you can buy music from autoplasma here:
out of tune(s) records
entangled records
concerto
tiger platebutikk
big dipper records
platekompaniet in stavanger
ivar skei musikkhandel
"Scooter and I are watching TV. Outside it's probably going to rain, and we're out of beer. To top it off, I get into the show just as it breaks for the loud noise and the exhausting camera work.
what's with all these commercials anyway. Why do I have to waste twenty minutes every hour to find out how this blasted show ends? I just can't figure it out. The whole thing is wearing me down, I swear.
-Yeah, its like some kind of extra terrestrial robot has taken over the tv or something. That's pretty much Scooters theory on everything though.
-I guess, I say.
I have to pause for a moment, then I look over at Scooter in the sofa.
-You're really wierd, man. But let's get out of here. It's so stuffy in here, I can't breathe.
When we get up, I nudge Scooter in the side.
-I bet if we reconfigured those plasma particle coils, we could really shut down those space robots, eh?
-No, *you're* funny, says Scooter. Like his fellow science fiction fans, he's got no self irony at all.
We're at a cafe. In the windowsill beside us, a beat up old transistor radio is playing fm hits. Scooter shakes his head, then reaches out and flicks the switch on the radio.
-No one makes anything new anymore, he complains. -I wish it was the nineties again. Even the eighties would do.
Scooter has heard everything before.
-I'd like to go somewhere, he says, leaning against the back of the chair. -Anywhere but here. Brasil or something. Somewhere really far away with a beach. Go for a walk by myself, drink some tea in some restaurant with a seaview. Find a girl, maybe. Someone who can dance.
I'm not sure what to say, so I have another bite of my Mars bar. It's beginning to melt in my hand. -You hate dancing, I point out.
-Yeah, Scooter says. I bet I could take her fishing though. Or we could run off to the US. It doesn't matter.
A disco. What the hell are someone like Scooter and me doing here? But none of us feel like going home yet. Eventhough it's way past midnight, it's still light. At this place, they serve booze until dawn. The chicks are hot too.
We make our way past the dance floor to the bar and order a couple of beers. -The chicks are really hot, I shout into Scooters ear.
-Yeah, he agrees, it's really hot in here.
We salute and take a couple of swigs. The music thunders on the only way it knows how, and the lights do their flashy thing.
There's a girl in the bright, spinning lights. I nod at Scooter when he yells something in my ear, but all I can see are the burning trails on her body as she dances. Her hair is white.
*
How it happened, I just can't say. The thoughts are far gone anyway. The shapes in front of my eyes grow blurred, and I hear the urgent sound of her voice, but somehow it comes over all out of sync. My hands run through the white hair and hold it close. She is warm snow.
It's really still, we're laying so close I can feel the moist warmth of her breath on my face. I let my hand glide lightly along the curve of her hip. The skin is soft and warm.
-You know, when you, I start, but she she touches my cheek briefly with her finger.
-Let's not talk, she whispers. The fading light makes it seem like there are strange colours in her eyes, flickering. I still don't know her name.
After a while, I begin to drift into sleep. The last sound I hear, is the girl softly singing an unfamiliar, unplacable melody into the air by my ear. She must dream of wierd places.
A man in a bright orange t-shirt shuffles past. Across the chest some green letters are splayed. They say "Autoplasma". Maybe he knows the way home. But I'm too slow. He's already too far gone into the crowd. I don't know where I belong anymore. I feel like just slipping away without anyone noticing, without a single trace.
More to the point, though, I'd just like to find out where the heck I am, get to a bus stop, and get back home. I take a look at the pre-noon sun.
Yeah.
That headache's gonna grow up and have kids in just about a five minutes time.
And those kids, those kids are looking hard for a circus.
*
-I remember in the beginning, I say. You used to say you didn't believe in the world or anything else. It's all faded away, you said. The glory's all faded away.
-Yeah, she says. I guess I still feel that way some times.
I put my hand on her shoulder and pull her close.
-Don't you know that it's all just a game? I ask. It's all just a wonderful game.
-If it's a game, she says, then it's a game of pain and loss and war. Just a meaningless trick with no plan whatsoever.
In the aging afternoon sun, I can hear a bird chirping away in some nearby tree. The wind is all but gone, but the hum of the cars is there like a soft static.
-The reason why there is no sign of any plan, I explain, is for me to hold your hand tight.
So that's what I do."