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All work herein is copyright (c) Stewart Wilson 2001.
 

Enemy Territory

Being an occasional rambling article from the mind of Stewart Wilson

 
 

That filthy whorehopper of a webcafe manager decided to have server trouble on
Saturday night. Bloody sodding marvellous. An evening online, doing what I
happen to like doing, ruined when that dozy bastard took half a second to switch
all the bloody machines off and call it a server problem. They then turfed us
out of the building, the first time since opening that I have known an internet
cafe to close. No apologies, just "Please get out of the building as we are
having server trouble". The complete bastards. So, I went and got rather drunk,
instead.


I'll give them fucking server trouble if they get in the way of me talking to my
bloody girlfriend again. Lots of server trouble, starting with an axe in the
server, and a crowbar to the head of any living person that gets in my way. Then
just flood the staff room with poison gas and detonate whatever explosive I had
managed to hide under the manager's chair. Yes, I'm a vindictive son of a bitch.
Planning on stopping me?


As if that wasn't bad enough, even, it turned out to be the leaving party for
our least interesting (and least human) compatriot. The perfect way to describe
him landed in my inbox this morning: A young, inexperienced tech who has an
opinion on EVERYTHING, even (especially) if it's completely wrong. the man who
can prattle on about the F1, going as far as to know what brand of fucking
chewing gum was used to fix the engine, when all I want is to watch the race.
Fortunately, I drank so much I have forgotten him already, and come Wednesday,
he will be but a forgotten memory. I hope.

At least on Sunday they had the good graces to warn us that we had to get out.
Of course, they only gave us three seconds between that and turning all the
machines off. Again.

Bad webcafe! No biscuit!

* * *

So I was walking home last night, Sunday night, and I got to thinking. Normally
this is bad, this time it was very bad. A storm was brewing, and the air was so
charged it was like walking through treacle. My head, as ever sensitive to
storms, was pounding. Wind tearing at me as it should do more bloody often.
Minidisc player cued up to Placebo, with a cut of the Offspring and the Stone
Roses. All the makings of a good storm.

And I have to ruin it all by thinking. The weird thing was, it wasn't like I was
thinking at all, more like I was remembering events that hadn't happenned.
Which, even for me, is a damn weird thing to have happen. Normally, at least I
have the good graces to have to think about things before they enter my mind.
Whether it was the charge in the air, the suddenly depressing music, or the
hard, cold wind, I will not know. It could even have been a delayed hangover
from Saturday noght's drinking. But what I do know is that it is not something I
want to have happen again in the future. Memories of past relationships that
ended long before now, surfacing as clear as yesterday, minus the alcoholic
haze. Past things that I am glad are over. People I am glad to have left behind.
And yet there they were, as if I had never left them. In one, I was sharing a
flat with Becky, in another I hadn't found out about Sarah's lies untill it was
far too late. A third had me still shacked up with that loony bint in Hull. Not
things I want to remember too much of. And yet, none of this happenned. None of
it. So why the fuck did I remember it?

If any of the men in white coats are reading this, to get me to a nice padded
cell, they can fuck off. I'm not mad, I know that. I just don't know what's
going on, though I do want to. Bah. It's over now. I don't have to think about
it any omre. I just needed to get it written down.

* * *

You know, one of these days you people might be nice enough to actually give me
some feedback. Is it that hard, once you've read something, to pick fault with
it and hit that 'reply' button on your e-mail program? I'm not saying it so I
get a slew of AOL-ish "Me, too!" posts. I want people to pick fault with what I
say, or to expand on it, or to ask me what the hell I am rambling on about and
why those words look like an incoherent mess upon their screens. I'm trying to
make you people think, not just sit there, read it and move on like sheep.
Warren Ellis put it best with: "Don't look for media-approved, ideologically
sound Right Causes. Look outside your window and do something about what you see
there instead!"

I know you probably are thinking. You're reading this wondering why I'm going
off at people that have the good graces not to tell me where to shove it. To be
honest, I'll tell you.

This list was to be a semi-irregular thing. As in, I send something out as and
when I can be arsed to put fingers to keys. Unfortunately, I've hit a problem
with all of this. I'm running out of steam. I can't keep on lashing out at
things forever, not in the style I am now. I've lost touch with the news at
home, so no longer can I tear English and American politics to shreds. I need to
know things. If I don't know things, I can't shout and scream about them, I
can't bring it to the attention of the others here on this list. I find this
writing all of this gives me a chance to blow off steam, so please, give me a
hand. I don't want thit to fall into obscurity, and I don't want to keep yelling
at people I like in order to get ideas.

Here's something else. If you've been good enough to read through the above, I'm
going to ask you to consider something else. Quote me. If you liked something,
whack it in your sig block with a note on the subscribe addy. Mark 1 of the
website will be up in a few days, I'll give you the address, which will have a
sign up form. If you liked something, tell people. If you didn't like something,
tell me why! Strange as it seems, I would like a bit of publicity, and a bit of
fame.

Thank you for reading

* * *

Stewart Wilson
The Digital Raven
Munich, 30th July 2001