NEEDLEWRITER

Franjo said he’ll buy the condoms himself.
Entered. That’s a lovley condom place you have. How many in a packet. “Three”. “Oh,
thanks, I’ll take all three of them. Bye.
But as he exited the place, he ran out of his pace. His heart swollen poped up like an
explosion. He thought he was going crazy. But nah, he soon came to an spontanious
conclusion. Which one? The Sun was guilty even though it was winter. We’re heating
up. The people. It’s gonna be war or it needs to stop. Chemical one? Probably! Or we’re
just gonna sue them, what tradition already has done. They came back for their own,
which I might humbly confess I subverted. It’s over. Does he exist the question is? “God
are you there?” / or anywhere said they. And died. “What the fuck are you talking about,
Franjo?”. – “Suposeddly you didn’t know! Hah, don’t get me wrong, you fell! No way out
for you, trust me!”
Lies, lies, lies they cried as confessions. Death, their sentence was, is, will be. Still?
Ofcourse! “I killed your adlerian!” /as they knew at all what they are talking about.
And he went further and further strolling throught the streets of Freedom city. Walking,
smoking a cigarette as if it was his last day on Earth. /he missed him. “Fuuuuck.” – his
thoughts went down under, sublime he became. But what the actual fuck? Is it a fact? “I’m
so enstranged! Alienated. Why?” /no time at all, better for him to smoke than to quit. He
decided to go out for drinks tonight and bought another pack of cigarettes. Fraks, they
were called.
Something similar happened to the other guy, his missing best friend. He was at the
coffee shop the whole day, coming back to his senses, before he went home.
Something adorable he prepared. A whole night of “talking” for them. After the movie,
ofcourse. Which way? To the bedroom. “You fool” said he, “I would never leave you
alone again, you ruin everything.” /that he admited and was left undone, sad…… But
everything started to go as planned. Franjo than showed his song around :

Many riddles I have felt
Denounced them as my own
They screamed of terror unknown.
Where do they come from?
They themselves don’t know.
Should I ask them back home?
Or follow a riddle on my own?

So they escaped reality. Franjo and A. Z.
It does seam nausiated. Living this life of robbery and doom. Shout out. They say. Will it
be or will it stay? The condoms poped. We live mostly deluded in the form of anxiety.
Seeping fear across the land they are. Who? Let’s not keep it a secret. Those Adlerians.
Mom, dad and that’s it, no way out for them. Lend them a hand!? No. / Will the escape be
as planed? We like to think it will be.
Coming up as an alien, mostly people don’t know what is it about. Glorifying ourselfs is
the only way of escaping death. Why? Autogenesis my friend. How come? Imagine
space, empty space, in your head.
Let’s not think for a moment about them, escapists. They are they own. But what we
ought to say with escapism. From reality itself, really? Is it a philosophical stance, or just
plain emotional solace? Doing the deadly deed by just writing it? Escapism. New form of
reality, by making your own mind into a new world. Modeled by yourself.
“Really got me going Franjo, this night drive is endless, we ought to be already there,
the cabbin is near I tell you.”
“What the actual fuck…… The map is twisted around, just the next sign right, and
few kilometers down the road and we’re there.”
They entered Freedom Citys woods. It was mist. But only one house. Theirs. The walls
of the estate crunched others out. They were following. Unable. Pushed aside and out.
“Shall we?”
“What?”
“Call them on the line?”
“Who?”
“The imposters and say, Buhuhahu.”
“Sure, Franjo, whatever you say!”
The call lasted five hours of A. Z. explaining them why and how to fuck off.
Just repeating them the frase, suposeddly well know “Fuck the hell out of here”. Poor A.
Z. , had to even spell it out for them.
Franjo cooked the meal in the meantime. Fresh brains in a juicy mustard salad. And a
little tartuf dressing on the side.
“Amazing” said the guests who couldn’t eat becouse they were ghosts. And we the
others clapped “Such a show”. /and all went silent again, the night fell, for us our souls
to sell. Why? He is at it again.
He comes silently at the blink before dawn. Creeps in and, unfortunately takes it all.
How? That is unknown to you dear A. Z. and Franjo. We say so. But let us explain.
Creeping in while you are asleep, snorting like hellish kerubins. His breath of mist and
coffussion deals with your sleep, dear duo. What he takes? Everything but your “Selfs”.
Left alone you are for yourselves to build up.
The dawn then lingers on to day, the day to night. And it’s over. We dragg it on through
life as as sign. Black eyes behind green irises. A. Z. and Franjo are now “Synonymer”.
No friends or family but themselves, alone.
One on one the fight was. Left undone A. Z. was. Cried for heaven and died. As himself.
Dead to be, no one was there but Franjo, to ignore him for the rest of eternity. “Bye” it
was for him and the rest of them.
Franjo continued his stroll away from the graveyard through fog to his own apartmant.
He lied to them. / that they have any authority of Franjos’ life. Liers, imbecils, spineless
people he calls them. He is Franjo, after all.
Threatened they were by his song. Screamed terrors of their war trauma. Negation is
their loss. All they do is phalus. Death is their lost brother. Say hello to your soul, if you
have any. No women allowed in Franjos life, sexual. And no kids. They are prisonated
for life, we are thirty plus years old. No Castenada for them or us. Hallucinating their
funeral they are. /unfortunately they hate to hear any kind of music, even if it is their goodbye song.
Why? They hate the guts out of themselves, not our spy agency, but them.
Then HE appeared, the great Tesla, NikOla. And guess what, ate an egg for them laid
an leg. Oh, why? That’s the real question, why would he lay an leg instead of an egg.
Was he crazy? A some sort of snake that lays legs. Should he move back to his mother
and father house? Or his sisters? No. We think he is an aunt guy. He should move
back to Milena. Kafka stole her from him. But he was never seen. Been, done, what?
He is guilty. Bye, Tesla, bye. Then Dane took his place, and suddenly ran out of pace.
Dead. All of them. Tesla again, guilty.
We take and took over.
And said “Naspavamo Vam se svi mi matere”.
And they, the twenty first century owners collectivly killed themselves. Such a nice
funeral. All smoked some pot, removed the cloth and went home. Such nice weather it
was. For another coffee and ciggarettes. Postfuneral. So sad.
Then it was over. Franjo entered his apartmant and took over himself. Interesting stuff
happened then. A. Z. was there. Not dead. It was an illusion of zombiehood. The castle
called the cabin was a lie. Why? Franjo didn’t get it. But A. Z. did. It was to win Franjo
over. To himself.
Literary that’s the only confession.
The crowd was fine with it, and let aloose. They could do what they want with
themselves. Who really cares today but for oneself.
The truth of the twenty first century was the freedom to do what you want without doing
harm to others. And they do still harm others. Playing with their settings. No can do, no
more. Prison. Their last option. The Foucaultian one. Bye and hello said the Prison chief.
Series outwitted. They, the system is in Panopticon of tradition. Love, live life forever
after. “Aren’t we all a little bit odd? For someone else.” The women agree.
“But what about it?”
“No, sorry I got confused. That is confused you with someone else.”
“They’ll see their god, when I’m finished with them.”
A. Z. took the papers and went into the office. Prepared quickly what he wanted to say
and a huge lawsuit. That’s about it. That smart he is. Fucking rascal.
The apartment was tidy, he looked through the window and smoked with a coffee mug
in his hands.” Such are the people these days, running around doing their jobs, dayly
fighting Sizif off. Which they always do, by doing their job and making money.”
But it was Saturday, time for fun in the pub drinking and dancing and talking. The
women all dressed up and the men too. Suits and dresses. Like an
masquerade ball of
finding the way out of prison. Social masks and the truth behind it.
” Knew it all along. People know the truth.”
And A. Z. did a good job finding Franjos’ essence. He was after all his companion
through life. What is next but rest at saturday night with the tv on and a horror movie.
“Grotesque lives : doom of reality”.
The movie was a quick pass to an new reallity as we know it. Some sort of syncronicity
happened, the electricity was out. And they were at it. Wrestling. Not like sumo wrestles.
Real ones. Champions. The room was suddenly a messy one. They broke the TV. No
problem. It was fun.
Ended up….. You already know what.
Supposedly the whole block went out. The people were in the dark. But the generator
started it’s siren and lights. It was a problem. Someone hacked the town. Who?
Oh we know who! It was the antimen society. AMS. But we also know how to get rid of
them. Slap their sex, heart, gender with an axe. Bye. You morons. Destroying people
lives out of no authority at all. Even the ‘Evolution agrees with Franjo and A. Z. . All the
science and art too says it’s only XX and XY. So to speak. All but us two bye, bye go
home to your mother and dearly cry. Your father will probably return with the milk
tomorrow. “Sure”, said the society, like ours.
Forgotten, laid bare, us – we we’re the new deal, we weren’t afraid to make money.
“Oh, honey, they’re at it again”
“Let’s show them what we got”
And we opened the terace of the apartment where our machine guns were and
screamed at them “OPENING FIRE”…..and thousands of bullets suddenly got
ejaculated out of the machines, even the automatic canon started to shoot. They were
two against nine billion, and the nine billion dropped dead. From their lives fled. They
two preserved their head. And saw nine billion as they bled.
“DONE” their artificial intelligence said. Called ‘Slitter’.
“I’ll make a new one” said A. Z. , “This Slitter thing is broken, sounds like an fucking
popcorn on ecstazy, we should really live without it.”
“Yep, starting to act as Hal, Red queen or whatever. Sever it’s head and we’ll be fine.
It’s ownership is thine, not mine. Told you they are spying with it.”
“Probably dying right now out of shame, bloody morons.”
“They’ll see, some other day, if not tomorrow then never ever after. ‘Couse they die,
too.”
“Yep.”
Off the town was. The world stood silent, ignored. Why? That’s why, no need to explain.
Sane? Not their buisness. What’s insanity got to do with it. But being in sanity. What’s
this modern illness about? Is it mental or physical, or both? Or why the hell not
psychosomatise it, that which hangs behind your right part of head, or the left eye.
Goodbye. The wrath is ours against doxsa. No dogma after all except “Love, faith,
hope”.
No need to explain what our anarchy is about.
They were perfectly fine. Sure, I suppose.
We’re at the place again. Taking another pack. Of cigarettes and coffee. Listening to
some lo-fi on the hidden speaker we made last year. Invented for communication
means only, between the two of I, myselfes, me’s.
Long time no see. The world of thoughts opened up.
The look through the window was again lightened, souls bled their essence away. They
were truthful about themselves. A. Z. and Franjo. The money came easily. It was
Sunday, just after midnight, no coffee and cigarettes. It was to late. For them.
A. Z. went to sleep having prepared that stuff in the office. The mess was still in the
apartment. Franjo did not want to clean it because the android was chargeing and was
ready to make the cleaning rampage as always when Franjo goes to sleep. / but he
tought he could do drugs while he’s at it, he had an hidden stash…… Of what? He kept it
a secret. Something that he made while studying chemistry and comparative literature
and unfortunately poor librarianship. /an essential relaxant that the body makes to make
the immune system very strong and yes, drowsy to easily go to sleep. He did it a little
too much. / he went in the room and A. Z. was snorting and hoped in the bed. They
didn’t do it this time, they were tired. But the last of it was true, A. Z. took it too, without
Franjo noticing, before the wresteling. Little too much he was afraid. Then it began…..
/like Abraham and Sara in the Bible. They looked in eachothers eyes for at least an
hour. It was true. It’s possible. To induce such states of mind with a little help and
eyegazing.
Who is who, when we dissolve in eachothers viewsight. Why suddenly feel so light and
bright. Is that our might? To gaze in eachothers souls at night. After He and He, one
coming for everything but them, one dying wholy in front of the world. The planets simply
agreed. The stars unfortunately did never align, because the constelations were pure
illusions. Why? No line could make them true, no drawing over them would make them
appear at night or make for the body, soul and mind a salty dot. They were disbelievers
in the apparations of Doxa, Dogma and the cliches. Why? Simply a crime agains the Self. Why
so pious in the stuff that was made for fun. For illusionary purposes have some fun,
sexual. No intruders to their truth. They forbode them by laws. The philosophical ones.
Of their school of thought. It will be cleared later on. Let’s keep it a secret, shall we. For
the time being.
A. Z. woke up earlier and skipped the coffee and cigarettes he has in the morning by the
machine gun on the terrace. Nice weather it was and he sadly skipped it. Went to the
office to calculate the cost and what they will get from the lawsuit. It will be around three
million pounds. “Nice number, I like it, and now I’m hungry….. What would he like to
eat? And me too?”
Franjo then suddenly entered the room. “Want same coffee? No Fraks I’m afraid, spent
it last night when I got in one of my dissociative draydreamings after a little bit of, you
know. Thinking of making it quits. Hurts my throat.”
“Nice idea, but I have a pack, you’ll firstly divorce the tobacco buisness it’s illegal. In
every state, thankfully you don’t promote them. You’ll firstly make a little less fuss about
it and slowly reduce it. That’s my opinion”
“Great, real great. See you have the number ready. They will need to pay off, becouse I
told you that I’m looking for it and found it. Here it is, the portable disc I found after you
destroyed Slitter. Catch.”
“Suprise, suprise, I got that right. I found one too. In the car. Spying on us the whole
time, and they loose already. Got all the data we need.”
“So no court, just the judges….. “Aha, that’s true, evidence is right here””.
“Yep.”
“So, what I needed to say….”
“What? Hahah”
“Wanna go to the lake again, this time I die, and you revive me at home. Wanna see
how it happens!.”
Then they went, by time spent. Those two, never their power to them had lent. Again in
the car. “Franjo it’s a war, can’t you fucking see?”
“Oh I see, but can’t hear. And my periphery viewsight is blind. I am no more kind. The
sand of time….. Wait, what? The map is okay now!”
“No, no the map is fine, no longer are they mine or thine. Come on, it’s time to shine.
The diamond awaits, it’s hate is on their side.”
There the guillotine was, no more is it sad. No more is it bad. A. Z. stopped the car and
they were at the edge of a cliff and threw Franjo in the den of snakes as Franjo wanted.
To feel dying. To feel Death. To feel intensity of Emptiness.
He, Franjo felt their sneasy skin, their slime, their poison sublime….. The eyes told
everybody their own truth. Loot the graves of their deathly soul. As I again start with him
and behind him glow. As Franjos Death, his one and only friend, came as a suprise. He
and He, rose! Lucifer and Franjo, one Light one Shadow. They felt their sublime gaze.
We, us have our demonic gaze. Their poor mind was and has their sleazy haze. Franjo
and A. Z. are out of their maze.
The illusion was bothsided. They no longer hided. The Sun, The Moon, The Sky, The
Ocean, and the Sea and her daughter River and son Lake. All fell in the pithole of the
Earths womb. No longer is theirs the unbreakable seald Tomb. Theirs is the dust of the
Ash. And the Black Hole awaits. The soul is taken away. No debt will they own or to
anybody lend their wicked science and mourn.
Theirs is the defilment of the Lie. All the world hears is it’s own cry. Oh, how I the
narrator, the implicit I of the minds eye,now of depth and pride make a new deal with
Blood, Blood, Blood.
Will they ever see, hear, taste, smell, or tact?
No, no, no. They are again poor. Have no lore. Rotten and stupid is their core. They are
drunk of more, more, more. Their mind is sore. They will never ever know. What is their
right of view and sight. A. Z. is the Rite, Franjos is the Write. They ritewrite, they over
theirs Life have Might.
They woke up in the muddy den of a desert. Appeared like an rising obelisk of Law. The
Pyramid shined. They have again their own mind. One is the left one is the right. They
have both their maddening hats. They split. Divorced from illusion, theirs is the
disillusion. They will again be fusion. Of what? Of writing and music, and the word
Creating. One by one Defilers of other peoples’ sex, gender, heart, and mind fell in their
worst nigthmare, they are dead. Soulless. No shadow or light for defilers.
Than I appear again. One and one together we shone./they didn’t take the blow well,
Franjo and A. Z. knew. But what about it, who really cares anymore about the rest nine
billion. That is not an serious question. It’s simply a statement. They are no more, to be
without eachother, ment. No other hand needed to be lent. From others they are
divorced. For this, their own stuff, they are guilty for./ the Chorus appears. The Chorus
of Seers. No longer is the drama needed. The Chorus soon as it appeard, fell on the
first word they ever said. No more, no more will their authority be listened well. The
People awoke. Over their life other authority had a stroke. / my own mind dearly awoke,
the poor old four, turned to twelve. And devolved to two equals one plus one. Equals
unfortunately eternity. /deeper down the eight went, by and by and by their tears were
there and no longer Franjo and A. Z. felt fear.
With that concluded. No longer were they both deluded. “Seducer” was their chess
name, the poor old chessboard was done. Tabula rasa has forever more gone. Mourn,
mourn, mourn the life of the rest was thorn.
“Seducer” was done. They were simply leaving again like a misty haze and taking again
their own Freedom city to themselves.
It’s begun again. The synchronicity. Of the duo. They mysterified again in the apartment
of their own Will. /the Abraham and Sara situation was over. Hallucination stopped.
They were positive about it, the best hallucination dreaming they had together. Freedom
city is ours. They said together. Without saying anything outloud. It begins. The world of
Wilder Willton. /Neštorow came to an end. No more will they him a hand lend. “Who was
Neštorow?” the title in the newspaper was named. The history of his was unknown, but
A. Z. was by reading about it blown. Mindblown. The idea that was of him was amazing. – a small made up character by a unknown writer killed in war. The scheme of the
character was glorious. Never written to the end. Poorly preserved. But worth a look at.
/about a friend of his, the unknown authors’, dead by war, friend. Sadly, not worth
publishing. Just mentioning. The whole of others agree. They won, the duo. W. W.
A. Z, after reading the newspaper woke Franjo with a slap ‘couse he was again
gossiping in sleep about the rest of inhabitants. They laught after Franjos reaction, he
shouted silently “I’ll fuck you A. Z. , again, you’ll see. When I get to heaven to you.” Why
they laughed? “Couse I’m not dead you fool, that’s why the slap.”
And Franjo didn’t even noticed A. Z. , had a thing going on, he kept a secret, one hidden
for Franjo to discover. He is after all the only Franjo lover, and vice versa. They we’re at
the stairway to the first floor in a notch. Their duplex was fine. The mess was clean.
Their souls were again entwined. The morning sun finely shined. They for them will no
longer look behind./ the big five concluded that they were free, They were named
Ishtawor, Ereš, Eris, Kushim, Damsel. And that’s the secret we ought to tell you. The
Five by saying that outloud dissapeared forevermore, forevermore.
The five being dead, enhanced the duos will. About what? Life it self. What about it?
Sublimation is afterall never true. If led by other people. That’s your only, only, we may
emphasize about it a lot, frenzyfull state. The bulb at their duplex, the big one in the
entering hall. It dissolved. About what, was it about, the melting? Ofcourse you reader
of, future one, of the implicit I. What is the implicit I? Not the narrating one! Which one?
The acter one. The one we mostly adore. The true love of our lives. Will to be? To be
“areness” together and “isness” when alone.
Master, master the Sun shone bright, the Moon finally disappeared. Glory be, they lived
together again.
“AS ONE!” loved the animal kingdom to scream all the time, through night.
“Even I was afraid to die like that. But thankfully it was you, wasn’t it?”
“Me, what?”
“You know, saw it, and loved me even thou it was true.”
“You fool, you think it is just love, think about it.”
“True.”
The silence which was oddish but lovely, finally took over. It was time. Time to explain,
what it was about it, the two of them. Sleep well people. It’s our time now. We are
“Synonymer.”
We should tell you, what we are about? Is it true, that we ought to? Nah. We lie
sometimes too. Why? No more, no more should we explain ourselves. /the deeper we
went the deeper we knew and felt about it. It was true. We have our headspace for
ourselves. Based were we on something else than they believed. They one side lie one
side me got them unexistent for all eternity. Never ever will they appear again. /slowly
will they, called Wilder Willton in forever life wed. All day all night, and in between is their
plight for more of a nicer light and darkness. Wed, wed. They both are by thorns’ left
long ago to bleed. All alone they stand in their garden at the dawn of Existence called
Emptiness.
But were they, Synonimer, empty? “Nah” said the whole of Mythology as He. Because
he and he, Franjo and A. Z. , would outwitt even God. /the truth was found, he does not
exist. The dying did appear to be fearful and going nuts was too an fearful option. But,
but, but?
It’s the end. The whole of nine billion are now, afraidly demented, considering Franjo
and A
Z. . Never knew them never cared for them never saw them never felt them just heard
of them. Bleed, you rest of the world as you know it- “Ours is the new era” Synonimer
whispered in all of the nine billion…… What ever they define themselves, only if it is not
the two of us they steal off.
Finally they know the truth.
And Franjo entered again. In something he only understood placefully “I calculated it all
it’s 190, the average is 12, that’s 15 albums, I want just few tracks and papers printed,
they are already on your computer just do it.”
“It’s done in a notch.”
As he waited Franjo smoked a cigarette and he had a lot of to reduce in one go. “I didn’t
tell A. Z. about the songs and poems and the world I’m building. Wonder will he be
insulted or what will he think about it?”
The show started, it was printed out. And Franjo started his stroll back to home with it in
a suitcase. Plus he got the strangest idea what to do before he left the apartment. He put
a little camera inside the suitcase. He was also meant to be a nice little spying movie of
people on the streets and their chattering while he roams the streets of Freedom city.
But Franjo made it perfectly clear, his eyesight was fine. Shine, shine you fools, said I,
Synonimer, Wilder Willton we are, sometimes. Black is our day, white our night.
And it is already out. The fachism of postmodernism is outed.
It’s a new thing they prepared, A
Z. and Franjo. When Franjo showed A
Z. what he got out of 190…..they called it “nimphism”.
“So they suspect nothing?”
“About what?”
“About the short stroll movie back home? Called “Chatter on the streets.”
“Nah,it’s unseeable for them. And the poetry is unknown to them.”
“That is finally now set down in stone then!”
“We won, my love.”
THE END