Read Online LoveStar by Andri Snaer Magnason - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Andri Snaer Magnason
Ads: Link
the early years, while serious stars and millionaires were being fired with the appropriate media circus, retinue, and glamor. At that time most LoveDeath employees were young and up for fun and overtime. The best parties were held up north at LoveDeath, and it was at one of these very parties that Sigrid had been conceived. Her mother had sneaked out into a hollow with an electrician from Nordfjord while a wrinkled pop star with varicose veins sang an old hit in return for a trip with LoveDeath. Everyone drank to the star and thanked her for the swan song as leather-clad backup singers (from LoveDeathâs female-voice choir) dressed her in a silver-leaf evening dress over an aluminium boiler suit. They led her out to the next rocket and, as Sigridâs parents rolled around in the heather, the flare lit up the summer night and the fine rain settled like dew on the flowers in the valley.
LoveDeath was ubiquitous. Every day LoveDeath transport trucks drove the dayâs harvest of the dead from the worldâs cities, and every minute a ship or plane set off with a full cargo, heading north for LoveDeath. Black freighters under Caribbean flags sailed to the country laden to the sinking point with corpses from every continent. The sky was striped white until late in the day after black jets had brought the European consignment. Russian airships hung over the country like black air-melons, carrying five thousand bodies with every trip. While the airships were being filled with helium their captains could never resist inhaling, ringing up a comedy radio show, and talking like Donald Duck in Russian.
LoveDeath was fabulous but could also be a bit eerie, especially in November and December when few living people made their way to the country, and some (for example people in the sensitive target group who cry over sad films) found it depressing seeing nothing but buses packed with Chinese or Swedish pensioners flocking in convoys north to LoveDeath, knowing for sure that none of them would return home alive.
Anyone worth their salt had been involved in LoveDeath or connected to it in some way. Fifteen thousand pilots flew LoveDeath aircrafts and eighteen thousand captains sailed people to the country and fished up the rockets that they came across out at sea. These were reused again and again. Two thousand bus and truck drivers drove customers north. Thousands worked in marketing, sales, packing, and distribution, even more in loading, calculation of firing coordinates, construction of new launchpads, and energy acquisition for increased hydrogen production. LoveDeath was insatiable as far as energy was concerned. All lines lead to LoveDeath, as the proverb said. Wind farms were erected out at sea, tides were harnessed, and geothermal heat fetched up from the magma chambers beneath volcanoes. All this was used to split water into hydrogen and oxygen and drive the simple chemical reaction: 2H2O g 2H2 + O2.
During the early years growth was frighteningly rapid and there were often squabbles over the proceedings. Sometimes the freezer units on the container ships broke down and a ghastly stench was released when the holds were opened. Then everyone held their noses, but the people living in the ports were used to this and called it the smell of money. In the worst cases the cargo ended up as guano, but iSTAR made sure that the news didnât get out. Relatives never learned that what burnt so beautifully in the night sky was not their loved one but two hundred pounds of horsemeat.
The country may have been the center for death, but its image was as positive, profound, and clean as LoveDeath. In the world press the country was called the Ganges of the North and perhaps there was something in it. The country was Ganges, Bethlehem, Mecca, Graceland, or whatever they were called, rolled into one, all those holy places men had to visit before death. LoveStar could convert anyone to his cause. He managed to unite everyone under
LoveDeath was ubiquitous. Every day LoveDeath transport trucks drove the dayâs harvest of the dead from the worldâs cities, and every minute a ship or plane set off with a full cargo, heading north for LoveDeath. Black freighters under Caribbean flags sailed to the country laden to the sinking point with corpses from every continent. The sky was striped white until late in the day after black jets had brought the European consignment. Russian airships hung over the country like black air-melons, carrying five thousand bodies with every trip. While the airships were being filled with helium their captains could never resist inhaling, ringing up a comedy radio show, and talking like Donald Duck in Russian.
LoveDeath was fabulous but could also be a bit eerie, especially in November and December when few living people made their way to the country, and some (for example people in the sensitive target group who cry over sad films) found it depressing seeing nothing but buses packed with Chinese or Swedish pensioners flocking in convoys north to LoveDeath, knowing for sure that none of them would return home alive.
Anyone worth their salt had been involved in LoveDeath or connected to it in some way. Fifteen thousand pilots flew LoveDeath aircrafts and eighteen thousand captains sailed people to the country and fished up the rockets that they came across out at sea. These were reused again and again. Two thousand bus and truck drivers drove customers north. Thousands worked in marketing, sales, packing, and distribution, even more in loading, calculation of firing coordinates, construction of new launchpads, and energy acquisition for increased hydrogen production. LoveDeath was insatiable as far as energy was concerned. All lines lead to LoveDeath, as the proverb said. Wind farms were erected out at sea, tides were harnessed, and geothermal heat fetched up from the magma chambers beneath volcanoes. All this was used to split water into hydrogen and oxygen and drive the simple chemical reaction: 2H2O g 2H2 + O2.
During the early years growth was frighteningly rapid and there were often squabbles over the proceedings. Sometimes the freezer units on the container ships broke down and a ghastly stench was released when the holds were opened. Then everyone held their noses, but the people living in the ports were used to this and called it the smell of money. In the worst cases the cargo ended up as guano, but iSTAR made sure that the news didnât get out. Relatives never learned that what burnt so beautifully in the night sky was not their loved one but two hundred pounds of horsemeat.
The country may have been the center for death, but its image was as positive, profound, and clean as LoveDeath. In the world press the country was called the Ganges of the North and perhaps there was something in it. The country was Ganges, Bethlehem, Mecca, Graceland, or whatever they were called, rolled into one, all those holy places men had to visit before death. LoveStar could convert anyone to his cause. He managed to unite everyone under
Similar Books
