Underground eXperts United File 286

eZine lover (@eZine)

Published in 

Underground eXperts United

 · 5 years ago

  

 
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                         Underground eXperts United 

                                 Presents... 

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         [  Stigma  ]                                [  By The GNN  ] 

 
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                                  "STIGMA" 
                       by THE GNN/DualCrew-Shining/uXu 

 

   Listen carefully, I am a successful novelist. I have written many books 
and I have made so much money that I have lost count. When I was twelve 
years old I wrote a short poem. I called it 'Stigma'. 

   stigma 
   by Eric Kane 

   in another world 
   no time will be 
   to see what we have done 
   no eyes to feed 
   no pardon to beg for 
   because words are no more 

   I had of course written many others before this one. But when I sat 
there, alone in my room by my little desk, looking at the words I had 
written, I suddenly felt very special. My dream was to become a writer, a 
good writer. This poem was, in my eyes, the best thing I had ever done. 
   I went down to the kitchen. It was in the evening and my mother was busy 
preparing supper. I handed the paper with my poem over to her. She said 
it was the best poem she had ever read. It came as no surprise. Then she 
told me to show it to my father. 
   House of Kane was at that time the biggest publishing company in the 
country. My father owned it. He often came home very late, irritated and 
angry. This evening was no exception. The door opened and slammed shut with 
a bang. Dad was home. I gave him the poem, but he paid no attention to it. 
Instead, he placed the paper in his pocket and began talking about greedy 
writers and people without talent who dared to disturb him. My mother said 
nothing. She just listened and nodded. 
   We sat down to eat. I watched my father. He kept on complaining on 
various things during the whole supper. When he was finished with the meal, 
he fished up a cigar from his pocket and leaned back in the chair, muttering. 
When he fumbled for his matches he found the paper in his pocket. He brought 
it up and examined it. My heart began to beat faster. 
   He read the poem. Then he turned to me and asked if I had written it. I 
glanced at my mother and could see her smile. I said yes. My dad chuckled, 
then he tore the paper to pieces while saying that it was the worst piece 
of junk he had ever read. 
   When I went to bed that night I felt very empty. Downstairs, I could 
hear my parents fight. My mother said that my father had ruined my life. 
He claimed that he read enough garbage at work and did not have to stand 
more at home. 
   Even though my father had said that he hated my poem, I continued to 
write. I wrote poetry for a few more years, but after a while I got bored 
and began to explore prose instead. Three days after my twenty-seventh 
birthday, three years after my father had died, I finally got a letter from 
a publisher who wanted to buy my manuscript. It became a national best-seller 
and I made enough money to be able to work on my second book, which also 
sold very good. 

   I thank my mother and my father for my success. Without them, I would 
still be writing poems like 'Stigma'. They taught me that writing is not 
about art or self-expression. It is about giving people what they want to 
read. When I wrote that poem I still thought that you should write things 
for your own pleasure, not caring about what other people thought. Now, I 
know that I was mistaken. Writing is about giving the audience what they 
want to read. 
   I am now working on my fifth book. It will contain everything the masses 
want it to contain. I spend two hours every day with it. I hate those two 
hours. I do not understand why, because I have always dreamed of becoming 
a good writer. That dream is about to turn into a nightmare. I feel a 
burning pain every second I sit in front of the typewriter. Someone once 
told me that it was because of a deep stigma. God knows what he meant by 
that. But then, he was just a simple fool. I am a successful novelist, I 
ought to be able to find out the real truth some day. 

 

 
   ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// 
         Z.MAG@ZINE IS DEAD AND GONE! AND WE LOVE IT! HA HA HA! 
     We don't care about your opinion. Beat this: THE STASH +46-13-ETC 
   \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ 

             What about the figures, what about the facts? 

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 uXu #286              Underground eXperts United 1995              uXu #286 
              Call THE TRUTH SAYER'S DOMAIN -> +1-210-493-9975 
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