By Natalia Messmer
Until recently I was a fan of typical “women” series such as Desperate Housewives and Grey’s Anatomy. Yet a couple of months ago I joined my husband when he started to watch new series on cable TV. The first episode was quite shocking and I was not sure I wanted to see another one: there were crime scenes with lots of blood and a young creepy forensic technician who looked pretty much excited when it came to blood pattern analysis. However, that was the first impression. After the third episode all I wanted was more of Dexter.
By Alan Mattli
WARNING: This review contains major spoilers.
By Gabriel Renggli
There’s a tall building. Some people live at the top. Some at the bottom. Do you get it?
If you don’t get it, don’t worry, director Ben Wheatley has you covered. Before long, the people at the top will dress up as French aristocrats for a party (and where’s a guillotine when you need one?). If that’s still too cryptic for you, there’s an excerpt, at the very end of the film, from an actual speech by the Iron Lady. Which is silly, because very few people will be moved by this of all films to exclaim in genuine surprise: “You know, I think Thatcher may actually have been wrong! Well, I never!”
(Graffiti, Chicago, 2009, artist unkown. Photo: jb)
We want to buy new phones with higher resolution cameras.
We want to ban Styrofoam cups. They damage the environment.
We want healthy- and good-looking bodies.
We want to be relaxed, so cool and nonchalant.
We want fast internet everywhere and all the time.
We want a cure for cancer. It only happens to others, but we fear the lack of guarantees.
We want our food to be organic, regional, and inexpensive.
We want avocados, shrimp, coconuts and dragon fruit.
We want quick, prestigious degrees.
We want to be recognised for our intelligence and depth. We are not the superficial generation. Continue reading
The sun is setting, going down in a blaze of glowing reds, purples, and golds, as it often does during those early weeks of July. A hot and dry day is preparing to pass the reins to a warm, ink blue night, as I find you sitting by the side of the road, leading down the hill and towards the street named after the men who grow grapes for wine making. With a bit of luck you can still sometimes see an older gentleman tending to a small slope covered in barely two-dozen vines at the end of the lane. A smile inadvertently opens up your face whenever you walk past him – the winegrower of winegrower’s lane. Those chance encounters don’t take place regularly or often; you live on the other side of town. You wonder what will happen to the street when the winegrower stops tending to his vines, once the vines will have disappeared. Will the name stick? – probably, cartography makes certain demands. Will people come up with histories and anecdotes to explain the oddity of the street sign? – likely, human nature has a way of wanting to know.
Tonight, however, you have not got that far down the road yet. I find you with your arms wrapped around your legs, your body tense, facing the burning horizon. Your back is turned towards me, a plaid backpack and your camera hanging from your narrow shoulders close to the warm, dusty asphalt, forgotten. You are strikingly immobile, facing the immensity of a passing day, considering that a little over an hour ago, you left the thick, stale air of an empty flat, a place of living, because sitting still no longer was an option. Continue reading
Welcome to Earth IX. The guide in front of you is designed to present you with everything you need to know regarding your stay on Earth IX. Following the information in this publication will allow you to blend in with the local population even if you are not one of the currently twenty-eight species with complete shape-shifting capabilities described by the Encyclopedia Intergalactica (23rd ed.).
“I am so glad, I told my Wilbur, to have received a copy of the Earth IX Complimentary Visitor’s Guide, right Wilbur? Without it, we’d have been completely lost. Com plee tlee, I tell you. We had no idea that on Earth IX it is considered a social misstep to try and feed pretzel sticks to a fellow commuter’s sentient hair piece.”
– Eleonore R’a~?nor^ts, 2007 OR10
If this is your first stay on Earth IX, we welcome you warmly and hope that your experience will be a wholly pleasant one. Please read the following guidelines carefully. Continue reading
by Jennifer Bebié (as were the other two versions of this text – one poem and one inconsistently written short story – you may, but aren’t all that likely to, have encountered previously. I.e. what you can read below is not plagiarism, but editing)
Jump! Jump! Jump!
The crowd shouted rhythmically.
Jump! Jump! Jump!
The ultimate freak show, nationally televised every other Sunday, was always well attended. Ticket prices had been persistently too high. Still the event would sell out within minutes after tickets went up for sale as would the official logo jerseys – black, anthropomorphic shape, limbs sticking out at unusual angles, on red ground.
Jump! Jump! Jump!
The ultimate freak had never backed out in the history of the event, despite contractual obligation stipulating the inclusion of such an option. Nobody really understood the reasons behind the existence of such a clause. Insurance purposes were most frequently speculated about whenever the topic was brought up in conversation which on the whole only very rarely happened. After all, the ultimate freak had never backed out.
Jump! Jump! Jump!
Standing high up on the highway overpass, the ultimate freak would often remain still for a moment, look down, and sway a little before ending the show to the swelling clamour of the crowd; releasing people to buy spicy, roasted MisteriMeatz-on-Stixx – usually something cloven-hoofed; or, as annually resurfacing rumour had it, anything that had crawled close enough to the site to die. Continue reading
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