Jacinta, Norbert and Carmine were part of an elite and highly secret division of the intelligence services –the fasion spies, otherwise known as the Trend Spooks. They moved in a world of glittering aftershow parties, sought-after tayloring and gauntly elegant anorexia. But beneath the surface was a traffic in stolen state secrets of the profoundest import, smuggled via a ¶ network of counter-fashion intel agents against whom Yacinta Norbet and Carmine, the fashion spies who never came in from the froideur of the couture doyennes withering gazes, were the only hope.
Jacinta, Norbert and Carmine took their responsabilities and gave the best of themselves. Jacinta designed some strange silhouets for women in winter 2015, Norbert designed a chewinggum that changed colour when blowing bubbles with it, while Carmine designed some visuals to project ¶ on these chewinggum-bubbles.
All that would be combined in one show. The three designers were secretly all operatives for DEMON, the Demagogic Epiphenomenon of the Materialist Ontological Network, a secret society dedicated to the ¶ institution of total control of the worlds population by means of mind-altering chemicals in the fabrics of fashionable clothes. ‘There’s definitely something weird going on’, the people said. But they didn’t link the fashion industry with the large amount of deaths that was there since a year. Instead they bought ever more fashionable clothes, ¶ but if you would ask them the shortest way to the station, they would not be able to give a correct answer to your question. This was because, despite their appearance of being ordinary locals, they were in fact laser guided androids programmed only to have knowledge ¶ of several reasons of prevailing catwalk trends and certain designer drugs popular at fashion industry parties. An extra-terrestian, who accidently landed on earth, went to one of those parties, but nobody noticed him –of course- they just thought ¶ he was the art-director of XMMS, giving a fashion statement. His thigh-high green vinyl boots were generally agreed to be the strongest indicator of trends in 2011, especially since, by then, he would be the undisputed overlord of all humanity, and would be imposing his outlandish style with a strictness that crooked no resistance.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Roger and Isabella (Inge & John)
Roger and Isabella’s nuptial hour was drawing closer and their families were busy preparing for it with a huge cake made of every kind of dried fruit imaginable and icing sugar made of crystallized ¶ birch syrup. Since the thay Roger had proposed to Isabella there had been non-stop movement at their parents’ houses.
The ideas both families had about mariage were not quite the same. Rogers’ family was rather progressive, while Isabella’s parents were more conservative people. One thing though was ¶ certain; Isabella’s dress had to be white. ‘I’m a virgin and I’m proud of it’ she said to Roger. ‘I don’t give a shit about that’, said Roger. His mind really was on other things, it was quite true. That morning he had met a talking pig in the garden and it had prophecised to him that within the year he would be making an important discovery in the field of artificial intelligence. He didn’t believe it –he was a ¶ dentist by profession- but wondered how the pig could have known so much about his favorite foods and taste in music. ‘Some kind of trick’, he thought. A mirage, a fata morgana. But a good one though. ‘I like punk-rock too..’ he said, ‘I have a quite eclectic taste, I like any genre. As well as I like all my patients. They are my friends. ¶ You are my friend. I’m a good friend of myself.’ said the dentist to the pig. The pig replied that he was a friend to all those who were friends of the cause of peace and harmony among the peoples and animals of the world, especially the higher animals such as the swine. He was ¶ a very self-satisfied, even narcissistic pig and having uttered these words, produced a mirror with which to look at himself. ‘I love you!’ said the pig to his reflection. ‘I love you too’ answered the reflection. The pig smiled. The reflection smiled back at him. ‘We’re a good couple’, he said. ‘We definitely are’, said the reflection and disappeared.
The ideas both families had about mariage were not quite the same. Rogers’ family was rather progressive, while Isabella’s parents were more conservative people. One thing though was ¶ certain; Isabella’s dress had to be white. ‘I’m a virgin and I’m proud of it’ she said to Roger. ‘I don’t give a shit about that’, said Roger. His mind really was on other things, it was quite true. That morning he had met a talking pig in the garden and it had prophecised to him that within the year he would be making an important discovery in the field of artificial intelligence. He didn’t believe it –he was a ¶ dentist by profession- but wondered how the pig could have known so much about his favorite foods and taste in music. ‘Some kind of trick’, he thought. A mirage, a fata morgana. But a good one though. ‘I like punk-rock too..’ he said, ‘I have a quite eclectic taste, I like any genre. As well as I like all my patients. They are my friends. ¶ You are my friend. I’m a good friend of myself.’ said the dentist to the pig. The pig replied that he was a friend to all those who were friends of the cause of peace and harmony among the peoples and animals of the world, especially the higher animals such as the swine. He was ¶ a very self-satisfied, even narcissistic pig and having uttered these words, produced a mirror with which to look at himself. ‘I love you!’ said the pig to his reflection. ‘I love you too’ answered the reflection. The pig smiled. The reflection smiled back at him. ‘We’re a good couple’, he said. ‘We definitely are’, said the reflection and disappeared.
January Already (Inge & John)
It was January –already. And Alfredo Adonis, the famous drug dealer, had barely begun to work out his plans for the year. Would he need to order in more Afghan Red or should he concentrate his capital outlays on building up stocks of MDMA?
Did any of his competitors in nearby areas need eliminating, or should he try to involve them in some kind of cartel? As ¶ always the life of a drug dealer was filled with bewildering decisions, and Alfredo (or Mr. Adonis as he liked to be called) was no exception. There was no doubt; his companion had to be killed. ‘You know too much’, Alfredo said before firing the gun, in an attempt to make his companion sort of comprehensive for the fact that he had to die. ‘You don’t..’ But before he could finish his sentence Alfredo ¶ had shot him. ‘It was also for your own good really’, mumbled Alfredo and put his gun back in his pocket. It was still warm from being fired and the heat from it felt obscene in a way he could not quite explain against his thigh. Without thinking about why, he felt a sudden impulse to call his mother, and acted on it, taking out his phone and dialing the number from memory. But ¶ having made the call, he heard on the other end, only an unearthly electronic duotone wailing, like the sound of a siren slowed down by half. The line was dead. His mothers line. Why?
Alfredo got nervous, then angry, then rational. He called a taxi and went to his parential house, or his mothers’ house rather, since his father had long died. His father, such a good man, so wise, such dignity... even when confronted with the enemy, even when he had to shot them because they knew too much, he never ever lost his politeness. ¶ Speaking about him with the taxidriver made Alfredo highly sentimental. He thought of the many happy scenes of his boyhood, now bathed in a honeyed glow of nostalgic warmth. This made him think of the feeling his heroin addicted clients described getting from their drug of choice. ‘Of course’, he thought ‘they didn’t, mostly, have the kind of secure and loving upbringing that I did. But if, in a small way, I’m able to give them some of the same feeling, then I will ¶ have made a difference I can feel good about.’ And he smiled to himself, imagining the love and gratitude of a thousand mouldering junkies. ‘I am a good person,’ he said ‘I do good to the world. My existence makes a difference. I’m an angel, dark, like Lucifer, but nevertheless an angel. Maybe even an undiscovered planet.’ Tonight Alfredo’ll find himself in conjugation with Venus and Jupiter.
Did any of his competitors in nearby areas need eliminating, or should he try to involve them in some kind of cartel? As ¶ always the life of a drug dealer was filled with bewildering decisions, and Alfredo (or Mr. Adonis as he liked to be called) was no exception. There was no doubt; his companion had to be killed. ‘You know too much’, Alfredo said before firing the gun, in an attempt to make his companion sort of comprehensive for the fact that he had to die. ‘You don’t..’ But before he could finish his sentence Alfredo ¶ had shot him. ‘It was also for your own good really’, mumbled Alfredo and put his gun back in his pocket. It was still warm from being fired and the heat from it felt obscene in a way he could not quite explain against his thigh. Without thinking about why, he felt a sudden impulse to call his mother, and acted on it, taking out his phone and dialing the number from memory. But ¶ having made the call, he heard on the other end, only an unearthly electronic duotone wailing, like the sound of a siren slowed down by half. The line was dead. His mothers line. Why?
Alfredo got nervous, then angry, then rational. He called a taxi and went to his parential house, or his mothers’ house rather, since his father had long died. His father, such a good man, so wise, such dignity... even when confronted with the enemy, even when he had to shot them because they knew too much, he never ever lost his politeness. ¶ Speaking about him with the taxidriver made Alfredo highly sentimental. He thought of the many happy scenes of his boyhood, now bathed in a honeyed glow of nostalgic warmth. This made him think of the feeling his heroin addicted clients described getting from their drug of choice. ‘Of course’, he thought ‘they didn’t, mostly, have the kind of secure and loving upbringing that I did. But if, in a small way, I’m able to give them some of the same feeling, then I will ¶ have made a difference I can feel good about.’ And he smiled to himself, imagining the love and gratitude of a thousand mouldering junkies. ‘I am a good person,’ he said ‘I do good to the world. My existence makes a difference. I’m an angel, dark, like Lucifer, but nevertheless an angel. Maybe even an undiscovered planet.’ Tonight Alfredo’ll find himself in conjugation with Venus and Jupiter.
One More Story (Inge & John)
‘One more story!’ said the little girl to her father. ‘No no, you’ve allready had 5, you should go asleep now’, he answered. ‘Yes, but they were all moralistic stories. I want one that is just amusing, fun and hopeful.’ ‘No’, the father said and switched off the light. ‘How does she know that word?’ ¶ he asked himself. ‘It’s not a childrens’ word...’ Anne’s father had said the word several times in his hearing and each time he had felt the force of its maturity. ‘Yes, yes,’¶ he thought nodding his head, ‘a very grownup word. Definitely not for children. How come these children to be so mature for their age these days? Is it an improvement or a regression, or a degeneration?’ he wondered. ‘The three of them.’ answered a voice. ‘Who are you? Where are you?’
‘That’s not at all important.’ ‘You are patronising me too much’, said Anne to her father, ‘I can not devellop a true autonomy that way daddy.’ With some difficulty she extricated herself from the suffocating hugh he was giving her and went to the window where a strange light was now visible. She thought it ¶ might be the ghost of her great-grandfather, a famous homosexual who had been rumoured to have been born on the moon. ‘Get out of the house of your father’, he repeatedly said. And finaly she did. She left her fathers’ house at the age of 13 to study art-history in Helsinki. Of course ¶ she was the youngest of all students, but she managed to pass all het exams and even got a distinction on het macro-economic theory paper. Having achieved this, she spent the following week getting extremely ¶ drunk and was lucky not to die of alcohol poisoning, only avoiding this fate thanks to a regime of vitamin pills her mother had started her on when she was six. But did she learn from that experience?
No. Of course not. She visited party after party and drunk all the booze she got offered.
‘That’s not at all important.’ ‘You are patronising me too much’, said Anne to her father, ‘I can not devellop a true autonomy that way daddy.’ With some difficulty she extricated herself from the suffocating hugh he was giving her and went to the window where a strange light was now visible. She thought it ¶ might be the ghost of her great-grandfather, a famous homosexual who had been rumoured to have been born on the moon. ‘Get out of the house of your father’, he repeatedly said. And finaly she did. She left her fathers’ house at the age of 13 to study art-history in Helsinki. Of course ¶ she was the youngest of all students, but she managed to pass all het exams and even got a distinction on het macro-economic theory paper. Having achieved this, she spent the following week getting extremely ¶ drunk and was lucky not to die of alcohol poisoning, only avoiding this fate thanks to a regime of vitamin pills her mother had started her on when she was six. But did she learn from that experience?
No. Of course not. She visited party after party and drunk all the booze she got offered.
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