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Sunday
A Word from the Administrators
Hello, and welcome [back] to the Cracktown Community blog – a place where you, the citizen, has been cherry-picked by local leading media nodes to give the global village a peek into your life, your loves, nay, the myriad facets of your very existence.
After two years of being offline out of respect for our dear colleague Polly Blank and her tragic circumstances, and for essential upgrades to our server security, we are now racing into the glorious summer of 2014 as we welcome the four latest bloggers to the site;
Sharlotta
Living for the past 2 years in Old Lynn’s Rosary Community Shelter Complex, Sharlotta (23) likes to spend her spare time socialising with her fellow Eastern European friends & business contacts. Up until recent times she played an active role as carer for her mother (since deceased [note to ed. citation needed]) and still volunteers her services to the elderly quarter of the Rosary Community Shelter.
Syberium
Syberium (28), of mixed Latvian/Russian descent, lists his hobbies as Kirlian photography, Amateur Wikileaking, Psychogeography, and rural cycling. He is an active cyber-nomad and prominent member of the CABAL Truth movement.
Aleksandr (Alik) Kosckek
Originally from South Ossetia, Alik was eager to settle in our great region after the Georgia/Russia conflict of 2008. He is currently actively looking for work and has a multitude of skills to offer to the region’s many industries and silo fields. In 2013 Alik (26) founded the iWANT online campaign against capitalism, and funds his electronic protestations with sponsorship from Andrew Valley Car Insurance, Old Lynn’s choice for competitive insurance for all your land-based motor vehicles. He is looking forward to sharing and debating his views with you all on this exciting community blog and in our related chatroom.
Silika Z
Born in Latvia in 1986, Silika Z studied Sociology in Moscow State University before moving to South Ossetia in 2007 after graduating with honours. After the Georgia/Russia troubles of 2008, she decided to resettle in our thriving and cosmopolitan area of Norfolk. As soon as she arrived in the area she became a key volunteer during the post-flood cleanup and crisis aversion programmes of 2008/2009. Helping many of the region’s native population to safety, she is a shining example of how all asylum seekers should assist and support their adopted and friendly community.
As mentioned above, our dear bloggers will regularly inform you of their experiences living in this glorious (and very safe) town/city of Old Lynn but, for the newbies and casual visitors amongst you all (who haven’t visited our fine region before), please find more information on Old Lynn here and here.
We hope you enjoy reading every gem of an article within the pages of this fine, new Old Lynn Community Blog (known simply to our local population as ‘Cracktown Community Blog v2.0’) and, please do remember, free speech rules above us all – the word of the people is the word of the world.
Thank you.
P. EkeEditor-in-Chief
[Office]
Quicklime News
May 2014
Your Only Reliable Hub of the Community
Sharlotta #1; An Introduction to Grief and Joy
Sharlotta (as Nymphetamine);"Tā nakts kad zvaigznes notrūka no debesīm un iekrita jurā" /
"The Night The Stars Became Unhooked From The Sky and Fell Into the Sea"
He always cries. Even when he climaxes, his face is more contorted with sadness than ecstasy. I don’t know why he always goes through with it. With having these sessions with me, I mean.
You see, his father died late last year – murdered, really – kicked to death in the street by a gang of hooded jeering demons.
I started seeing D____ S_____ five days after his father’s funeral; a very sorry soul indeed. I didn’t think I had ever seen anyone as close to dying from grief as him (and I’ve seen a lot) on that first bleak session. We just talked, and I hugged him. He didn’t ask. I just couldn’t stop myself from embracing him. Of course, he says now that he has no recollection of that first “time” spent with me. But I do. I remember it with diamond-sharp clarity.
“It made page 17.”
“Sorry?”
“My father’s death. The article. Page 17 in Quicklime News. You know what made page 1?”
“No”
“An article about some fucking ‘contemporary art’ exhibition. Some stupid Florian bloke who made some vulgar cartoons - or something.”
…
“You know what made page 16?”
“No, but look – your time…”
“Page 16? The page before the report on my father’s murder? Have one guess.”
“I…I don’t know. I’m sorry”
“Page 16 of that rag was mostly filled with an in-depth report on a local Wetherspoons pub finally winning funding for an “Old West” makeover and rebranding. Cowboys and stuff. This glorious piece of stellar journalism was titled; “We Hope There’s No Tumbleweeds in ‘ere, Pardner.”
“I really am sorry.”
“Yes…I am too.”
“Did they include a photo of your dad with the article?”
“…Yes. Smiling. Arms around my mother…sorry… do you have any tissue - thanks.”
“What was your father’s name, sonny? – If you don’t mind my asking.”
“My father’s name was…is…Abraham S____.”
“I knew an Abraham once. A friend of my Tēvs’. An old friend.”
“Right. Well, umm, what do we do now?”
“Anything you want, baby.”
“Can we just sit and talk for a while, first I mean?”
“Anything you want, baby.”
“You know what I miss?”
“What’s that, my love?”
“The Summer. Why is there NEVER a summer in Cracktown any more? The constant, smothering clouds. The bastards. That’s the after-effects of HAARP for you. Since the fucking floods the weather never amounts to a hill of shit, I reckon. You know, when I was ten my father took me down to the Lilith Plantation – the woodlands near the Swaffham Cageworks – you know them?”
“No, hun, never been.”
“They’re still there – apparently. Unchanged – apparently. Not allowed to go in there anymore. Dunno why. Can I get a glass of water?”
“Sure. Won’t be a sec.”
…
“There you go.”
“Cheers.”
“You were saying?”
“Umm… Yes, the trees. My father took me down there, in the woods, when I was ten years old. I loved being there. We ran. We played hide ‘n seek. Made a den of bracken. It was at the very height of summer. Humming with heat. Rabbits. Birds. Bees, even. Remember them?”
“Of course.”
“Hmmm… You know what I did? Back in those old woods? I completely stripped. Completely.”
“You took off your clothes?”
“Yep. Sure did. As soon as my father left to take a business call…I think…Anyway, I had an hour there in the woodland. On my own. I found a hilltop clearing in the woods, stripped naked there and then – on the spot – neatly folded my clothes and turned to face the baking summer evening sun.”
“After a time of just standing there on the hill, taking in the whole of MY Kingdom (the naked King standing defiant and proud in front of nature’s multi-layered creation), I just laid down on the cool wild grass and daisies.”
“What did you do then?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Absolutely nothing. Don’t forget that this was pre-regeneration, so the skyline was yet to be jagged with chimneys, silos and factory sculptures. Just pure peace and rural solitude. Feeling and hearing my heartbeat through my naked chest. Truly blissful. Have you ever been outside, completely naked, and felt the summer breeze gently kiss and caress your skin?”
“Not really – I was naked outside once, for my job, but it certainly wasn’t like that.”
“As I say, blissful. Simply divine. There were some reddened clouds on the horizon, but these were the days of the Sun. The Sun OWNED the sky back then.”
“It sounds a little different to these times.”
“Oh, it was! No grey. No gulfs of machine-smoke. Just pure Vitamin D sunlight. And butterflies. A beautiful giant butterfly landed on my chest as I lay there naked. It walked around a little, occasionally fluttering its hypnotising psychedelic wings.”
…
“Breathing in pure, clean air as your company is kept by such a heavenly and wondrous creature as that? The very stuff of joyous, unsullied memories.”
“Okay, baby, its time. Lay back as I do my own heavenly thing for you today…”
Sharlotta.
