Digital Underground - uXu - Underground eXperts United #uxu-414

### ### ### ### ### #### ### ### ### #### ### ### ##### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ##### ### ### ########## ### ### ########## ### ### ### ### Underground eXperts United Presents... ####### ## ## ####### # # ## ## #### ## ## ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## ## #### ## ## #### # # ####### ## ####### ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## ## ####### ####### # # ## ###### ## [ A Meager Attempt ] [ By Sophia ] ____________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________ 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. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- uXu #414 Underground eXperts United 1998 uXu #414 Call RIPCO ][ -> +1-773-528-5020 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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