him, no visibility. My ribs are broken, so no hand combat, besides I'm leaving the last bullet for Ritter. Take care of him, will you?

-Roger that, Nick ol' boy. Will do so.

Nick's friend had positioned himself in another building, a few blocks away, watching the action take pace calmly but always ready to get into battle-mode.

Rob didn't reach the second floor out of six when he got shot in his right arm, making him drop his gun.

''How many of you fuckers are you?'' he grunted. He retrieved his gun with his left hand and continued climbing the stairs.

''You just won't give up...'' Nick's friend thought.

The second shot hit Rob's left arm, making him stop.

''Time to say good-bye, big boy..''

Two seconds later Rob made his final halt, when his face hit the cold pavement. He should've left the others fight first. There was nobody else left, though, just Ritter in the back seat of his limo, looking scared and covered with his guards' blood.

-The big guy is out, Nick. Ritter's getting out of the car. Want me to get him too..?

-No, he's mine. Thank you. Get out of here.

-No sweating, see you around.

Nick cluched the trigger, having the image of a Ritter with his hands raised, slighly shaking, through his lens. The red dot from the rifle changed position on Ritter's blood-covered suit, but he didn't notice it just before it was too late. The red dot merged with the blood that shot out Ritter's head, making him collapse to the ground, first on his knees, then plunging with his whole body ahead.

'' And I'm keeping the 200 thou, motherfucker!''

Nick took the headphones and glasses off and put the rifle on a side. He could barely stand, the hits to the liver and ribs were just about now making themselves present in his organism. He took a deep breath ans started couching. He coughed blood. Where was it coming from? He soon felt blood pouring out of a wound in his stomach, that must've hit the liver. He didn't feel it, just though it was there. He had taken two bullets from his old partner. The same one he had covered for a murder of a kid and for which he had gotten fired from the Elite Forces. He, of all people, should've seen it coming. His ''friend'' had given him a building which could be seen from his position, but the place where he had shot from was out of Nick's vision. Even it it were, his last bullet had taken care of Ritter.

''I guess you were right, Pete''.

-Nick, are you still there, buddy? a voice was heard in the headphones.

Nick tried to reach for them, but couldn't.

-I appreciate what you've done for me and all, but there's no way I can let you get out of here, not after this, at least. You went after your boss, what could've stopped you from coming after me , afterwards, would be the next man's guess. You know how these things work. It's an off-operation operation. Good-bye, ol' friend.

Those were the last words Nick heard before his eye lids closed forever.

Far away from the building massacre, people were minding their businesses, trying to flee the city, trying to flee the feeling of being trapped in a grey city that consumed its inhabitants and that fed on the blood that crept into the pavements, into the asphalt, into the buildings, making working places more evil and the persons working inside too. The grey city had taken a few more lives in its dark and greedy heart, giving the remaining inhabitants no chance to survive.

Running away from everything was inevitable.

THE END

APPENDIX.

The grey city with its unnerving grip

won't let you go, won't let you run

won't give a chance, nor let you keep

your life, this is a world without sun.

each day you feel sick and coughing

each day you start from scratch, from zero

you'll see the city enjoy its laughing

cause it is master, you're no hero.

Vote me!

2009-12-03T20:02:00.000+01:00

I'm not a fan of voting. There, I said it. I don't vote. I just don't. The only time I did was a few years back when I had to agree or not with changing the Romanian Constitution. I cast the ''YES'' vote although I had no idea what was that all about. Cause you see, they never tell you really what are you voting for or whom. Just watch some political debate for once and you can realise they sure use some nice pompous, unheard of words in well-built sentences, but goddamn if they have any real essence once they shout their mouths. And you're left there, with an amazed face, half-stuck mentally, cause frankly you haven't understood any word whatsoever. When that happens, normally, when you've got to vote, there's always a voice telling you ''and you'll be offered beer and free bbq, so jump the wagon!''. That sounds such a good idea to the majority of voters that wake up the next morning with a hang-over, a full stomach and a new president, parliament etc.
Now, I hate all political parties and members, no matter what colour their politics or doctrine is and whatnot, but we seem to forget one thing as soon as we criticise politicians: that they are just like us, to a certain extent, of course(for example I don't ride to work in a 80 thousand euros limo) and if that's not enough, at least they used to be like us, before turning to fooking politicians.
I mean , how many of you out there actually would try to go word by word with the promisses you've made in your campaign as soon as you're elected? I don't see any raised hands......
If ever would be a law that claims ''one that kills a politician receives great state honours and wealth'' I'd be the first one to collect, but I know , on the other hand, that if I'd be in , say, my countrie's president shoes I'd probably do the same shit he's done. First think about me, theeeeeen come the others.You see where I'm trying to get at?
Just don't expect a sudden change of grandious proportions once you've voted a certain bloke that told you he'll do this and that. Most likely he's got a family(most politicians do have 15 thousand members families, though) and he's got to think about them first, you're a mere name at the bottom of your countrie's archives, laying forgotten in a dusty, dark and closed room than nobody ever enters. Get used to that! If not, VOTE ME!
I promise.......

T.

Go with it, you ain't gonna listen to us anyway....!!!

2009-12-03T11:05:00.000+01:00

Ok, listen up, people. I want you all to take a couple minutes off from whatever the hell you're doing and do me a favor: come up with as many things, good ones, of course, that could be done with 3o billion US dollars. Yes, you've heard me right, 30 BILLION dollaz!!!! I'll be here waiting for your lists.
........................................................................................................................................................................
...............................................................................................................................................you've still got 30 seconds out of those 2 minutes, don't rush yourselves!!!
Ok, most likely you've come up with some 30 billion possibilities to spend that amount of dough doing good stuff, ain't that right? Well, fuck YOU, you're wrong! Cause someone has got only one idea and option related on how to spend the money: president Barack Hussein Obama, or as some of you might know him The Black Guy from the White House. Yep, that's him alright!
He was scratching his head a few days ago about solutions to see that money flee the country and he came up with the most brilliant idea any American could have since re-electing Bush in 2004, which is: send more troups in Afghanistan! But not a small contingent of the highly super-trained, super-head-shaved, super-bubble-gum-chewers, super-cuss-words-users, super-bulked(cause apparently the enemy is so so scared of their pects and six-pack tummy) Navy Seals or whatever the fuck they might call them nowadays, but 30.000 soldiers. What's wrong with this picture, tell me! Well, they can kill and fuck up some alien robots that have got a better technology, they can outstand alien invasions on screen, but goddamn if they can take some Afghan peasants that shoot some rusty old Soviet guns from the '80's. Not only that but I'm sure the American goverment puts a significant sum up any soldier' ass for training, as for the Afghans are just mere opium farmers......There's still something wrong with the picture, innit?
So, the black guy sends some more troops out there and at the same time asks(it's more like ''if you don't comply, we'll send the nukes on yo' ass!!!) his allies to keep their soldiers too. That means those other countries(and there's quite a few of them) have to pay and pay and pay to keep the soldiers there. And hence all the highly-trained-butt-kickers-striptease-joints-goers-loud-assholes soldiers have six packs, they must eat steaks and drink beer, limitless, while some of the population back home is quite struggling to get by, day after day.
''There's a war going on, man!''. I can't remember what film is it from, but I can't see any war out there, I mean it ain't going any direction, whatsoever!Of course, we all know it's not democracy and all that bullshit that they're looking to bring in Afghanistan, but goddamn, all least get the prisoners out there to harvest your heroin plants!
Thus, overall, there's a recession happening throughout the world, people are being left without jobs, houses, chances to get by, there're no funds for healthcare, disease treatments, education and so on, yet they dispatch these 30.000 soldiers with 30 billion dollars! Good on you , president Obama! And then you ask yourself why the population wouldn't want to shake your hand, ''oh, americans are racists, they can't take having a black person in the White House.''
Certainly, they can, it would be someone that mops the floor, not one that sells the country's possibility to get back on its feet......
Over and out,
T.

P.S. Vote the black muslim guy for four more years in 2012!!! I just hope by then some other country could come up with a serious opium area, cause frankly, Afghanistan is getting old already.

Some poems from october...

2009-12-03T10:52:00.000+01:00

Just two short poems that were laying around my all-year-long-messy room, so I though ''let me post them, till I lose them''. Here there are.

1.
a) As I look out the window I see
My life shattered in thousand bits and pieces
the image gives me chills and lets me be
the one from my nightmare that my dream misses.

b) As I look out the window that's you
trying to be another person lost in thoughts
of who are we really and what to do
the rest of the world is demons and we are its ghosts.

c) There's no dosage of hope that can make us happyer
not enough tears that can bring us to childhood
the windows are now closed and the look is sappyer
that doesn't mean we can't be good.

2.
Time is passing and you're not changing forever
but people are always themselves, they don't get better
they are not rocks in the sea, nor birds in the sky
feelings might heal with time, but at the end we all die.
At least we all try to give a meaning to life
try to fight this feeling of strife, living inside
the only option is believe in yourself, open your mind
and after all these years, tell what you'll find.

T.

Is it so hard??????!!!!!

2009-12-01T23:03:00.000+01:00

What's up with Americans or English slaughtering any word that is not part of their beloved language? Goddamn, is it so hard to pronounce any other word other than your own how it should be? Look at their pronounciation of Italian and Spanish, French, German, you name it. Basically, as soon as they open their mouths and try to speak a different language, they automatically stabb it three hundred times a second. Is it so hard to say grazie instead of graz-ee, or gracias instead of grazias(cus hey, they all sound the same don't they?). They practically kill words, really, no joke, I'm working with tourists and although I'm not a native speaker of any of the afore mentioned languages, I feel pissed upon when hearing their invertebrate ''versions'' of easy-to-pronounce words. It's like they're chewing rocks when trying to speak anything else than English. Either that, or their tongues have been cut off and replaced with rubber ones, thus resulting in original sounds and tones that a normal tongue would do and have to not be available to them. And don't get me started on Dutch, that's even freakin' worse......
On the other hand, they expect us(the rest of the world) to speak their language as clear and as best we can, cause hey, otherwise we're the terrorists !!! Scary, huh? Thought so...
Anyway, that was my rant for today...
Over and out, T.

The PUZZLE explained....

2009-12-01T14:32:00.001+01:00

This comes as a response to a mate of mine that has asked me bout the object in the detective's eye. Is it or is it not there?
Well, I'm gonna clear that up and explain other things or plot holes in the process. That doesn't mean you won't scratch your head anymore after reading the story, saying ''what was that all about?'', but I hope I can shed some light on a few things.I wanted to give answers to non-asked questions anyhow, so here there are.
First of all the object/microscopic camera or whatever you'd like to call it, that causes the officer eye problems is not there. It's just the feeling that there's something inside him, that's taking over, something that he can't scratch or make it go away, cause at the end it's him. The problems with his eyes come from the images of those dead girls his bad half murdered, images that are stuck inside his brain. Remember he had nighmares in the beggining of the case.Remember also, the officer does take an eye test but the doctor doesn't find anything, cause there's nothing there, in the first place.It's more of a mental felt problem rather than physical, although he can't tell the difference .
Ok, the whole story is a modern take on Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde myth. Double personality. The Hulk and Dr Banner. This time though, the cop is not aware of having an alter-ego, much less he's a killer, the one he's looking for so passion-filled.The killer, on the other hand knows everything about the officer, that's why he's not leaving any prints or evidence material at the crime scenes. He's trying to slowly break his cop side down with his killings and take over. But how in the hell are they the same person? They meet, talk, they share a few pages being face to face.Well, that's the battle that goes inside himself, a battle that he loses at the end, resulting in the killer taking over full time.
So, there's no one breaking the cop's apartment, trashing his house, there're no black guys abducting him.That's why there's only James in the mansion at the end. And that's why he doesn't tell his fellow colleagues about the meeting with the killer two days after.There is no such thing.By that time the killer has taken over and just plays the cop part.
The last letter the precinct receives is written by the cop in his last moments of control over his mind and actions.
Ok. Another hint at double personality is the ''puzzle'' confession. The killer himself talks about not liking puzzles in the beggining of his life, but bit by bit he learnt to. You can take that as the transformation inside him, his mind slowly changing, without him actually noticing.Just like remembering how fat or skinny you were ten years ago, or how your hair looked. You don't realize the change has been radical till late.That's what happens with the cop, he knows he's the killer when it's too late.Besides, the officer's gun fitted the killer's hand perfectly, remember?
The fake book The barbie Syndrome (which I might write some day in the future) is not mentioned concidentally. Remember, the actions of the killer in the book are triggered by math ecuations. It's not pointed out in the story, but the japanese killer grows as a half-retarded, math-hater in his childhood, only to become a sort of genious in his late twenties when he starts his killing spree.That's why our killer does what he does after doing puzzles.The cop does not know how to solve any, that's why he loses out to the killer. Am I making this even more ambiguos than the actual story?Oh well....
Anyway, just cause I tried to put some points on things, that doesn't mean any of you can't make their own version of how things went.I ain't gonna hold a grudge. I just thought an explanation was needed and hence I wrote the stuff I should at least be clear and precise.
Till we meet again, all the best and read my stuff, listen to the music up on here.
Shout out to all Romanians out there(it's national day today, Dec 1st!!!!, although I couldn't care less :)))))) and a special thank you to Moromete cause he's been reading my crazy stuff from beggining, and I hope he'll still do....:))
Cheers,
Tuemckey.

Tuemckey's THE PUZZLE(Piece C)

2009-10-20T10:43:00.000+02:00

C.The puzzle's complete, is there any piece missing?

''What does the bastard want now?'' James asked himself.Maybe he was tired of this whole letter charade and wanted to reveal himself. Step into the light and become known, shwon on tv, interviewed by newspapers. Just like any other serial killers. He wanted to be famous.
''Nah, it can't be it.''James responded to himself.
He hadn't made more than 50 yards from his apartment flat when a white van approached him, two black guys looking like bodybuilders jumped at him, spraying mace into his face and throwing his numb, non-responding body inside.No chance of calling his partners now. If there ever was a chance. The van rode with such haste and speed that it seemed the end of the world was cahsing after them and the driver and occupants were the only persons that knew about it.
Finally James could face his obsession for the past half year, see what flesh he was made of and what motives sprung behing his actions.
One hour later he had been dumped in an old and remote mansion, outside the city limits and off the recent maps. They had tied him to a chair in a cold room, listening to screams, yells and shrieks of women.
The supposed serial killer entered the room. He turned the lights on but James was still bended.
-Welcome, agent Strohm! I've been expecting you....
-Who are you, you sick degenerate bastard?
-let's not give in to vulgarities, shall we agent.I'm sure the Academy teaches its men to handle any situation they're in, dangerous or otherwise, with extreme caution and calm. That, for me at least, means a certain tone when coverstaing, a certain approach to the person you're speaking with. In this case, me. And I don't think you've shown any of the imposed rules just now.
-You're still a fucking degenerate bastard, you prick! Let me go and I'll show you manners, the same ones you've shown your victims.
-Victims? ha....Why do you want to call them that? Do you think they would want to be remembered by that name? The victim of a serial killer. Please bear in mind that all of my killings have not been casual the least, but thoroughly planned.And frankly, I'm quite proud of that...
-You're proud of being a killer? You bastard!
James still struggled to break free from the ties.
-I'll put the language to the shock and to the spray. I'm not a killer, I'm only human. No one can be given the fault for my actions, but neither I can be called by that name. Do you think I chose to end those girls' lives? Nobody chooses its own life and you know that. Did you choose your life, your job, agent Strohm?
-Yes, I did, so I can lock forever behind bars sonavabitches like you....
James spat, but his target was thin air.
-I'm starting to believe you've got a limited vocabulary, agent. Surely you can do better than that . I thought of you highly, please don't disappoint. Do you think the men you put in prison choose their fate? It is only society and lifestyle that makes them do what they do, act abnormal, as many would put it, be the outlaws.Do bear in mind that these individuals have wives, kids , families. And you, by ending their freedom, are breaking apart families.Can you imagine a girl that loves his father, although he's a...say...rapist, crying hot, sad, salty tears upon hearing the news that she doesn't have a dad anymore, cause you've locked him away. Do you choose to do that? It just happens. Do you think a blind man chooses to be blind, a deaf chooses to be deaf, a mute chooses to be mute?
-What has this got to do with your gruesome murders?
-It has got ot do a lot.You don't understand it now cause you can't see with my eyes, but i'll tell you more about that later.
-How many have you killed?
The killer didn't respond.
-Why did you bring me here?
Silence. No answer.
-Answer me, you fucking motherfucker.
-Again with that tone, agent. That's no way to talk with your counterpart..
-Counterpart my ass, you fuck! Do you wanna kill me, torture me, what?Just get this over with! I'm not writing your biography so I don't want to listen to your thoughts, ideas.I don't give a fuck about what you are and who you are. To me, you're a pathethic fuck that's trying to find himself motives for the crimes he's comitted. Aren't you?
-You're quite far and away from the truth.Tell me, what are we as humans? Are we superior beings put on earth? Are we having the right to rule earth and opress other animals or other lifeforms. cause in the end we're nothing more than the most vicious and savage animals. It's in our blood. We crave for raw food, raw flesh.Tell me, don't you find it awkward that when a car accident, a train disaster etc. happens, we as people can't do anything else but gather around the place of massacre and gaze, grinning, hungry for more.Cause we're plain hyenas and we sense death and blood from miles away and we live with the images of limbs torn apart and stomachs turned open or broken craniums. It's our natural drug. What keeps us high.If we wouldn't get this dosage this dosage we'd start killing eachother, for nothing, just to stop the urge of seeying and tasting atrocities with our eyes. It's who we are.
-What the fuck are you talking about? Are you on drugs or something? So, because you don't see enough crime reports on the daily news you've just become a killer yourself, so you can live these events in first person.
-I think you're confining me in a small box, agent.
-You're fucking right I do. It's called solitary, for 40 fucking years. That's what you deserve.
-And you might be the one to judge what anyone deserves. Then you might enlighten me on several issues. Do you think The Vietnamese deserved to be bombed by the Americans? Or the Koreans, Irakis and so on? Do you think we deserve the right to vote and after 4 years of lies we find out our vote has been lost to oblivion. Do you think Africa deserves to be raped 500 more years so that the whites can finally say ''there's nothing we can do for you anymore, we're sorry.'' Do you think those girls that I've killed deserved to die by my knives. Or the ones that wait their turn? Agent, you're mistaking alot of my discussion with you with some sort of trying to escape plea. I'm not trying to escape, cause i know I can't be caught.And I'm gonna give you answers to your questions. But you won't ask me anything.
-What kind of game is this?
-It's no game, agent.
Silence.
The room, although was very cold, temerature-wise, felt like a sauna for the police officer.
The killer was toying with his mind, probably trying to get answers from him, see how much they knew about him.The truth was they didn't know anything, or close to anything, so in case he'd make it alive, he'd use all the info to get the bastard, once and for all.
-I'm all ears, said James.
-Good, you should be.I know one of your colleagues named ''The Barbie syndrome'' book as a point of reference next to my killings.I've never actually read it, although I hear it's quite good, nor have I based anything I've done on even the rumour of it existing and its premise. Besides my girls have not been prostitutes.
How could he know of the book? James asked himself.There had been nobody from the outside at the time that conversation had taken place.And he hadn't mentioned it to nobody else outside the precinct.
-You wanna know why you feel as if you're having something stuck in your eye? It's because you do have something in your eye. I planted a microscopic camera behind your retina that's linked to the one I have. So, everything you see I see and vice-versa. But only if I want to.You probably don't remember but those nightmares that you had were images sent by me through the device in your eye.
When had that happened? He couldn't remember anyone breaking into his apartment to plant a camera in his eye. This was turning into a creepy confession, to say the least.
-The numbers of killings I've made is 17.I've got three more on my list, but you can save them. Do you like puzzles, agent? I never did like puzzles when I was a kid. All those pieces that didn't fit, then when they did, there were pieces that din't make sense withing the whole. But as yaers passed, I grew fond of them and learnt the secrets of building a puzzle, learnt the way the pieces must grow the entire picture, it's quite an art, in my opinion. And with a puzzle you can save the next 3 girls' lives. I'll tell you how you'll do this. I've cut already 3 dead girls into pieces, so you've got three sets of 2 hands each, arms, legs and so on.
James started to puke.His stomach and his mindwould not bear the torture the killer's words were inflicting on him.
-Don't worry, I've cleaned them of blood, besides they're bandaged. So, what you have to do is to put together these 3 bodies in order to save the remaining 3 ''vic-tims'' on my list. I guarantee I'll flee the city and you'll never meet me again. I can't let you get me, but at least you have saved 3 women from their deaths and at the end of the day, you're still the hero.If you're able to put just one body in its rightfully order, you'll save just one girl and so on.
James almost fainted.
-Hope you're good with puzzles.I wouldn't want you to miss this opportunity of saving these lives.No you get the chance to choose life over death and decide who deserves to live and who not to.And to make your work easyer, I'll show you the footage of the girls being choped up. Maybe that way you can remember the parts better.
The killer pressed a button on a remote he held in his right hand and soon the ligyhts were dimmed and a clip started playing. He took the bend off James' face and put a knife blade between his teeth.
-This will help you get free. I'll be upstairs, watching you all the time. After you cut the ties, you'll find the bodies in the large freezer behind the closet. I assume you'll know what to do afterwards.
The serial killer's voice sounded more familiar now than ever.Could he have been someone he'd know? Soeone close to him?
The killer closed the door behind him, looking at the officer's weapon. It fitted his hand perfectly.
-Nice gun...

TWO DAYS LATER

James gathered all his men to bring the news.
-As of today guys, the case is closed by orders of the captain.
-What? That's bullshit...
-I know, I know. It seems they think we've spent too much time and energy on it and we've gotten nothing out. Not even a single drop of truth.So please, stop chasing leads, stop scooping for witnesses or prints, it's over. I'm going home, it has been an exhaustinh half year. I suggest you do the same.
James took his coat and left the building.
Twenty minutes later another letter showed up at the precinct.
''I've decided I should do the step I had thought I'd never take. I'm giving myself up.Before it's too late, come get me. The adress is this.''
-Quick, call James. We've got him now! said Jay
But the ex in-charge officer was not to be found on the phone. Probably he had turned it off to enjoy some serenity and peace of mind for the first time in six months.
-Nevermind James, if he picks up while we're on the road we'll tell him where the spot is. Now, let's move, let's move.
The whole precinct was mobilised and a convoy of 20 police cars left the station in such rush that not even the captain knew what was going on.

The remote mansion had two levels and a basement.The only road that got there was an old country road connected to another lost on the map road.There were no means of communication within the range of 30 miles and probably not even an all-seeying satellite didn't know of the existence of this place.The house had been a heritage piece the killer had gotten from his dad. He was sometimes remembering the rants about not liking the house and wanting to sell it, but in the end he was more than happy how it turned out to be.Quite a helping hand to his actions.
The basement was the main control room and source of electricity for the house.It resembled a hi-tech bunker, filled with radio stations, police stations, custom made tracking devices and other usefull tools.The first level had three rooms, a kitchen turned into a sort of lab and a toilet that was never used.The second floor was made out of another bathroom and two more rooms. One with trophies and another, bigger one, where the last 3 remaining girls on the list were caged.
The killer entered the room.
-Hello, ladies. How's it going tonight?
All 3 were sitting on the floor, shoe-less, looking skinny and shocked.
-Let us go, you bastard! Help, help, someone please help us!
-Ah, here we go again. You know screaming won't do any good, you've tried that already. Well, this is gonna end very soon, though. The puzzle didn't work out, I'm afraid, thus I'll have to kill you.
The poor girls continued screaming, through sobs and cries.
-This depresses me. Let me put some music on.Maybe that will cheer you up.
He pressed a button on his remote control and the whole house started singing Christmas carols.
He set the speakers to maximum volume and left the room.
-I'm going to prepare myself. Bye for now.
The music was so loud that he had to put headphones on not to get disturbed. He couldn't take the screams anymore. But now he couldn't hear nothing that was going on outside either.

Jay and the rest of the crew phoned James a few more times, but still no answer.
-When we're taking this sonavabitch down, I want James there aswell. He's the one that must take the laurels in this case, he's the one with the sleepless nights due to this bastard. We go in, clean, no noise and we nail the prick. I want everyone focused and ready for action.He might send us into a trap, for all we know, so be carefull.Mike, you back David and Rick. Mark, you're going with me and the first team at the entrance. Let's do it guys, let's do it!

As the police convoy pulled closer to the mansion, there was only one window lit. They could hear the music from a hundred meters.
-Is he having a party with...carols? said Mike
-Guys, don't joke. This all might be a trap. Eyes open for everything.
The policemen rushed out of their cars, clad in bulletproof vests and gas masks.
-Go, go, go, go!
-Secure the perimeter, secure the perimeter!
Mark and Jay with the first team broke the fron t door.
-It's the police, nobody move.
The music was quite an adversary.
-Fucking music! yelled Mark
Ten seconds later they were everywhere the first level, searching the rooms, making their way inside the darkness with flashlights.
-All clear!
-Upstairs, upstairs! Go, go, go!
When they broke into the trophy room, some had to take their masks off and vomit.
-Fucking sick bastard!
-I hear screams in the next room! said Jay
The 3 girls looked like ghosts to the policemen.
-Rick, give them a blanket, quick!said Jay
He turned to the ''to-be'' victims.
-Are you alone in the house? Are you alone in the house?
But due to all the screaming the girls had no more power to talk. Besides the loud music was not allowing them understand fully the cops' questions. They just pointed down.
-Ok, guys, let's check the basement. There should be one. Double check all the rooms for weapons or bombs and get these girls somewhere safe. Call an ambulance! yelled Jay at his men.
-The fucker must be somewhere hiding.

The serail killer had heard the noises and the commotion when it was too late. As he was taking the headphones off, Jay and his men had already broke into the basement.
-Don't you move, you piece of shit! Drop the headphones, drop everything. If you've got any concealed weapons, I suggest you throw them away otherwise I'll turn your ass into Swiss cheese, you fuck.And turn off the fucking music.
The killer pressed the button and silence stood between men.
-Nowhere to hide now, huh, prick? Answer me!
The serail killer didn't react in any way, other than putting his hands over his head.
-Turn around, motherfucker! said Mike
-Why should I hide, I'm the one that called you here.....said the killer
-Turn around, he said! yelled Jay
-You don't wanna do this....the killer spoke softly.
-Wait till James sees this....said Mike
The serial killer turned around, facing the police squad. An evil grin stood on his face, looking proud and content with himself.
The policemen let their guard down for a split second.
-James, is that you!!!!!??????...........

THE END.

Appendix:
All that you've heard, read and seen
All that you wish to be and that you've been
are part of the Puzzle.

All your relatives, from nephews to nieces
Strangers you meet on streets and mates, they're all pieces
of the Puzzle.

Every breath you waste, every food you taste
Every muscle in your body or thought in your brain
You're here so don't live your life in haste
Try to figure out who's behind your shadow and what's to gain
from the Puzzle.

You might find it difficult to see it through
To realize the pieces taking form and open like a mussel
At the end you'll find out it is you
The mind behind this Puzzle.

All rights reserved Tuemckey 2009.

Tuemckey's THE PUZZLE(Piece A+B)

2009-10-20T00:39:00.000+02:00

A.One piece at a time.

''Picture yourself in a new town. You're alone, you've no idea where you're going to and have no knowledge of your whereabouts. Now picture yourself in a back alley, badly lit. But not the type you see in films where you can always see your way around, but you're just acting accordingly.I mean the pitch black alley, 19th century old-London type of street. You hear your heartbeats pumping faster and faster, the blood running through your veins to your brain, in such frenzy you'd think it's missing a train, giving you adrenaline, making you filled with fear.Why would you fear a back alley? You can't see anything, but still, you're in a city, civilised people living in it, you know...So why would you fear a street that you wouldn't care about if you'd see it in broad daylight? Well, that's where I come in.You see, you should fear these kind os streets, cause at any moment I might pop out of the darkness and kill you. I love to kill. That's what I live for.I'm a serial killer.I haven't kept track of my ''customers'', but I'D say I've got a palmares of at least 14. And I'm just beggining. I don't wanna rush myself. I've got plenty of time.I don't wanna be known as the guy apprehended just after 3-4 months in the business, cause of a slight mistake. Besides I'm not choosing my ''clients'' on the base ''see them-kill them''. They choose me instead. You might see me in this dark alley, but if you're not my type, you'll be left without a scratch.Hell, I'll even help you get home. And I really can't say I have only one type of persons that I look for.I have to have some chemistry with them, some sort of silent agreement. I like to kill someone that is fun. You might ask how I know they'd be fun to be killed. I just do. It's a matter of seconds. Your profilers might tell you that I'm suffering of some sort of disorder of any kind just to make you believe they are justly payed. The truth is they've no bloody clue about what's happening in my head, or any other criminal head, for that matter. And I mean before, during and after the killing. Dream on!
You probably know from movies that we(serial killers) prefer a knife.It doesn't make any noise, it's light, it's less traceable and at the end of it, it doesn't leave the mammoth prints a gun or bullet might do.But I've told you enough already. I'm prepared to go out and have my next ''client''.Oh, and another thing. You won't ever catch me. I know you, but you've no idea who I am.
11:45 pm
Signed,
The Real Serial killer you're looking for.''

B.The pieces have another side to them.

The interior of a police station. Lots of cops inside, paperwork to do. Phones ringing. To put it shortly, Hell on earth. For some. Just another day at the office, for others.
-He's playing with us, the in-charge with the investigation officer said while putting down the letter.
It was the same letter, the same serial killer they were chasing after.But they had gotten it for half a year almost, same day every month, same writing, all the commas and spaces between words. At first they'd thought they'd been receiving xerox copies, but they were mistaken. Every note was perfect in mimeting the last one. This guy was taking time writing these letters and surely wasn't just an average bloodbath killer.A killer that thought. making him double the danger. The number of victims must've been smaller than that. Strangely, they'd received the first letter only two days after they've discovered the 3rd victim. And no other bodies were found up till now.So, either he had planned to only have a certain number of casualties on his name, unknown for now, or they had yet to find the remaining victims.
-He's toying with us, continued the officer.
He sounded angry, stressed, at the end of his powers. With the will of making it and trying harder, but with no hope of success. He looked his partners in the eyes, looking for answers.He was expecting any of his colleagues to raise their hands and pop the solution: ''I know this guy, he's my neighbour!'' or ''I think I know who he might be, the bloke that works at the grocery store I buy liquor from'' or ''I've seen him at the strip joint I'm member of.''The in-charge officer expected any of these answers. Any would do fine. They'd call it a day and pack home, chilling in the couch, enjoying a brew or a woman, watching tv, whatever.Instead nobody said anything. This silence was the type of silence one might imagine pirates thinking about the exact place of a treasure. They had no leads, no witnesses, no prints, nothing.All they knew was that he used a knife and that he must've been using one for a long time, cause he sure finished off his victims quicly.And strangely enough, the crime places hadn't been at all at the outskirts of the city, but just small, badly-lit, side streets of packed boulevards in the centre.
It had been almost half yaer since the first victim, since the case had started, the longest one they'd had.The higher officials had tried several times to shut down investigations due to the lack of evidence and evolution of the overall case, but to no good use. He knew he'd make it, eventually. He knew they'd find out the person behind everything and smile with pleasure, grinning at him while watching the life plus sentence being given.He didn't wanna give up. he knew his team members were to be trusted and they'd come along his ideas and will with the case, no matter where those might take them all.None of them had any real family to be waiting at home, except for a couple of here-today/gone-tomorrow girlfriends and a puppy dog. The in-charge officer was the youngest of the group, yet the most determined about his work. His work was more than a job.It was his passion, his hobby, his drug. And now, after six months on a case, he got caught in the net of obsession with it.
He looked his team once more in the eyes before he spoke.
-Ok guys, let's go through what we know and what we don't know again. Maybe we've been missing something.
-Again, sarge? We've been doing it for month now already, it won't change shit. We still won't know who he is, where's he coming from and why's he breaking our balls with his perfect letters.
-Stay with me here, Jay! Remember that you all have taught me a lot when I was a newbie. And even though I'm in charge of this case, and I'm deciding what and whatnot, I still have a lot to learn from you guys, so please let's get this bastard.I won't allow myself from letting half year pass before even having a suspect, or at least a motive.So, do I have you attention now? what do we know and what we don't know, but we'll find out? Talk to me...Mike?!
-Ok, we know he's killed three women. There's no record yet of the fact that they knew eachother and for the moment there's no connection between them. We can only assume he's killed more, if we take his ''words'' onto consideration.There are no monuments, no secret rendez-vous spots for any secret associations at or around the crime scenes.The 3 places where the crimes were comitted are far apart and have no connection. As far as we know. If you look on the map they don't form any geometrical form or myth creature or anything like that. Thus, he's not basing his preferences on any of that.
-Thank you, Mike, said James, the in-charge officer.
He was pondering the information, letting it sink in deep through his senses, his pores, his skin. He wanted this information to become part of him, take action to his actions, to his thoughts and ideas , to dictate his neurons his next move.
-So, we don't have a motive?
-Apparently not. Like I said the three women had not known eachother. Thus no way tracing back their relation to the murdere, if there was any.He's picking them through the crowd like products off the shelves of a supermarket, not bearing in mind the expiry date, tags and the likes.
-Hard to believe...
-Do ask him when you meet him, will ya, sarge? jay said sarcastically, laughing softly.
-Yeah, maybe I will....., James replied, still pondering the chance of it happening. Ok, what else do we have on paper?
-All three autopsies show the victims died from wounds made by a contondent weapon, in our case a knife.No sign of drugs, pills or any pharmaceutical products were found in their bodies. No trace of bruises or signs of violence on the body , it seems they came to him and didn't oppose much.
-It seems? the in-charge officer asked angrily
-Yeah...
-What do you mean it seems? Then it might aswell seem these murders weren't comitted cause there is no killer, it seems, cause we're not doing our job. It seems.Please guys, a lil bit more heart in this case. I know the captain has put us down so many times for not coming up with even a lead but stick with me. I feel like we've come a long way and right round the corner we might find the solution to this...puzzle of a case.
-Ok, let me finish then, Mick replied.each one of the victims was killed with a different knife.On the first two, american knives were used: a Centofante 3 by Spyderco and aHeavy Bowie 9''. The third one's european though, Miguel Nieto.All three hunting knives. Here comes the intriguing part.The tests and the autopsies have shown that the blades are the same with those that are widely available but the handles have been custom made. For a better grip, use, speed, force, you name it. The guy knows about knives.
-Is it possible to change the handle and still make it work?
-Yes, if you know how to do it. If me or any oy you would do it, chances are we'd cut our fingers off in the process of using it afterwards.This guy sure knows better.
-So, we've got no prints, thus he's using gloves. Maybe that's why he's replaced the handles, to fit with his specail gloves. Check into that, Jay, will ya?
-Yes, sarge...
-No witnesses...How come there were no homeless on the streets. The killer himself tells about back alleys.There must've been a hobo around.
-Actually no, sarge. Remember the mayor's ''Free the centre'' campaign last year? They took all the poor fellas off the nice city centre streets and threw them at the outskirts. Personally I haven't seen a homeless downtown in quite some time.
-Hmm..
-And I've made some extra investifations.
-Do tell, Jay..
-Have you ever heard of ''The Barbie syndrome''?
-What? You mean the women obsessed with having a body like the doll?
-No, it's the book..
-What book?
-''The Barbie syndrome''. It's by this indie writer Tuemckey Shakur.
-Indian writer?
-No indie writer, as in indie-pendent.It's about this japanese guy that's killing these teen prostitutes in Tokyo and they all are dresses like schoolgirls. But his actions are triggered by math ecuations. It's quite interesting.
-Do you buy that stuff, Jay?
-Some pal gave it to me a couple years back.
-So, you think our guy read this book and then decided ''ok, why don't I become a serial killer, it's great!''. I won't believe that shit unless I see the fucking book in his fucking collection. How does it end, by the way?
-Read it yourself, sarge...
-So, the victims might be, scratch that, sorry, might've been hookers. Any record on that?
-Not yet, but we're still checking it out.
-Good. Back to work now. Captain's waiting for me for lunch. Hope he's not hungry for human meat.

They were sitting in the police restaurant, face to face, just like normal clients, minding whatever business was, enjoying whatever was there to enjoy. The police didn't own the restaurant but if was known and called as such due to the fact that a lot of cops were having breakfast or lunch there. It was pretty close to their precinct.
-So, you see captain, this is a strange case to get to the bottom of it. No fingerprints, no witnesses. There was no blood at the scenes of murder.
-What are you implying now? Vampires?
-No, I'm just saying it's strange. That's why I'm telling you I need more time to get to the core.
-You had enough time, James. Half a year.That's enough in my book. You could've solved a dozen cases in that time.At least give me a lead, a list of suspects. I'm on your ass cause the mayor's on my ass on this other side.Follow me?
James nodded.
-Last week he called me up to his office and said''Your boys are worthless, you said you'd put your best on this fucking case and here we are, six months later, still with this fucking letter in our hands, trying to figure out how the fuck has he written it, word for word, so damn good''. What was I supposed to tell him?
James nodded again.
-I told him I'd give you another week and if still no results, then I'd close the case.
-What? Captain! Me and my team have been busting our balls to try and find just a piece of truth in this big pile of shit.I sense I'm close to getting this motherfucker, but I need more time!
-You don't have any, James! My meeting with the mayor was last week. You've got two days left! Let's just keep the victims' number at three.
-What if the victims are more than that? Just like he said?
-Every nutcase says that.They're the kind of people that'd think they killed Jesus or JFK. You can't believe a killer. You know better than that.
-It's the cop hunch, Captain...
-Cop hunch, huh?Let me give you a piece of advice, James. Leave the ''hunch'' at home from now on, just like I did ten years ago, and you might become something. Gotta run now, got another meeting with the mayor. See you James.
-Good day, captain.
-Likewise.
Both men stood and shook hands.
Despite the fact that the captain was part of the precinct and had backed everyone, aswell as kicking their arses, James knew little or nothing about him as a person.He had no recolection of the captain speaking about or even mentioning kids and a wife, and his house with the infamous 500 rare books library was quite an urban legend in its own right within the station.He found that strange, after all these years working with the captain, to be having so little info on him.He, and most of his colleagues thought the captain to be highly inteligent, although they had no evidence to actually back up their theory.
After lunchJames returned home, walking through the half-deserted city, due to a very cold autumn rain.Coincidence or not, he passed near a crime scene and he stopped there for a few moments.The alley looked dark, indeed, and uninviting for any stroller, but there was nothing to it so menacing, so evil, as the serial killer would put it himself.No black, hungry for blood tentacles creeping from beneath the asphalt, no ghosts screeeming eerie and softly, trying to lure new victims, no serial killers, waiting in the dark with custom made knives. Obviously, no fingerprints and no witnesses. It was quite an interesting place, actually.
Right around the corner, one of the most hip restaurants in town was greeting its customers and during evenings, when the serial killer supposedly attacked, a long queue formed outside its premises. Two blocks away there was a taxi station, buzzing with people of all ages and races, like a big bee-hyve. Could have been that the killer used on of the taxis to flee the crime scene easily.Or maybe the killer was one of the cab drivers. Maybe one of the customers refused to pay, thus making him comit a murder. And maybe, afterwards, the newbie killer got a taste of it and just continued with the whole thing.Not likely to have happenned, James thought.He just continued his was home. He was tired. His eyes hurt.
Ever since the first victim and first letter he accused this peculiar eye problem, as if something was stuck in his eye, bothering him from inside the cornea.He had made an eye test at some point, but the doctor had told him there was nothing he could notice at that moment and had advised him to take another test. Unfortunately he had no time to.
There was no familiar voice welcoming him home as he opened the door to his apartment and stepped on the rug. Not even a bark.He had no pictures of relatives hanging on the walls.He thought that'd bring bad luck for work. Maybe he should've started putting on some frames now, considering how the case was going.
It wasn't until he reached his bedroom that he noticed someone had broken in. Which was strange, cause his pay was not a sum thieves would be longing for. He wasn't , either. Was this entering related to the case somehow or just some petty burglar that chose the wrong target.There were no documents missing and after a thorough inspection he concluded that everything was still belonging to him, the only damage done would be a couple hours of cleaning and putting everything in order.
It had been an exhausting 6 months. First the case and the numerous sleepless nights thinking who the killer might be. Some more sleepless nights due to his eye problems. And now this, having his house penetrated by soemone that was clearly looking for something, but couldn't find it.
James decided she should announce some fellow colleagues, maybe they could get some prints. He wasn't in the mood to start another investigation now. He went for the phone but a split second before he dialed the first 9, he froze.He put the phone down and grabbed the envelope laying next to it. He ripped it open and read the note inside. He recognised the writing, infamous by now, the same one used in the letters they'd received at the station.
''Meet me here. We need to talk.''
He put on his jacket, packed with two extra clips for his gun and went out.

Nothing to do..

2009-10-19T19:20:00.000+02:00

..that's why I thought I could reccomend some movies.
Anchorman
Talladega nights
Role models
Superbad
Zack and Miri make a porno
I love you, man
Forgetting Sarah Marshall
Old school
School for scoundrels
Step brothers
Walk hard
Semi-pro
Hot rod
..............
and some musicians
Vangelis
Jarre
Klaus Schulze
Tangerine Dream
Edgar Froese
Jerome Froese
Cell
Ulrich Schanuss
Johannes Schmoelling
Gert Emmens
Ruud Heij
patchwork
ron Boots
Rene van der wouden
Erik Wollo
Frank van Bogaert
Create
Syndromeda
Phrozenlight
Von haulshoven
Dutch Space mission
Wolfram Spyra
Pete Namlook
David Wright
Code Indigo
Skip Murphy
Craig Padilla
Zero Ohms
Steve Roach
Chronos
Rudy Adrian
Airsculpture
Syn
Synco
Free System Projekt
Eppie E Hulshof
Bernd Kistenmacher
Omega Syndicate
Adelbert von Deyen
Schiller
Robert Schroeder
Wellenfeld
Wavestar
Volt
Waveshape
Erik Seifert
valleyforge
Moonbooter
Erez Yaary
Jeffrey Koepper
At-Moos
Dom F Scab
Jiannis
Lambert
Palantir
Thomas Fanger
Mario Schonwalder
Bas Broekhuis
Asura
Carbon Based Lifeforms
Software
Peter Mergener
Cosmic Hoffman.....
etc etc etc etc etc.....

The Roman holidays.....

2009-10-19T18:42:00.000+02:00

All roads lead to Rome. Rome is the world's capital.The most beautiful city in the world.
We've heard them all, and in parts, they are true.
But there's a face to Rome that the average tourist doesn't know about until it's too late:the scammers.What do I mean exactly? Well, let's just say you're planning a holiday in Rome, preparing the budget, places to visit, fares, prices, all that. Don't do it. Why? Cause your budget and initial planning might get a hard slap in its face once you're ''enjoying'' yourselves on the streets of Rome, in one of your restaurants or museums.Let me get to the point.
I work as a waiter in a restaurant in Rome. Although I'd reccomend it happily to anyone interested, at the same time I'd like to tell people to stay away from it.Why?
Hmmmm...(clearing throat) well, you arrive there, get seated, enjoy nice Italian cuisine(made express, by the way), some nice wine to it and at the end bang! the bill arrives and you notice that you've got to pay a 15% service charge extra to what you've eaten and drunk. Now, sometimes if you get pizza and pasta you might not get it at the same time, the beef is not of high quality(I'm always eating beef on my day off and it's ten times better that the one I work with, although I buy it from a supermarket), although the price shows otherwise. So why should you pay 15% extra? What for? Now, the trouble is the bill tells you this 15% coming from nowhere is actually service charge, meaning that most of my customers think I'm putting these money into my pocket. I wish...The truth is this 15% is all for the owner, they don't pay taxes off it and it's quite illegal as well. So, I'm not nicking anyone's money. Please don't look at me as if I've robbed you. I don't have the intention, never had.What's nice to know too, is that if you happen to eat in one of these restaurants where they teach you a lesson with either a service , bread or cover charge, you'll be paying all of it just cause you're a foreigner and if you ask about ''what's this or what's that'' they might treat you by speaking Italian, although they might've grabbed you inside the locale in English. Italians don't pay such things. Don't let yourselves fooled by ''it's a goverment tax'' or ''it's because this reastaurant lies in the centre''. That's just bollocks.
Here's some other examples of real Roman scammers.
A couple months ago there was a case discussed in local papers about a Japanese couple that ended up paying a total of 700 euros for a dinner.Including 150 euros for the TIP!!!!
Another Jap lost some 4000 euros in a night club for a bottle of Champagne!!!!
Roman ''gladiators'' asking 20 euros for a photo with them!!!
You might end up paying triple the price for a coffee just because you take a seat!!!
The hotel room you booked is no longer available due to internet problems(sic!!) thus resulting in paying more for another room but with the same services.
So, people, in case you're planning a holiday in Rome, be wise and take my advice: go to Croatia, go to Portugal, go to Cyprus, Malta, Egypt, go any other place than Rome. Go some place where money has value and you're not getting back flat broke with no memories, no souvenirs and not even served for what you've payed!
Good luck,
T.

Tattoos are wicked, dude.....

2009-10-19T15:38:00.000+02:00

Ok, we can be frank with ourselves, can't we? Well then, let's recognise the fact that, at one point or another in life, we've all wanted a tattoo. Wether it be a heart or your parents' names or just some satanic symbol , we've wanted one. Don't deny this right now.....
From having the will of getting a tattoo and actually crossing to the other side of waking up each morning looking at one on your arm or any other body part is a long way. You see, I don't get tatted people. I mean, it's cool and all and gives somewhat of a harder edge to their personality, but what's the point? Will you still like it in two years time? Will you like it when you're 70 and the skin becomes wrinkled and plain ugly-looking due to, in parts, having a tattoo? Cause I was wondering what Angelina Jolie thought about her Billy Bob tattoo after they'd broke up. ''God damn, I hate the bastard now, so what am I supposed to do with the bloody thing?'' Just like any other thing in life, you like it today, you find it boring the next one. That's how it goes.
I admit I'd be more scared of a tatooed large biker, although he'd be a peaceful bloke, rather than a clean-cut psychotic killer that doesn't look the part and hasn't got any tattoes.I don't make any sense now, do I?
My beef with tattoos is mainly about the persons that get these hip Chinese characters that they don't even know the real meaning of.And what is even more ironic is that most of the times these foreign language characters, that look cool on human skin, I admit, have no meaning whatsoever. It's just jibberish.Would anyone like to have a tattoo with an English jibberish invented word? I didn't think so myself.....
Thus I come to my conclusion, next time you'll want a tattoo, just read a good book and tattoo your mind with some knowledge.
Peace out,
T.

What have I done (Ad-hoc killer)

2009-09-15T20:36:00.000+02:00

------inspired by real events------

With his hands shaking, he put on his shirt, before he went out his parents' house.
He just started to walk around the small town, his consciousness feeling numb, his body feeling like somebody else's. The sea would calm him down, put his thoughts and memory into place. So he reckoned, at least.It was four in the morning but the heat of the night wasn't territory one bit. Besides the nearby town of Ajaccio was a thriving port and nightlife centre. That must've kept the sparkling ''fire'' of the night alive.
There was no moon to be seen guarding the sky, so when he left the artificial lit streets he had to dabble in the dark till his eyes grew accustomed to it.
The beach felt cold and lonely, no more footprints hurting its body, no more cigarette butts burning its spirit, no more noisy kids, no more human invasion.The sea was calm and most likely sleeping its few hours of tranquility till the morning tourists would spoil and damage its integrity.
Despite the darkness he was swimming in, it was on the beach, looking at the sea, that he noticed that his hands were full of blood. He wasn't shaking anymore but was still in shock.
And the bigger shock camewhen, little by little, bits of his memory came back to his brain, painting the whole perfect picture of what had just happened.
''What have I done?'' was the first thought that crossed his mind. He wanted to go back to his house, see if it was true, but he hidn't find the courage to.Instead he preffered to take another stroll under the same trance-like state he'd been in when he left the house.He felt he didn't have to explain the situation to himself, but to someone else. He wouldn't understand his own actions, but maybe a neutral part would be wiser in terms of advising him.Thus he turned to one of his friends who lived close enough to the streets where he was now losing touch with reality.His heavy zombie-like feet brought him slowly to his friend's house where he phoned him.
-Listen, Jacques, I can't understand a word you're saying...just come up and we'll talk.
At 5 in the morning his friend didn't find it the right time to discuss, if only was it for serious things.And this was some serious matter. Worth to wake up a friend or anybody else, for that matter.
His friend brought him to his room and by the time he actually opened the door, he noticed his hands and felt a shiver down his spine.
-Merde, is that blood on your hands, Jacques?
His tanned face turned pale. Jacques was still under shock and it wasn't until he sat down and rested his once again shaking hands that one could get in ''touch'' with him.The happenings came back to him and he could make proper understandable sentenses.
-I killed my family, Phillippe...
He didn't look his friend in his eyes while saying it, instead his stare wandered on his parents and brother invisible presences that he must've felt.
A lonesome tear came down his cheek.
-Don't give me this shit, Jacques. I'm gonna call your house right now.
Four calls and a dozen rings later and still no answer. Phillippe turned to Jacques. He hadn't taken his eyes off him since he noticed the bloody hands but now he was ready to take him seriously and hear the facts.
-I want you to be sincere with me, tell me what happened. None of the family murder stuff. What did you do? Kill a rat, a goat, a weasel, what?
It took Jacques a couple of moments to begin his story-telling.
-I woke up at 2 in the morning and...
-Wait, don't leave me outside till half way through the story. There must be something else before that.
-No, phillippe, there isn't, I'm telling you the truth.
Phillippe gave him an unconvinced gaze.
-Go on...
-I woke up, couldn't sleep. I felt trapped in this dream. A dream I couldn't escape.
-A nightmare?..
-Not really. Just a dream.
-What was it about, this dream?
-Nothing.
-What the fuck do you mean nothing? First you tell me about a dream, feeling trapped in it and now you give me the bollocks it wasn't about anything. What was it, a blank screen of a dream?
-I went downstairs and took the biggest knife we had in the house. It shined in the dark, making the way to my brother's room much easyer.I was standing there,looking at him, with the knife in my hand...It didn't take me more than half a minute till I started punching him with it. He'd never wake up......Then I heard my mom had been waking up. I didn't make any noise, mind you, but I reckon she must've felt something terrible had happened, so I rushed to my parents' room and there she was, trying to wake up my dad. She saw me and asked me if anything was wrong. I said no. Then I wispered to her ear ''Marco's gone'' and hugged her. At the same time the blade made its way into her back, she didn't even have time to struggle.As you know, my dad had a few drinks before bed and remained there , snoring, feeling nothing whatsoever. So, I took a cushion and shoved it on his face and kept putting pressure on it for about a couple of minute. I wasn't sure I had the job right, he wasn't moving or anything but he rarely does when sleeping so I had to use my knife once again. I kept staring at their bodies afterwards, feeling proud of what I'd acccomplished. I don't remember if I cried or not....Then I went out, shocked, but not because I had just murdered my family, but more cause I'd seen them dead.I can't tell you why I've done it....truth is at the moment, I don't know the reason myself.....
Without looking at Jacques, Phillippe rose from his chair and called the police.
-Send a car at Rue de Letieres, 16, please, it's urgent!
He felt more than deranged, he had let in his friend to discuss at first, now he had listened a killer voice his murders....

London, here he comes...

2009-09-03T13:51:00.000+02:00

My older brother has just left for London, after ten years in Rome. New life, new chances, new hopes. Just wanna take this opportunity to wish him all the best with his endeavour, goona miss the fights with him....
T.

Domestic violence

2009-09-03T13:30:00.001+02:00

I was riding the tram yesterday, as rarely I do, going to work , when a woman passed in front of me. Yes, I know, you see those every corner of every street, but not all of them are like this one was.She was wearing shorts and the bruises(read scars and the whole nine yard) were quite visible on her legs. Now, I'm not gonna assume she's into that line of work or that her presumed pimp or clients hit her. She was in her late thirties, for bloody sake. Why should she be working that job, or anybody else, for that matter.
Now, I hate the ''I fell on the stairs'' or ''a rabid dog chsed me and bit me in the process'' type of stupid explanations to cover up what's crystal clear to Stevie Wonder himself:men violence on women.
I can't grasp the concept of a woman being harrased, beaten, hit, whatever and still hang out with the attacker or love him.Cause I'd need to take a deep breath before I could start naming all the cases I know or heard about about doemstic violence and whatnot.
One other thing I was interested in pointing out was that lots of these abused women, may they be wives or not, don't even complain. I don't understand their state of submission. I ain't saying the abused shoud turn into vigilantes and shit, but for fuck sake girls, have a bit more pride. Cause the vicious cycle goes like this ''he hits you, you don't do shit-he hits you, you can't leave him-he hits you, you won't leave him-he hits you, you love him''. Ain't that a bitch!?
I understand how love goes(don't we all think likewise?) and all that but still, how can they put up with it.I mean, on one side you've got the feminist movement, but on the other side the reverse of the medal shows another face to it.
A few months ago, while I was returning from my home country back to Rome, I had the pleasure to meet two gals(aren't I the charmer?!) whom with I chatted the whole two and half hours flight.Besides non-sense we got ourselves in a threesome conversation about cheating and shit.One of them was married and expecting a baby, too.(She was 25yo, though)
And she said that in case she found out, and I mean literally found her husband with another woman she wouldn't dump him.Not only that, but she'd think she was part of the motive why he'd cheat, due to her not fullfilling her wife duties, whichever are those.Now, what about that? Could anything be more fucked-up than that?
Ah, I'm already tired of the subject for now. I'll be back with new ideas as soon as i feel the need to re-open the topic. Until then, if I see a woman with bruises I'll ask what king of job she's got.

T.

Poem

2009-08-29T02:11:00.001+02:00

The world is just a place you get lost in
put your thoughts aside and feel it with your heart
you know what you want cause you've the spark within
to get back to reality, that's the tough part

We may lose our innocence as years pass
we might forget we can do good as well
but nobody can steal our dream too fast
we're all children of God, though on Earth Lucifer fell

We hear babies cry and we see elders lose
their place in a cold-hearted society
what would we get if we could really choose
lives are lost on one side, there's no variety

So many things to tell, where to begin
who to prevent the end is near
we all have our ears shut and act like a machine
maybe it's time we open our eyes and see clear.

13 june 2009.

The pack that never arrived...

2009-08-29T02:09:00.000+02:00

----Inspired by real events-------

He was waiting the call. That was the deal. As soon as it got home, they would call, give him the pack and the story would be half finished. At least, part of his deal.But he kept waiting and waiting. No sign of the call, no trace of the package.
''What's taking them so long?''. It was due to arrive a couple of days before already and nobody had attentioned him in case something might had gone wrong and thus delayed its arrival.
He needed some fresh air. He needed to clear his thoughts. He'd get out of the house, take a few steps and maybe they'd let him know the pack reached its destination. He took his cell phone , they had the number.
He didn't instruct anyone in the house about the package. Nobody needed to know. No housekeeper, no butler, no relatives.
He was 100% sure he'll get the call as agreed as soon as he'd leave the house premises.The content of the package was slightly unknown to him. He only knew the components names and the whole quantities for each one but he wasn't an expert at combining them into one thing.He knew all the stuff that was in the package was harmless if not combined and untraceable.The most important aspect, though, was that the ones' the package was destined to in the first place will use those components to build an explosive device.

It had all started two weeks prior when his 8 yo daughter hadn't returned from school. He had received afterwards an anonymous call that had told him they had his daughter and in favor to get her back he had to get these substances from his industrial plant. A man with his position, that of the CEO and owner of the plant won't find any difficulties in providing the right things at the right time to the right people, they thought.
The anonymous caller had revealed himself later as being the head of a major terrorist organisation, planning an attack in the near future.
He had then called the factory unit of the plant to get the samples the kidnappers had asked for. But no sign of them yet. He took the path that would lead him to a small man-made lake that stood in the middle of his trees-covered park. It would take him a quarter of an hour to get there and get back, when he'd get the call.He finally arrived there, took a seat at one of the benches and layed the cell phone next to him, looking at it, waiting impatiently for this mircale call. Half hour had passed and still nothing.This was getting tricky and he didn't like it. He wanted to phone the factory and see if they'd sent it, but that'd be his sixth call concerning the matter and the whole thing might get suspicious to everybody that weren't supposed to get involved. The kidnappers had already instructed him to keep it as quiet as possible and to not get anybody else involved. He knew the local police was corrupt enough to not give a damn about him or his daughter, meaning the terrorists must have done their bribing routine already. Hell, even he had payed them once to get his dirty businesses finished and he knew once the money's in their hand they'll do whatever it takes to defend the ''employer'' and get things right. As not letting anyone mess up the plans.
The break he needed was over. He couldn't just stand there, doing nothing. It was little by little eating him. He took the road back to his villa.It was the first time he was actually looking at the trees, the plants, feeling the sound of insects and such. If these small things had gotten to him, go figure how he must've felt inside. His heart was dying whilst thinking about his daughter. Would they hurt her, would they torture her, would they treat her maliciously? He had no way to know any of that , but all he could do was hope they would't touch a single hair.

Upon his return to the house, the butler wanted to tell him something, but he closed his mouth with a sign and went to his office.
-Not now, Adam, I'm busy.....
He opened his pc, trying to get more info on who the terrorists were and what they really wanted. The name of the organisation the leader had provided him with didn't ring any bells whatsoever, but who knew how many small cells of people wanting to bomb shit up were there around.There was nothing on the internet, there was nothing in his archive files. The name didn't match with anything he knew or had known. They must've been new to the game, yet they seemed and sounded so professional and focused.He had to be a notch higher than them to forsee and outsmart them.
The cell rang.The melody sounded eerie and dark, painted with blood. He let it ring a few times. His whole body shaking, fearing that the caller would not be the person he'd expect to.
-Hello.......
His voice was low, but at the same time powerful.
-Did you get it?
He instantly recognised the man on the other end. The mastermind of the whole ''kidnap kid-get the things-make bomb-blow who knows what'' plan.
-Ehm, no....Not yet. It was due to arrive two days ago, I'm still waiting for it too...Listen, could I talk talk with my daughter, I just wanna hear her voice, see if she's ok..
-You're gonna talk with your daughter when you'll see her face to face, that means when you give me what I've asked you for....And yes, she's ok, I'm a business man, just like yourself, I'm not an animal
-Please, just one word.....
He sounded desperate, tears came down his cheek.
-Give me my things and we'll call it off....the other man sounded angry.
-I don't have them, it haven't arrived yet.....
-Why don't you tell me you went for a walk, waiting for the call and in the meantime the package did arrive at you house. They didn't call you personally but they talked with your butler that sent them away. I suppose you didn't speak with anyone of your house employees about the pack.....Am I right?
Silence stood in between the two men. They had been watching him from the beggining. The butler did want to say something, but he didn't even take the time to hear.He realised what he'd done.
-Am I right..? the man continued. Now you're telling me that you don't have the pack just cause you're stupid enough to have it slip through your fingers, right beneath your nose? What kind of a businessman are you, what kind of father are you, what kind of a fucking lame joke are you? You were credited with your kid's life and you fuck it up like this..?
-No, wait, I can get it back....Wait!!!!!!! he shouted
-I'm afraid it's too late, deal is off.....
A shot of a pistol was heard in the background and the screams of a young girl.
-No!!..No, No, No, No.......
He burst into hotter tears, falling to the floor.
-My baby, no.....
His whole body and mind would not react to anything else for twenty minutes.
He got up, went to his private cabinet, where he kept a gun. It was a Model 17 Masterpiece Smith and Wesson. He took it out of its box, and put the six inch barrel into his bouth. He couldn't taste the carbon steel, only the pain and the suffering mixed with tears and the bood that he sensed was leaving his body.If his daughter would not be on this world, he might not as well. They'd meet elsewhere, no kidnappers and no terrorists.
His phone rang again.He was ready to go into oblivion.The melody reminded him of his daughter, but he didn't loosen the grip on the pistol.The trigger was slightly moving, it would be just a split second till the bullett would carve its way into his brain, making a mess on the wall and floor.
The phone kept ringing. If he'd not answer it, his life would end. If he'd answer it, his life would never be the same......
He took the gun out of his mouth and put it in the box he took it from.He rushed to the other side of the office and picked up the phone.
-Hello.....

Stories from outside your window part 10 (Epilogue)

2009-08-29T01:58:00.000+02:00

INTRO.

The hospital was packed. The sudden explosion heard half hour back had been the result of a bomb planted at a mall. And hence it was saturday, the hospital personnel could expect lots of kids injured. Doctors running around, phones buzzing, ambulances blazing their sirens, trainees showing their skills and left-out patients formed a chaotic scenery inside the halls and outside the sanitary building.
The hospital had always been lacking any serious funds for beds and latest technology, now that was even more evident.
The blow of the explosion not only had scared her, but probably her fetus as well. She was pregnant, 5 months in, and had passed by her doctor for a check-up. Her husband must've been on his way, blocked in traffic. The shockwave that came with the loud bang had damaged the right wing of the facility, forcing her doctor to move her in the part of the hospital that was receiving the victims of the mall.
-I'm sorry Mary, but we're kind of busy, I'll be with you soon!..said the heavy-breathing doctor. He exited the room as fast as he had made his appearence.
The ambulances had been bringing lots of injured and corpses too. The morgue personnel were now attending patients. Bodies stacked on other bodies waited to be examined and autopsied. The cause of death was obvious, but law was law.The woman was getting impatient. She was aware she couldn't get out the hospital whistling. There'd be too much chaos on the streets, besides another bomb, thus another explosion, would be a certainty. Staying in the hospital was a much better idea. Soon, her room got ''flooded'' with hit-by-debris kids, burnt people, all yelling and screaming in a mutual language, but making it sound like Tower of Babel. Her doctor had returned to the room, trying to take care of as many people as possible, patching injuries and administrating drugs.
-I'll be with you in a moment, Mary! Hold on!
The blood on people's faces, hands or clothes had made her faint.
In the whole confusion and velocity of events, she finally had gotten her pregnancy shot, while she was still unconscious.With the same syringe the doctor had taken care of administrating fluid medicine to near-dying explosion victims.
She hadn't gotten the virus herself, but after giving birth, her son was diagnosed as HIV positive.
A life had ended before it had even begun. A future torn apart by something she didn't understand. An existence lost to posterity.
She had named him Jesus, she didn't know if he'd get to see his 33rd birthday, he was in God's hands now......

SIDE A.(The happenings)
1.
The man entered the doctor's office. He was in his forties, casual clothed. He shook the doctor's hand and got seated in the big patient's armchair.
-So, what is it doc? We've seen each other three days ago. What's the big news?
The doctor took a deep breath.
-Well, I don't know how to tell you this, but you ain't doing too well health-wise.....
The man stared at his doctor, slightly grinning.
-C'mon doc, tell me what it is. What? Prostate, infertility, what?
-You've got lung cancer, not curable. You won't die tomorrow, but you won't celebrate Christmas either. I'm sorry, I've double-checked the test results and there's nothing I can do...I'm sorry...
The doctor's tone was cold and hollow, giving the man chills down the spine. He got up, grin absent, not looking the doctor in the eye and left the office.Upon exiting the private clinic, his shaky fingers managed to lit a cigarette and he drove off.
It was pub-celebrating time that evening.

2.
They'd be here any minute. He hadn't much time. ''The first place I spot one, I'm getting it'' he thought. And there it was, on the shelf , in one of the small stores in the market of the neighborhood. He grabbed it quickly and straight to the cash register. The older man behind it had a strange aura about him.
-Don't do it, mate!
-Do what? he answered , scratching his head.
-You know what I mean, don't do it. It ain't worth it, mate.Just enjoy life as it's given to you.
The older man seemed even stranger now.
-I've no idea what you're talking about! Could I have my change, please?..
The older man handed over the money and the client's razor.
-Just remember, once started, you can't stop...
-Get a life, man! the client said as leaving the store. It was his birthday and he had one last surprise up his sleeve.

3.He was eagerly awaiting him. He had gotten the money, so now not only could he pay for another one, but he'd erase the debts with the ''House''.The Guy made his appearence.
-I hope you were not bullshitting!..
The teen handed him the envelope and said:
-That shit not only covers for the one today but you'll find some extra for the future. Whenever I call, you bring it, fair deal?
The Guy went through the bills quickly.
-Nice job. There! ...and he handed the precious bag.
-See ya!
-See ya!
They parted ways. They both got what they wanted.

4.The Vangelis tape he had put on was giving him good vibes, to say the least. Sun was shining, what more could he want? He hadn't spent a great night but today seemed like it would make up for it. Her image came to his mind.He was seeying her smiling, something she hadn't done in a long time, at least not in his presence. It felt like she'd appear in the middle of the road. Then, his eyes became blurry and couldn't distinguish traffic anymore.
His foot fell heavy on the acceleration pedal.

5.With tears in her eyes, she torn the pages of the notebook. Pages of sin, pages of herself being sold, pages of herself becoming less and less a person and more a mere object. She asked the hotel owner to erase her name from official listings. Nobody had to know she had been there.Nobody had to know what she had gone through. It was back to quiet-boring small town life, where she could pull herself together and start fresh again.Her parents would understand. She left the hotel in a hurry , never looking back.

6.His head was buzzing, his body was numb. And all he wanted was some appreciation from his companions, that he hadn't gotten. He went out the room into the big dancing hall. For anyone in a normal state it would have been almost defeaning, but for him it sounded like music to fall asleep to,soothing for his ears. It must've been the excitement of seeying so many people enjoying themselves in his club that had put a smile on his face.
Just a moment later he collapsed to the floor, nobody minding him. His night was over.

7.A tear fell down his cheek as he thought one more time about his family. It had happened so fast that he hadn't even enjoyed life as a father and a husband. He was only given a taste of it. And lots of people instead were giving up on it, not knowing what they could lose.
It had been getting dark, he arranged the piles of papers and cartons to make his sleep more enjoyable, at most.It was the last time he thought about his family. He soon was to re-join them.

8.-I'm gonna put this shit on Youtube, dawgs! one of them said looking at the footage on his camera.
-That pig deserved it, yo! If it wasn't us, next day it's be him doing one of us. We did a good for humanity.
-He was twitching like a fucking chicken with its head ripped off......
They started laughing. The Gran Torino was not to be driven by amateurs, and he was less than amateur. The colour red of the traffic lights seemed like the revenge of the red blood they had been spilling earlyer when they met their dead-end. There was no high-school tomorrow, there was no more walk-ability for one of them tomorrow, there was no more group tomorrow.
They had been sent to different prisons.

9.The slick-clothed old man picked up the phone.
-So, is it taken care of? Have you got them?
He paused, listening the other end's answer.
-Oh, good. Go back at his house and burn it to the ground. I don't want anything tying him to me, understood?
He put the phone down.
The day had been fruitfull for business, three organs meant 50-60 thousand altogether. One of his bodyguards whispered something in his ear. He listened carefully and he nodded.
-Yes, ok, bring him in.
The man that had entered the office saluted him and took a seat.
-I've been told that you could help me...
The older man didn't respond, taking time with his observation.
-It depends what kind of help you need. Nevertheless I'm sure I can do something for you in exchange of something else, of course...
The old man grinned. The shit was getting better and better.

SIDE B.(The conscience)

1.''I really can't remember the first time I've smoked. To tell you the truth, I don't think I want to. I haven't thought about getting it, I mean there's millions of bastards smoking out there and they ain't having it. I just had to get it.And that prick doctor of mine could've told me in advance. It wouldn't have mattered, but still the thought counts. What's left now? To smoke my lungs out till ain't nothing left of them, fuck it, maybe that way cancer will go away as well.''

2.''Look, I ain't trying to explain my choice. You can't feel my feelings, you can't live my life, therefor don't make any assumptions. Anyway I don't think you could fully understand unless you'd be in my shoes. I've made a decision and I'm sticking with it. No backing off anymore, otherwise I'll be regreting it in a few years from now, I'll be going crazy or some shit like that. There's nobody out there that can change my mind.''

3.''What would you do if you were me? If you'd have an unemployed mom, a dad that doesn't call, not even on birthdays and no people to support you. You wouldn't know what to answer, would you? Cause you all live in your little perfect worlds and you wouldn't want it any other way. You see, for me, it's the same. I'm escaping this reality for something better. Drugs offer me this chance to have it all and I'm taking it. Where I'm going on my ''trips'' ain't no poverty, ain't no ordinary life burden, it's just me having everything.''

4.a)''It was wrong not to pass by her. I should've gone to her and apologise. How hard could that be? Actually, fuck that, she never did apologise to me for cheating. I mean, she did, but I don't think she was sincere, or was her? I'll never know now, will I?''

b)'' How did we get here? We started as a happy couple, there was a chemistry between us. Now poof, it's gone! We keep fighting like we actually enjoy doing it. It's stupid. I should've apologised, it wouldn't have been the end of the world...tell him I stil love him.Now, he'll never know that, will he?''

5.''It wasn't supposed to happen. I ain't got no other words to reffer to the whole situation. My tears won't make me feel better. After the bruises are gone, I won't feel better. Yes, I can start fresh again, but that guy took a piece of me and there's no way I can have it back. Sold merchandise is not changeable. What a way to fuck up my life, huh?''

6.''I don't give a fuck about any of your opinions. I've got the money so I can do pretty much every-fucking-thing. Drugs-check, booze-check, orgies-check. Now, go get yourself a job and stop babbling about my shit.''

7.'' Yes, I still think about them. Because I couldn't see me without them. I just couldn't have a house and a family. That's why I chose the life I've got. Besides, what does it mean to have a house. Does it make one stronger or a better person? I don't think so. Does a car transform one in a superhuman, I'd say no. People tend to take that too seriously. Without someone to share those with, they don't mean anything. And I didn't want to be like those people. If I'll be here tomorrow, I don't know , but I don't mind, it's ok.But do you?''

8.''It's survival of the fittest, niggaz. These muthafuckaz out there have got gunz and gangz, we've got to act up, nah mean? It was either us or him. And a dead nigger is always better than us dead. say what you will. This ain't racism, it's just our truth. They don't deserve to be here in the first place, fuck them, back to the sugar canes plantations, niggers!''

9.''This is the last chance I've got. Either this or it's dead end. It's been dead end for me all these years, I don't want my kids to have to deal with the same life as mine. I'd rather give my life for a brighter future for them.''

SIDE C.( The meeting)
They all woke up in one room. A blank white room, no windows, no doors, no lights, just plain white. Him in the centre, them around Him, forming a circle, seated, looking at one another. It was their first time they's see each other, and probably the last as well.
They wanted to shout and scream and speak, but they couldn't. Silence fell over the room. He looked everybody in the eye and spoke.
-The reason I've brought you here is simple. You're all been given lives, but at one point or another you've started to lose control over them. You've taken them for granted.Either that it's auto-destruction in Matt's case, or just something ricocheting from other people's lives, as Johhny here. But I'm giving you the opportunity to have another life. And this is how it's gonna work: you'll be sent back with another identity which you'll live until you've realised the mistakes you've done in your past existence. But don't haste yourselves, you've only got one life, treasure it. I can't choose for you, nor I can make you do something against your wills, but be aware you're given this opportunity, whomever doesn't take advantage of it will suffer its own mistakes again. Don't forget I'm always watching, in case of need you know where to find me: inside yourselves. There can be good from bad and vice-versa, the important thing is how you dosage those two elements within yourselves. And ask your hearts more often than your minds. Sometimes the answers are hidden, but that doesn't mean you can't find them. My friends, I'll be leaving you. I know it's gonna be hard, but you'll make it. Now, go to sleep!...
He waved His hand upon them and they went into a trance-like state of mind, only to wake up being them again.

His ashtray was almost full. He kept staring at it as if it gotten a spell over him. He had gotten a day off from work, he needed to think this well. He saw himself in the doctor's office receiving the news. ''Nah,I don't need this.'' The last couple of cigarettes in his packet were ''inviting'' him for another smoke. He took them and straight to the trashbin.

He had just finished to write the second note. The reflection in the razor didn't show himself anymore. He put it away. ''I don't need this.'' A few minutes later, his mom and the other birthday guests bursted into his room. He didn't have any surprise for them anymore, but him, nor them minded much.

He was looking at the purse. His aunt in the kitchen, talking on the phone. His craving for the much sought-after dose was increasing, but at the same time he looked at the other side of the coin, his young cousin being sick in the hospital.''I don't need this.'' When his aunt returned to the livingroom with the tea pot and cups he asked if he could come along to visit his cousin. No meeting would take place anymore, his pusher would have to trick somebody else, he wasn't gonna be a puppet anymore.

He hadn't had his drinks yet. Sitting at the bar he ordered just a coffee, drank it in a blink of an eye and made for the appartment. She'd sleep still, but it'd be worth it. On his way home, his eyes kept falling on empty beer bottles, broken on the streets. ''I don't need this.'' At home he finally apologised and made love to her in a long time. Things were going for the better.

She was outside the hotel, on the sidewalk, looking up at her rented room window. It was that hour and someone had entered her room,turned the lights on , making noises and breaking furniture. ''I don't need this..not this time.'' She had taken all her stuff in advance. Time to stop by her parents.

As the car was leaving behind the residential area, he stopped.
-What now? his friend asked.
-Get out!
-What?
-Get out I said! Actually I've got a better idea........ He got out himself, looking around and spoke.
-I ain't coming tonight anymore. You take care of Tina. I've got to do something, I'm sorry....Scratch that, I'm not.
-What's wrong with you, bro? You high or something?
But he didn't speak anymore, turning his face away from him.He started to walk up the street as his friend continued the road to the party venue. He could see parts of the city, the lights of the households or business' offices turned off one by one. ''I don't need this.'' When he got to the villa it was 5 in the morning and he used his parent's entrance.

He went to sleep. He didn't want to change anything. He'd see his wife and kid if he'd do this. but it didn't feel right. He could still do a lot with his life till then. ''I don't need this, now.'' He woke up and took a walk in the park he'd been in when sun was up. As he returned his ''place'' was burnt down, but he had another reason to go on with his life. Somebody up there was still looking after him.

The four friends met at their rendez-vous spot. They looked at each-other.
-Should we do this? one asked.
-Yes, we should, we don't need any of this.... the others agreed.
They threw the knife, the baseball bat and camera away and just sat down talking about how it would be the first day of high-school.

He looked at his sleeping kids, having to choose between a not-certain future for them or no future at all.''I'll take my chances, I don't need this.'' He never got to see the Boss' office, instead he spent the day looking for a job. Maybe luck would turn its face onto him this time.

They got together again in the same all-white room. He spoke to them.
-I'm proud of you all. Just don't give up on yourselves like the first times. You don't want to become this...
And he showed them dirt in his left hand.
-Be this!....he blew off some white feathers from his right hand.
-Now, take each-other's hands and remember this moment, remember me, for I won't be here for much longer.
He fell silent as all 12 formed a circle around Him, holding hands, forming one soul altogether.

OUTRO

The hospital room was dark, filled with damp air, drapes were closed. It felt like a grave, just medical machines bleeping made an eerie sound collage.His mom entered the room and turned on the switch. His dad had long time died. He woke up, opening his eyes, trying to smile when he saw his mom. The next day he'd be 33 yo, yet he knew he'd not make it.
-So, how's my fighter? the mom asked.
She looked worried but at peace at the same time. His words felt heavy, but he tried to speak nevertheless.
-I had a dream.....There were lots of people in it and I saved them from their fate . I gave them their lives again.
He started coughing. The IV's pumped medicine into his weak body, there was an apparatus helping his breathing and another one keeping his heartbeat rate in check.
-Easy son, don't force yourself.
He was struggling to keep his voice. His mom took both his hands into hers.
-I saved them...
-Yes son, you did...You rest a bit more, I'll go get some lunch.
She kissed him on the forehead. He smiled.
-I love you!
-I love you too, mom!
She went out the room, merely to catch her breath and let the river of tears flow freely on the red flamy cheeks.With her back against the door she could hear the flat-line signal of the machines that were partly responsible with keeping her son's life prolongued.
He hadn't gotten to see his 33rd birthday. He was dead physically for the world.
But the people in his dream were real, not the product of his imagination. He had saved them. He had given them new chances to do good out of bad, to start fresh again, to live their lives and not just follow a line.
And now he was living inside each one of them.Forever....

Peace and blessings,
Tuemckey

Stories from outside your window (Christmas special)

2009-08-29T01:57:00.000+02:00

It hadn't snowed in four days, but the amount of white flakes from previous days was enough to cover up the ground for a few centimeters in a white blanket.If it hadn't been snowing , the month would seem like it's lost its warm festivity family get-together atmosphere that was supposed to bring.But it wasn't like that for everyone. The nicely town centre with its thousand and one marvellous colours would not be seen by them. The dozens of people wearing Santa hats and smiling would not be them.They wouldn't be part of the shopping oppulence in shopping malls. The '' help your next'' Christmas spirit would not reach them. But who were they?

They couldn't remember for how long they'd lived at the outskirts of the city. This part of the neighborhood was the last remaining spot to be getting electricity, but they couldn't even enjoy that, hence not having money to pay the bills. Hot water would come and go as it pleased the mayor. They were both unemployed and the little amount of cash gotten from the State as a supposed help for families in need would scarcely suffice for buying minimal groceries. They had two kids, one of 6 and the other one four years old. It would be a year till the oldest's time to go to school, but the chances of it happening were less than becoming millionaires olaying the Lotto.

Most of the neighborhood looked ripped off of a Middle Ages village and put in modern days times, and its inhabitants were ''keen'' on ''preserving'' the looks of it all.
Infants were playing outside in the snow. Putting up together snowmen or just mere snow-fighting. At least that took hunger off their mind.''Give the kids a toy to play with and they'll forget about everything else, may it be pain, poverty, food or the fact that the clothes they had on would not be changed with anything new this year neither''. That was pretty much summoning the parents' thoughts as they were looking at their offsprings from the appartment.

Normally, when one thinks of Christmas, he\she gets the visuals of laughter\smiling, glasses being filled with good wine and plates with unlimited variety of food. In one word :plentyness. These people's kitchens looked dark, and not just because they lacked light, sad and heavy, as if the ceiling would fall in any minute, unnoticed. There was an old fridge, rusty and empty, and an old oven and a small cupboard containing the less expensive groceries products they could find. This year was bound to be Christmas-less, just like in the past. There was no way they could pull it off with a nice meal. Potatoes and rice, just the usual.
Even though the kids had never seen\met or been given presents from Santa, they were eagerly awaiting him.''You can never know when he'll pop up. Believe he'll arrive and he really will.'' Thta's what the parents were telling them over and over again, after they'd remain empty-handed waiting for their presents. Their clothes looked older than them, and indeed they were.

Evening came and they went into the house. Clothes were soaked up from the snow, their mom hung them above the weak oven fire to get them dry.They were sitting in the cramped bedroom-turned-livingroom watching a black & white tv when their mom shouted ''Dinner's ready!''. They could only imagine the colours and the lights and the joy of kids and grown-ups likewise breathing and living Christmas onto the screen.
The meal looked and tasted like any other meal they had before. It was no special surprise like their parents had promised. But how could they tell them the truth about not having money, about not getting helped by no one, about feeling left out by the rest of the world. They couldn't, the kids wouldn't understand. And maybe the parents hoped and thought themselves of a miracle, in a sense. But it wouldn't arrive. They were like a deserted island in the middle of a clear-blue, full of fish ocean.
The meal had ended. It was time for them to go to bed and say their prayer. They kneeled in front of the only bed they had, crossed their fingers and began : ''Dear Lord, keep us and our parents healthy, make us do good deeds and protect us from evil.''
''And tell Santa to pass by our home tonight.'' the little one added.
They jumped into bed, tucked under the heavy blankets by the parents and given a bretzel each. Those were like sweets for them. They started munching on them, eyes open, thinking about Santa. He hadn't arrived this year neither. He had forgotten about them again. They fell asleep with tears in their eyes.

On the other side of the city, family gathered, songs were sung, stomachs were filled, presents were given. happyness was in the air, and everybody thought ''Oh, it's so swell it's Christmas time and we're so generous to each other!''
But no one thought about anybody else outside their own family.

It had started snowing again, making everything shine in the city's outskirts darkness.There was no laughter to be heard here, no gifts unwrapping, no carols, no Christmas....
Santa Clause had been passing elsewhere, but he hadn't brought anything to them.....

Merry Christmas!!!!????????

Stories from outside your window part 9

2009-08-29T01:56:00.000+02:00

The room he was ushered in seemed pretty small from the inside.Two wooden libraries stacked with books and photo frames gave an almost claustrophobic feel to it. In front of him a man in his sixties, guarded by two solid, but not excessively large men, sitting behind what it seemed to be a brand-new desk, hence it was clear it was not a piece of the same furniture the libraries were part of.
He got seated in front of the elderly man, greated him and spoke.
-I was told you could help me...
The slick-clothed, jewelry-clad, bald-going man took his time responding, instead prefering to keep eye contact and measure the young man that had just entered his office.
-Well, it depends what kind of help you need...
His tone was calm, yet menacing. It wasn't easy for one to actually ask a favor face to face from him. The younger man could barely control his fingers from shaking and heart-beats. He could almost hear it pounding in his chest, going faster and faster.
-Michael's been telling me about your case and I'm saying yes. But be aware, this is no game, I'm not your friend and most important you can't back out once it's begun.
He paused for a bit.
-I'll give you 5000....
-5000? the young man almost yelled at him.Michael told me at least 8000.I ain't doing it for less than 8.
-Listen son, you've come to me for MY help, thus you're in no fucking position to negociate this shit. Actually, fuck it, maybe I'll put one of my men to whack you on the spot, how about that??!!
His calm tone dissapeared, he was in angry-mode now, sounding like a beast ready to tear the young man in two.
-Go home and have some rest, I'll talk to Michael today, settle everything with him and he'll get to you tomorrow. Now, fuck off!
The young man excused himself, got out of the room and went home. His heart beats were forming a very loud orchestra in his mind now.

He had two infant twins. His wife had died giving birth to them. Left with no help whatsoever, just depending on a small welfare, every day was a struggle. For food, diapers, medicine.He was 26 yo, but he could already count the grey hairs.
Once he arrived home, he prepared some milk for the kids and ''debated'' on the idea of selling one of his kidneys for money. He had no other choice.Either that to make ends meet and maybe move out of town or give his sons to an orphanage and him become a pusher or a bum. He couldn't get a job, didn't have any qualifications, besides the whole ''economy'' was run by the man he had seen earlyer in the office.The ''shark'' of the town. No connections meant no job meant no money meant no life. And he had planned a half-decent life for his kids, if for him was not available.
The second day Michael gave him all the info on how things will have to go down and assured him that everything will be fine and that the Boss keeps memory of people that work with him, and who knows maybe he'll be put on a job-list.
The day the operation was taking place turned out grey and rainy, just like his state of mind. The Boss had supposedly called his personal doctor to carry out the proceedings in the small and poor town hospital. He had agreed to pay his hospital bills after the surgery, whilst the Boss would handle the doctor's fee and anestethics.
The kidney-removal had begun.The supposed-to-be expert surgeon was just a young trainee, doing all he was capable of. Everything by the book. Nevertheless , the anestethics dosage had been too much for the patient to cope, thus his heart went into cardiac arrest. The doctor had removed both the kidneys and liver by the time the Boss had sent word not to spare the young man's life.
On the black market each organ would cost roughly 15 to 30 thousand, depending on demand. It was good business and it was growing bigger and bigger, the people were no problem to find.
The Boss' men sealed the organs, dated the containers and sent them away. The young man lying on the surgery table, butchered, cuts still open, got sent to the incinerator. They hadn't even payed him in advance.

His kids would be crying by now. He had locked the door.A week back he had thought things were going for the better, now it was clear that was not the case.
He had wanted to sell his kidney for his kids, but in fact he had sold the chance for his kids to have a decent life........

Stories from outside your window part 8

2009-08-29T01:53:00.000+02:00

The four friends met at their rendez-vous spot. Exchanged handshakes and back pats. They had known each other for several years years now and formed their own group . It was their last day together and they had decided to spend it as a collective memory setup, something they could all talk about yaers after. They had the same age and more or less the same interests, music and movie wise. Other than that, they shared this peculiar form of violence.
-So, what are we gonna do tonight? one of them asked, looking the other three in the eyes.
-Well, drinking comes out of the ecuation. That shit is overrated, my niggas.
They weren't black , but they acted, talked and dressed like the stereotypical ghetto guy that hip hop videos create into one's mind.
-We've got to act up! Do some crazy shit, we might not see each other from tomorrow on. I mean we'll do, but shit, not like up until now.I'll be here, Mark and Jonesy will be sent to the other neighborhood and by the time we know it, we won't even remember our phone numbers. And that is fucked-up, my niggas.
-Word! the others reacted.
-Have you got the camera? the first one named Phill asked George, the one that had gathered them all.
-Yeah, dawg! Fo' sho'! And he took it out his baggies, showing it to the rest of the gang.
-I got it from this asshole that asked fifty bucks for it. I put my knife under his balls, he let go of his wallet plus the camera. Can you believe the prick? 50 bucks!? Fucking jerk!
They all started to laugh. They decided to move on and on the way they'd find something worth of rising their adrenaline to wanted level. They looked like a rip-off version of Alex and his droogs, all hungry to whoop some ass.
Firstly they broke a window of a electronics store. Didn't want to take anything from inside, just make some noise and some rumble. By the time they had gotten to the second and third stores trashed it had already gotten midnight.. The boys needed another kind of excitement. This was just a warm-up. They reached a deserted car-wash where inspiration struck them. They had a marvellous plan to have fun. After several attemps, George stopped a car.The only lights around were the traffic ones, the streets and surroundings looking eerie in the dark.
-Help me please, sir, my friend is hurt.He got hit by a car.We've got to get him to a hospital.
-What?.....the guy behind the wheel tried to ask back.But it was too late to get anything figured out.The street was poorly-lit, to say at most.As soon as the driver got out the car, Phill came swiftly behind him, kicking him with a baseball bat. The guy fell on the floor, gasping for air. The other two jumped on his back, holding him, George took out his knife pointing it to the driver's throat.The man was black, the adventure of the four could have not been better.
-Listen up, you piece of shit. Either you do as we say or you'll see your blood sprayed all over this goddamn nice Grand Torino.
The driver nodded.
-Now, get behind the wheel and get us to the old Billie's warehouse.

All five of them jumped in the car.George was still holding the knife at the black guy's throat from the back seat.
-Don't go too fast or too slow, nigger. Don't do stupid shit, don't fuck this up.
The driver was sweating like a pig. It was around 28 degrees C, but one could not close its eyes in front of the situation he was in as a major key pawn in his heavy perspiration. They reached the warehouse.
It was an abandoned site, one of the many closed facilities that lost its labouring hands to robots and production lines when the big economic boom had hit the city.
One could easily mistake it for a haunted site, hence it looked like witches and demons would call it a proper home.
They tied him to a water tube, stripping him waist up. Pointing three flashlights into the black guy's face, they created a blinding envrironment for them to consume thir sadic violence thirst. On the other hand, their faces were impossible to make out in the dark.They started kicking the blck man, punching him, taking turns. Each blow was stronger, faster, more violent than the previous ones.
-You niggers, you reek like shit even after taking a shower...Do you want to take a shower now, nigger? asked Jonesy.
But the black guy barely could lift his head and keep his eyes open, much less responding.
George, the knife expert, then started to carv lines with the blade into their ''fun mascot for the night''s flesh.
The whole torture had taken more than 40 minutes to perform and had left the hungry-fo-blood pack exhausted, their victim with all his ribs broken, one kneecap squashed by the baseball bat, twitching violently in his last stages of life. A prisoner at Guantanamo would've blushed seeying the bruises on the young man's crippled body. It was time for the next step.
-Mark, start recording this shit, dawg....said Jonesy.It's going down...
Phill took the knife from George asking if he was allowed to have the pleasure.
-For you nigga, everything, do us proud! screamed George.
With a swift move of his arm, the blade cut thick into the victim's jugular.
-This is how we used to kill pigs at my grandpa's time. Die pig-nigger, die! was yelling Phill triumphantly.
The black man could not hear him anymore, he was dead, not only his body tortured, but the look on his face too.

The young jackals had graduated from Junior KKK to full-time Charles Manson's followers.
They turned off the flashlights and left the warehouse,the black man still tied to the water tube, blood dripping from his throat. They jumped in the car and drove off.
None was really a driver, but Phill took out the spot, he had learned a bit from his alcoholic dad when he used to work at a garage.The awainting next day was the one that had led them to get together for fun session. They were only 15 and going to highschool, different ones.
Not having much experience with handling a steering wheel, Phill had crashed into another car, when traffic lights were red. The next day, they were brought to a hospital, all being in grave conditons, Jonesy being serious wounded, not able to walk anymore from the hit he had taken to his spine. A correctional facility was awaiting them all, as soon as the injuries had been cured and they had gotten out of the hospital.
It was the first day of highschool, but the bells didn't ring for them.....

Melancholy aka The last days of summer(dedicated to Moromete, written today 28th August)

2009-08-29T01:43:00.000+02:00

Birds fly south and trees shed skin
the flowers die and the leaves fly
to another world, away from pain and sin
where children play in the fields of rye

the painting of it all looks dark and grey
people are covering their bodies more and more
although it's still sunny and everything's ok
we feel the warmth of summer, but we're cold at the core

we're waiting for a new cycle to arrive
winter will pass and leave its heavy print
only for our hearts to blossom and to thrive
summer will return, for now it's gone with the wind.

T.

A poem written on August 24th....

2009-08-29T01:38:00.000+02:00

that goes like this..........

Every second of your life that slips away
every smile lost to eternity, every word you didn't say
every thought you didn't put to work
every chance you didn't take in consideration
every decision that you'll have to take when you get to the fork
in the road, this is my cry for liberation.
This is my joy, my pride, my pain, my sorrow
my youth, my death, my hope to see tomorrow
the hope to be still here and breathe fresh air
to see waves caress your skin while in the sea
the sun sends out a warning but we don't care
our mouths are shut, we look but we don't see.

Bless,
T.

People-tagging

2009-08-23T02:35:00.000+02:00

Did you have any of those days when you get back home and you can't but think at a certain glare, stare, remark that anyone has made to you just cause you've talked in a certain way, walked out of fashion, acted out or plain wore something inadequate? That, boys and girls, is stereotyping.Or, as I like to call it myself, people-tagging, as in people with tags attached to themselves.I don't mean the eye visible ones, but there are folks out there that carry these tags(burdens) cause you can sense it.Most of the cases a tagging process takes place due to one's belonging to a comunity e.g. black, hispanic or any other, for that matter. And why do we stereotype people? Cause we can't accept the truth bout them!Cause it'e easyer to just pass someone and not ask questions. We, as humans, like to keep things as simple as possible.Handshakes, saying hi and we're done with the conversation. We don't want to dwelve deeper into anyone's life, habits , personality, thus it comes off a smoother path to just label persons we don't know, rather than taking the time to do so.
Maybe there's a black guy out there that wants to be a lawyer or wants to be into politics, that hasn't got the time to play basketball and whatnot, but we'll always see him around with baggies, in a lowrider, pumping that hip hop sound. Maybe a Chinese guy is an IT expert and dedicates his time to invent new software, instead of copying everything else and put another name on it and sell it as cheap as possible. Maybe not all Italians are mafia men, maybe not all Romanians are gypsies, maybe not all Russians are constantly drunk on vodka. These are just some examples on how we want, and like , to see the world.
It's in our mentality, a mentality that ourselves have created and that won't be easy to tear down and build from scratch again. We'll just have to live on carrying these tags around our necks, waiting for our turn to be displayed in the windows so that the world can exercise its stereotype-thinking on each and one of us.
You'll have to excuse me for now, I've just been labeled as a beer-drinker while writing and apparently the lager's waiting. I'll have to comply, otherwise who knows what else they might label me.
From this other side of the bottle, over and out(for now).
T.

Chris's ideas...

2009-08-17T11:25:00.000+02:00

During my sea hours yesterday, between a lager and another lager, I got caught in a small conversation with one of my mates, Chris about junkies and their role in society. Well, you see, they have none....I admit, they're still souls and they're still like us, to a certain extent, but bloody hell we, the others, don't have to drug ourselves to get by. Recently I've tried to put myself in drug addicts shoes, how does one think, what does one do to get a dose and , although I've come up with a few conclusions, I still can't figure out the mechanism that's triggered in their minds that tells them ''do drugs, do drugs!''. And to come back to my first idea, they have no role in society. Granted, they do keep alive this multi-national billion dollars drug industry that the whole world is living on and from, but still, to us non-addicts, they're useless.
So, ok, we take them off the streets, we pay their rehabilitation, but the thing is, they'll never get off drugs once they're released. ''Go on,be a good boy, don't do any drugs, cause we've no more spare beds here, mate''. Can you see that happen? Cause I can see the junkie grinning back at the doctor that got him out the drug circle in the first place, pointing the finger at him saying ''you ain't my dad, I had none anyhow, he was a fuckiiinnnn drug addict, that prick!'' and off to the first dose.
Instead of that happening, why don't they build these centers that , once they take the drugs out, teach them how to work and keep their minds free and hands busy.I'm talking bout doing something , giving back to society....
In case that doesn't work why not use them as lab rats.Oohhh...harsh term, innit? Like I couldn't care less....Why do they keep experimenting on animals and such when you've got the perfect subjects out there. Think of all the supposed cures for cancer and AIDS and the likes these junkies might help find, if only they could be part of experiments.And nobody would look at them like no-gooders and despicable, less-than-human persons. If they've chosen to throw away their lives, we might as well use them a bit till they finish with their plans. Don't you think?

I'm off to refresh myself with a lager, cause I'm quite addicted to it.
Cheers to Chris for pointing out the ideas.
T.

Stories from outside your window part 7

2009-08-17T11:19:00.000+02:00

His days were pretty much the same to everybody but him.He found so many details differentiating one day from another, he just had to smile when people asked him ''That's all you do?''
.His schedule was pretty simple if one would sum it up : waking up whenever mood struck him, washing up, getting something to eat and just enjoy the day for all its flaws or good things it brought.
Washing up wasn't an impossible thing to do, hence he had a small fountain near the place he slept, where he rudimentary brushed his teeth using salt as toothpaste and his finger as brush. Besides, the friendly-looking, proud beer-belly owner, proprietor of a bar a couple blocks away where he spent most of his time, allowed him to take a shower every once in a while in the personnel private toilet.
With food, that was something else. He didn't eat every day. That was luxury. The nearest social centre was three miles away and it was taking him a lot on foot.
Plus, the centre had its hours for breakfast and lunch or dinner and counted seats.It could not fit more people than the seats at tables.He sometimes was left out, hence everybody else was always pushing to get in.He was about 60 years old, grey haired, not fat but not thin either, his constantly red cheeks showed he wasn't lacking health either.
He was going to the park. He liked hanging out there. He had taken his lunch. There wasn't much hassle to get in today. The sun was shining bright, a typical May day.He got seated at a bench.The park looked quiet and relaxed, just the thing he needed and liked. There were kids trying the swings or playing different games, watched closely by the more and more impatient mothers.
He was contemplating on his life.
The life of others. His connection with the outer world. He was living in a world of his own. There were no material values for him, no schedule,just a simple and easy life, the way he thought it should be in the first place. He liked contemplating. Besides he didn't have much to do anyway. He used to have a family , a job, a home, a safe living, but it all had ended when he had lost his wife and infant in a fire.
He had fallen into a depression soon afterwards and even though he had managed to break free from his memories and past, he could never start a new family again. Jobs came and went, houses likewise till one point where he gave it all away for a simple existence.All that he had made after his depression had gone to various environmental groups and drug-free associations.

He had felt that was the way to break himself free of what he was calling now outer-world.He looked at the mothers minding their offsprings.
Their faces and constant watch-checks made think think they were the career type-the ones that'd leave their kids with so-called babysitters and get along with their business rather than spend some actual time with them and try to teach them or create a special environment for their kids to grow in. And the kids looked like they'd seen a green space and breathed fresh air for the first time in their lives. SUV's were waiting the moms-kids convoy that soon took its departure.He was left almost alone in the park, sharing its thoughts with just a few pensionates that were reading newspapers.
He was thinking about people. People that he never gotten to be. Yet he could relate to them from his imagination.People that cared more about going out to dinner than looking after their kids. People that wore brand clothes but ate at McDonald's just to show off.
People that payed 15 thousand euros on a watch or jewelry whilst the same amount would feed hundreds.
People that buyed luxury magazines but couldn't afford going on holidays, or visiting 5 star hotels or buying a yacht. Just the thought of these kinds of people drooling over mate pages of colorful photos in magazines made him annoyed.
He wasn't part of the group, nor he wanted to be. His once tragic fate and now simple life were more than enough. Actually he was thankful for not having much nowadays, cause the more one had, the more one wanted.
He considered himself blessed that life hadn't given up on him all these years.Hours passed. It was time for him to get going. He left the park, shaking his numb limbs, taking deep breaths.On his way to his carton-based lair, he met some fellow street-sleepers with whom he chatted more time. Every one of them had a storyto tell, may it be a personal one or just something they might've witnessed during the day
.Some stories veered into nonsense terittory, but it was beter having a laugh or a discussion rather than scrapping through litter for a rotten banana or thrown-away sandwich. And these examples were top-A suppers.He reached his ''home''.
Newspapers topping cartons topping rags topping garbage.
If one would have to describe his resting place in a few words. Dark had put its hand onto day, he didn't know the time, nor did he want to.He put a jacket on cause night might turn tricky and sometimes rainy and said a prayer.
The pillow made of ripped clothes looked the least uncomfortable but this wasn't a spa.
He fell asleep, heavily snoring.
Never to wake up again the next morning. During the night someone had thrown a halfway-finished cigarette next to his piles of papers, creating a spark of fire that soon spread cause of the abundancy of fire-friendly material.
He hadn't even made in time to wake up to save himself.
And all this time he hadn't given up on his life, nevertheless the lows he had been going through. But now life had a vengeance, life had given up on him.....

Stories from outside your window part 6

2009-08-17T11:00:00.000+02:00

He woke up with a terrible hangover. His whole body felling dizzy and beaten. He looked at his Rolex, it showed half past one in the afternoon, too early for him to actually rise up and start the day. He looked around to see where she was.
He remembered bringing back a girl to his place the previous night, but she wasn't in his bed anymore. If she ever gotten there in the first place. ''She did'' he thought. ''There's nobody resisting me''.
He went back to sleep, drowning his face in the pillow. He tried to ignore the sun outside, but at one point he opened his eyes again.
-Shit, I hate this!
He decided to actually get out of bed. He'd been partying all night long till six in the morning. two in the afternoon was no regular hour for him to wake up.More like 5 in the evening, like vampires.
He was a ''vampire'', he barely went out during the day...night was his thing.
He got out of bed, put some slippers on his feet, took a cold shower and then turned on the tv. Lit himself a cigarette. His room looked like a teen's room, although he was 21 years of age, he liked to cling onto his teens a bit longer.
The house the room was part of was a different thing altogether.
It stood on a hill overlooking the city, had a magnificent garden, a pool and one basketball court, amongst other things. Spanish tiles, the finest parquet and esquisite tapestry found their place in the villa.
The neighbors, few and quite rich themselves, were calling the house ''Eden mansion'', hence it lacked nothing that anyone would need, like, want at any point in life.
As he was skipping through international channels on his larger-than-life tv ensemble, he made an order to a pizza company and got himself a peperoni-topped pizza, with extra cheese. Finished two cans of Coke light till delivery time and called his best friend and party asscociate.
-Ey Brad, it's me. Aw, shit man, my head is killing me...
-Tell me about it. Like I wasn't there..
-I know man, but shit..This time we banged it too hard.
-What the fuck' wrong with you? Are you ok, Matt? That weed's gotten to you that much..?!
-Just kidding, asshole. Just kidding. Listen, tonight we're off to Crises and then to ''The Hyve'', all right? It's friday baby, let's celebrate. Call Tina to gather up the girls, it's gonna be a night we won't forget!! Pick you up at your place , normal time....
He put the phone down. The pizza had arrived. He hadn't much to do in his days off. It can't be said he had working and free days. they were all lokk-alikes. His parents were filthy rich, his dad owning a major oil refinery corporation, making him ''The Boss'' in town. His properties ranged from restaurants and bars to shoe-stores and such. And all he had to do was learn how to run his dad's business, one day he'd take over.
All his life, up till now, had been filled with personal trainers, teachers, nutritionists, stylists. He could barely wipe his own ass, for that matter.
His parents were out of town for holiday. Gone to a God-forsaken island in the Aegean Sea, Europe. He either didn't remember the name or couldn't pronounce it. He's barely see his folks anyhow, they both would be out of town or in town handling the family's numerous business'. He had his own entrance in the house, as well did mom & dad , and they'd never, not even accidentally, switch entrances.
Ironically, sometimes they'd correspond through e-mail to let each other know how things were going.
He kept watching tv all day long till seven pm. He took another shower and started to prep up. usually it would take him an hour or so to choose his clothes, shoes and hairstyle. He blamed girls for taking too long for make-up, but he wasn't minding himself.
-Damn, I look good. You look good , Matt! he said while looking at his reflection.
It was more than just a narcisist feeling about him.
''This is a night to remember'', he told himself.''I'm immortal!'' was his last scream as he left the house, jumped in his brand-new Lexus convertible and hit the road to his partner in party, Brad.
All of his companions or acquantainces came from similar familie or background as his.
Brad was no exception. The persons he'd go out with were either the sons, daughter, nephews or nieces of Board directors at his dad's enterprise, or just associates' next of kins.
He arrived at Brad's home. He horned a few times till his friend came out, running to the car. He got in, they shok hands.
They had a special handshake, just like brothers, they'd knowed each other since gymnasium.
-You're a bit late, Bradie, my boy, he pointed out at the watch.
-I know....he said. I was watching Heroes , man.
-Goddamn, you gotta stop with that shit....!I'm really thinking of breaking up with you if you keep watching that tripe.....
Both bursted into laughter. They hit the road, leaving the residential hill behind, overlooking the city. The evening was warm and rather breezy.
It had been just one day since the last party, but the week-end was here, and that meant things were handled with even more enthusiasm and energy than normal week days.
-So, is Tina coming or what? he asked.
His friend had rolled a blunt in the meantime.He let smoke out of his mouth, then answered.
-Course she's coming, bro!
-I've been waiting to tap that ass for ages...
-Ages? You've known her for two weeks, what the fuck...?
-Shut the fuck up and pass me the joint.
They started laughing again.The evening had that feel-good vibe all over it.
It was nine-ish when they got to Crises. It was amongst the most fashionable lounge bars in town, and most likely the most expensive one.
The girl crown had not arrived yet.They took a seven person couch and ordered their drinks.No beer or whisky.
Those were for the ignorant peasants.
They were special, and had their own cocktails, made off ingredients they'd ask. ''This is the shit'', ''Crystal pearl'', ''Blonde at one o'clock'', ''Move that ass, bitch'', Blowjob on the beach''. The names came as various as the drinks that bore them.
As soon as the girls arrived, punchlines would start flying around.
-What the fuck took you so long?What did you do, stop by a porno casting?
The girls were clothed slutty enough for him to make his remark sting more.
-Matt, this is the last time I'm going out with you. You're too fucking pushy! she replied
-Pushy? Me? Just cause I want you on fucking time doesn't mean I'm pushy...
-Matt, calm down, bro!You know how hoes are...
Brad tried to calm down the spirits, it would always be like that, a fire-backed start of an evening meant the night would be superb.
-Listen, why don't you enjoy your drink and order me one, and make space on the couch! she said.
He had kept a seat next to him for her. It wasn't a crush or even more than that, but he liked to have another name on his conquests' list. And she would rank top five.He was aware of the fact that although he didn't lack the looks, girls always went to bed with him or hung around him for his money instead. He didn't mind, he'd do the same.
''You can never have too much of them and say stop!'', he thought.The converstaion they were having didn't include any major topics. It was mostly the girls talking about latest fashion, shoes or perfumes, whilst the guys would just listen and scarcely nod.The group had a few rounds.
It was time to move on the main event : The Hyve.

The club the whole city was trying to get into, may it be Dom Perignon sippers or just plain brew-drinkers.
The club was infamous for its outrageous dancers, world-famous guest dj's, electronic acts and VIP rooms. It could happen everything in there, no man's land. That was the club's policy concerning the VIPs. Nobody could touch nobody in there. And the cherry on top was its owner. In official papers Matt was the full beneficiary, though its dad's company hold the major percentage of the venue.
-The king has left the building! Matt said as they waved bye to the bar's personnel.
He had called a limo so they could all fit in. He left his car in a parking lot earlyer, before the girls had arrived.
Chilled champagne welcomed them in the leather-clad luxurious interior of the limo.
-To us and tonight! he said.
Raised his cup and all cheered. It was a night to remember.His club boasted the usual mile-long que outside its premises.
All kind of sport cars or expensive SUVs left no space on the driveway. It was week-end and the city knew it.
They went in easyer than a knife cutting through butter . There were any strange looks to be found, the clubbers knew the slightest raised eyebrow would get them out the line. And if they wouldn't want to willingly, the big gorilla-looking security dudes might help solve the problem.They went straight to their own VIP room. Bigger than all others, it had its own bar, toilet, table, personal bartender and dj and three huge tv screens with different psychedelic images rolling on.
They got comfy in their large armchairs, everyone being armed with a drink. The night was all laughter mixed with high-alcohol and weed. The bartender would have to open the door to let the smoke out, hence he couldn't see the drinks he was mixing.
He was kissing Tina, keeping her close to himself like they'd been fiancees for ages. He wanted something, but she wasn't giving it without a ''reward''.
-Ey Brad, go get some dancers here. I wanna see some action going on
.-Ah, come on, man, we've got the girls here...
-Just fucking do it!
That sounded like an order rather than a favour being asked.Brad got out the room. The club was packed.
One could barely have space to drop a needle. Sweaty bodies, ones half-drunk, others half-high, or maybe both, dancing to the same boom-boom-boom repetitive techno beat.That made quite an impact on the clubbers' minds , if Ecstasy or Lsd, or any pill they'd take, wouldn't.
He picked three girls dancers which he thought were best for the job and brought them to the room.
For them it was better than getting a raise or getting days off. They'd show off their skills to the main man now.
Matt had gone to the toilet. He looked into the mirror and began talking to his refection.
-This is your night , man. Make the most of it!
He rinsed his face off sweat and took out his trousers a small package.White powder was inside.
He carefully crafted it into lines, proceeding into sniffing them , one by one, increasing his temperature and heartbeat.
His pusher had not lied, it was some good shit.
Back in the room, the dancers were already booging to the rhythm, making everyone else jump off their seats and start showing off what they could do.
He looked at Tina, she looked more gifted than proffessionals. She seemed to be doing it all for him. He joined the crowd, the dancers threw off their tops. It looked on its way to becoming an orgy.Drinks were there, weed was there, girls were there.
What more could he possibly need?In the midst of all he went to the toilet again, this time bringing Tina as well. Speedball lines went quickly up their noses, the adrenaling flowed quicker thorugh their bodies. They got back, seated.The dancers had taken a short break, having a discussion with the bartender.
Flashy hypnotic lights came down from the ceiling, he got to a state where it was hard to tell who's who in the room.He lifted his glass.
-I am the man! he repeated it twice
-You are the man! all the other voices were heard.
But to him, the echo of his own voice felt more present in his head than his entourage's confirmation.
-Fuck you all! I'm out this bitch...
And he rose, got out the room, leaving the door open. Music from the dance-ring crashed into the room's walls, making everybody cringe for their ears.
''What's wrong with him?'' everybody was thinking.
He bumped into people, he couldn't walk straight anymore, but still trying to dance and bobb his head to the beat.
He hadn't made 15 steps from the room when he collapsed to the floor, like a heavy sack of grain, foam coming out his mouth.
A few moments later, blood came out of his nose and he stoped breathing. His friends tried to take him to the nearest hospital but they were ''dizzy'' as well, it was too late.
He'd OD-ed on speedball and coke.
There was no way to announce his parents, they were on a God-forsaken island, their phone number available only to him.
They'd get the news via e-mail, once they'd return home.
The night had turned out one to remember.
They'd remember him, but most important the last night he'd been immortal....

Wishing-Versiunea lu' Tuemckey

2009-08-16T01:36:00.001+02:00

Alright, all of you English speakers out there back off for a minute, no offense but you won't understand a word...It's my version(and a short one, that is, hence not having more time then to expand it) of the song Wishing by Edo G feat Masta Ace(and I still expect that bloody album to come out)....written in Romanian obviously....Why's that? cause I know Romanian? cause I speak it? cause I am one, for bloody sake!!!! :)) I know , that one came as a shock, didn't it? Actually it took me by surprise too, every morning I wake up and the first thing I do is check my passport and I can't bloody believe it .....Someone's pulling a prank on me with this whole Romanian nationality...anyways..enough with the bollocks! By the way can you get enough bollocks? I mean what's the limit for bollock-ing? Is there a certain time or counted sentenses that might make one scream in agony ''please stop bollocking, I can't take it anymore...arghhh!!!!''. Hmm...food for the thought.....

as vrea sa iau durerea cu mana, nu cu aspirina
cu un zambet, nu cu o doza de heroina
cu o mana de ajutor, nu cu o crima
cu un vers purificator si muzica sublima
as vrea politicienii sa nu mai minta, sa nu ia mita
sa faca ce au promis sau macar sa nu mai promita
as vrea sa vad macar o familie fericita
o mama iubitoare, un tata intelegator si o fiica linistita
as vrea sa vad scoli care te invata
preturi mici la piata si stiri la tv fara sa mi se faca greata
as vrea sa vad speranta, mai putina aroganta
sa vedem capatul tunelului dar sa nu fie ceata
as vrea mai mult ajutor intre noi, mai putine ploi
mai putine masini care polueaza, mai multe biciclete noi
as vrea sa vad mai multi copii razand, mai putine fete
pe strada, si mai putine minti bete
mai putina propaganda, as vrea mai putina muzica proasta
si mai putine esecuri guvernamentale puse-n carca noastra
as vrea sa vad adolescenti care se iau in serios
as vrea sa putem pretui ce e frumos
e de prisos, dar as vrea s-am acelasi vis ca malcolm x
si as vrea s-ating atatea inimi cu un pix......

T.

Stories from outside your window part 5

2009-08-15T10:44:00.000+02:00

The key went in, unlocking the door.She turned the knob, opening it.Pitch black inside.
''Where is it?'' she said.Every time she couldn't find the light switch, although she'd been there a thousand and one times before.She finally turned on the light.
''Ah, much better''.
The room she was facing appeared as any other hotel room. Small, badly-furnished and a certain ''this is not your home'' look.
It wasn't a luxury room.Actually, the hotel neon lacking an ''O'' that was outside was misguiding the potential clients.
This was no three star hotel, a mere two star in the official documents, and that because the owner had connections.
But she didn't mind.
The owner didn't ask much and kept on his business, all one needed to get a room was money and an ID. One could be a wanted criminal throughout the world, it wouldn't have mattered, just an amount of money would do the trick and no one would batter an eye.She spent most of her time in this room.
She'd been in the big city for three years, for college, and her roomates,where she was actually living, were not trust-worthy, she thought.That's why she'd keep all her money in the cramped safe behind the only painting in the room. She enjoyed what she was doing, it brought money for classes and exams.
Her parents couldn't afford it, so she had to work. And normal jobs were badly-paid and too few.She was beautiful. Dark-blonde hair, blue eyes, thin figure and lovely lips.
The type of girl the guys at the college would drop their tongues on the floor for,but she had been telling them she wanted to find true love and then get into any love activities. She knew that wasn't the case and sometimes it came hard to refrain a laugh when she'd tell them that.
She took off her coat, put the bags on the bed and sat down next to them, starting to pull out the items.
She'd been shopping. New lingerie, new night gowns, new methods of seduction. She was seductive enough, so any other accessories were coming second place. She'd meet the guy tonight at eight.
She picked them on the net. She had photos of hers put on a site and if anybody looked interested, negociations would start. Prices, time, day, all would be talked about and settled before the meeting would occur.
She liked to keep everything in check, so she wrote everybody's name on a notebook and all the info they'd give her. Blank pages were minoritary.
She'd need another one soon.She started trying on the lingerie. She looked good in every piece. She looked great without any.
But she thought that men got aroused more if they don't see much. ''Get excited about what you're gonna see'' type of thinking, rather than just ''hand it all over on a plate''.
There was a knock on the door.
It must've been him. It should've been him.
She put away the bags and receipts, throwing unnecessary stuff in a small closet facing the bed.

She opened the door.
There he was.
Roses in his hand, tall, handsome , but with a certain twist. He looked as if smiling was not something he did often.
She invited him in, closing the door.They swapped kisses on the cheeks, him handing the roses.
-Thank you! she said in a blushing manner, though she could not care less.
This was business, not some sort of ''fall out for the guy'' reality show.
-You look even more beautiful than in photos, he replied.
He slightly smiled. It didn't actually look like a smile, it resembled a wolf grinning while cornering a sheep. ''You're mine now!'' was written all over his face.
She put the roses on the nightstand and took a seat on the bed.
-Should I put some music on?
-Please do, he said, observing the room.
She hit the play button on a small stereo system atop the nightstand.
The usual sax-driven, cheesy romantic music. She had found the cd in a second hand store, bumping the sticker ''sensual music for couples''. The cd bore the name ''Sounds of relaxation''.
They started kissing and kissing, one body attached to another, him still clothed, her half-naked. He took his jacket off, throwing it in a corner of the room, keeping caressing her young body.They stopped kissing.
-So, how do you wanna do this? she asked
He looked her in the eye.He didn't look the macho part, but his eyes showed a dominating force.
-You could start with a striptease....
-Naughty naughty! she smiled.
They kissed a few more times. She stood up, took a chair, positioned it in the centre of the room, in front of him.The music wasn't the best choice for her dance, but neither cared. He didn't move his eyes off her, she watched every reaction.They both looked in a trance, she liking to put up a show , him enjoying it.
She clearly had done this before, cause she seemed to have a dance pattern, carefully crafted and already practised.
She took the red gown off, liberating her lovely breasts from the fabric.He stood up, came close to her and told her to sit down on the chair.She listened to him. He proceeded to kiss her breasts, licking softly the nipples, turning them hard.
It was all for business, but now was getting more into fun territory. He weighed her a couple of times from head to toe and then spoke softly to her ear.
-I wanna tie you up!
It wasn't the first time a ''client'' had asked for kinky things, so she nodded.
He spread her legs, pulling her feet to the back of the chair, tying her hands as well.She remained motionless, waiting for the next step to happen.
From the back of the chair, overlooking her head to her breasts, he started touching her body, easy-massaging at first and then turning into a fight between his fingers and her skin. She liked it.
She couldn't remember if she ever liked it for real, and when had it happened. The guy was turning out to be a full package, having both the looks and the moves.He turned her facing him. Went through one of his jeans' pockets and took out a small roll of scotch tape. He taped her three times.
It was amazing how many things he'd gotten out of his pockets, though his jeans had not looked bulky when he first entered the room. Rope and now, tape.He started biting her nipples in a painful manner now , till she started struggling and tried to speak from beneath the tape, covering her mouth. He took the tape off.
-Now, what the fuck are you doing?? she yelled at him
-Oh sorry, I got carried away...
-Carried away my ass....that hurt, you know.Please, untie me.
He had a dissapointed look on his face. Boo hoo, his game had ended..
He untied his ankles and hands. He apologised for that and all of a sudden a fist plunged into her face, making her fall back with the chair. He continued slapping and hitting her while she was mobilised on the floor, trying to cover herself up from his heavy hits.
She hadn't planned a beating for that day, but she pretty much was experiencing one now. The guy had not only the looks and moves, but also knew how to hit her. He took her off the floor like a rag, threw her into bed, face down, tying her again. This time violently and roughly. There was blood coming out of her nose.He took her head in his arms, putting his left hand on her mouth, preventing her from screaming.He whispered into her ear.
-You've been a naughty girl, Sarah..
He suddenly knew her real name, she'd always give a fake one.
-And I'm here to give you a lesson, he continued.But first I need you to tell me where's the money......And don't scream, otherwise you force me to show more brutality, though I don't like using it.
He barely could understand her through the sobs and weaping, but the few intelligible words were enough. He turned the music volume higher and engaged into having anal sex with her, all the time pulling her hair. She tried to struggle and break free, to get him off her, but there was no use.
It was the first anal experience she ever had, maybe she really was waiting for someone special.He got off her, untied the ropes, hiting her again just in case she'd start screaming; and went for the painting. Behind it, a small , unlocked safe carried all her savings. And she had quite an amount there. The notebook wasn't full with names for nothing. He went through the stacks and threw a few notes to her
.-Get yourself cleaned up, whore! he said in a disgusted tone.
She had been crying for some while now, laying there in a fetus position.He picked his jacket up, took another look at her and the room.
-You've been offering good service for the price you've asked. Hope I've done likewise.
He started laughing.
-And, oh, don't try to go to the police, it wouldn't help.....I'm one of them...
He wanted to show her the badge, but she wasn't looking at him.He went out the door, whistling.
She remained there, beaten, bruised, cold and ashamed.
There was nothing beautiful about her now.
She'd go home.
She'd leave this fucking city.
She'd rip the pages of the notebook and throw it.
She'd cancell all the info off the net and out of her head.
She'd go home...But what would she tell her parents?
That was the last thing on her mind now.
She'd go as far away from this place as possible.
There was nothing here for her.
She had no money left.
She had nothing left to sell of her anymore..........

Stories from outside your window part 4

2009-08-14T10:00:00.000+02:00

They had fought again.It was becoming a hobby nowadays.They weren't seeying each other daily, but almost always when they'd meet, words would be exchanged.
Heavy ones. Words that hurt more than flower vases thrown around or broken chairs or photos ripped apart.
Words that would leave bigger scars than any knife, that would make them feel worse than being slapped.
But it didn't matter.They were fighting with a passion. Passion that they didn't share for the reconcilliation afterwards.
That would come by itself, when they wouldn't speak to each other for days.
They had fought again.
It was the same ol', same ol'.
''Give up on the booze'', she would say, ''it's messing up your thinking!''.
''Give up on going to bed with other men'', he would say, ''you're becoming a slut!''
Her first motives she implied were she was just trying to get a better pay at her job place, for both's sake.She had told him it wasn't anything between her and the ''lovers''.
He, on the other hand, was giving the blame on long, hard days at work, missing her. He was always on the road, driving almost entire days sometimes.
''Bollocks!!'' he would tell her.
''Bullshit!!'' she'd scream at his reasons.
He slammed the door behind him. It was passed midnight, the neighbours would call the police.It was about time for him to leave. He was only in town for one day and this is what it turned out to be.
He was starting work at ten in the morning, but he had no place to sleep till then. He didn't feel like going back and apologise, it wasn't his thing.
The city looked deserted. A few cars here and there, nothing that could be called traffic. On highways, where he spent most of his day, this was called ''ghost time''.His job was transporting. All day long behind the wheel, eyes focused on the road.
It was a love-hate thing for him.He thought about her.Four years of marriage and he felt like he'd been renting her all this time.
Out of all this time being her husband, he'd barely spent more than two years altogether.Did he even love her anymore? That was a tough question to answer on the spot. They had had their ups and downs, like every other relationship.
He kept walking down the street. Hence he was always in movement for his work, everything looked static now. And it was, indeed.
He stopped, took a deep breath. He was thinking about going back to her, apologise for what it's worth and spend the night there, at least this time.
He made a u-turn, but his feet wouldn't respond to his mind anymore by the time he had reached half way there.He just couldn't do it.He had a better idea.He turned away from the flat's direction to find a bar.
There must've been one still open.The ''owner hasn't got shit else to do'' type.And he was right.

It didn't take him crossing two boulevards, switching corners thrice and there he was , facing it.
He looked inside.
A middle-aged man behind the counter, back-facing him, watching the sport results on a tv that was hanging atop the spirits section.
He went in.The door made an annoying alarm-type sound as it opened.The supposed owner turned his gaze on him, remote still in his hand.
-Hey! he jabbered through his teeth, half-mouthed.
-Hi.
Closed the door, having to hear the door-click noise again, he hated that.
-Are you still open or am I after closing time?
The bartender looked at him. His faced had the''are you shitting me'' look on. He took a while till he responded.
-Well, the door is open, I'm inside, tv is on. I don't know.....Course we're open mate. Get your heart out of your mouth and take a seat.
-Thanks.
It was the first time he smiled that evening.He got seated at the bar. The place barely had any tables, and those looked small and uninviting to have your drink on.
Besides , what better way to enjoy your lager, or any drink for that matter, than having a total nonsense chat with the bar-keeper.
The bar tender put both hands on the counter before him, leaning forward.
-So, what shall it be, mate?
-Ehm...
He had a minor lack of inspiration.
-A beer, to start with, thank you!
-Certainly , mate!
-Cheers!
-Cheers!
In a blink of an eye he had his draught in front of him, a cold foamy pint just waiting to be savoured. He said cheers once again and had his first gulp. Damn, it tasted nice.
He didn't know why, but every time the drink had another, different bettered taste. His likings ranged from lager to wine to whisky. He wasn't the type to refuse. But he sticked to a certain brand with every beverage.
He had a story for every beer he'd drunk, from the grain being harvested to the hops being put in it.
Damn, it tasted nice.Come to think about it, he realised he knew more things bout beer or alcohol than his wife. On his scale beer ranked ninth, whilst she was sixth.
Maybe it was because he wasn't getting much sex with her. Let the thoughts just slide by
-So, what brings you here at this time and hour? the bar keeper asked with more curiosity than inquisition. Don't tell me it's for a girl!
He raised his eyes from the pint onto him.
-Well, it's kinda complicated..My wife and I had a fight and I'm just trying to clear my head a bit....
-Right......The man sounded unconvinced.
-You live around here, don't you!? I've seen you at the market on Fleet Street a couple of times.
-Yeah, my flat is close-by. I haven't been here yet, I normally have my drinks at home. I just needed to get away.
He crawled his fingers on the pint.
-We all get that, mate. They cheat, we drink....
He let out a laugh. How ironic it was, the man behind the counter had no idea what it was all about, yet it seemed so general and normal that that would be the case.He finished his pint. Asked for a refill. They kept talking for a while.
Hours passed and pints were drunk. He managed to get a sleeping space on a small, old and rather smelly sofa near the toilet.
-Make sure you wake up till seven, the other shift comes in then and I don't want you or me to get in trouble. the bar-keeper had said.

The phone's alarm had gone off. It was ten to seven in the morning. His head was spinning, the muscles hurting right through to the bone.
He felt like a sixty year old, although he was in his thirties. Nevertheless, he got used to everything. It was no new state he was passing now.
He got up, stretched and walked out of the bar.The barkeeper was still sleeping in another room.He had two hours ahead of him before going back to his truck and start work.
It was a cold autumn morning.
He hated autumn.
In autumn everything left life behind, the trees, the streets, the sky, the people.
He thought autumn was a zombie-season.Steam came out of his mouth as he yawned.
What should he do in this spare time. He went back to the parking lot where he'd have his truck.He used a toothbrush, soap to freshen up. he didn't feel like shaving. Put everything in it's right order and headed back to the bar.
By this time the new shift had been settled already and nobody would ask a thing.The bar was full of morning persons. He wasn't one of them. Even though he was forced to wake up early, that didn't mean he enjoyed it.
He hated it, actually.
He hated people looking all smiley and jolly before ten o'clock.''What's wrong with you people?Wife's kicked you out of bed?'' he thought. Hmmm....The wife.
He wasn't far from the case himself.He ordered a double coffee and a shot of whisky. Make that double as well. That would warm him up a bit.
He looked around, the tables had a few empty cups waiting to be cleaned and there were cigarettes butts lying on the floor as if the Smokers Association had just been holding a congress there.
-Have you got a newspaper, mate? he asked the new, younger bar-keeper.

He received one of those thin, free-given, not-much-to-read newspaper.
There wasn't tons of info he could get from it, but he felt like ''washing'' his eyes on something.Makes him more focused on driving afterwards. he ordered himself a small beer and another whisky, slipping through the paper's pages, looking like a regular.
By the time he got back to his truck he'd drunk three beers and two double whiskey. The breakfast of a champion.
He took another unopened bottle of ale with him, just in case he'd get thirsty on the road.He jumped into the driver's seat, adjusting all things necessary, looked at his watch.He didn't pass by his wife to say goodbye.
He thought it brought bad luck.He took out the bottle from the bag and opened it. He looked around to make sure no one's eyeing him and began to experience with its taste. He felt the same way he'd felt the first time having an ale. He was drinking it with such a haste, then he was tasting it slowly, as if it was his last.
Threw the bottle out the window and proceeded on the road. It took half an hour to make it out the traffic ring around the city.
He wasn't keen on entering and getting out of town. He knew how much hassle that included.The alcohol hadn't made its effect on him yet, but he felt in a good mood now.he started laughing and humming.
He put an old Vangelis tape into the player.
He was feeling top notch. The day had turned out sunny, after a previous rainy week. He pressed the pedal, the highway was inviting him to give full throttle.He turned the volume to the max.Besides drinking, that was the only thing he cherished that had not cheated on him.His eyes became watery, he couldn't distinguish the commands anymore.
He tried to rub his eyes but he couldn't.
At one point he thought he'd see his wife in the middle of the highway waving at him.He pushed the brake , trying to avoid ''her'', but lost control of the wheel.
Tyres screetched, the truck made an u-turn and hit three other cars in the process, then it flipped on one side, crushing a couple more under it's heavy weight.
Chaos had set foot on the highway. He had died almost instantly from the violent impact.
He had had his last beer, after all....

She searched for her phone. He didn't pass by to say goodbye, ne never did, but the fight they'd had, had taken bigger proportions this time. she dialed his number, but nobody picked up.

Second attempt, third...same thing.
She sighed and went into the livingroom, turned on the tv. She had let the office know she'd take a day off. She didn't feel like facing everyone, looking like she did :bloated eyes from crying all night long, messy hair and red spots on her neck and chest.
She'd get those whenever annoyed, stressed or angry. She flipped through the channels, but there was nothing to see, really. It was barely eleven.
''We interrupt the programme for breaking news. The A1 has suffered a chain of accidents just half an hour ago. The situation is critic. All exits are blocked. Nothing is known about the cause that triggered the event, but eye witnesses claim it all started from a large transport truck losing its way in traffic and damaging a few other cars. The firemen and highway police are doing their best in getting everyone injured as soon as possible to the nearest hospital.the death toll as till now is seven. we'll be back with further information.....''
The announcement made her freeze.
The screen had a ''Highway to Hell'' title for the breaking news, and it remained stuck to her eyes. They hadn't given any names, but she knew it was him.
She could imagine him having a laugh while drinking his last beer, pushing the pedal, feeling confident.
Earlyer the morning she had thought about calling him to try to reconcilliate all. She thought about giving up seeying other men and be closer to him to overcome his drinking problem.
Maybe they had passion for love, not only for fighting. But now, she stopped thinking.
There would be no reconcilliation anymore, there would be no discussion about having the last drink. She remembered the few times talking about ''a last drink''.
-This is your last drink, Nate! she'd scream at him when he'd be drunk.
His answer was puking after he'd nod.
But now, there would be no her.
No him, anymore, no more together.
No more love.
All those words vanished from her vocabulary......
She remained frozen, breaking news title caught up in her retina...
Highway to Hell.

Stories from outside your window part 3

2009-08-13T10:54:00.000+02:00

He had his phone by his ear.He cleared his voice, wanting to sound older than he was.
''C'mon, c'mon, you've got to pick up.''
-Hey mate, it's me.Listen, I need one. Now.
-Need what? the voice on the other end answered.
-I need one.
-No can do. You already owe me the money for the last two and till you pay those you ain't getting any.
-Ah, c'mon, mate. You know me. I'll get you the money asap.
-Yeah, I know you, but I don't know your money, do I now?Besides, that's what you always say.
-Just this once, please...I...But the other guy had already hung up before he could finish his sentence.
Second call.
-Oi, it's me. I need one.
-You're getting too much into this shit, man. And I don't want to be responsible for that.My answer is no.
He sounded like there would be no way to change his mind.
-Fuck! he shouted.
The people around were staring at him.He was on his way home. In the tram.He hung up.
-What? he stared back at the people.
It didn't seem to be his day, apparently.He thought about selling his phone to get the money, but the thing was he had a junk-ass piece of shit equipment as a cell.And nobody would buy it. If any would, he'd get just a part of what he needed.
''Damn, this is fucked-up!'' he told himself.He could take some money from his mom's purse once he reached home, but she would notice easily and get suspicious. He'd get in trouble. She didn't know about him yet, even though she saw him change the past few months. So that was out of the question. And he didn't have anywhere else to get the money from.
His last option: stealing. But how?
Where from? A store?
A bank? Nah, he couldn't do that.
Besides he was alone and too young to pull out something like that. He needed an accomplice for that. And he didn't have one. But he could do something else.
He had an aunt living nearby and he used to babysit now and then for his little cousin. He was an infant.He would get an extra buck for that.
But he didn't want the extra buck. He wanted quite a few of them. He thought it over and it came out to him how to do it.The tram had stopped. He got off and started slowly walking towards his aunt's apartment.
He was thinking the words he'd say, the face he'd put, the mannerisms he'd use.She knew him quite well, he had gone two days a week at her place for the last three years now.
''This will never work out!'' he said to himself.
''Yes, it will, cause I need one!!'' his counter-thought came back at him.
He reached the building.
It looked just like any other.Grey, depressing; people living in those flats like they're Guinea pigs or sardines in a can. Besides, he never liked the area.It's not like he lived in a luxury part of the city but here everything looked even more sad and hopeless than other neighbourhoods.
He cleared his voice again, took a deep breath, started climbing the stairs. The lift hadn't been working in years and hence most of the building inhabitants couldn't afford to pay for a new one, they just took part in daily exercises in the form of stairs-climbing.
Lucky him, his aunt lived at the second floor.It was a 8-story building.He got to the door. Put his ear close to it, trying to hear if any activity was done inside. Couldn't get anything clear, though. He pressed the ring button.
The doorbell rang for a few seonds till a voice behind the door was heard: ''I'm coming, just wait a bit!''She opened the door.
She looked surprised but happy at the same time.
-Oh, dear, how nice to see you again.
-Hi, auntie.How have you been doing?
-Come on inside.
And she got out of the way so he could get in.Closed the door and showed him the way to the living room.
She'd always do that, although he'd been in her place a thousand and one times. The apartment was old-furnished, she hadn't the money to change anything. It looked cold, but she didn't lack the more or less modern appliances. Don't expect to see a LCD or computer in, though.
Her husband had divorced her for three years now, about the time he started babysit his cousin, and he had left for Spain. But he'd help her every now and again with a bit of money. It was more for the kids, rather than for her.She had another son, out of town for college. He was 21 years old and he'd visit whenever possible, but lately he'd grown apart from her.
They reached the living room. The feeling of poor was toned down slightly, the best-looking furniture found its place here, besides she didn't use it much.lots of photos were staring back at him.They seemed to be plenty more than last time he'd been here.
She hugged him and started to pull his cheeks.
-Ah, c'mon, auntie. I'm not a kid anymore. He pulled back.
-Yes, but you're still my nephew. You know,I love you like a son, Michael, don't you?
-Yes, I know , auntie.
They took a seat at a table. She lit herself a cigarette.
-So, what brings you around here? You know Dan's not here!
-I was in the neighborhood, passing by.The last three classes in school were cancelled, teachers strike or something like that. And I just wanted to see how were you doing, how are you hanging on. How's Dan's state now, is he showing some improvement?
Her face seemed to fall on the floor. A minute earlyer she had a half-smile on her face, now she seemed like she'd start crying.She took her eyes from him, put the cigarette in the ashtray, and clasped her hands as if she'd say a prayer.It seemed forever till she answered.
-Well, you know, he's doing better, but not great. I mean, he looks weak, he is weak and there's nothing I can do to help him. The doctor said they haven't found a donor yet.It could take more than what they'd thought.He's always in pain, the kemo is no thing for a six year old.
She kept staring into thin air.
-You know, two days ago he asked me ''Mom, why me. It hurts so much.Why can't I go home? I wanna go home with you mommy!!'' And I couldn't give him an answer.I felt like someone had ripped my heart into tiny pieces.
She started crying. Hot tears being released from her big brown eyes showed more pain than her son was going through.
She took his hand.
He felt embarassed.Didn't know what to say.He never knew how to act in these situations.He hadn't faced many, thus experience was speaking its words.
-Things will get better, auntie, trust me.They'll find a donor soon.
-I sure hope so, love.I can't take it anymore.To see life fade away from him, day by day. He hasn't done anything wrong to anyone, he's six, for Christ's sake!
-Now, now, calm down, auntie.It's gonna get better.
A few minutes of silence passed. She still had his hand in hers.
The tears stopped.She cleant her face with a tissue.
-I'll be paying him a visit later on. Gotta talk to the doctor as well.
She stood up.
-I'm going to make some tea.You fancy a cup, love?
-Yes, I would auntie, thank you.
''Tea? Gimme a damn beer! '' he thought. She went into the kitchen. He started looking around for her purse. He spotted it. He was sure he'd find some money in it.If not, he'd have to come up with something else.
-Do you want two sugar cubes or none at all? she shouted from the kitchen.
-Either way's fine by me, auntie!
He rolled his eyes, nodding his head as saying a ''no''.
The phone rang.
-I'll be there in a sec.Let me get this first! she shouted again.
''Don't worry, take your time!'' he thought.
-Yes, ok!
Now was his opportunity.
He got off his chair and jumped to the purse. He wasn't looking behind, like he'd knew she wasn't arriving. His hand dug deep, gripping an envelope. He took it out. Her surname was written on it. He looked inside. It was full of notes, so many he hadn't seen in his life , yet.
She had put the money aside to give the doctor so he could take more care of her son.A small attention from her in exchange to a small attention from the doctor.
''Jackpot, baby!''he told himself.A big grin found its place on his face. He put the envelope in the jacket pocket, his aunt's purse in its right setting, like nothing happened.
She finished the conversation. Brought the tea into the living room. Set it on the table. She found him standing.
-That was the doctor. He said Dan was improving and that he might get better soon. Are you okay, love?
He looked a bit rushed.
-Yeah, I'm fine. Just looking at the photos. I see you've added more to the collection.
-Aren't you gonna have your tea?
She took a sip from her cup.
-I put two cubes in. Quite nice.
The tea would do her well. Calm her a bit. She did need some peace of mind.He turned his eyes to her
.-I think I'll pass the tea, auntie. I've got to go. My mom's probably waiting for me. Thank you anyway.
-But you haven't even tried it! she said with a confused tone.
-I know it's great, but really have to go. Maybe next time, when Dan's home.
He hit the sensitive chord.
She smiled for half a second and took another sip of tea.
-Ok, let me accompany you to the door then.
He stopped her from getting up.
-It's no need, auntie.I know the door, thank you.See you soon.
He turned his back and went for the door.He left her pondering with the cup in her hand.
The tea was quite nice.
He got out of the building, trying to regain his breath after running down the stairs like he'd been in a marathon.Cut the first corner, bought himself a beer at a store nearby and took out the phone.He'd call the first guy.
-Oi, it's still me!
-I thought I told you already how things are. Please, don't persuade me cause it ain't working......
-I've got the money!
It sounded like a spell.
The guy put the phone closer to his ear.
-Really?
-Yes, really!No bullshit.Plus, you're getting what I owe you as well!
-Fuck me in the ass and call me gay, it must be Christmas!And where did you get it from?Scratch that, I don't want to know.Just don't make a joke out of this. Meet me at the ''Place''.....
He hung up.
The ''Place'' was their meeting point. That's where the guy lurred him in the first time. Taking trips down memory lane again.The guy was only 5 years older than him, doing this to support his college bills. It was a private one.Private classes.That cost money. A lot.He wasn't doing any himself, but he gotten addicted to seeying these poor nobodies(most of them in their teens) ruin their lives.
That was his bad side.
They met at the ''Place''. Traded the ''goods'', shook hands and both left quickly, never looking back. They both got what they wanted.The guy would always give ''tools'' to payers : syringe, lighter and spoon.
That was his good side.
He knew an abandoned building on the other side of the city, perfect for him. It was one of these many unfinished construction sites.
''Houses that many will call home sweet home'' told the slogan once.It was more like ''Houses that nobody will see done''.
He could afford a taxi now, so he took one. Fuck the tram, let the others take it. He reached the destination. It all looked deserted.
At nights homeless people would find their sleeping ''beds'' here. In broad daylight, nobody hung around.He took out the ''tools'' from the small bag the guy had given him.
Prepared the stuff like a pro. He'd done this quite a few times. Besides, he was a fast learner. He filled the syringe with the resulted liquid from heating a spoon containing the heroin.
His left arm looked a battle camp.He thrusted the needle into one of the few virgin veins letting the heroin flow into his blood, his body, his mind, his soul, himself.
He felt God.
He was thinking of all those things he was getting away from.
Agony and ecstacy. Wars. Poverty.School. Lies. Rough life. Famine. Hunger.
It all sounded the same, but he wanted as many things as possible on his list.
He lay there, half-dead, the syringe falling from one hand, the other kept as a fist, eyes closed. away from everything and everyone.
Away from himself.
Away from the pain he was constantly feeling inside of him seeying people having things, and him having shit.
Away from the world.
He was having everything he'd wished for now.
He didn't need the world.
The world didn't need him.......

Stories from outside your window part 2

2009-08-13T10:48:00.000+02:00

His own thoughts startled him.Was he thinking that or not? He looked across the room. Tiny beads of sweat coming down his face. ''Where is it when you need it?'' he thought. He clasped both hands on top of his head, starting to pull his hair.
The room was a mess. It's not like he was tidy or even organized, but this time everything looked chaotic, a bigger mess than the usual.He spotted it.''There you are, bastard!''He was looking for a pen. Remained lighting-like struck for a moment, as if he'd forgotten what was the next step in his scheme, all the time strangling the pen in his palm like he was holding a prize or something.The paper gave up more easily.He had the tools for it, now.Back to the real stuff.
He dook a deep breath and pulled himself a chair. Sat down, still firmly holding the pen in his hand, paper in front of him, on top of a desk.He took a look outside. Right beneath his window there was a small neighbourhood park. A few kids playing around.The clock on the filled-with-posters wall showed half past eleven, in the morning.''Aren't you supposed to be in school?''. He moved his gaze back on the white paper, exciting him into writing.''Ok, let's do this.''
''This is my last note, and for whoever finds it first, let it be known I have not taken any drugs or been made to write it.
''Shitty start, he thought. He didn't care. They won't judge him anymore when everything is done.
''I really can't tell you I've got a motive. The thing is I'm sick of it all. People, life, money, sex, poverty, job, friends, family, you name it.If I haven't, put yourself on the list. I can't do it any more. Everything and everyone feel like they push onto my shoulders, forcing me into the ground.Well, fuck that, before you do that, it's better if I finish the job myself.Mom, I really didn't want to do this, but since you've divorced dad, you've become a bitch. Plain and simple.And that bastard John, that you call your husband, treats me like a bum.Fuck him. And dad, easy on the booze. I must've gotten cranium fissures from all the empty bottles you broke on my head when you got home drunk.Fuck you! For my friends that get the''I don't know you'' posture when I call them for help, fuck you too. I never backed down from giving a hand when you needed it, but shit, it seems that's not mutual in my case.Fred, remember when I had to go on foot cause you wanted to have some fun with that slut.And Rob, still remember the money you owe me, I still haven't gotten it back, jerk. And Paulie, what about shagging my girlfriend, huh?You were drunk, right, shit happens, right?Yes, and I forgave you. Bro's before hoe's. Well, fuck that now.Oh, and sweety, don't you think I forgot about you, slut.Going around with my friends, as if you were a discount merch at the supermarket.Fuck the restaurants, the cinema, the shopping, everything you wanted to see, to go to. Fuck that. What about my time? What about showing me some appreciation as well after all those money I spent on your ass with gifts and shit. For my boss, you're a real jerk, you know that.Making me work 15 hours in a row for a fucking shit salary, just because you're too damn cheap to get somebody else as well. Fuck you! You and your whole firm! And tell your missus she should've been a pornstar, cause she sure knows how to blow. To my car insurance agency, I hope you rott in Hell and the fire's fueled by all the money I've given you these years. From past years, teachers that have mentally raped me to desk clerks who're too slow or not into their jobs when I stand in front of them. Fuck you all!I hope all of you miss me less than when I was here.I ain't leaving nothing to nobody cause I ain't got shit. And even if I'd have, it would be the same. I know most of you fuck-heads won't understand why, cause I always had a smile on my face when around you, although I did want to stabb you when you turned your backs. So why don't I do that. You're not worth of that kind of attention. I'll let the providence take care of that.''

He stopped. Sweat kept coming down his forehead onto his cheeks, forming drops falling on the paper.
He felt like in a sauna. He hadn't been in one , though.
He felt powerfull but weak at the same time.He felt joyous and grieving at the same time. But something didn't go well.
It didn't make sense. Nothing of it. But he had already started and couldn't go back. Didn't want to.He ripped the page apart.
Took a sip of water from a bottle he found in a corner of the room while searching for another piece of paper. They would be here any minute now.
He invited them all. It was his birthday.
''Now, for the real deal.''
But he couldn't find anything to write.
His thoughts lay shattered in his brain like a glass bottle broken on the floor.
''They'd be here anyway, so what does it matter what's written on it, right?'' he thought.
He started to make some capital letters.
IT IS THE END FOR YOU-MY BEGGINING.
That sounded much better when he read it to himself a few times.He retrieved a shiny, clean, new razor from his back pocket. He could see his reflection it it.
''Now, for the master touch.''
A few seconds later, blood started dripping onto the piece of paper.

That would be his last signature.....

Stories from outside your window part 1

2009-08-13T01:25:00.000+02:00

He took his drink outside. Closed the door behind him. His mates, or so-called, that is, still couldn't understand why he was acting like he was. It came all of a sudden. He took a deep breath. It was a bit chilly, considering the season.
April....back in the days they already used to have their drinks on the terrace outside the pub, but not this time.He put his drink on the sidewalk.
'' Strictly forbidden to exit the premises with glasses'' read a post sign on one sides of the door. Yeah, right, who are you kidding? he thought.
He took a deep breath. Reached into his pocket, it felt like an eternity till his fingers grasped the cigarettes packet. ''Smoking kills''. He looked at the letters, they seemed giants, grabbing his eye-balls, so he could see them as closest as possible.
He put a strange grin on his face.You must be joking me, he said to himself.He looked around to see if he was alone. He always did, or at least he started to, lately. He didn't know why, it just came naturally. He took another deep breath. A deeper one.
He looked again at the packet. Half full. He couldn't rememeber how many had he smoked since he first started, neither the amount he was doing nowadays. He didn't care. Nobody did. He had nobody. Even if he would, it would've been the same. He'd been a mature man for over 20 years now. The last thing he'd need is a morale now.From anybody.
He made a cigarette fall between his fingers. Put the packet back into his pocket, carefully. Better not to lose it. Who knew how many days left he had to smoke. he lit it. Some people make rituals out of lighting cigarettes, like it's the most important thing they do in life. He wasn't one of those. He was in for the effect, rather than the aspect. He'd never seen smoking as sexy, as they most of the times portray it in comercials or movies...Fuck that. Just let him smoke, it's a necesity.
Before the first cloud of smoke even got to his lungs, he started coughing. All thes years, and his body still pulling pranks on him. He continued coughing with a smile on his face now, almost growing into a laughter. He was thinking of all those thousand and one wishes to quit. From tomorrow on. It was always tomorrow, but that tomorrow never arrived.Maybe he didn't want it to come. He didn't give much thought on it, it wasn't worth it.All he knew was that he was still enjoying it.
People he knew would've taken the chance, maybe.
Perhaps.
It didn't matter anymore. nobody knew but him. Nobody had to know. He wasn't keen on having strangers hanging by his head, as he would sit in his last bed, last days, last smokes, last thoughts.
''You've got lung cancer. Not curable. you won't die next week, but you won't be celebrating Christmas either''. That's what they had told him earlyer, during the day.
He smiled.
He felt like the Candid Camera crew would burst out any minute now. ''Got YOU!''''No, YOU got me!'', he looked at his cigarette. His fingers slightly shaking, it must've been the cold. ''Hello mate, nice to have met you. See you around...''
-Are you talking to someone, Dave? . He recognised the voice but he didn't want to see the person. It wasn't Candid camera, that's for sure. he hadn't even heard the door opening behind him.He faced her.
-No, I'm alright, just repeating a monologue, y'know.
-You've been outside for half an hour now, sweetheart, and it's bloody freezing. C'mon inside, the ladds are offering another one.
-Yeah, just a minute. Let me finish this. He showed her the cigarette, what was left out of it.
-Ok. she looked at him. ''are you alright?'' was all she could think.
-Go!
They crossed eyes. She went back into the noisy pub. He turned his back at it. Took another breath, threw the cigarette butt, squashed it under his thick, heavy Timberlands.''Smoking kills you''. He smiled. ''Yeah, right''. He clapped his hands altogether, rubbing them. Retrieved his glass from the sidewalk. He went inside, closing the door behind him.He never went outside again for a smoke that night.....

How do they do it..?

2009-08-13T00:42:00.000+02:00

Let's take time to picture a person sipping a lager, in front of the computer. Your first thought might be ''oh, he's talking bout me, yuppie!'' at which point I'd reply ''just get on with your lives, will ya?''. No, it ain't bout any of you, it's about me(I'm quite sellfish, aren't I? :))), otherwise it wouldn't be called Tuemckey's blog,it would be ''The rest of the world's blog''. Let me get to my point....
Just got home from work, hectic evening it was(now I'm starting to talk like Yoda, damn culture references), the chef and his help got both drunk, not that that's unusual, but still....a bit of imposed limit wouldn't be much to ask, would it now? Through all the daily stress and new grey hairs appearing, not to mention the wrinkles, I've never found myself mirroring my brain into the what appears to be hip nowadays phrase ''I hate my life''. I mean I've had ups and downs, and bad weather and shit and people hating my guts without knowing me and all, but never have I found myself truly hating on the gift that is life that the Almighty has bestowed upon me. I know this society we're living in persuades the individuals to strive for better, to give 150% out there, but it never gives any opportunity to cope with less when that's the case. Obviously not all of us are called Bill Gates and the likes, but is that supposed to make us feel less than human, less than capable of any job or planning? You can hear these indie rock bands-now that's a ''cool term, dude''-yelling left and right bout their screwed up childhoods adn shit and how they hate their lives. They don't make sense to me, they'd be like in their thirties, trying to get a fanbase of fifteen year olds, cause they all have family problems and the gals ain't giving it to 'em....Goddamn, where are the shrinks when you need them?
Now seriously, why do we hate our lives? Cause we don't have a perfect smile, cause our boss treats us like slaves, cause we don't own a yacht, cause we're not famous, cause we can't get laid with a porn star...What is it in the end? Maybe it's because you just lost an episode of CSI Miami, cause you're not as slick as Caruso, or maybe cause you don't have an English accent(which happens to be a true accent, unlike the British one ). Whatever it may be, you just hate your life. And you feel trapped in this soap opera, poorly directed and badly acted, with no chance of getting out.Well, take my advice, screw the system, screw the image they wanna put on you, screw the sex tapes of Paris Hilton and the featurings with Eminem, screw the interviews for big cash, screw them all...You're you and that's it! People just don't get it...Why would you hate your life cause you don't have your neighbor's abs or his wife's implants...Screw them! Just watch South park and laugh your ass off....You've got it all inside you, the thing is you've got to find a way to make the most of it...You've got to shine, and you can certainly shine. Don't confine yourself into the only box of knowledge you can obtain or owe,the possibilities are endless and at the end you'll pity the folks hating their lives. Just like me!!
Damn, this lager's good........

http://rapidshare.com/files/218974995/Soulution-Shine_Through_2009_.zip

T.

G8 Aquila aka It's G8 to be a head of state and not give a fuck(How to invent new tourism)

2009-08-12T13:03:00.000+02:00

Aquila, 2009.Everyone's been toured around the city, damage report included.All that bollocks.

Different questions asked about where the kids are , how much will it take and cost to build it up again, funds tat'd be given to the city.All that bollocks.

Press is around so you have to ask something deep and make a serious/sad/thoughtfull grin as you look at the demolished city.All that bollocks.

The head of state's wives doing a separate tour, trying to sound involved too, but looking more like a fashion walk-about, based on the clothes they wear and their overral look.Meanwhile, the people rescued from the earthquake, that these important presidents are asking about and supposedly caring for, are still living in tents. Frankly nobody knows where they are and if they really exist. They're treated like an extinct species, they'll still gonna disappear eventually, so why bother.Handshakes, smiles towards the cameras, paper pose.''We salute the people of Aquila!''That's just bollocks.

Main conference/congress(or whatever fancy term they use nowadays)room. All gathered at the table. Nice cutlery, crystal glasses, expensive wine, all standing in front of each head of state, delegate, translator.
There's a world recession going on, yet the ''virus'' has yet to pass the bodyguards at the entrance and make its way into topics, minds or even vestimentary items.
-What are we gonna do to stop the famine in Africa and help the poor? an undisclosed voice started the talks.Silence in the room at first.
-Who was that? someone askedMurmuring in the hall.
-Famine? Poor people? I didn't come all the way from Washington DC, and that stands for Da Capital, to discuss these things! said Barack Hussein Obama. Where's my fried chicken wings, by the way? I asked for some fried chicken, with some corn. Why haven't those arrived? Now that's what I wanna talk about.
-End I want zome pickles. Angela Merkel continued
-If that's how you pray, I want my Cantonese lice. said the Chinese president
-By the way I loved how you smacked the shit out of those islamic bastardsin Urum-whatever the hell it's named. It's our duty to kill, banish and force to abandon all these muslims all over the world. Squash them like I did with that fly!
Laughs in the hall.
-I'm a muslim myself but I couldn't care less. I can become the new Hitler, he was chasing after his own. Next thing, I might even join the Klan. Could be fun. Obama continued
The whole room was laughing.
-Good joke, Mr President, Obama's translator whispered to his ear.
-So what else are we gonna discuss then, if not the poor and the necessity to give them a future? The recession, the crazy-going climate, endangered species.....the same voice was heard
-Someone get this Bono out of here!! Berlusconi yelled. I've got too many underage girls and Sardinian villas to think about already.
-The endangered species is somewhat an appealing subject to me. Gordon Brown joined the chattin'. I can barely get a decent fish'n'chips in the Uk, now that's an endangered species. Good fast-food.
-I agree! Obama said
-You're perfectly right! Merkel agreed
-I have to go to Singapole to get a nice lice. In China everybody not work, they all watch Jet Ri movies. The Chinese president broaded the spectrum of the discussion.
-What about pizzas? Berlusconi asked. Don't you think we should decide here and now the future of it? I think it's mandatory.
-Yeah!! the room ''choir'' agreed.
-All this food talking is really making me hungry. said Obama
It didn't take more than ten minutes till the head of states were feasting in the supposedly G8 aka very important meeting aka talking bout important stuff aka ''we'll help the world''.
By the time they ended their lunch-dinner, the day agenda regarding agreements was done.
-All we need now is a nice movie and we can call it a succesful day, said Brown.
-I'm a big fan ov Robert Rodriguez, that's why I'fe brought wis me Vrom dusk till dawn, said the French president.
-Where's Carla, Nicholas? Merkel asked
-She's out shopping.
-Shopping? Where? There's no store left intact in ze city....
-She had herself built a shopping mall just outside the city....
-Ah, gutt.
They went on with the movie.At the end of it, Merkel, stretching on the luxury armchairs broke the silence.
-I'd really like to meet George Clooney.
-You're in luck Angela, he's in town.
-Really!?
George ''You've no better smile than mine'' Clooney entered the hall, greeted everyone, handshakes, kisses, congratulations, all that bollocks.
-So, what brings you into town? Berlusconi asked
-As most of you know I've been in a slight cone of shadow lately...-Lately, make it more like 3-4 years.....
The room laughed.
-The Italian press, just like the rest of the world, doesn't care anymore about what I say, think or do...
-Yeah, but you do none of those...
Everyone was laughing still.
-I can't remember the last time they've even put me on the front cover of a magazine. It's a shame, really, for an actor like me. So I invented the poor and not-gonna-happen excuse of a movie I'll make in Aquila. Besides there's free food here and they do one hell of lamb round these parts.
Everybody nodded.
A young gypsy girl appeared next to Clooney, looking at him, waiting for some spare change.
-Get out of here, go to Angelina Jolie, she'll fucking adopt you, turn you into a brat, goddamit!
And those were the last words for the G8 talks held in Aquila, before the head of states and all other ''important'' people went clubbing and shit. They must have......

Seeying all these people coming to visit Aquila after such a devastating earthquake leads me to the idea that a new type of tourism has been created.The bigger the damage, the better aka more people will visit. Thus, hail the earthqukes, hail the volcano eruptions, hail the train accidents and nuclear bombings, hail the massive flooding and extreme drought. If any of these, and others, happen in your countries, cities, whatnot, don't despair......You'll meet lots of famous(even though most of us don't really know why they're famous for) persons, you'll be talked about, you'll be photographed while scrapping for food, or while trying to shower with no water cause you've no home anymore. But don't cry, don't feel sorry, don't feel helpless.....Tourists will come look at deserted streets and torn buildings. The new wave of tourism has started, it seems it's quite hip.........T.

Welcome to my blog....

2009-08-12T12:20:00.001+02:00

The first post is always the hardest to write, cause you have yourself there in front of the pc screen, trying to think something to fill the blank space with. But not just that, it has got to make sense and why the bloody hell not, throw in some tongue in cheek too....Cause it sure gets the gals blushing and chuckling ...:))
So, is this another blog like hundreds and thousands others out there? Course it is, any other blogger that says otherwise bout his/her own is bs-ing you at a grand scale. Yet, to be frank with you I ain't planning to copy& paste any other topics or ideas you might see, hear and read elsewhere on the net. To put it short I'll be posting my own writings, thoughts, music(hip hop and electronic) or just rants.

I'm Tuemckey(guess you'll learn to spell it in ten years time :))) and from here on I'll be the host of a not-planned-to-be-messed-up blog but sure it will be.

Enjoy.
Cheerio,
Tuemckey

EDIT!!!!!
Due to reasons I will not make public again, this blog has changed its use and course.