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- [ Stigma ] [ By The GNN ]
-
-
- ____________________________________________________________________
- ____________________________________________________________________
-
-
- "STIGMA"
- by THE GNN/DualCrew-Shining/uXu
-
-
-
- Listen carefully, I am a successful novelist. I have written many books
- and I have made so much money that I have lost count. When I was twelve
- years old I wrote a short poem. I called it 'Stigma'.
-
- stigma
- by Eric Kane
-
- in another world
- no time will be
- to see what we have done
- no eyes to feed
- no pardon to beg for
- because words are no more
-
- I had of course written many others before this one. But when I sat
- there, alone in my room by my little desk, looking at the words I had
- written, I suddenly felt very special. My dream was to become a writer, a
- good writer. This poem was, in my eyes, the best thing I had ever done.
- I went down to the kitchen. It was in the evening and my mother was busy
- preparing supper. I handed the paper with my poem over to her. She said
- it was the best poem she had ever read. It came as no surprise. Then she
- told me to show it to my father.
- House of Kane was at that time the biggest publishing company in the
- country. My father owned it. He often came home very late, irritated and
- angry. This evening was no exception. The door opened and slammed shut with
- a bang. Dad was home. I gave him the poem, but he paid no attention to it.
- Instead, he placed the paper in his pocket and began talking about greedy
- writers and people without talent who dared to disturb him. My mother said
- nothing. She just listened and nodded.
- We sat down to eat. I watched my father. He kept on complaining on
- various things during the whole supper. When he was finished with the meal,
- he fished up a cigar from his pocket and leaned back in the chair, muttering.
- When he fumbled for his matches he found the paper in his pocket. He brought
- it up and examined it. My heart began to beat faster.
- He read the poem. Then he turned to me and asked if I had written it. I
- glanced at my mother and could see her smile. I said yes. My dad chuckled,
- then he tore the paper to pieces while saying that it was the worst piece
- of junk he had ever read.
- When I went to bed that night I felt very empty. Downstairs, I could
- hear my parents fight. My mother said that my father had ruined my life.
- He claimed that he read enough garbage at work and did not have to stand
- more at home.
- Even though my father had said that he hated my poem, I continued to
- write. I wrote poetry for a few more years, but after a while I got bored
- and began to explore prose instead. Three days after my twenty-seventh
- birthday, three years after my father had died, I finally got a letter from
- a publisher who wanted to buy my manuscript. It became a national best-seller
- and I made enough money to be able to work on my second book, which also
- sold very good.
-
- I thank my mother and my father for my success. Without them, I would
- still be writing poems like 'Stigma'. They taught me that writing is not
- about art or self-expression. It is about giving people what they want to
- read. When I wrote that poem I still thought that you should write things
- for your own pleasure, not caring about what other people thought. Now, I
- know that I was mistaken. Writing is about giving the audience what they
- want to read.
- I am now working on my fifth book. It will contain everything the masses
- want it to contain. I spend two hours every day with it. I hate those two
- hours. I do not understand why, because I have always dreamed of becoming
- a good writer. That dream is about to turn into a nightmare. I feel a
- burning pain every second I sit in front of the typewriter. Someone once
- told me that it was because of a deep stigma. God knows what he meant by
- that. But then, he was just a simple fool. I am a successful novelist, I
- ought to be able to find out the real truth some day.
-
-
-
-
- /////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
- Z.MAG@ZINE IS DEAD AND GONE! AND WE LOVE IT! HA HA HA!
- We don't care about your opinion. Beat this: THE STASH +46-13-ETC
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-
- What about the figures, what about the facts?
-
- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------
- uXu #286 Underground eXperts United 1995 uXu #286
- Call THE TRUTH SAYER'S DOMAIN -> +1-210-493-9975
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