Telekom Electronic Beats

Audioccult Vol. 120: The No WiFi Blues

Light a candle. Draw the required sigils. Now, raise your arms above your head and slowly, gently, exhale your soul. You won’t need it here. This is Audioccult, and it’s time to get low. Illustration: SHALTMIRA

It’s not impossible to be away from the Internet—it’s merely inconvenient, unpleasant and fffFFFCCCUUK WHY WON’T THIS SIGNAL WORK!!

Sorry, had to take a step back there. Unfortunately, I kept stepping backwards until I fell out the window. I’m in the hospital now, and the WiFi here is fantastic. I’m learning all kinds of things while I recuperate. For example: planking, the craze that swept the world and its teens a couple years ago, was a trend that involved people lying on their faces and staying very still. Superb.

Between educating myself, I downloaded Miranda July’s stranger-talking app, a thing that sends messages to whoever is standing near the intended recipient, just so I could tweet “THE FUTURE BLOWS” to strangers. This yielded low results, because who the fuck wants to download a stranger-talking app. I’ve also been able to learn about the celebs and their nudes, which are very bad to look at, and if you see them you’re a bad person. I’d much rather see those spicy celebs clothed, telling me cool and exciting tales up there on the silver screen instead of just lying around with their clothes off. Thanks to a hot tip from a book about marketing, my own personal nudes have been leaked as well; unfortunately all of the comments have been suggestions for me to install a more secure firewall.

But maybe injuring yourself for better WiFi isn’t the lifestyle choice for you— although I don’t really understand that, to be honest. Here I am, wanking it up for free like a lord while the ruddy chavs below kiss the kakky bollock on the street just to find a bleedin’ signal so they can lark on a tit for a second before forgetting about it in favor of another, newer tit. It’s a mug’s game, and if you’re  clever you’ll hurt yourself badly and go to the hospital. This is my advice to you, as a professional Internet user. Go to the hospital.


Well, I’m out of the hospital now, and feeling fairly fucking smart in this wheelchair. I get to block aisles in grocery stores for free, and I can also *pushes on elbow to show it’s only attached via sinew and gristle*. I can imagine what it must be like for you; I was there myself, not so long ago. Standing on land, forced to deal with the hassle and pressures of walking without WiFi. Now, I’m free to surf the sidewalks and surf the net, with barely any body movement aside from *wiggles gristlearm*, why I can surf anywhere I darn well please. Here in my chair, I feel surfest of all. As I roll through the world, my eyes periodically checking for nude stats, I cruise by a beautifully decrepit woman on a bench. Her hands hug her knees, fingers entwined like nine and a half yellowed laces. Her lips are not so much sculpted as slashed, the wrinkles in her face and eyes betraying no hint of her true emotion. Her eyes graze me as I walk by, and I can see that they’re beautiful, like the eyes of a doll—young eyes, stolen from another time. From a nearby car window Lil Jon screams WHAT. The beat drops and I roll on.~

Published September 05, 2014. Words by Daniel Jones.