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I was strolling around the Internet and stumbled across a piece of music related to the end of the world. This topic is somewhat widespread, due to the prediction that the world would end on the 21st of December 2012. I thought it would be a fun theme to write about. I did a little research on this topic and found out there are quite a few predictions for apocalyptic events. The entries of this diary are made by a scientist/inventor, whose name is Dr. Demens (in Latin means mad) and they are written in the present era (a little more in the future in fact).

A Day in the Life of Dr. Demens

20 December 00:01
I have been working on the Project SoE for over two years now. Only few more steps to complete and the World will never run out of energy. All the fossil fuels, such as oil and gas, will lose their meaning, not to talk about the existing alternative energies. Also the current nuclear energy will be considered as a child’s play. This will be such a breakthrough in the history of science. After many years of experimenting with different radioactive substances simply for the sake of science, I somehow blundered. And what a blunder it was. Since that day I haven’t left my secret laboratory.

At first I did not realize what had just happened. After dropping a few atoms of hydrogen in the mixture of different elements, the substance glowed as bright as the Sun for a fraction of a second and the beaker melted instantaneously. I was shocked, yet extremely curious of what had happened. When I finished calculating, measuring and thinking everything I had done over and over again, I finally reached the moment of understanding. I did in fact invent a new element. Since it glowed as bright as the sun, I decided to call this element fons sol. At the very moment I had the vision of Project SoE.

I made more tests, to find out why this matter was so unstable. After melting and exploding tens of beakers I finally found the solution. The substance must not be in contact with any other element, especially with oxygen. I also realized how lucky I had been. If I had accidentally increased the amount of hydrogen by few nanograms, the occurred explosions had been more large scaled.

20 December 05:37
Just finished preparing the container for fons sol. The container is made out of tantalum hafnium carbide. As the new element produces very high temperature, I thought to make the container from the material with the highest melting point of 7619 °F, the highest know to mankind. I made it air proof and pumped out everything there was in it, creating a vacuum environment, in which the fons sol should be most stable.
I have been working for six days in a row without a bigger brake to rest, but I am so close to make history. Must keep on working.

20 December 14:53
The monitors are set up and running. All the sensors are attached to the THC-container. The test program has been initiated. It is currently inspecting the emergency shutdown sequence, in case of a failure during the real experiment. It is programming the maximum limits of the sensors and checking how the indicators react to different changes on the diplay set. It takes a few more hours, before the test program has finished examining all the little details.

20 December 22:22
Excellent !!! Everything is ready. Now it is time to start with the experiment. All I have to do is to begin inserting hydrogen into the container holding the fons sol. I have to being with microscopic amounts. After each insertion I have to check the indicators on the displays. Everything has to be balanced and below the maximum mark. If I inject too much hydrogen, the temperature level will increase rapidly and there will not be anything I can do to stop it and I do not know how high it might go. If the pressure in the THC-container reaches 90%, it might already create cracks to the surface of the container, so it is possible that air, therefore oxygen, could get intouch with the fons sol. I just have to be extremely careful. I simply hope, that after years of working on the Project SoE it will be a success and we will have a Sun on Earth.

20 December 23:59
What have I done? I woke up few minutes ago behind the indication displays. All the readings are above the allowable limits. It seems the emergency shutdown sequence did not work. I tried shutting down the whole system manually. I tried reseting the system. I even pulled out the power plug from the main module. The alarms are still shouting and red lights are flashing everywhere. Everything has gone out of my control. The fons sol is getting bigger and bigger. The whole laboratory is enlighted by it. Soon it will breach through the THC-container and react with the oxygen molecules in the air and…

I think, this is the last entry I’ll ever make. It will not be Nibiru that will end the existence of the World, it is I, Dr. Demens and my Sun on Earth.

This morning at eleven o’clock, I woke up with a strange feeling of being lifted up by some unnatural power. But when I came to consciousness this feeling started to be rather pleasant. The states of joy and happiness that made me feel this unique way. I believe that the spirits who are surrounding my bed and protecting my dreams were foreshadowing how harmonic the day is going to be. I am so sorry that I forgot to mention the fact that yesterdays trip was simply one of the grooviest things my mind has experienced for a long time. I was visiting my happy place but this time it was more powerful than ever. The Land of Freedom, almost tangible, but yet so far.

I know that recently I have been bothering your soft hemp pages with our big plans for tonight. Sunflower, Magnolia and I have been trying to put together this plan for couple of weeks but as every single one of us is so conciliatory, we have not been able to decide even the smallest things. That’s why I’m a little worried for tonight. We don’t have a certain plan but I believe in the end everything is going to come to its place. It’s just the way nature works. The possibilities are endless if you only know how to put your heart into it. Your heart and soul.

My morning rituals started off as usual. I brew myself some herb tea, smoked pot, went outside and meditated for an hour. Oh how I love the midday sun caressing my cheeks while the warm summer breeze is blowing through my messy hair. When reaching this ultimate state of bliss, I feel like it is up to me and my friends to help my mother earth and its inhabitants.

In the afternoon Sunflower and Magnolia came over to help me with my garden. We planted all kinds of veggies. Just how I love it, organic and pollution free. In return I will make both of them a tie-dye shirt. When we were ready with the garden we all laid out under the sun, had a joint, closed our eyes and imagined how the clouds will lift us and carry us very far. I told them about my special place and the power of mind was taking us there. Far away from this world to a place where we can speak with animals and spirits, where your neighbour is your best friend and you share everything. We all dreamed about a place where LOVE is unconditional and “war” means helping people.

Eventually, we came back to reality and realised that there are still many wrongs in the world where we are living. But if we don’t change it then who else will do that? It seems like the others don’t care. But I know that one day they’ll realise that their way of life is meaningless and empty and they’ll turn to nature and love in order to get solace.

We need to protest! Its the only way we can stop this madness and hate in the world. For example Cold War. Why are they doing this to us? We will show them our calm way denying their warlike minds.

Our friends were told to come over at 4 o’clock in the afternoon. At 6 some people started arriving and I told them to enjoy the songsters and wait for the others. At 8 o’clock in the evening, most of the crowd was over my place. It was time to get the project “Stop, Children, What’s that Sound” going. There were about ten people with us and the plan was really simple. Go on the streets while singing peaceful songs. We want to raise public awareness about how it is possible to live side-by-side with different people without having any problems. Actually, it is possible not to have any problems at all. All what we need is to find something common to connect us all. Because after all, we’re all just Nature’s children! With sunflower and Magnolia we have a vision of this connecting thing. We want it to be music. Everybody loves music and the simple but pleasant feeling of letting yourself sway by the melody. Why do you need to fight over a dissention when you both have something in common – music. Meaningful words which are told from HEART can even be heard by the soldiers in Vietnam who will drop the guns for a moment of peace!

We went on the streets, our hands joined, our souls attached, singing:

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin’.
Please get out of the new one
If you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’.


When the garden flowers baby are dead yes
and your mind, your mind is so full of red
don’t you want somebody to love
don’t you need somebody to love
wouldn’t you love somebody to love

For my amazement, dozens of people were joining our group. Of course that was not out main purpose. We just wanted to enjoy some quality time with others and spread the word that we have found our peace and so should everybody. Then we were all laying on the soft grass at the park. All our hands joined while gazing the starry dark blue sky. We all had an idea in our minds. If we could only expand this kind of attitude, then the peace will finally be possible.

When I woke up and talked to Magnolia about how great it was to get so many people together and just enjoy the music. She told me that I had an acid overdose and was motionlessly sitting on a park bench for hours. I don’t believe her. I am more than certain that we came up with the ultimate peace plan.


I wrote my diary entry about a hippie called Tender Harmony. Of course it is not her real name but it does not matter because her friends don’t even know what her official name is. I chose the hippie stereotype because I think the 60s and 70s are really fascinating decades with great music. People dared to speak what’s on their mind. Although their ideas were quite utopian, they didn’t harm anyone. This diary entry takes place in the late 1960s. It represents the calm, nature friendly hippie lifestyle. The thoughts and ideas are very generous and peaceful but infeasible and slightly chaotic because of the constant drug use.

For my character I chose Francesco „Little Frank“ DiMaria, a consigliere of an American Mafia family of the 1950s. I chose the Mafia because it seemed the most intriguing and different from what I am myself. I did research on the American Mafia and was surprised at how much information there was on the Five Families, specific members and what they do, which shows this fascinating aspect of organized crime – everyone knows what the gangsters are doing but authorities have little power to fight them. The peak of Mafia activity in America was the time after he Prohibition, when they moved beyond bootlegging and became involved in a wider range of illegal ventures, from drug trafficking to loan-sharking. But it was also the time when the US Government admitted publicly that organized crime is a serious problem, which marked a downfall for the Mafia.


Francesco DiMaria, Oct 16th 1954

I woke up with a headache again. I can’t remember the last time I woke up feeling anything other than exhausted. Mickey was pounding on my door. Don needed something from me immediately, so we drove to his house. On the way there we passed a gang of rowdy Puerto Rican boys smoking in an alley. I thought about Johnny – the kid who couldn’t keep his mouth shut – and wondered if that was his gang. I wondered if they’d seek revenge once they found the body. Doesn’t matter. They never will find it. Little Johnny is sleeping with the fishes.

The whole gang had assembled at Don’s house, and by the looks of it, had been having a heated argument. Don took me aside into his office and closed the door. There has been a complication with the deliverance of the cargo to the Castanellis, he said. Tommy and Vincent didn’t make it. Vito was shot as well, but he’s alive for now. Don looked tired but the vein in his forehead was pulsing, which only happens when he is absolutely furious. I asked who from the Castanellis had been at the meeting point. A strange look crossed his face for a moment and he was reluctant to tell me. Then I knew – it had to have been Joseph Castanelli, the sonofabitch who’d killed my dear brother. Take care of it, Don said.

I thought about my dear brother a lot today. It has been less than a year since his death, but life still goes on as if nothing is wrong. I paid a visit to Ma, but she wasn’t feeling like herself today. I told her I’d kill the man who had killed her son. She didn’t respond.

Today I noticed for the first time what an effect that damn Tennessee senator and his public hearings have had on our family and business. There isn’t a shopkeeper in town that hasn’t watched the hearings on TV and now they all flinch whenever I enter their stores. What was it that the Senate called us…sinister? I suppose that’s right. But everyone’s a little on edge. Now that the government has brought attention to the Mafia, it’s only a matter of time before they start bringing us all in for questioning.

Don sent me to represent him in several meetings, which is typical, only today he ordered Ray to tag along. I can’t stand the sight of that guy. He’s got no respect for anyone and I bet when the chance comes, he’ll sell us all out in a heartbeat. Ray got to be in the family business only because he’s Don’s wife’s nephew. But he’s connected to the Gambino family as well, and I have suspected for some time now that he’s been giving them information about us. I’ve had him followed for two weeks now, but so far he’s been very careful. I hate going behind Don’s back, but I don’t want to trouble him unless I’ve got evidence. I can handle the Ray situation by myself.

We sat down at Luigi’s diner – a private place where most of our dirty business meetings are held – and not five minutes had passed when Alphonse DeLeo entered, dragging a semi-conscious Salvatore Russo with him. Good job, as always, Alphonse. Now that’s a guy who can be trusted. He’s not the brightest kid, but he’s got muscle and he gets the job done. As for Russo… He started pleading for his life the moment he saw me. First sign of weakness. Frankie, Little Frankie, he said, I ain’t guilty, y’know that m’boy, I ain’t told them nothing. I looked him in the eyes and said, Sal, have we ever treated you wrong? Have we not been like a family to you? He was sobbing and muttering no no no no. Then tell me why would you turn to our enemies? What did the Gambinos offer you that we didn’t? I didn’t tell them anything, he cried, please, you gotta believe me. I didn’t know if I believed him, but it was irrelevant. There is no room for screwups in the business. Sal, it’s nothing personal, I said. I knew your father, Russo said, he was an honest man and wouldn’t like what you’ve become – Don’s pet. I thought about my father and what I remembered of him. Yes, he was an honest man. But he was also weak and got himself killed. I pulled my gun and shot a bullet straight through Russo’s forehead. Clean it up, Ray, I said.

I came home and made some scrambled eggs. I cleaned my gun, took a hot shower, even organized my vinyl collection, but nothing would relieve this terrible headache.

A Day in the Life of Billy Hill


My diary entry is about a redneck called Billy Hill. Why did I choose to write about rednecks? The first thing that came to my mind when we started talking about the U.S, was an old hillbilly cracker playing a banjo on a porch of an old wooden house. Particularly, what appeals to me in the redneck stereotype, is the freedom of living in the countryside, having a fishing/hunting trip every weekend and just the feeling of small town bars and restaurants. I chose to write in  a very modern era, the year 2008, because of the election. However I feel as if the redneck culture and stereotype has largely stayed the same throughout the last few decades, so there is really not much need to depict a certain era, though I briefly did because it was required for the diary entry.

12 July 2008 ; 04:30

Finally, the weekend! A day off work is just what I need right now. There’s no better way to wake up on a summer morning than to hear the roosters crowing outside. Usually, since it is my day off, I would have fallen back to sleep and kept on lying there ‘till the afternoon. But we, southerners, are hard-working people and even on our day off, we get more work done in the evening than an average yankee would during the whole day at work. They’re just as useless as tits on a bull when it comes to farming, the only thing those high cotton folk are good at is counting those dang numbers and be all gussied up all the time. I think they are just a tad too big for their britches.

Anyway, I just woke Wendy up and she’s making me some food for later. The fried potaters and pork she makes are just granny-slappin’ good. I reckon I don’t have much time, since I want to take a hunting trip later as well, maybe even take my boy with me, teach him how to shoot.

I’m really excited about the fishing trip though. Every salmon I caught the last time looked as if they had fallen out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. They were tiny, ugly little basterds. I have a good feeling about today though, I feel as if my bad luck has come to an end. The weather’s looking nice, my row-boat is already waiting for me down by the river and my 1979 pickup is desperately waiting for me to drive it.

Gosh, I spent a lot of time writing this, I better get going. I hope I won’t forget to get some beer on the way back.

12 July 2008 ; 15:21


Well I’ll be a monkeys uncle! I thought it would go well today, but not that well! Lake Doland really did have a surprise for me today. I got salmon, lots of salmon. One of them weighs nearly 25 pounds. I guess those snobby fish had nothing on me this time.

I went by the store after the trip and allowed myself for a treat. I bought some beer and a new pack of tobacco. I had a chew of it immediately and just sat in the truck, having a beer and just enjoying myself, when I saw Joe and his gang walk by.

Joe is very ornery, tough to get along with. He is a man of rough talk but little action. He is a democrat, and well, it is obvious that he is going to vote for Obama in the upcoming election. I get exactly why he is a democrat. Most of them are lazy, poor and do everything to get the country to pay for stuff for them. You see, the democrats, they want to take money from the hard-working people like ourselves, and give them to the poor who are too lazy to work. I have no problem giving my money away, I do this every Sunday to God and to the people who really need help, but I don’t fancy giving it to people who have no pride and no honesty.

Wasn’t it some president who said: “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.” I say love your country like you love your family, and treat it the same.

Anyway, I think I will cancel the hunting trip today, my gut tells me there ain’t a lot of meat to shoot in the forest today. It’s a shame though, who knows how much longer we can even hold a gun in our hands if the Democrats manage to get to power.

OK, Wendy just called me to eat. I guess I’ll watch some TV after that and then head out to town, maybe step through a honky-tonk bar. I hope there’s a good band today, because the foreigners who were on stage yesterday couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

12 July 2008 ; 23:55

Good gracious! Tonight is the most bizarre time I have had in a long time. I think it got a bit out of hand with drinks, I just hope I won’t regret anything I write here later. Well how can I? I’m the only, absolutely the only person who ever needs to get in or around my diary. Okay, where should I start? Oh yeah, I went to the honky-tonk and there was some darn good band playing Lynyrd Skynyrd songs. Everyone was drunk and having a damn good time.

There were some sweet talkin’ ladies in the front row and some yankees trying to have their way with them. I spotted Joe, the Democrat, among them. It all went so fast, and I was three-fourths drunk by then as well, but apparently there was a big, strong woman standing beside me, who looked as though she had been hit with the ugly stick. I don’t know why, but she knew Joe as well and immediately ran towards him and took him down. A fight followed and Joe continued to take a beating. It was only broken up when the bartender fired off a shot from his gun. The music stopped, and I felt like I had taken one drink too many already, so I left.

Phew! I feel tired, I should go to sleep now. I hope I don’t have a hangover in the morning, but then again, there’s nothing a good cold beer cannot fix!

Woke up at 6 o’clock, hidee of a moaning. Ellie Mae was already up cookin’ and cleanin’, proper wife, dern tootin’. I was putting on my britches, falling off as they were, and the wife called the family down for vitters – bacon and taters. I yelled: “I’ll be over yonder dreckly, y’all just havta wait a minute”, but I reckon she didn’t hear. Big woman, all 260 pounds of her, but still so little hearing. Betty was already playin’ possum in the kitchen and cryin’ that she hated school. Dumb girl ain’t doin’ well with the numbers and letters. 6 years old, still a baby. Don’t need no algebra. Heck, I don’t need no algebra.

Bobbie Joe was already gone to the coal mines. Boy’s only 15 and got so much potential. Glad he’s dumb as a doornail and dropped outta high school. Someone needs to do the work in this place. Girls be glad he’s such a strong man. We’re all strong, fine folk here in Beaver Dam, Kentucky.

After breakfast took the older girls to school. It was purt nigh time to go. Missy was all quiet in the back of the Oldsmobile, but Shirlene was yapping on and on about some granny-slappin’ good computer-machine, sayin’ that it’s 1996 and not the 80s anymore. Ain’t I got money for that townspeople play. Ain’t had got 2 cents to spare during her and her brother’s 15 years.

Didn’t get a lick of work done today at the gas-station. Had to pick up Betty from school early. Some kind of fly epidemic. Took her to the diner. The wife was waiting tables and I bought the kid a bottle of Coke and sugar cotton. Had to go back to work though – ain’t money gon’ earn itself.

Work was dull but quair. I was puttin’ on the feedbag with taters and some rich traveling folk called me hillbilly. Felt real bad. I ain’t even got relations in Alabama. Ain’t brother Butch or good ol’ cousin Otis been called anythin’ like that, ain’t even father been called like that. Things are getting like the real old times when papaw was still alive, God bless his soul. The 30s were real bad and the 60s, but I ain’t got time for those uppity folk tellin’ me how to live my life. They’re just white trash from New Jersey and ain’t got nothing on me. Just sin of the nation.

Picked up the girls from the county school after work. Missy was all gussied up but sweaty as a pig at Christmas. Boy, this hot heat has really been somethin’ this past summer. Took Shirlene to Lynne Beaver’s house to babysit her nosey kids. Told the girl to lay over to catch meddlers. Soon Missy’ll be having the same problem: girl done did got pregnant. And it’s no monkey’s uncle. Took her to Doctor Buster Hogg to check on her. Buster’s an ol’ pal from the trailer park days. Told her it’s a boy. Grows up to work in the mines probably, if I had my druthers. Like his Uncle Bobbie Joe. Still don’t know who the baby daddy is. Reckon his older than Missy. I’m 12 years older than Ellie Mae and she was only a year older than Missy when she got pregnant. I’m tellin’ ya, 16 is the new 17.

Got home with Missy just in time for vitters. Betty was having the awfullest tantrum – she didn’t like the fancy dress the wife had made her for her next pageant. Made me want to run to the moonshine. A badmouth kid. It’s bad enough the folk turning against the beauty pageants. And now the kid. The folk’s just been hit with the ugly stick. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ fancy. Let the younguns be.

We were watching TV when Shirlene came home. Bobbie Joe was supposed to be down in the mines for at least a week, so we didn’t wait on the boy. Like herding cats, getting the kin all together. Calmed my nerves with playing darts with Otis, whose staying with us until his verdict is announced. Boy beat up 2 rednecks at the Beaver Dam post office. Damn well deserved it – ain’t nobody gonna annoy the Dallas kin.

Before the sack I prayed a little. Wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the Man upstairs, I reckon. On Sundays we go to church with the family. Put on our good clothes and eat a lil’ better in His name. Gives good clearance to good Baptist folk. Not like the abomination in the name of Studley Tucker’s manloving boy. Sins will burn in hell and lovin’ another man is retarded. With that nasty thought in my head, I hit the sack at 11 with the wife. Kids already were dreaming. Hidee, good night-time.



I wrote my diary entry about a 45 year old hillbilly man named Randy Dallas and his typical hillbilly family. I chose this specific topic because it’s really easy and fun to write about one of the most mocked stereotypes in the United States – the hillbilly. I chose my era to be the 1990s, just as the taunting of the country people began to rise yet again, mainly thanks to television series anti-glorifying the life of simple rural people. The figure of the hillbilly gives the “norm”, the middle-class white people the opportunity to easily jeer at the “sin of the nation”, the people who live everywhere else than the cities, again, as we know it, the “norm”. I can say that it’s not surprising to see the hillbillyness rising again, because power (as in the power of people) becomes more and more unequally distributed as time progresses. Upstanding Americans want to exhibit what their cities can do and already have done, and what better way to do so than to degrade the ones who don’t have all of these opportunities?

Genial mortician’s consultant,
now a imprudent hobo.
A lackey planted next to him,
but not a single dime for his kookaburra.

Quash the hobo’s esteem,
make him repent reposing the kookaburra.
The motto: don’t be fastidious.

It’s Friday morning, he’s running as fast as he can. He’s late. Again. Setting his foot in the humble funeral home he works at, he’s immediately confronted by one of the morticians. Nero called him “The Skeleton” due to the man’s height, weight, general scariness, and breath that smelled like dead people.
“Yeah, I-“
“Well if you’re done with the yelling I could easily help you out. Is that fine with you, mister?”
“Fuckin’ hell, Nero..”

After Nero had given the mortician a few handy tips on how to get the most money out of the grieving family, they still had a good ten minutes left until 12. The Skeleton suddenly turned calm, but the tone of his voice still had a kind of a strictness to it.
“You know our top competitor moved their services right across the street, right?”
“Mhmm,” Nero didn’t really care.
“Well, we need more money to compete with them. If we don’t manage our high budgets somehow, we’ll all lose our jobs.”
Something was wrong here.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that we don’t really need a consultant anymore. You give good advice, but it’s been mostly useless these last few days, I’ve already known these methods myself. In reality.. it’s not even a real job. Even YOU don’t take it seriously.”
“BUT I-“
“We appreciate the year you worked with us.”

And soon enough Nero found himself outside of his now former workplace. He had hoped to say something witty, but it all happened so fast and The Skeleton kept cutting him off. Although he was already outside, it didn’t stop him from shouting a few “nice” words at the building he was just kicked out of.

Nero had no idea what to do next. He was in huge debts, he had no living relatives, good/rich friends, and finding a new job seemed hopeless. He sat down on the street and set his head on his knees. Sat there like a little kid who had just failed a test and felt that their whole world was going to crash because of it. Suddenly he heard a voice.
“Hey, you look.. troubled.”
Nero didn’t even care enough to look who it was, just replied with some weird animal sound.
“…well, I’m here to congratulate you on winning the lottery. The grand prize, or whatever. So congratulations, multi millionaire!”
Nero jumped up, eyes as big as god knows what.
“Of course it is.”

And he woke up.
Laying on some coat he had found, good old Spotty warming his leg, a few dimes in his cup. Headache-y.

To, overall, free oneself:
Bemoan and convalesce.

A fierce Soviet pirate may counteroffer a crown.
Double duplex a fine back

Jim was on another one of those “Discover and Reinvent Yourself” trips, organized by Bamboocha inc. He joined one, every month, dispite seeing no progress, through it. He was kind of a lost soul.

On this journey were other people, trying to find point in life as well. The group usuall remained the same. Sometimes a new person came, another time, someone else left. It was like a self-help group. Despite their common goal, they were all strangers. Jim ad probably spoken with maybe 2 people during the 16 trips, he has gone on with Bamboocha inc. But this time, his journey took an unexpected turn.

The group of 14 was on a small dingy probably meant for only 3-5 people. The sides were rusted and despite being in water, the boat still squeacked. Jim thought that if he still doesn’t get help, at least he will sink and get to file in an insurance claim. But sinking wasn’t what his problem was.

After 3 hours of sailing, pirates appeared out of nowhere and attacked the boat, killing already half of the crew. Jim was among the lucky 7 that survived. “Well, this is….interesting” said Jim, when confronted by a pirate. He didn’t look anything like Jim would have imagined a pirate. He had both his eyes and legs and didn’t wear a goofy hat, though he still wore a thick beard.

The pirates took the group to their island, where they were eaten, one-by-one. As Jim was only left, he wasn’t even bothered by it. They started to eat him as well, starting from his legs. They had ony finished with a few of his toes, when his phone rang. This startled the pirates, making them run for their life. “Who would’ve thought that Rebecca Black’s Friday even works on pirates?” said Jim. The few pirates, remaining, wanted to crown Jim, king of the island.

A sissy with a white tie
openly ran away with gangrene.
and strung out on dirt with home-grown,
sanctions by the institution
were now practically removed.

Joseph was an average joe living in Brooklyn, New York. He worked from 9 to 5 in an office, 5 days a week. He had worked there for over ten years. There was something that was a little off about him – he was a man in his thirties but he was already having his mid-life crisis. He was tired of working 5 days a week 9 hours a day. He needed some action, some new experiences, some fun in his life.
One day, when he was coming home from work, he failed to see a herd of nails and he stepped on one. This hurt like hell. It later turned out the wound took a turn for the worse and turned to gangrene.
This was the last spill in his cup, he got even more depressed. He decided to move to South-America. He went to Amazonas and started living with a native tribe. Because of that he no longer had to pay taxes. The man whose whole life was about his job and who didn’t know anything but his job was on his way of becoming a man who could survive the wilderness on his own.
His gangrene was amazingly cured by the medicines the natives had given him. The tribe usually had some type of angst or grudge against white people but seeing how Joseph was sick, they decided to take care of him. Joseph combined his knowledge of nature with his knowledge of civilization and quickly became one of the wisest men in the tribe. He gained respect and after a few years he was chosen as the right hand of the leader. He never thought about his past in civilization.
He woke up at 8 o’clock and realised he had to go to work. His leg was fine, he never had gangrene. The dream felt so real that Joseph became lugubrious, when he realized that he had to go to work. He decided to write a poem about his dream:

A sissy with a white tie …

Dictionary poem

Minority puritans dissipated by ship,
to minty cream heaven,
to live at sandal shop,
they derivated their likeness of that swallow.


“Do you have the tickets?” asked the small Asian woman in a green dress from her obese yet kind-looking, clearly Eastern European influenced husband. The bizarre couple was standing in line at the city’s major port’s ticket office, surrounded by their 3 children – the naughty 12-year-old redheaded twin boys and a frightened little blonde girl of about 4. The girl was staring at the passing people dreamily and the boys were pickering with each other, fighting over their toy fire truck. The expression on their mother’s face was as if set in stone; her face was full of boredom and tiredness – the flight to Frankfurt had been unbearable, and most of all, the thought of going to live in the boring state of Colorado, to build up their own little shoe business, itself was unbearable. But what the man says the woman agrees with, and thus the family was headed to the United States, the country which was formidably influenced by McCarthyism and racial insecurities. After all, being a Puritan family with the father a Soviet and the mother a Philippino, and their children as different looking from their parents as a potato is from a carrot, was not the easiest burden to hold. But they managed. They had their shoe shop, which mainly sold cheap sandals and synthetic slippers, providing the family a reasonable earning for that time and such oddness, and they had their firm beliefs to ground them to their personal reality. But the most valued thing in their lives’ was their family. Because who else could understand such a mixture of people, such a shy group of misfits? This was what made them tolerate the time in their new home – even if they didn’t have anything else, they still loved life because of the values in it. The values of family. The values of belonging even if you don’t belong. And as they belonged to their family, it was alright. They made the tedious swallow enjoyable. As a matter of fact, it had been enjoyable all along.

  1. Awesome
  2. Commercial
  3. Elm – tall tree
  4. Gourd – large fruit
  5. Grumble – complain about something
  6. Lacklustre – not interesting
  7. Parterre – a flat area in garden
  8. Predictor
  9. Questioning
  10. Rabbit
  11. Rabble
  12. Soca – carribean music
  13. Sop – releaf
  14. Stripe
  15. Unsavoury – unpleasant

Rabble rabbit
Grumbled in Parterre

Gourd awesome sop
on elm tree

Questioning soca’s
Unsavoury commercial

Stripe predictor
is lacklustre.


Once upon a time, there lived a rabbit. This one wasn’t a usual rabbit, like we know from fairy-tales. Robin was his name and he was a very rabble one. He was constantly complaining and he didn’t get along with anybody in the forest, not even with the other rabbits. Robin was always alone but actually he didn’t care about that. He thought that the less you care the happier you are.

One day as he was hopping around in the unknown parterre, he saw a gourd hanging above him, on a tall elm tree. Because he in his nature was anxious, he was eager to get the juicy fruit down from the tree. But Robin wasn’t born to climb trees. So he gave it a little thought and since he had no friends, that lonely rabbit was forced to visit the local predictor, who lived inside of a mysterious and dark stump. No one ever dared to speak with the predictor, but Robin wasn’t afraid.

When Robin reached the Predictor’s home, he heard doubtful soca songs playing in the background. Robin stepped inside and saw the predictor doing some magic. When the predictor noticed Robin, he asked what was wrong. The rabbit started to grumble about his problem. The predictor took his time to deal with the question. For a moment it felt lacklustre for Robin. In the end the wizard came to a solution.

The predictor said that there was only one true solution. Robin had to paint awesome red stripes around the tree. The plan sounded strange for Robin, but nevertheless he was eager to get the fruit.  It became more unsavoury when he heard the other part of the ritual. In addition he had to sing a soca song around the tree exactly when the sun is highest in the sky. Robin thanked the predictor and left.

The rabbit waited for 7 days and 7 nights for the right moment. When the time came and the sun was highest in the sky Robin started to paint the stripes on the elm tree. When he finished painting he started to sing an old soca song and after a minute or two the ritual was over. It was a big sop for him when he saw the fruit actually falling down from the tree. But unfortunately it fell right on top of his head and he was literally squashed.


By Brain and Ingmar