fpf1s3c04.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------. | | | Macno envies RokDaZone for being the one who gave name to RokDus Morbus. | | This is their battle. | | | `-----------------------------------------------------------------------------' c03 CONFESSIONS OF THE ILL MAN by Macno & RokDaZone c01You know my friend, it is difficult to be here, staring your yellow eyes and wondering how it could happen, why, when and where. You didn't deserve that, your carreer seemed promising, your life happy, your eyes were blinking joy and intelligence. Now, look. Look at yourself. There's no sign of lucidity on your face, the morbus has already grasped your body, its vicious hands are digging in your brain, you have lost the sense of reality, you have lost the meanings, the targets. Yes, I know, in your desperation you are happy of having given your name to this terrible disease. But was it necessary? Had you really the need of sinking in the throat of the illness to be able to give it your name? Poor boy, poor devil. Everybody will remember you as the first case of Rokdus Morbus, your name will be signed on the eternity's gel with this menacing nuance. Sure, better than nothing, but was it really necessary? Couldn't you simply get affected and let others call it in another way? c02Oh, do you think I am happy to be like this? Just take a look at my hand! f2(* slowly lifts his arm to the height of his face; In fact it is caught in hectic tics *) f1Sometimes I ain't sure if I control the tremor or if it controls me. I am ill! f2(* he bends unnaturally in a sudden cramp *) f1These tics kill me. Look at what remains - a freak. Grotesque! Put me to the circus. Now you come and have the guts to ask me why I agreed in all this, if I enjoy to be prominent. What a prominency! People fear and avoid my name. I can see them, talking behind my back. Still, I get letters from contacts but they are getting shorter. I had to move to the anonimity of e-mailing in order not to be all alone in this jail called Scene. Once I had been a respectable Scener, many wanted to talk to. Nowadays, I am segregated, sometimes discriminated against. The people I mail to feel safe, they don't get any disks which could carry eventual RokDus Morbus-viruses and they think their filters and viruskillers will do their job good enough to protect them. Hah! Be told: They don't... c01You are really a pathetic figure. If wonder if I should spit on your left eye or keep on talking with you. If you know that you can spread your Morbus, how possibly can you maintain your Scene relations? You must be a rare case of schizofrenia if, at the same time, you even think and conceive the existence of something outside Scene. So, please, stop trembling, tie yourself to a chair, stop breathing, your mouth stinks, stop looking at me with those eyes, they scare me. The fact is that there's a cure and you know it. For this reason I know that you're doing all this for fame's purposes. Forget all those insane ramblings about real life, it doesn't exist. Forget the name Katja, she does not exist in real life, she is in the Scene, you can find her here. Forget your imaginary work, you can safely stay here selling hard disks, where's the problem? Ah, I know where it is. The ambition of your mind is stronger than the limits of your body, while one is collapsing into stinking pieces, the other is stormed by heavy ego-stimulation doses. You've found the easy way to have them, no productions, no Scene work... just the idea of being the father of Rokdus Morbus, remembered for centuries, forever! Ah, how do I envy you! c02You are making it a little easy for yourself, my friend. Hasn't it been you, forcing me out of the serenity of my editors life? Bringing me into the spotlight so you could have the fame of the scientist? Now that your plan failed, now that I get the unwanted 'fame' - now you come and lament that MY name will be remembered forever. Who is pityful, here? Actually, I live good by being the nutzo gonzo in this Scene. My pensions from Stolen Data, 42, Raw and Rom are quite well and now that I finally integrated Tasslehoff Burrfoot into my schizophrenic neuroses and made an own vivid complex out of her as Katja, I have everything I wanted. At least that is their way of sorting it out. I know there is a real world behind those Window barrs and you - in your deepest inner, where the human factor, which you have fought so bravely, sleeps - you know it too. You fear it. You can do nothing but swarm over the nets as a micronic particle of communergy, while I can go out and have fun, have girls and spread my ideas over the nets. Yes, smartarse, you can envy me: I am pushed into the chasm of psychogenic hell, unknowing wether this is real or Scene - but at least I am living! You are just a fiction, a complex fix mass-idea, don't know who invented you, yet someone must have. What does the name Alessandro tell you, Macno? What does it mean to you... No, there is no cure and you know it. Pathogenically, there is nothing one could do for me. Realistically, there is no need to help me anyway. Well, it would be nice if someone could morphine my central nervous system so I get rid off these ticks - and moreover if they could dragg you away the same move - but else... nothing to mutter. I am RokDaZone, breeder and carrier of the most Scene endangering disease, threat to your children. In the nights, I crawl into your balls and impoisen your semen - without me having anything to do for it. It's a natural rotting process - a morbus. Yet, it carries my name. Not yours.