Sometimes I worked for three newspapers at once. I wrote ad copy for new casinos and bowling alleys. I was a consultant for the cockfighting syndicate, an utterly corrupt high-end restaurant critic, a yachting photographer and a routine victim of police brutality. It was a greedy life and I was good at it. I made some interesting friends, had enough money to get around, and learned a lot about the world that I could never have learned any other way.
Like most of the others, I was a seeker, a mover, a malcontent, and at times a stupid hell-raiser. I was never idle long enough to do much thinking, but I felt somehow that my instincts were right. I shared a vague optimism that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest road, and that the best of us would inevitably make it over the top.
At the same time, I shared a dark suspicion that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles- a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other- that kept me going.
In the cab I leaned back and lit a small cigar I'd bought in the coffee shop. I was feeling better now, warm and sleepy and absolutely free. With the palms zipping past and the big sun burning down on the road ahead, I had a flash of something I hadn't felt since my first few months in Europe- a mixture of ignorance and a loose, 'what the hell' kind of confidence that comes on a man when the wind picks up and he begins to move in hard straight line toward an unknown horizon...
The rogue professor entered the basement at thirteen hundred hours. The walls were coated with a mat black rubber. They absorbed the deep blue lighting shining from multiple lamps placed around the room. There appeared to be a large group1 of individuals standing in a grid formation. They were static. Casting steady shadows upon the floor on which they stood. The professor mingled through them. Observing each one with scrutiny. Then, rubbing the stubbles on his head he clearly voiced for the lights to rise to medium exposure. A slight hum filled to room as the human features of all present became more obvious in the rising clarity.
Hunter wish u were here .wel u will have the best seat in the house to witness all the controllers failing one by one as time rolls by.there is nothing hey can do ..sure little death sm proPIGanda will ster fear .they ressult will be a lesson 2 al who try to take basic American libertyies away.he u can piss on them on there transition to Hell.lucky guy ,shit wish u were here to ster shit up though.
Den Mittelfinger in die Luft, den Schnaps in die Kehle und den Arsch auf die Tanzfläche!
"Wir nennen es Party!" präsentiert beim siebten Teil von "/b>Stuttgart kaputtraven.." erstmals FUKKK OFFF ("Rave is King!") live in Stuttgart! Außerdem Elektropunk von DEINE JUGEND und die New Rave-DJs vom TEAM RANDALISM. Große Ausflipperei!
So, endlich geht..s weiter: New Rave und Elektropunk, Schnaps und BummBumm, Exzess und Elektrorocke bei "Stuttgart kaputtraven 6" am Sa, 26.09.09 im Keller-Klub.
VVK läuft (WOM, Ratzer, Obscür, Flaming Star).
Außerdem am 12.10.09 in der Röhre:
Auch hier gibt..s schon VVK-Tickets. inkl. Aftershow-Party mit aUtOdiDakt im Keller.
Alle kommen! Alle... Naja, Ihr wisst schon, was Ihr zu tun habt!
