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| Thread: A midnight’s summer dream | |
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Svarog
Honorable
Supreme Hero
statue-loving necrophiliac
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posted August 29, 2004 12:54 AM |
bonus applied. |
Edited By: Svarog on 30 Aug 2004
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A midnight’s summer dream
The sun was just rising from behind the mountains. You could hear the shrieks of crows and other flocks of various useless feathered creatures with their playful whistles early in the morning waking from their hard night sleep. “Time for bed, Svarog.” I say to myself. My eyelids are still stubborn to submit to my will for sleep. I click the Start button, and put my little baby to sleep. The screen hedonistically blackens out after my 3 hours long torture of His Cyberness. The room is a scorcher. I sometimes think the old bastard continues radiating heat just to keep me awake. Screw him! What about those feather balls tweeting joyfully? At times like this, I wish we had more skillful pussy cats around.
And while I struggle to define my sleeping adversary, I fall asleep, not knowing whether it was my tiredness that did the trick or the sporadic hallucinations of Angelina Jolie touching my left knee.
After couple of REM phases and nocturnal erections (or was it emissions), my ear drums are torn apart by the thunder-like clash of guitar distortion and some good old rock chords, coming from my radio station solemnly trusted with the duty of waking me up. “Its 2 PM already. *yawn; yawn; shout; stretch*” As soon as my immediate physiological needs are met, I retrieve to my bed selfishly indulging myself in the “morning” loneliness. You know how hard it is for young guys to take a leak in the morning, due to certain, ahem… inappropriate urine trajectories? Now, if it was 5 years ago, I would have grabbed the joystick and kick the hell out of it, but my primitive ape urges have evolved since then. I’ve come to realize that the best way to kill the morning erection is to engage in a tough psychoanalytic séance. So, I begin agonizing my neurons with metaphysical dilemmas like “Is there life in the universe?”, “Why did kamikaze pilots wear helmets?” and “Does Consis still defecate in the bathroom while his wife brushes her teeth?”. Immediately after I see the results, I run to the bathroom like crazy to empty my kidneys. “Agh! Feels so good” I mumble while I express my artistic talents trying to shape some abstract geometric curves on the toilet’s surface.
Lighter for few kilos, I somehow manage to drag my lazy butt to the fridge. Full of enthusiasm and empty on food, I open it, only to disappoint my expectations of food that I actually eat smiling at me in the corner of the shelf. Only cheese, butter and tunas. Who would eat stuff like that?! Yeah, I know what you’re thinking – poor me. So, I empty my pockets to see if there’s any money left from last night. Yay! Whole 50 denars (1 dollar)! Hmmm, that could get me a decent snack, namely burek, a delicious greasy noodle with minced meat, just enough to stuff my belly with proteins and lipids and keep me engaged working out for the following period. On my way to the store the little brat from downstairs, sticks to me and starts nagging me about my beard and necklaces. “Great! My fan is a six-year old.” And this is a point when you start questioning your values and interests, and then I triumphally conclude “That kid will one day be an adult, wont he?” Proud of my yet expanding fan club, I enter the store to deal with real adults now. A fifty year old hag stands behind the door. Nope! Coughing wont get her attention, so I start moving my hand towards the croissants. The Scottish within her wakes up, and she draws herself in front of me with lightning speed. “What do you want?!” Glowing with happiness because I got the most polite reaction possible out of her, I grin more stupidly than a TV presenter and ask for my burek.
There’s a bench (more likely a surrealist sculpture made of wood) in a fat shade near my building where I usually collapse to eat my breakfast or after a long night of partying. I prepare mentally to devour the poor snack, slimes drooling and everything, and just then grandpa Petko (an eccentric 70yearold neighbor) walks by. I salute him: “Long live Comrade Tito!” hoping to resurrect his nostalgic memories when “all was nice in the socialist paradise”. Fatal mistake. Whatever you do, don’t, I repeat, don’t excite oldmen about politics. “No, no, no! Long live General Augusto Pinochet!” “What?!” I’m trying to recover from the shock searching through my brain database and trying to find any Macedonian-related facts about Augusto. Has the world gone crazy? Has North Korea started giving humanitarian aid to starving Sweden, and USA been invaded by Swaziland? These things puzzle me with their likeliness which is approximate to the likeliness of grandpa Petko dancing twist on the political axis from left to right. Hard-core commie, that’s what he was! He lifts the newspaper high above his head, stretches his arms and legs (by the way, did I mention he’s as skinny as a mackerel?) and shouts in the hybrid manner of a Hollywood superhero and a tennis female player: “Look what they are trying to do to this poor old man!” I’m lol-ing inside, but manage to understand granpop’s empathy for his South American peers. “Yeah, those bastards!” I answer back, and see his scarecrow body staggering away, like having an epileptic attack. My IPU, what’s happening to this poor country!? Stupid kids, contentious adults and crazy oldmen. Is there a future for my tiny little outcrop of mountainous Balkan land? Well, as they say, the future belongs to the youth. I guess I need to check out my peers too, before I give up on everything and start hanging out with grandpa Petko.
I go back home, sneaking behind not to bump into that darn kid again, and nail myself in front of the TV. Olympics time! Let’s see. One good news, one bad news. Good news is that it’s a female category on the air. Bad news is its weight-lifting. Never before have I separated more the sport and sexual appeal of watching women competing in the Games. Screw the Olympics! (but don’t screw those athletes for dear life) 4 PM – my folks are back from work. 6 PM - lunch. 6:01-6:30 PM – my mom’s boring report from her day at work, coupled with few pedagogical lessons for my late sleep. 7 PM – news, the most popular humoristic show in Macedonia. 9 PM – I get a phone call from Maria to arrange for tonight. 9:01 – phone call ends. Aren’t I eloquent? He he!
We arranged at 9:45. Having experience with females, I show up at 10. Naturally the girls are not there. Me and the guys go and get some beer. When we get back, something unusual happens, the girls are all here, and its only 10:15. Wow! I guess there were no soap operas today. The “traditional” Americanized custom says to kiss everybody in the chick, so we each give each a round of love, and after the ceremony is finished we continue to the city park, which is full of junkies, fanciers (derived from the word “fancy”), and various kinds of social outcasts, bundled in groups according to their music preferences. We equip ourselves with wine and set to locate our bottoms somewhere cozy, somewhere nice – right under a tree on the bare ground.
Now there’s a potential danger when you sit in the park with a bottle of wine, cause, as I said, all sorts of heads with the predispositions to become zeppelins, namely metal heads, punkers, airheads etc, approach you and ask you in a highly non-articulative manner “How are you!!!”. I try to vaguely remember one such guy’s facial deformities, but I fail. “Who are you?” I ask him. “I’m the greatest ****er in this city!” he shouts with a charm of infantile adolescence. “OK, then go and **** yourself, cause you wont get any wine from me, punk.” I said and directed the drunken guy to another circle of buddies. Disillusioned in the future of the Macedonian gene pool, I do a quick maths in my brain. According to the latest statistics, the current Macedonian birth rate is around 16 per thousand people. With a population of 2 million, we’ll have about 32 thousand new people in a year. Minus some thousand or so with the potential to rise above the intelligence of a dolphin, and another thousand to come really close, I conclude that in only one year we’ll be overrun by 30,000 new intellectual scars on the face of Earth.
In resignation, I drink another sip, and pass the wine around the circle, until we finish off the entire bottle. We hear funny stuff, stupid stuff; we laugh, and feel happy wasting our time. In the middle of the conversation usually comes a time when everybody b!tches about everything in this stupid country, just as I’m doing it right now, how no one cares and no one does anything to change things, and in the end we proudly conclude that its too bad not many people are smart as we are. Duh! That’s the problem – we are all the same!
12:15 AM – I think about whether to go and catch the 12:30 bus along with most of the metal heads. Advantages – it’s free, cause all the hooligans open forcefully the back doors to enter. Disadvantages – the people inside disprove the theory of density. …Or stay until 2-3 AM and catch a cab with the guys. Option 1 wins tonight. We stuff ourselves in the bus like sardines in a can and “enjoy” the half-hour ride home. Elbows, armpits, stoned junkies, its all inside. Finally, I survive the gas chamber, and get back home. And once more, I turn my little baby on, and log on here. That completes the circle of my midnight summer dream. And I’m here again, checking to see if Asmodean’s online for a chat, check e-mails, type a spam or two, and so on, and so forth, until dawn comes again.
“After all, it looks like there’s not much time left” – I comment in a cliché manner and proceed staring in the screen.
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The meek shall inherit the earth, but NOT its mineral rights.
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Consis
Honorable
Legendary Hero
Of Ruby
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posted August 29, 2004 07:34 AM |
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Edited By: Consis on 29 Aug 2004
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A Good Account
I especially liked the detail to the moods of the people around you. I took in quite a bit of your reactions to people in certain ways. I felt very comfortable and enjoyed your outlook on life. It was well told, well organized, and flowed smoothly. Spelling is spelling, everyone makes mistakes here, even bort.  But I must repeat how much I enjoyed learning about you in this way. I think posts like this help me understand just how much of a real person you are behind the electronic computer screen.  Well done and thankyou.
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Roses Are Red And So Am I
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pandora
Honorable
Legendary Hero
The Chosen One
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posted August 30, 2004 06:21 AM |
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I loved it!
Svarog, this was just an excellent post 
I had no idea when I went to HC that for a few minutes I'd be jumping out of my life to follow you around in yours for a day!
On an aside to Consis, what is your thing with Bort anyways? Do you hate him because he's beautiful?
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"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."
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LichKing
Honorable
Known Hero
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posted August 30, 2004 06:23 AM |
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not only beautiful
but truly intelligent!
Bort for PRES!!!!!!!
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SOUND THE CHARGE!! INTO GLORY RIDE!!!
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Consis
Honorable
Legendary Hero
Of Ruby
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posted August 30, 2004 04:03 PM |
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Fickle Thy Name Is bort
Yes  and no  Pandora.
It's all so confusing for me because I really love his postings but it infuriates me to know that he would never reveal his true identity. Alas I suppose I can understand the reasoning for such a thing as I described a certain member to you in an IM Pandora. My ex-wife is a stalker too. And there really are some scary people who inhabit this internet. Ah well, I shall simply force myself to accept the things I have no control over.
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Roses Are RedAnd So Am I
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