One
Jag skrev den igår, och läste upp den idag. En liten historia om ensamhet och ett. Ni som orkar läsa till slutet får gärna kommentera, om den var kul, konstig, svår, oklar osv. Men, det är ju internet, så majoriteten av er kommer nog aldrig till slutet. Vill ner ha mer action kan ni ladda ner M.I.A. - XR 2 (Diplo Turbo Remix), hård!
One
He bought one six-pack of Leffe Blond and one pack of Lucky Strike. Everything in his life was singular. He had one car with one seat. When he drove he listened to one song: Nas – One Mic. He had one apartment with one room. He put his one six-pack in his one refrigerator. He turned on his one TV with his one remote control; he had taped over all the buttons except for the button that had the symbol 1 on it. He only watched one channel, one newscast and one drama show (Desperate Housewives) and then he turned it off. He had to go to the TV and push the only button on it: the on/off button. If he had more than one six-pack before getting up he sometimes hit his only leg on his only glass table. Then he used to hit his one head with his one arm and yell: fuck, one time. Sometimes his one neighbour would bang on the wall one time when this happened. Before he went to bed he read one sentence in the only book he had (The book of one – the spiritual path of advaita). The main idea behind the book was that “in reality there are no two things”. This was the one quote he had in his head. When he woke up he had a hangover, this happened exactly one time a day and lasted between 11 and 111 minutes, this one hangover seemed destined to last for 111 minutes.
He drove to work in his car, it had one wheel, but he called it car anyway. At work he had one computer, it was the number one slow computer in the company, and while he waited for it to load he drank a cup of coffee in the one office kitchen. It was here he had the only conversation during the day; He asked the coffee machine if it would brew him one really shitty, or one moderately shitty cup of coffee today. The one coffee machine in the office though about this question for a while before it began to make a mechanic sound that resulted in a pouring of a really shitty cup of coffee. This was the only time of day he combined two singular words into one; he said: fuck, you. He returned to the number one slow computer that was still struggling to load. He poured the really shitty cup of coffee into his only plant, it had died four years ago from a caffeine overdose. He had not noticed this since his only eye was on the left side of his head. He only saw one side of the world, the left one.
When he had worked for one hour he had completed one task and felt that this was enough for the day. He walked straight to his car. He drank one six-pack. Then he saw the reflection of himself in the only window of the car, the left side window. He threw his only full beer bottle through the one window. It landed on one red shoe. He looked up and someone threw one bottle of whiskey in his head. The red shoe and the one man were silent; one string of blood slowly made it’s way down his singular face. The person in the red shoe said:
- You should not throw beer bottles through the only window you have. Someone might throw a whiskey bottle at you.
- In reality there are no two things, he said, since this was his only thought, and since he already has used his line: fuck you, once today.
- I know, I am one and you are one, she said while the rain kept falling down on her already soaked body, showcasing one breast under her one-armed sweater.
His one dick usually got hard one time a day, when he saw the weather girl on the news. His dick did not care about this scheduled activity so he now had one Eiffel tower inside his pants.
- Your dick is hard, she said while wiping away one wet lump of hair from her one forehead.
- Fuck, he said, realizing that he just used his only fuck for the day, and now had to make sure to not walk into his coffee table tonight.
She walked towards his one car, with one wheel, and one cd, but no window.
- I can only fuck you one time, she said.
- All we could ever do is fuck one time, he said.
- Yes, she said as she took off his only pair of pants and kissed his one bellybutton. She kissed his one mouth and there was no longer two one people in one car, with one wheel. There was one existence, one life, and singularity was just a word, and individuation was just semantics, and fuck was not just a world, and when it was over there were one bottle of beer in the street and one bottle of whiskey in his car.
And when the first morning opened it’s one eye - and the only sun that has ever brought life to this planet spread over the one city where these two one people existed – they are no longer there. They are here, and if you don’t see them, they will not see you.
One
He bought one six-pack of Leffe Blond and one pack of Lucky Strike. Everything in his life was singular. He had one car with one seat. When he drove he listened to one song: Nas – One Mic. He had one apartment with one room. He put his one six-pack in his one refrigerator. He turned on his one TV with his one remote control; he had taped over all the buttons except for the button that had the symbol 1 on it. He only watched one channel, one newscast and one drama show (Desperate Housewives) and then he turned it off. He had to go to the TV and push the only button on it: the on/off button. If he had more than one six-pack before getting up he sometimes hit his only leg on his only glass table. Then he used to hit his one head with his one arm and yell: fuck, one time. Sometimes his one neighbour would bang on the wall one time when this happened. Before he went to bed he read one sentence in the only book he had (The book of one – the spiritual path of advaita). The main idea behind the book was that “in reality there are no two things”. This was the one quote he had in his head. When he woke up he had a hangover, this happened exactly one time a day and lasted between 11 and 111 minutes, this one hangover seemed destined to last for 111 minutes.
He drove to work in his car, it had one wheel, but he called it car anyway. At work he had one computer, it was the number one slow computer in the company, and while he waited for it to load he drank a cup of coffee in the one office kitchen. It was here he had the only conversation during the day; He asked the coffee machine if it would brew him one really shitty, or one moderately shitty cup of coffee today. The one coffee machine in the office though about this question for a while before it began to make a mechanic sound that resulted in a pouring of a really shitty cup of coffee. This was the only time of day he combined two singular words into one; he said: fuck, you. He returned to the number one slow computer that was still struggling to load. He poured the really shitty cup of coffee into his only plant, it had died four years ago from a caffeine overdose. He had not noticed this since his only eye was on the left side of his head. He only saw one side of the world, the left one.
When he had worked for one hour he had completed one task and felt that this was enough for the day. He walked straight to his car. He drank one six-pack. Then he saw the reflection of himself in the only window of the car, the left side window. He threw his only full beer bottle through the one window. It landed on one red shoe. He looked up and someone threw one bottle of whiskey in his head. The red shoe and the one man were silent; one string of blood slowly made it’s way down his singular face. The person in the red shoe said:
- You should not throw beer bottles through the only window you have. Someone might throw a whiskey bottle at you.
- In reality there are no two things, he said, since this was his only thought, and since he already has used his line: fuck you, once today.
- I know, I am one and you are one, she said while the rain kept falling down on her already soaked body, showcasing one breast under her one-armed sweater.
His one dick usually got hard one time a day, when he saw the weather girl on the news. His dick did not care about this scheduled activity so he now had one Eiffel tower inside his pants.
- Your dick is hard, she said while wiping away one wet lump of hair from her one forehead.
- Fuck, he said, realizing that he just used his only fuck for the day, and now had to make sure to not walk into his coffee table tonight.
She walked towards his one car, with one wheel, and one cd, but no window.
- I can only fuck you one time, she said.
- All we could ever do is fuck one time, he said.
- Yes, she said as she took off his only pair of pants and kissed his one bellybutton. She kissed his one mouth and there was no longer two one people in one car, with one wheel. There was one existence, one life, and singularity was just a word, and individuation was just semantics, and fuck was not just a world, and when it was over there were one bottle of beer in the street and one bottle of whiskey in his car.
And when the first morning opened it’s one eye - and the only sun that has ever brought life to this planet spread over the one city where these two one people existed – they are no longer there. They are here, and if you don’t see them, they will not see you.
posted by Patrik Edvardsson at 9:42 em
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