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Excursion into the City
Petra Whiteley


'Keep on going on' echoes from the red brick to grey brick walls of the mausoleums that this ancient city has built and builds on still with determination. You were admiring their perfected symmetry before her voice stopped you in your tracks.

First, let me give you few tips. You might find them useful.

Everyone here appears to speak a different language, but the syntax, is just the very same. If you stray here and you don't know how speak to them, bear only one thing in your mind: chimp is the King of the words here anyway, adjust yourself therefore.

Put your clothes on. Let them not be thin if you are wondering what the echo is whispering between these walls. I see you hesitating, but something makes you stay and wonder some more. You wonder why I speak to you.

Hmm...so you are concerned more with what echo is not saying. How wonderful to have a visitor like you in this time, where everyone mouths of 'seeing is believing', then goes to the house of God (it sports several architectural differences, of course each has a better architect than the other).

You don't say, you're ready to get to know this city. I applaud your courage, a minute ago, you seemed to be losing your bottle . Yes, it was bottle I said.

I will start with the name of this place. Ah, you already know this, That's good, let's move on then. I see you want to get right down to it.

What the echo doesn't echo is, what they say when they finished their sentence, is just one word: 'backwards'. Because the bricks were made in the age where everyone lies, they lie too. Because echo was stripped and raped in every way, and people had paid for it with their hard earned cash, to watch, some to take part - it's about the team - unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno!

They all say that she's asked for it, she was dressed with her tits exposed in that red drapery with no knickers underneath the flimsy fabric. So she won't echo backwards because she has to forget she's been fucked by so many. It's a miracle she echoes at all; the men stuck their cocks and some women their dildos into her mouth also, some women meanwhile held her down, whilst the other men, who watched it all and jerked themselves off, screamed for more and stood in the queue for their turn.

Soon the very few who opened their mouth in some sort of protest, in the very meaning of the word that is, had them shut. For some it was enough to be called the immoral cunts who threaten the well mannered, polite society into its terrible downfall of economical sufferings, some killed themselves off before they could be raped too. They had to pay their great debts to this city. Mercifully, they were thrown onto the edge where the corpses are allowed to rot, that is, as long as they are head under the formaldehyde preserved for the science of amnesia. Someone in a place far away from here might find the stitches on their putrefied screams - or even the invitation that was sent to echo - "Please find the enclosed outfit for the fancy party, you will not be admitted should you wear any of your own choosing." Of course, they will not be able to do anything about it, they can hardly breathe. What happened to the others? You will find out as you stay longer in this city.

Why no one leaves? Good question. In a place like this, as a visitor you can question everything.

The evening crawls in with its lamps. Rain falls, but only fire can wash these windows.

Everything in this city of mausoleums has its determined time.

At this time of day, they sit around the table in their best clothes, everyone does, but some of them make very small holes in their clothes and smear imaginary dirt on it; these ones talk loud as if they had something very different, packaged under the beautifully designed trademarks, to say. They fashion well meaning phrases, shoot them as dessert on the plates of the others, who just look up, pat them on the shoulder and between the mouthfuls, thank them. For they oil the rust from the farce to go on so well, they all can fill their mouths on the fleshy pieces of kidneys, the tough, chewy thickness of hearts - younger the better, they are less corrupted by the far too many processes of cell's replication, and more tender. Being praised for their part in bringing this dinner so splendidly together, they take the food from the table all the same, whilst they have full mouth of the radically dead language of world-care.

I know you wanted to run before I stopped you, and if only for a minute you can stop questioning your sanity for talking to a shadow such as I am, I want you to realise that now you've learnt at least of some of what goes on in this city, so you can make an informed choice. After all, even in this city, the informed choice is everywhere, as long as it chooses you first.

The representation of private interests ... abolishes all natural and spiritual distinctions by enthroning in their stead the immoral, irrational and soulless abstraction of a particular material object and a particular consciousness which is slavishly subordinated to this object. Karl Marx