people don’t look safe and secure anymore, the war on terror is not going that well, said sponge.
what makes you think that, said breadroll, that could get you shot. or arrested. you would be held in some prison in the middle of nowhere.
these prisons tend to be in interesting areas, said sponge, but inside it’s all about security.
there we would go again, said sponge, if we wanted to.
but we don’t want to, said breadroll. exactly, said sponge and a clock started to tick. i’ve got something in my ears, he said. silence. a ticking in sponge’s ears.
yes well, said breadroll, country doctor as i am i shall send you to a specialist.
you’re not a doctor, said sponge.
no, said breadroll, but you are not sick and therefore we just impersonated a joke. staged it for the not-onlookers.
same corner, said sponge i see. we just went around corners.
yes, said breadroll, but i reply just to have a conversation, not to hold it.
ok then, said sponge.
hang on, said sponge, very fast.
hang, on, said breadroll, very slowl.
hong on, said block of wood and realised his insignificance. it is a matter of time until they find a way out. something. an accident. happens everyday, here today, gone tomorrow.
the occasional man was hovering around the corner. not your normal one this time; this one sticks.
i’m anto, he says. he leans over. he taps sponge’s knee. hey, he says.
sponge stares east-west, breadroll the other ways.
block of wood doesn’t show any reaction. we are fine, i think, he says to himself.
brekst didn’t come in a while, said sponge, and not much happen since. a fly is a fly but for all i know it is an event. brekst with his cirpy voice, the voice that lingers on when he’s gone.
and even if something happened, said breadroll, what would we do?
about it? with it? for it? against it? i spin when i think about it, said sponge. you name it, said breadroll.
no way way i would want this dog putty on my slippers, said sponge, i seemed to have touched the spot they didn’t want to spare.
very sour kinda sarcasm-based sort of sense of humour, said breadroll. if we want to be a serious novel we should do something interesting. post to w.a.s.t.e. for instance just to dig it.
you know, said sponge, that’s funny. i was just thinking the same and now it’s attributed to you. that’s how historical error occur.
are we, said breadroll.
yes, said sponge, what is it?
almost there, said breadroll.
the theme of waiting for something is paramount in literature and at train stations. little we can do about it: what can one do about waiting. this was mentioned in the interview:
q: fnnn. waiting for what? a miracle. a wonder. some of the stuff that drives violent atheist groups to burn stooges in the streets of underprivileged quarters of town?
a: certainly not (reaches for cigarette).
q: you’re not going to start smoking again, are you fnnnnh?
a: ahh no.
q: awright fnnn, it’s just that would bring other pressure groups at stake.
a: yeah i know i’m good.
so it goes as they say. we are not at all almost there. as they say.
where should we go now, said breadroll.
let’s see, said sponge. after a while: we had this corner and the other, that corner, the pointy one and the one in need of repairs. but there always another one.
there is always one, said block of wood agreeingly.
shall we go then, said breadroll.
they went.
there are a lot of things we could do, said sponge, if we thought about it.
if we put our mind to it, said breadroll.
if we would get up to it, said block of wood.
effortlessly, said sponge.
these soldiers must have been the in-crowd, said sponge, a jolly bunch, and made me feel safe, that’s for sure.
and cut, said breadroll.
what do you mean, said sponge.
as in stop, said breadroll, i must stop you here.
i see, said sponge.
a crock of wine was there, so they soaked sponge in it, put him on a stalk of the hops plant, and lifted it, the stalk. they sang songs cheerfully and cheered otherwise as well, e.g. by revealing their posteriors. it is people like these that mandate stories to contain significant quantities of introspection with a depressed or otherwise emotionally distraught slant.
they weren’t soldiers, said sponge, or any other type of friendly combattants so i should be fine with regard to legal costs.
and what’s the shop bit, said blokk. he whacked breadroll, he whacked sponge. they did not have teeth to be kicked out but butts to be smacked heavily. after the blood had dried up breadroll said, you know your asskicking is kinda gay, as in homosexual, you better beef that up a bit you know. whilst block of wood saw where breadroll was coming from he could not fathom what he was talking about.
sponge was unimpressed. a rather sleeky way of not getting my drift, he said.
i had to do this line, said breadroll, and now i am trying to defuse the argument. my best.
well who says you are the understanding one, said sponge, i was a person when you were still a breakfast item and it wasn’t a breakfeast if i’m allowed a pun.
that i’m aware of, said breadroll, i think you’re not exaggerating, so, shall we skip it it?
ya why not, said sponge, that leaves us with a bare feeding occasion. if you get the gist.
barely, but steadily, said breadroll, bare feeding occasion. is that what they call it in english?
no, but they would need a shop to get stuff.
he always does that, he always does that wrong, said sponge. and if i was to say that again it would be more like ‘he always does that, he always does that fucking wrong, said sponge’.
he is to examine the mildew on the walls, said breadroll, and if it has greenish or reddish depressions that appear to be deeper than the surface of the wall.
i see, said breadroll.
jolly good, said breadroll, jolliest good. it looks as if i can talk to myself after all.
it was the same day or another. same loneliness, different day. or so we thought.
didn’t we, said sponge.
think we did, said breadroll.
me too, said block of wood.
all in a sudden everything seemed cute; still lonely though but that’s the scheme of thing.
same corner, did we say same corner. yeah well, same corner that’s what it is. it is my superior believe that we didn’t move a bit, abit and therefore didn’t get very far, said sponge. he made a point and breadroll made a comma whereas block of wood resorted to a semicolon. to be half-wit sponge then said that making a colon would have been really shitty. none of these comments really furthered anything but luckily wasn’t supposed to do so anyway and thus wasn’t filed as failure.
lucky that.
how do you feel about circles, dimensions and circles and seemingly same sensations? not good. dotcom. it rained. lightly but steadily, a constant spray.
we could all start with a narrative, said sponge, that’s quite something.
i think we’ve been here before. i must admit i feel so-so without a compass. and then with this whole book thing, that puts some pressure on all of us.
you’ve got to be nice, said sponge. a nice thing to say but an unsuitable start for a conversation as people think you want to ask for change.
nice day, any spare change on you. questions you don’t ask right in front of the bookies. next: to practise conversation.
that sounds classified, said sponge, but no need paranoid.
no, said breadroll. and we have moved somehow. but the minutes may take hours.
that’s a sad pun, said sponge, we should get a mascot for that.
there we go, said breadroll.
we didn’t move so far, said sponge. breathe in breathe out. that was a tough one nonetheless. who is doing the minutes?
31 October, 2006 