väljas seisab kiiraabiauto. minu laual põlevad küünlad, viis tükki reas. kaks valget, kaks punast ning üks lõhnaga. maasikalõhnaga kusjuures, aga see pole eriti tähtis, sest ma olen siin kaua istunud ja lõhnaga ära harjunud.
aga kiirabiauto on seal seisnud juba 20 minutit. ehk on keegi surma saanud? ehk vigastatud? äkki sootuks purju joonud? või fentanüüli üledoosi rüppe langenud? ei tea. küsida ka ei julge. nad ei ütleks ka, sest see poleks professionaalne. kuigi ma saaksin teeselda mõnd sugulast, aga see tooks ilmselt rohkem pahandust kui tarvis. ei maksaks siiski välistada võimalust, et tegu ongi mõne sugulase või tuttavaga. selliseid asju tuleb ette. ilmselt ma saaksin telefonikõne sellises olukorras. lõpuks.
...
nojah. mõttepausi ajal on liitunud ka politseiauto. võib ainult spekuleerida, mis hirmus olukord on ennast naabermajas välja mänginud. aga mida spekulatsioon ikka maksab. kui tegu on väärt looga, võib homme uudistest lugeda ja ehk kellegi mälestuseks küünlad taassüüdata. kuid tõenäoliselt mitte.
Vääramatu lend
There was turbulence and Garry hated that. He was all too aware of the portrayals of planes as tiny tin cans flung about in the air at great speeds and through all sorts of weather. Having just spent half an hour reading about recent airplane disasters did not help either. Planes going missing, getting shot down or even simply malfunctioning was enough to fill his head with all sorts of apocalyptic scenarios. He gripped the little pop-down table in front of him and grinded his teeth.
There was turbulence and Harry did not really mind, but he was somewhat worried his drink might spill and he would need to get a new one. Or worse, spill some on his trousers which would be another hassle. He had a big sip to ease the issue and laid back, nibbling his croissant, with bits of it happily trailing down in front of him. Harry did not make a fuss, as after brushing his front with a good couple of swipes, he would be crumbless once again. His gaze drifted across his compatriots on the flight and to the window. It was dark outside with the moon very barely casting some light across sparse clouds, the ocean below was even darker and very far away. As he looked at the sea and the clouds, he was reminded of his time as a young boy. This he had spent running around coastlines, throwing rocks at birds and generally enjoying the fresh air and having a good time. Sometimes he would even sneak out late in the evening when the sea was mysterious and the birds were even harder to hit. The memories stayed with him for the rest of the flight, unlike the delicious croissant.
There was turbulence and Irene barely noticed it, as she was entirely too engrossed in the novel in her hands. It was the new Dan Brown and set in futuristic Siberia. The protagonist was Robert Langdon Jr, son of the much written about symbologist. An ancient celtic order had set up a huge fake city that drew from nearly every European culture and had placed great works of art in key places. Little Bobby Langdon had to solve the mystery of the city's government, they had all disappeared after lunch at the Great Siberian Pyramids. He was on the run after neo-mummies armed with semi-automatic machine guns and dodging the multi-faceted Great Eye of Sauron that was keeping watch on every citizen. For his troubles he laid with a slightly older woman with great big tits. She knew a lot about the science stuff and it helped Bobby out a great deal, especially when he had to solve the mysterious case of the upside down Westminster Palace, while doing exercises from a Chemistry 101 book. Currently the were in a room that was supposedly a one to one recreations of King Arthur's round table. There were even wax figures posed in the chairs, which they found odd as these were meant to be for the people in power to lead from. Quite mysteriously they all had yellow eyes and strange pupils, which were very lizard-like. In the end there was a long speech held by Bobby to a massive golden room full of very small children's toys. They looked somewhat bored and some even walked out.
Garry looked at his food tray and slipped the little knife that came with it into his pocket. Harry used a moment when the only other person in his row was in the toilet and sat himself next to the food trolley, expertly pocketing a packet of crips and a drink from the trolley. Letting them go past a few rows, he sat back and nibbled once more. Irene was locked in her mind imagining the adventures and great body of Bobby Langdon. She closed her eyes and imagined the shaking plane was instead a shaking bed she shared with Bobby.
Garry fingered at the knife in his pocket. For better or for worse they had served him a real knife. The plane shook again and he jumped in his seat, gently poking himself with the knife. With a quivering voice and darting hand he stood up and started yelling for the plane to be landed. Two flight attendants popped up at the end of the section of seats, and Garry backed away towards the toilets.
"Sir, we are over an ocean, please relax" responded a flight attendant with professional calm. "You take this plane down this instance or I will take someone else -- or myself off it by force!" he jabbed the knife towards the passengers and then at his own throat. Partly due to the noise of the plane, partly because he was screaming and sobbing so much himself, he did not hear the sounds of washing hands and rustling with clothes next to him. When Irene unlocked the door of the toilet, the plane jolted hard and she fell forward. The door crashed on Garry and threw him back the way he came. Stumbling to stay on his feet, still gripping the knife, he was disoriented but still dangerous. Harry who had been watching this from his nearby seat looked sadly at his unopened can of drink, but seized the opportunity and flung it directly at Garry's forehead.
There was turbulence and Harry did not really mind, but he was somewhat worried his drink might spill and he would need to get a new one. Or worse, spill some on his trousers which would be another hassle. He had a big sip to ease the issue and laid back, nibbling his croissant, with bits of it happily trailing down in front of him. Harry did not make a fuss, as after brushing his front with a good couple of swipes, he would be crumbless once again. His gaze drifted across his compatriots on the flight and to the window. It was dark outside with the moon very barely casting some light across sparse clouds, the ocean below was even darker and very far away. As he looked at the sea and the clouds, he was reminded of his time as a young boy. This he had spent running around coastlines, throwing rocks at birds and generally enjoying the fresh air and having a good time. Sometimes he would even sneak out late in the evening when the sea was mysterious and the birds were even harder to hit. The memories stayed with him for the rest of the flight, unlike the delicious croissant.
There was turbulence and Irene barely noticed it, as she was entirely too engrossed in the novel in her hands. It was the new Dan Brown and set in futuristic Siberia. The protagonist was Robert Langdon Jr, son of the much written about symbologist. An ancient celtic order had set up a huge fake city that drew from nearly every European culture and had placed great works of art in key places. Little Bobby Langdon had to solve the mystery of the city's government, they had all disappeared after lunch at the Great Siberian Pyramids. He was on the run after neo-mummies armed with semi-automatic machine guns and dodging the multi-faceted Great Eye of Sauron that was keeping watch on every citizen. For his troubles he laid with a slightly older woman with great big tits. She knew a lot about the science stuff and it helped Bobby out a great deal, especially when he had to solve the mysterious case of the upside down Westminster Palace, while doing exercises from a Chemistry 101 book. Currently the were in a room that was supposedly a one to one recreations of King Arthur's round table. There were even wax figures posed in the chairs, which they found odd as these were meant to be for the people in power to lead from. Quite mysteriously they all had yellow eyes and strange pupils, which were very lizard-like. In the end there was a long speech held by Bobby to a massive golden room full of very small children's toys. They looked somewhat bored and some even walked out.
Garry looked at his food tray and slipped the little knife that came with it into his pocket. Harry used a moment when the only other person in his row was in the toilet and sat himself next to the food trolley, expertly pocketing a packet of crips and a drink from the trolley. Letting them go past a few rows, he sat back and nibbled once more. Irene was locked in her mind imagining the adventures and great body of Bobby Langdon. She closed her eyes and imagined the shaking plane was instead a shaking bed she shared with Bobby.
Garry fingered at the knife in his pocket. For better or for worse they had served him a real knife. The plane shook again and he jumped in his seat, gently poking himself with the knife. With a quivering voice and darting hand he stood up and started yelling for the plane to be landed. Two flight attendants popped up at the end of the section of seats, and Garry backed away towards the toilets.
"Sir, we are over an ocean, please relax" responded a flight attendant with professional calm. "You take this plane down this instance or I will take someone else -- or myself off it by force!" he jabbed the knife towards the passengers and then at his own throat. Partly due to the noise of the plane, partly because he was screaming and sobbing so much himself, he did not hear the sounds of washing hands and rustling with clothes next to him. When Irene unlocked the door of the toilet, the plane jolted hard and she fell forward. The door crashed on Garry and threw him back the way he came. Stumbling to stay on his feet, still gripping the knife, he was disoriented but still dangerous. Harry who had been watching this from his nearby seat looked sadly at his unopened can of drink, but seized the opportunity and flung it directly at Garry's forehead.
Kunstnik inglikätega
Elas kord - aastal 1375 - suur kunstnik Edward de Cham. Ta sündis Itaalia ja Prantsusmaa piiri lähedal asuvas väikeses külakeses, alpide äärel. Ta teosed olid täis ebamaist ilu, justkui inglid ise oleks need loonud ja pannud neisse oma graatsia. Peale vaadates tundus, et tegelased maalidel justkui hingavad, ehk isegi liiguvad. Nad olid kõik täiuslikud. Ja loodusmaalid...ei maksa rääkidagi. Neis oli ilu, emotsiooni. Kui neile pilk heita, ka kõige suursugusemad loodusnähtused maailmas tundusid kui oktoobrikuine lörts pruunikstõmbunud leheteki peal, mis sulab su silme all mudaks. Nii andekas oli Edward de Cham.
Kuid tema küla oli eraldatud suuremast maailmast, ehkki seal lähedal oli väiksem linn ja veidi kaugemal, kuid siiski mugavalt külastatav, paar teist küla. Aga kõik kunstikriitikud, kes elasid selles linnas, väiksemates külades ja Edwardi enda külas, olid lühinägelikud. Otseses mõttes. Neil olid, kõige paremal -5 silindrid, kõige halvemal -7. Selles hoolimata, kui külaelanikud nägid Edwardi teoste vägevust, nad kutsusid kokku kõik need kriitikud, et nad vaataks ja viiks Edwardi kaugemale sealt maakohast, et kogu maailm saaks imetleda tema jumalikke pintslilööke. Ehk lausa paavst ise võtaks ta oma hoole alla. Olid enamik maale ju vaimuliku sisuga.
"Mis lurts see on."
"Pfääh. Poiss, sa rikkusid lõuendi ära!"
"Uskumatu, uskumatu..."
"Isegi kõige vaesemasse kabelisse oleks sellist rüvetust patune panna!"
Edward nuttis ja kriitikud lahkusid sajatades, et nende aega on raisatud. Kuid see pole nende süü, nende silmad olid halvad. Ei nemad näinud Edwardi jumalikke meistriteoseid. Ja prille, neid ei olnud veel müügil..
Edward poos end üles, kuid enne seda - põletas kogu oma loomingu, mida nii kurvalt kritiseeriti. Nii keegi ei teagi, et kunagi aastal 1375, elas kõige suurem kunstnik, keda maailm näinud on, või näeb. Aga muidugi - maailm ei näe. Ega hakka nägema. Sest Edward põletas oma teosed ära. Ja tegi eneka.
Kuid tema küla oli eraldatud suuremast maailmast, ehkki seal lähedal oli väiksem linn ja veidi kaugemal, kuid siiski mugavalt külastatav, paar teist küla. Aga kõik kunstikriitikud, kes elasid selles linnas, väiksemates külades ja Edwardi enda külas, olid lühinägelikud. Otseses mõttes. Neil olid, kõige paremal -5 silindrid, kõige halvemal -7. Selles hoolimata, kui külaelanikud nägid Edwardi teoste vägevust, nad kutsusid kokku kõik need kriitikud, et nad vaataks ja viiks Edwardi kaugemale sealt maakohast, et kogu maailm saaks imetleda tema jumalikke pintslilööke. Ehk lausa paavst ise võtaks ta oma hoole alla. Olid enamik maale ju vaimuliku sisuga.
"Mis lurts see on."
"Pfääh. Poiss, sa rikkusid lõuendi ära!"
"Uskumatu, uskumatu..."
"Isegi kõige vaesemasse kabelisse oleks sellist rüvetust patune panna!"
Edward nuttis ja kriitikud lahkusid sajatades, et nende aega on raisatud. Kuid see pole nende süü, nende silmad olid halvad. Ei nemad näinud Edwardi jumalikke meistriteoseid. Ja prille, neid ei olnud veel müügil..
Edward poos end üles, kuid enne seda - põletas kogu oma loomingu, mida nii kurvalt kritiseeriti. Nii keegi ei teagi, et kunagi aastal 1375, elas kõige suurem kunstnik, keda maailm näinud on, või näeb. Aga muidugi - maailm ei näe. Ega hakka nägema. Sest Edward põletas oma teosed ära. Ja tegi eneka.
Carl üritab, aga ei jaksa päriselt kirjutada vol.1 / Melankoluul
Lumi langes
muutus veeks
lörts
Vesi langes
muutus jääks
avarii
vesi kontsentreerus
jääks tardus
avarii
vesi langes
meri moodustus
estonia
vesi langes
jõeks voolas
uppunu
lumi langes
hangeks muutus
luumurd
rahe kukkus
pähe kukkus
trauma
taevas selge
ilm ilus
päikesepiste
taevas selge
õhtu aeg
roolijoodik
taevas pilves
öine melu
haigus
patt
roim
luuletus
muutus veeks
lörts
Vesi langes
muutus jääks
avarii
vesi kontsentreerus
jääks tardus
avarii
vesi langes
meri moodustus
estonia
vesi langes
jõeks voolas
uppunu
lumi langes
hangeks muutus
luumurd
rahe kukkus
pähe kukkus
trauma
taevas selge
ilm ilus
päikesepiste
taevas selge
õhtu aeg
roolijoodik
taevas pilves
öine melu
haigus
patt
roim
luuletus
The Vessel Eyt Delta
Docai stood up from his cubicle station and after a few milliseconds to confirm, sensors embedded around him turned off his terminal. He had been sitting for a few hours now and needed to stop working for the day. Little speakers in his ears transitioned from work music to a more relaxed tune in the background of soft spoken talk radio and news.
“… confirms that the union-backed decision to restore Sector E-05 to 100% manufacturing capacity will be actualised. And in the deep dark void outside the rebellion of the 8th Legion continues to keep the T’dangan colonised planet of Cerberus in a state of chaos. Fresh images have surfaced in the last four hours of a possibly Imperial fleet of light attackships converging on and partly destroying a Legionnaire commandeered battlecruiser. At this point the possible casualty count is unknown. Rumors of independent contractors from our homeship Eyt Delta working in conjunction with the Imperial Army have been denied. And back on the homeship, in lighter news, local climate engineers have started a warm breeze in sector B public levels to stress test a new model of air conditioners. The new model …”
Docai furrowed his brow as he stepped out into an airlock and the air cycled around him. He was standing at the hatches now in full gear and a 0-Atmo suit. The low-energy, high-pressure sitting job was not his preferred employment, but it was the one he was given. A small unnecessary spacewalk gave him an excuse to move around more than he had in the past 11 hours. Putting on the EVA suit was a well practiced routine Docai barely even noticed anymore. Grabbing a bar outside the hatch, he flung himself out and swung around to the side of his office module. His magnetised boots thumped as they connected and stuck to the surface. He started out on the familiar walk back towards his home-module, absent-mindedly staring into the stars above.
Eyt Delta was built on the understanding that functionality is more important than looks. Handlebars and emergency hatches were laid out on the surface. It was built in modules, so it could be taken apart, reassembled or quarantined with ease. This gave the ship a somewhat work-in-progress look. Luckily aerodynamics did not matter in space and it was set on it’s calculated course at a relatively slow pace from one planet to another. It wasn’t about to maneuvre in any direction.
“… confirms that the union-backed decision to restore Sector E-05 to 100% manufacturing capacity will be actualised. And in the deep dark void outside the rebellion of the 8th Legion continues to keep the T’dangan colonised planet of Cerberus in a state of chaos. Fresh images have surfaced in the last four hours of a possibly Imperial fleet of light attackships converging on and partly destroying a Legionnaire commandeered battlecruiser. At this point the possible casualty count is unknown. Rumors of independent contractors from our homeship Eyt Delta working in conjunction with the Imperial Army have been denied. And back on the homeship, in lighter news, local climate engineers have started a warm breeze in sector B public levels to stress test a new model of air conditioners. The new model …”Docai furrowed his brow as he stepped out into an airlock and the air cycled around him. He was standing at the hatches now in full gear and a 0-Atmo suit. The low-energy, high-pressure sitting job was not his preferred employment, but it was the one he was given. A small unnecessary spacewalk gave him an excuse to move around more than he had in the past 11 hours. Putting on the EVA suit was a well practiced routine Docai barely even noticed anymore. Grabbing a bar outside the hatch, he flung himself out and swung around to the side of his office module. His magnetised boots thumped as they connected and stuck to the surface. He started out on the familiar walk back towards his home-module, absent-mindedly staring into the stars above.
Eyt Delta was built on the understanding that functionality is more important than looks. Handlebars and emergency hatches were laid out on the surface. It was built in modules, so it could be taken apart, reassembled or quarantined with ease. This gave the ship a somewhat work-in-progress look. Luckily aerodynamics did not matter in space and it was set on it’s calculated course at a relatively slow pace from one planet to another. It wasn’t about to maneuvre in any direction.
Kell lööb hingekella - filosoofiline teos ajanäitajate mõjust vanemate inimeste elulistele näitajatele
Tik-tak, tik-tak. Kell tiksub kortermajas. Olav Paekivi istub tugitoolis ja mälestab lapsepõlve. Ta oli äsja jäänud pensionile. Kurb oli mõelda, et ta kunagi ei abiellunud ega saanud lapsi. Lihtsalt üks pikk elu, täis töötamist erinevates vabrikutes ja siis hiljem trollijuhina. Aga mis sest enam mõelda. Mis oli, see oli ja mis on, see on. Kõik ta sõbrad olid surnud ja oma tööl trollijuhina ta palju uusi sõpru ei leidnud. Oli küll üks kolleeg, Arno, aga tema oli noorem ja ega tal aega olnud, et külas käia - tal oli pere kelle seltsis aega veeta. Olav oli natuke kade, aga samas ka õnnelik, et teistel paremini on läinud.Tik-tak, tik-tak. Kell tiksub kortermajas. Olav jäi magama ja tunnid möödusid kuniks ta magas oma tugitoolis ja nägi unenägu vanaema hoovist ja sõpradega mängimisest. See oli ta lemmik unenägu. Lapsena oli kõik parem. Vanaema tegi häid pannkooke ja jagas neid ka Olavi sõpradele. Nad mängisid peitust ja sõda, aga Olavi lemmik oli mäng nimega "sinimägede lahing". See tegi ta väga rõõmsaks. Tema oli alati sakslaste poolel. Ta polnud enam kindel, kas ta mäletab asju õigesti. Unes ta alati tulistas naabripoiss Aavot. Aavo suri kohkunud pilguga, mis väljendas valu ja segadust. Aga vanaema ei pahandanud vaid lohutas, et alati tulevad uued naabrid.
Tik-tak, tik-tak. Kell tiksub kortermajas. Olav magab rahutult, kuid unetsükkel vahetub ja ta jääb vaikseks, õndsaks. Kellatiksumine kajab terves toas, kiire ent kummaliselt lummav, häirivalt rahustav. Olavi süda hakkab vaikselt sünkroniseeruma kellaga. Tik-tak, tik-tak, tuks-tuks, tuks-tuks. Kuid Olavi süda on nõrgaks jäänud. Kurb monotoonne elu ja suitsetamine teevad seda inimesega. Lapsena oli Olavi süda väga tugev, aga mis sellest. Kella kiire tiksumine on väsitav. Süda proovib, tuks-tuks, tuks-tuks. Aga see pole jätkusuutlik. Olavi süda läheb krampi ja vaikib.
Tik-tak, tik-tak. Kell tiksub kortermajas. Olav istub koolnult tugitoolis. Ta ei ole kohkunud pilguga nagu naabripoiss Aavo. Ta näojooned on rahulikud, peaaegu naeratavad. Aga kiirabisse helistatakse alles nelja kuu pärast. Siis ta enam ei naerata, siis ta on kole ja lagunenud. Inimesed kes ta leiavad kurvastavad Olavi saatuse üle. Nad mõtlevad, et keegi ei tohiks nii üksik olla. Aga nemad ei tea, et Olav naeratas kui ta nägi Aavot suremas.
Moo-d-poo-em
Vana hall tark sein istub
meie maja ääres ning jälgib
kuidas meie elu käib
ja näib talle vahel et me tõesti
elame kuidagi kuigi midagi me
üleval ei hoia ainult edasi
ja tagasi saab joostub
isegi toas ei saa paigal püsitud.
meie maja ääres ning jälgib
kuidas meie elu käib
ja näib talle vahel et me tõesti
elame kuidagi kuigi midagi me
üleval ei hoia ainult edasi
ja tagasi saab joostub
isegi toas ei saa paigal püsitud.
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