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Underground eXperts United File 414
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Underground eXperts United
Presents...
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[ A Meager Attempt ] [ By Sophia ]
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a meager attempt
written by Sophia
It had been four months since the last time we saw each other. The cramped
attic was burning hot. Had to gulp down saliva, the smell of filthy body
almost made me throw up.
No walls. Kitchen, living room, bedroom - all in the same area. Instead
of rugs, scattered magazines. A score of wine bottles were lined up by the
window. Odd, but she had always been odd. I suppose my nervousness shone
through, because she asked me to sit down with a calm voice.
"How's business?" she asked, while still rubbing a grey lump of concrete
with sandpaper.
"Excellent, great, there's nothing more profitable than the mail-
ordering business in this day and age. You know, people got no money,
economy is down the drain. No one can afford shopping at the malls
nowadays, but primarily...," rhetorical pause, "... people are so damn
lazy. Sitting in front of the television set and gorging themselves with
peanuts, that's how people are today - they're LAZY. At this point I enter
the scene. My concept aims for comfort. Just chose your garment in the
catalogue, check a box and, whoosh, you got something fresh in no time.
We're even on the Internet, gotta go with the flow, ya know. Got frigging
good brands too, familiar with La Plume, no, what about Forever Young,
nope, but Lord Lancelot then, it's leading, oh no? Okay... okay, Mickey
Mickey hey, ha ha, remember that golden hit? No, we really gotta quit
talking 'bout me, let's chat about you instead, what are you up to these
days, why don't you ever gimme a call? Ha ha, I always resort to that one
whenever I meet some old buddy."
Not all that unexpected, she did not even indicate the faintest smile.
She had never grasped my sense of humor. But she eventually decided to
answer me anyway.
"At the moment, I'm a part of an artistic group, Unicorus. Unicorn, in
ordinary language. That's what we call ourselves. You know what the unicorn
symbolizes? Didn't think so. It symbolizes purity and power. And that's
exactly what we wish to obtain with our art, the purity and power around
us, the purity in every unborn child, the human power, in everything from
the unobtrusive buzz of the fly to the world-wide chant of the whales, yes,
in everything, and this - yes, this - is the mission of every true artist
to delineate."
The sandpaper had been abandoned. Now she squirted paint over her lump.
"Red, red, that's my color, powerful, aggressive, vigorous and allied
with Fire." She prolonged, emphasizing the e, Fireee. "And green, the
lovely color of the Earth," she laughed and whipped the brush against the
lump, now slightly covered in a dirty reddish shade.
I had been silent for quite some time, wondering what to say, when an
awful feeling crawled up on me. Something did not make sense. But then I
found out; green was not the color of the Earth, brown was! which I
informed her.
"Cut it out," she said with a low voice, an initial sign of the oncoming
eruption: "Here we go again! You always know best. What do you know about
color symbolism? Nothing! Have you read H.W. Sohmner, 'The Color Symbolism
of the West-Coast-Salish Mythology'? Have you ever tried to interpret the
language of nature? No, you haven't. And do you know how it really is to
struggle for your art, day in and day out? To never have any money? You,
with your fancy cars and plastic cards, old gold cards, what about sharing
a bit of your wealth with people who actually NEEDS it, instead of wasting
it all on expensive drinks, bimbos, whores."
Rage overwhelmed me. "Now you gonna listen to me for a change. You think
life is some goddamn kindergarten? Don't you think a lot of people would
love to switch with you, playing all day long and enjoying a tiny bit of
freedom? Don't you think I would like to..."
I fell silent, catching my breath while trying to figure out what to say
next. She had said 'bimbos, whores'. Now it was my turn.
"You, with your shabby werewolf, the tramp whom haven't got anything
better to do than attending courses where you sit and shit out your anxiety
all over the floor, not to mention that effing negro on your damn drumming
class, do you really think I'm so stupid I don't realize that it was just
his big fu..."
Someone interrupted me. "Oh, you're here too, daddy? I'm so glad you
and mom are happy together..."
In guilt, we looked at our ten-year-old son. I ruffled his hair, the way
I used to do before me and my wife decided to split up. A time associated
with Bad times. And it certainly had not become any better. The carrot cake
stuffed to the limit with fibers, together with some awful thing refereed
to as coffee, ecologically correct shit, filled me with anguish. When it
was all over, I enjoyed a deep sigh of relief. This was the way life was
supposed to be. Wasn't it?
A long time ago I used to work as a remedial teacher. My wife was a social
secretary. After she had read a book on the subject of happiness, we
decided to do something with our lives. I longed for the life of commerce,
get on the market and make money. My wife wanted to develop her artistic
talent. And, after all, our sex life was quite meager. So, it came to this.
But at least we had made an attempt, which is more than people usually do.
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uXu #414 Underground eXperts United 1998 uXu #414
Call RIPCO ][ -> +1-773-528-5020
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