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Underground eXperts United File 286
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Underground eXperts United
Presents...
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[ Stigma ] [ By The GNN ]
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"STIGMA"
by THE GNN/DualCrew-Shining/uXu
Listen carefully, I am a successful novelist. I have written many books
and I have made so much money that I have lost count. When I was twelve
years old I wrote a short poem. I called it 'Stigma'.
stigma
by Eric Kane
in another world
no time will be
to see what we have done
no eyes to feed
no pardon to beg for
because words are no more
I had of course written many others before this one. But when I sat
there, alone in my room by my little desk, looking at the words I had
written, I suddenly felt very special. My dream was to become a writer, a
good writer. This poem was, in my eyes, the best thing I had ever done.
I went down to the kitchen. It was in the evening and my mother was busy
preparing supper. I handed the paper with my poem over to her. She said
it was the best poem she had ever read. It came as no surprise. Then she
told me to show it to my father.
House of Kane was at that time the biggest publishing company in the
country. My father owned it. He often came home very late, irritated and
angry. This evening was no exception. The door opened and slammed shut with
a bang. Dad was home. I gave him the poem, but he paid no attention to it.
Instead, he placed the paper in his pocket and began talking about greedy
writers and people without talent who dared to disturb him. My mother said
nothing. She just listened and nodded.
We sat down to eat. I watched my father. He kept on complaining on
various things during the whole supper. When he was finished with the meal,
he fished up a cigar from his pocket and leaned back in the chair, muttering.
When he fumbled for his matches he found the paper in his pocket. He brought
it up and examined it. My heart began to beat faster.
He read the poem. Then he turned to me and asked if I had written it. I
glanced at my mother and could see her smile. I said yes. My dad chuckled,
then he tore the paper to pieces while saying that it was the worst piece
of junk he had ever read.
When I went to bed that night I felt very empty. Downstairs, I could
hear my parents fight. My mother said that my father had ruined my life.
He claimed that he read enough garbage at work and did not have to stand
more at home.
Even though my father had said that he hated my poem, I continued to
write. I wrote poetry for a few more years, but after a while I got bored
and began to explore prose instead. Three days after my twenty-seventh
birthday, three years after my father had died, I finally got a letter from
a publisher who wanted to buy my manuscript. It became a national best-seller
and I made enough money to be able to work on my second book, which also
sold very good.
I thank my mother and my father for my success. Without them, I would
still be writing poems like 'Stigma'. They taught me that writing is not
about art or self-expression. It is about giving people what they want to
read. When I wrote that poem I still thought that you should write things
for your own pleasure, not caring about what other people thought. Now, I
know that I was mistaken. Writing is about giving the audience what they
want to read.
I am now working on my fifth book. It will contain everything the masses
want it to contain. I spend two hours every day with it. I hate those two
hours. I do not understand why, because I have always dreamed of becoming
a good writer. That dream is about to turn into a nightmare. I feel a
burning pain every second I sit in front of the typewriter. Someone once
told me that it was because of a deep stigma. God knows what he meant by
that. But then, he was just a simple fool. I am a successful novelist, I
ought to be able to find out the real truth some day.
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Z.MAG@ZINE IS DEAD AND GONE! AND WE LOVE IT! HA HA HA!
We don't care about your opinion. Beat this: THE STASH +46-13-ETC
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What about the figures, what about the facts?
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uXu #286 Underground eXperts United 1995 uXu #286
Call THE TRUTH SAYER'S DOMAIN -> +1-210-493-9975
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