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Like a fish out of baby water

It is 03:30. Eighties Estonian synthpop is playing on the PA. Tomi is luxuriously sleeping on a brown velvet armchair. Baby water is still flowing. Our fish fell to the floor. I wonder if the original fish is safe? Nobody is answering the phone in our studio. All the booze has drained into The Pit. And it is repeating. We are the last people at a noise gig. The museum will be gone tomorrow, as will Antti. We worked on Sunday. We did not even go into the fish worshipping church. We will all go to Hell. But The Pit will persist.

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The end

It is 00:00. No music is playing, only silence. On the last day, people finally came. Then, quite many of them left when we started to discuss taking the clothes off. We were not prepared, the wide and not very defined thing that could have happened perhaps did not happen. Somehow though, there was a party, so much even, that the bar is all purple and stained now. And this blog post is one day late. Some who said that they came and did not participate in any way said the show was great, and some who participated in everything said it was bullshit.
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Easy day

It is 22:50. Cock whistle music is playing from the cyberspace. Antti is gone, Tomi is hiding. Long inefficient walks, searching for a second skin, not too sexy. The Chinese let us down, but discount oversize stockings found us. Despite our guides' best efforts, a local source for filling the blenders has still not been found. Major reformations in the Outer Circle are causing confusion. Even Eeman's plates are gone. But Roolinoppa says that everything is ready. The sweat is condensing. Gold and silver facelift for sauna hasa been prepared. An outsider remote controlled by The Pit gave the name for the closing night. The reach is already at least 1500 meters.
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No more war in my panties

It is 01:40. Accordion music is finally playing on tv. We might now be anti hormone war activists and negation of negation of post-post nokia, or something like that. The situation is getting out of control. Our emblem is taking on forms - charged by an ear-ripping thunderbolt strike next to the building. Sauna is becoming gilded, hot, and stocked with baby water. Horse art keeps sprouting. We have at least three acts booked for the funeral party, but we do not know if they will actually do something. The moon is full. The end is nigh.
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