ThE LETTER.
Kane
I found out a long time ago what a woman can do for your soul. I’ve recently had some very strange female customers in my small clothing emporium, from the Isle of Wight. All had scarves on their heads and a funny look in their EYE. Deliver me from the EVIL that is the female shopper. I’m very bored. Not even an IT message to keep me company. When I’m bored now, I burn ants with matches and play mini-golf on my mobile phone. My best score is 25, in both activities. I want to know what the replica imitation Kane is doing at this moment, has the SPYdER sewn your fingers together with thick twine and barbed wire?
Have you been eaten by IT? Incarcerated in an ancient stone well by the SPYdER? Taken in an old blue Bedford van to Epping Forest and had your arms sawn off by THE OTHER?
Kane! Where are you? Are you drowning in a sea of fax machines, photocopiers, paperclips and biros?
Have they finally enlisted you to their ranks of dull semi- automated bar-coded assembly line freakoids? Is there still a small part of what was known as ‘Kane’ left?
Are you working at a small grey metal desk on the 17th floor of the MINISTRY OF HATE? Do you eat liquid food from a tube attached to your black suit? How does the new implant feel? Do you sleep standing up in a stainless steel pod? Do they allow you to exercise in the LARGE MOUSE CAGE?
Have you learned to operate the WHEEL?
DO YOU STILL FEEL? OR ARE YOU DEAD? YOU MUST BE DEAD!!
I DON’T UNDERSTAND YOUR NEW OFFICE EXISTENCE, you ARE BARKANE THE BARCODE KING.
I suspect that your life is no longer your, so that is why I have kept textual silence, I hope your new job is slightly more stimulating than your previous dull employment. What are your co-workers like? You KANE made me into a text junkie! You created me! I need my FIX! Where are you? I need to express the creative madness through the medium of the digital. As I stare at my list I see patterns. I hate the colours yellow and brown. I watch and wait. I listen and remember. Soon you will remember me again! I will plague you until you die a horrible death in some dirty back street in Frankfurt!
Wasting important male pastimes – wicked indolent male prostitutes – whore’s intelligent men prefer – women’s issues men’s prison – women invading mens privacy – women in merciless positions – wonderful icons of male preserve – the world institute of mens penises!
WE ARE THE MEN OF W.I.M.P!!!
I hate old people which mean I will hate myself even more in 15 years time.
My aunt used to say ‘if you look at yourself in the mirror too long, you’ll see a monkey there.’
What I can see is far below the monkey, on the edge of the vegetable world, at the polyp level. I am afraid of towns and cities, but you mustn’t leave them. If you venture too far, you come to the vegetation belt. It is waiting. When the town dies, the vegetation will invade it, clamber over the stones, grip them, search them, and burst them with its long black pincers.
I have never rejected harmless emotions: far from it. In order to feel them, it is sufficient to be a little isolated, just enough to get rid of plausibility at the right moment. Should I remain close to people, on the surface of solitude, ready, in case of an emergency, to take refuge in their midst? Or forsake the safety net and immerse myself in silence of SELF?
I have no need to speak in flowery language. I am writing to understand certain circumstances. What really disgusts me is when I become sublime. When I was 20 I used to get drunk and then explain that I was a fellow in the style of Descartes. I let myself go, I enjoyed it. After that, the next day I felt disgusted as if I had woken in a bed full of vomit!
America brought you the HAMBURGER!
Be seeing you?
ZERO
I found out a long time ago what a woman can do for your soul. I’ve recently had some very strange female customers in my small clothing emporium, from the Isle of Wight. All had scarves on their heads and a funny look in their EYE. Deliver me from the EVIL that is the female shopper. I’m very bored. Not even an IT message to keep me company. When I’m bored now, I burn ants with matches and play mini-golf on my mobile phone. My best score is 25, in both activities. I want to know what the replica imitation Kane is doing at this moment, has the SPYdER sewn your fingers together with thick twine and barbed wire?
Have you been eaten by IT? Incarcerated in an ancient stone well by the SPYdER? Taken in an old blue Bedford van to Epping Forest and had your arms sawn off by THE OTHER?
Kane! Where are you? Are you drowning in a sea of fax machines, photocopiers, paperclips and biros?
Have they finally enlisted you to their ranks of dull semi- automated bar-coded assembly line freakoids? Is there still a small part of what was known as ‘Kane’ left?
Are you working at a small grey metal desk on the 17th floor of the MINISTRY OF HATE? Do you eat liquid food from a tube attached to your black suit? How does the new implant feel? Do you sleep standing up in a stainless steel pod? Do they allow you to exercise in the LARGE MOUSE CAGE?
Have you learned to operate the WHEEL?
DO YOU STILL FEEL? OR ARE YOU DEAD? YOU MUST BE DEAD!!
I DON’T UNDERSTAND YOUR NEW OFFICE EXISTENCE, you ARE BARKANE THE BARCODE KING.
I suspect that your life is no longer your, so that is why I have kept textual silence, I hope your new job is slightly more stimulating than your previous dull employment. What are your co-workers like? You KANE made me into a text junkie! You created me! I need my FIX! Where are you? I need to express the creative madness through the medium of the digital. As I stare at my list I see patterns. I hate the colours yellow and brown. I watch and wait. I listen and remember. Soon you will remember me again! I will plague you until you die a horrible death in some dirty back street in Frankfurt!
Wasting important male pastimes – wicked indolent male prostitutes – whore’s intelligent men prefer – women’s issues men’s prison – women invading mens privacy – women in merciless positions – wonderful icons of male preserve – the world institute of mens penises!
WE ARE THE MEN OF W.I.M.P!!!
I hate old people which mean I will hate myself even more in 15 years time.
My aunt used to say ‘if you look at yourself in the mirror too long, you’ll see a monkey there.’
What I can see is far below the monkey, on the edge of the vegetable world, at the polyp level. I am afraid of towns and cities, but you mustn’t leave them. If you venture too far, you come to the vegetation belt. It is waiting. When the town dies, the vegetation will invade it, clamber over the stones, grip them, search them, and burst them with its long black pincers.
I have never rejected harmless emotions: far from it. In order to feel them, it is sufficient to be a little isolated, just enough to get rid of plausibility at the right moment. Should I remain close to people, on the surface of solitude, ready, in case of an emergency, to take refuge in their midst? Or forsake the safety net and immerse myself in silence of SELF?
I have no need to speak in flowery language. I am writing to understand certain circumstances. What really disgusts me is when I become sublime. When I was 20 I used to get drunk and then explain that I was a fellow in the style of Descartes. I let myself go, I enjoyed it. After that, the next day I felt disgusted as if I had woken in a bed full of vomit!
America brought you the HAMBURGER!
Be seeing you?
ZERO
posted by JOShUA kANE at 8:48 AM
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