
                                ###     ###
                                 ###   ###
                      ###   ####  ### ###  ###   ####
                      ###    ###   #####   ###    ###
                      ###    ###    ###    ###    ###
                      ###    ###   #####   ###    ###
                      ##########  ### ###  ##########
                                 ###   ###
                                ###     ###

                         Underground eXperts United

                                 Presents...

         ####### ## ##      #######     # #   ####### ####### #######
         ##      ## ##      ##         #####       ##      ## ##   ##
         ####    ## ##      ####        # #   ####### ####### #######
         ##      ## ##      ##         #####  ##      ##      ##   ##
         ##      ## ####### #######     # #   ####### ####### #######

         [  Histamin  ]                                [  By Pivic  ]


    ____________________________________________________________________
    ____________________________________________________________________




                            H i s t a m i n
                        by Pivic (pivic@skom.se)

The music is guitars in harmony with much dist. The people are jumping
around on the stage and are stated geniuses. I can't handle them, or this
new punk-scene which most of the Ostermalmchildren have taken to. Girls
with black hair, black clothes - a skin-jacket with an anarchist-A on the
backside - gets into her father's BMW as he comes to pick her up. What is
she going to say to her little friends over the telephone tonight? That
her father was SO pissed at her when he said he didn't want to see her
with such people again? Hardly - he probably didn't even care. He
probably sat and eased his belt, glasses and his conscience, while his
poor daughter is dancing the-dying-yuppie-waltz by thinking of tonight's
concert. The band's name was Plutonium.

By Karlaplan, via one of the underground exits, there is a shop.
There an old lady always sits on the summers with her feet on the counter
and a GB-cap, one with an elastic band instead of just textile. She
usually eats Piggelin. Her husband once said the preservative that's in
the ice-cream helped you against the sun, that it was better than suntan
oil and so. She didn't know that what she was eating really was huge
amounts of a light-green pigment, which affected her skin in a most
peculiar way. Her good friends noticed nothing, but customers who never
had seen her before wondered where the colour came from, as if the shop
had green plastic as roof.

Have you ever met a person who likes to weigh things to see if they will
fall or not - a person who likes to make big piles of books on their floor
at home and then say it has to do with a lack of space, even though that
person has space for whatever? Daniel was a person who lived on the
fifteenth storey. He had loads of things on his balcony, which's door
almost always stood open. The balcony was pretty solid, nothing one falls
off if one doesn't wish to. The rail was pretty solid as well, which was
something he made sure of before he bought it. Then the carpet-carriers
came. The street below the balcony was crowded, during rush hour. NOW.
They went into the balcony and looked around. They saw typewriters and
goldfish-bowls on the rail, which made them look at each other with
strange faces for a moment. After diverse chit-chat between the three,
the two workers took a couple of carpets each and left. The first carpet-
carrier banged a fish bowl which slipped off the rail with a metallic
sound. The other worker then almost soundlessly turned around and stuck
two typewriters off the rail. Daniel could hear music, when the three
looked at the objects which fell towards the people.

The cities are desolate. Two cars are going towards each other in a low
speed over the old russian tundra. The wind is making the drivers think
it whistles outside, because of chicken-nets which doesn't exist. Their
speed is increasing. One is turning and the other one as well, so that
they're directed towards each other. Time passes and when they smash it's
frontally. The first car's petrol-tank which was on the car's top,
smashed against the other car and sat fire to it. The fire spread to the
first one. The fire was invisible because the temperature was below -40
degrees Celsius and the heat was spreading fast. The cars were welded
together. One man survived.

I'm walking outside on the street and I see skinheads fighting outside a
pub. The pub is brightly lit and I see lots of people fighting outside the
pub as well. Mostly I see skinheads in dark jackets, probably from India
or some other kind of developing country, which probably are the
skinheads' most beautiful and valuable possessions and they're adorned by
the Union Jack. They're shouting at and kicking people which seem to be
the family who own the pub, the family Purrajabijn; my neighbors. I see
how one of them, the youngest boy, Mamet, is walking outside with a tray
of beers. A skin hits the tray and the beers break against the ground at
the same time Mamet gets a couple of chair-legs in his stomach, the same
legs which were used to break the beers. Two skins help their cause. And
I walk on - I've seen enough. They can manage without my help.

She's putting together pages text pictures. She is using a roller to paste
pictures and text onto a big sheet of paper. The paper she later sends to
the printing house on time. Somebody other than her is going to make the
cover and the layout in details. They don't have modern computers. Or
computers which they can use. Autumn has arrived and she often wishes she
didn't work for a paper where she has to write for sellers when she really
wants to write about the feelings she gets at autumn.
She is the editor.

The wall is getting hot, and I turn around in order to burn my other
shoulder instead of my face. The people around me look strangely at me,
as if I had some kind of plague which you have to scratch away. The wall
isn't very high, which means that you can lean your neck backwards more
than 44 degrees. A bunch of people are dancing before us, wearing clothes
from the 50's. I suddenly hear the music. They're dancing the twist, but
stop as they notice. I notice. The people around me start getting up and
take my skin jacket and jeans. The shoes. Lord, we are in the wrong time-
period. Help us.

Timecircles are visible in the water. She is swimming towards me and just
as she smiles, I dive cowardly, and she dives after me. I close my eyes
and smile a bit. I'm looking under the water and I'm seeing her deadly
beautiful smile. She swims up to me and takes a hold of me with both of
her hands as she kisses me and I'm afraid. We kiss each other and I don't
care if I'm drowning. Just as I'm drowning with her.


 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------
 uXu #228              Underground eXperts United 1994              uXu #228
                    Call THE ALLIANCE -> +1-612-251-8596
 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------
