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Underground eXperts United File 194
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Underground eXperts United
Presents...
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[ City Of Slaves ] [ By The GNN ]
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"CITY OF SLAVES"
by THE GNN/DualCrew-Shining/uXu
"Bar the door. Bar the door.
The door is barred.
We are safe. We are safe.
The enemy rage outside, he will tire"
(T.S Eliot)
The morning sun places a thin film of sweat on my face. Naked streets,
trash and dead people with no dreams left. Sounds, hard facts and reality
everywhere. The crowded streets with myself in the middle. A forgotten
existence, running and walking through the city of neon and concrete. A
bartender serves whiskey with ice, amazed by my fresh voice. Drinking up
all my money that I borrow every time..
Ain't got the blues, ain't got the courage to leave the scene. The smell
of gasoline fills my soaked brain. I am a pilot of a plane who has lost
the sense of direction. I fly and fly without a clue to where I am going. A
new day is nothing more than the morning sun and the evening breeze.
I want the life. My story of life is about the little one. Grey
buildings rule the city, looking around for more power. I sleep by the
black river under the moon, I live in the power of the city, waiting for
the lightning man to strike.
Fresh. Clean. Not contaminated like the other slaves of the city. Free
to live. Not caught in the machinery where everybody who leaves need to be
replaced with violence.
Born in the seventies. Crushed in the nineties. Street-smart and old
now. Opened up a bottle of champagne when the new century became visible,
drank it and began to write. Bought a type writer, stole a couple of
papers.
Sitting by the river, writing the story of my life. My hands are typing
fast - I still remember how to do it properly. Finish one page at the
time, pulling it out and dropping it into the black river. See it float
away and start with a new paper. It is always the same. Saw the last
piece of paper float away a couple of years ago. The story of my life was
to an end. I threw the typewriter into the river. The black water
swallowed it with a dull sound. A few dark waves said good bye and left me
alone.
The wood to my coffin is the strong liquid, the nails are the cigarettes
from the downtown shop. Toxic air, dead eyes, black sun glasses on blue
robots who protect the slaves. A youth throw out some junk from a red
chevrolet. I walk fast, but not too fast, to the garbage, picking it up,
eating what can be eaten. Found a broken clock, a symbol for the
exterminated time. Gives it to a friend for a dollar, buys something to
drink. Feels death come back, disguised as life.
Look at the drunk, they say. Look at his worn out clothes, his broken
shoes. He has no knowledge, he is not educated. He is trash, he is
nothing. I am a loser and they are the servants of the city. I prefer to
be a drunk. I cannot do anything else. But I am educated. I know more
than most people do, despite of my dirty shell.
The blue sky has turned grey thanks to the thousands of chimneys that
keeps on pumping out smoke as if they tried to race against each other.
The slaves of the city race against each other in a desperate attempt to
reach the highest position. They all want to make it. Make it to the house
of the Gods. The house of the Gods are inhabited by the leaders of the
city. Whatever they become, whatever they do, whatever they believe that
they are, whatever they decide to do, everybody will soon die and never
return to the city. Fire and forget while you got the chance, take what you
can take. Eat the poor, kill the weak and race against the clock. Become a
well oiled part of the machinery, thrust your kick out and praise your own
slavery. Never look at any mirrors.
The no mans land is my home. Here, I can walk around and look the the
other people, who never sees me nor listens to my voice. The truth is
dangerous, better stay away from the truth. Better look away and face the
twisted facts. The reality is good as long as the reality is a cabaret for
the controlled masses, the slaves.
I am not a slave and a servant of the city. I am free but still trapped.
My prison is my life. They took it away from me. Robots on a mission
broke down my door, stole my computer, told me to fuck off and leave the
nets alone. I wanted to know everything, how the world worked. That was
not allowed at all, they said, and the slaves nodded to show the Gods that
they fully agreed. I lost my machine, my friends and my job. I lost my
home and was thrown out on the streets.
The night will soon be over. A new day will come and give me another
chance. I cannot hack any more, I can only dream about the past. I will
never become a part of the city, I know too much about the real world. The
blue robots will keep me away from the ordinary people forever.
The sun arises from the polluted horizon and places once again a thin
film of sweat on my face.
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This weekend: seventeen nicks killed in a netsplit homicide!
Now THE STASH! +46-13-CALL-OR-DIE-M.F
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Space Race.
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uXu #194 Underground eXperts United 1994 uXu #194
Call DEMON ROACH UNDERGROUND -> +1-806-794-4362
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