From max@sentex.net Wed Jan 16 09:10:31 2002
Date: Sun, 26 Aug 2001 14:01:16 -0400
From: Sylvia Morscher <max@sentex.net>
To: tom jennings <tomj@wps.com>
Subject: Re: old files



tom jennings wrote:

> Sure, I'd love to have old files! Its funny how disk space
> doesn't matter at all anymore, and the real problem isn't
> storing, but retreiving!
>



    [ Part 2: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj  Fri Dec 10 06:08:37 1993 remote from exlibris
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From:	tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings)
Message-Id: <9312101006.AA10193@wps.com>
Subject: Alan
To:	max@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell)
Date:	Fri, 10 Dec 1993 05:06:52 -0500
In-Reply-To: <gRX9Dc1w165w@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca> from "Sylvia Maxwell" at Dec 8, 93 03:48:27 pm
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Hi, I'm Alan. Hear me speak!

Here is my .plan file:

I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice.
I have been known to remodel train stations on my lunch breaks,
making them more efficient in the area of heat retention. I translate
ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, I write award-winning operas, I
manage time efficiently. Occasionally, I tread water for three days
in a row.

I woo women with my sensuous and godlike trombone playing, I can
pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook
Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes. I am an expert in stucco,
a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru.

Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly
defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of
ferocious army ants. I play bluegrass cello, I was scouted by the
Mets, I am the subject of numerous documentaries. When I'm bored,
I build large suspension bridges in my yard. I enjoy urban hang
gliding. On Wednesdays, after school, I repair electrical appliances
free of charge.

I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie.
Critics worldwide swoon over my original line of corduroy evening
wear. I don't perspire. I am a private citizen, yet I receive fan
mail. I have been caller number nine and have won the weekend
passes. Last summer I toured New Jersey with a traveling
centrifugal-force demonstration. I bat .400. My deft floral
arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles.
Children trust me.

I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly
accuracy. I once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David Copperfield
in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room
that evening. I know the exact location of every food item in the
supermarket. I have performed covert operations for the CIA. I
sleep once a week; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on
vacation in Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of
terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do
not apply to me.

I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills are all paid.
On weekends, to let off steam, I participate in full-contact origami.
Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it
down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a
Mouli and a toaster oven. I breed prizewinning clams. I have won
bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka,
and spelling bees at the Kremlin. I have played Hamlet, I have
performed open-heart surgery, and I have spoken with Elvis.

But I have not yet gone to a Grateful Dead concert.

Last update: 12/2/93
	    Alan B. Clegg (abc@interpath.net)

-- 
 Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems --  San Francisco, Calif.
 The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork

    [ Part 3: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!uunet.ca!ucscb.UCSC.EDU!sciww  Mon Dec 20 22:11:05 1993 remote from exlibris
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Date:	Mon, 20 Dec 1993 20:32:10 -0500
From:	sciww@ucscb.UCSC.EDU (Michael-Jay Demarco Conui)
Message-Id: <9312210132.AA20914@ucscb.UCSC.EDU>
To:	shit-list@fido.wps.com, tomj@wps.com
Subject: Re: People like this should be KILLED

Ooooooh- icky! Tom, that *was* gross. Nasty. It should be taken out back, and
put out of our misery!!! 

Happy Fucken Genocide, --Deke


    [ Part 4: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj  Fri Dec 10 18:08:48 1993 remote from exlibris
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From:	tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings)
Message-Id: <9312102117.AA00725@wps.com>
Subject: Re: Cu Digest, #5.89 (fwd)
To:	max@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell)
Date:	Fri, 10 Dec 1993 16:17:50 -0500
In-Reply-To: <gRX9Dc1w165w@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca> from "Sylvia Maxwell" at Dec 8, 93 03:48:27 pm
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> What is CPSR?  I like their/its article.

Computer Professionals for Social responsibility. A branch of liberalism
that actually works. They're OK people, evenif they wear pinstripe
shirts. 

> Have you written an autobiography lately?  Even a small one!  The 
> world NEEDS heros.  All we've got for heros are politicians and 
> football players from television.  We could get some heroines/heros 
> from the net instead, and more interesting ones.  

Heroes are what got us into this mess! People who do things as examples,
OK, but hero implies too much reverence... I'm sure even the budha
picked his nose and was rude to his guests now and then...

> I guess we have some pretty good music idols from the radio.  But if 
> us newbies don't get to hear the anarcho/fag history of the net, we 
> might think it all comes from Clinton,  or Winter!

Yes, that is a danger... the people who are fanatical about this history
nonsense are the ones that define it! Winter! He's almost funny! Clinton
-- he's a scary, friendly fascist.

I can't seem to get started on the linear history narrative sorta thing,
ficton or otherwise. I keep thinking of writing a "history of FidoNet" as
pure fiction. Write it as I'd like to believe it, complete with gross
inconsistencies, drifting off, tangents, etc and doing it straight-faced
(not without humor though, sick humor) and passing it off as linear
history. Those that gets it, will. converse.

> I'm sending something else in the mail: 
> a small book that no-one likes but me.  Got it in a thrift store.  
> i think it's marvellous, it's perfectly grotesque, like my fave 
> T-pot which is large with purple, green and turquoise snail-shapes 
> moulded on it.  No-one seems to appreciate my T-pot either.  

Nobody gets my aesthetic either. Not even Josh. I had visual aesthetics
trained out of me in public school (like most people) so it's goten more
complicated.


-- 
 Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems --  San Francisco, Calif.
 The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork

    [ Part 5: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj  Sat Dec 18 00:10:31 1993 remote from exlibris
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From:	tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings)
Message-Id: <9312180501.AA00355@wps.com>
Subject: Hey!
To:	sylvia@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell)
Date:	Sat, 18 Dec 1993 00:01:21 -0500
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Hey! I got your package yesterday. (Turns out -- our doorbell was broken
a week ago, and the Postal Service left the little yellow notice. So the
doorbell gets fixed, I request redelivery, ad arrives a week late...)

I like it a lot! You should sneak out in the middle of the night and
paint giant murals on ths sides of buildings to surprise people in the
morning. 

The leafy-smokey-rubble on her right and flamey-leafs tickling her
cunt (cunt -- a local columnist sex advice person, Ask Isadora,
utterly cool person, had a long-standing request for (new) names
for female genitalia, what with all the frat-boy "pussy" etc --
and lo! -- many found 'cunt' to be ... somehow, almost neutral
(keep in mind we have lots of uppity dykes saying printing cunt
cunt cunt lovingly and harshly both (nearly all in fun)), and it's
not a dimimutive-of-a-mans-thing, or an inamimate object, or put-down
word (except by (usually) men who say "you cunt!" meaning "you
woman!" like calling someone a "girl" etc) -- and found 'cunt'
favored over all the revisionist and terminally cute "new" names,
none of which I can recall -- cunt) which she is obviously enjoying
-- arched plant or oily rainbow behind her --

All my roommates immediately loved it, and said "hey if you dont
want it give it to me!" (not knowing it's origins, and assuming I
would hate anything art-y) (because I usually hate Art (as in
Pretentious Artifice) except my friend Diet's friend Art Debris,
he's OK when he remembers to take his drugs)).

So I waited a whole day. It looks like it's been hanging there a long
time! Certainly it will.

Thanks!!!

Hey, do you get lots of e-type junk? Wanna be on my SHIT-LIST? It's just
stuff along the way my friend Flesh and (mostly) I find, that's deemed
worth repeatign... I try to keep it fun, not too techie (except where it
has broader interest), sick humor (but not generally tasteless), that
sort of thing... might even be editorial or filler fodder... there's
only a half dozen people on the list. 

BTW, try gopher wps.com sometime. Flesh, our new intern here at The
Little Garden, has been working on the gopher server. It's actually
kinda nice. It's a continuous work in progress. We're gonna do a
WorldWideWeb server. I'm moving the TLG stuff onto it's own machine, so
mine will be free! free! to do my own thing swith...

-- 
 Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems --  San Francisco, Calif.
 The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork

    [ Part 6: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!shitlist  Sun Dec 19 20:15:19 1993 remote from exlibris
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Subject: THE PEOPLE WITH HOLES IN THEIR HEADS [or, you asked for it...] (fwd)
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Forwarded message:
>From tomj Fri Dec 17 13:45:23 1993
From: tomj (Tom Jennings)
Message-Id: <9312172145.AA22787@wps.com>
Subject: THE PEOPLE WITH HOLES IN THEIR HEADS [or, you asked for it...]
To: shitlist (Shit List archiver)
Date: Fri, 17 Dec 1993 13:45:22 -0800 (PST)
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Forwarded message:
>From tomj Fri Dec 17 13:05:46 1993
From: tomj (Tom Jennings)
Message-Id: <9312172105.AA22531@wps.com>
Subject: THE PEOPLE WITH HOLES IN THEIR HEADS [or, you asked for it...]
To: shit-list
Date: Fri, 17 Dec 1993 13:05:39 -0800 (PST)
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THE PEOPLE WITH HOLES IN THEIR HEADS

Amanda Feilding lives in a charming flat looking over London's
river with her companion, Joey Mellen, and their infant son, Rock.
She is a successful painter, and she and Joey have an art gallery
in a fashionable street of the King's Road. Another of her talents
is for politics. At the last two General Elections she stood for
Parliament in Chelsea, more than doubling her vote on the second
occasion from 49 to 139. It does not sound much, but the cause
for which she stands is unfamiliar and lacks obvious appeal.
Feilding and her voters demand that trepanning operations be made
freely available on the National Health. Trepanation means cutting
a hole in your skull.

The founder of the trepanation movement is a Dutch savant, Dr
Bart Hughes. In 1962 he made a discovery which his followers proclaim
as the most significant in modern times. One's state and degree of
consciousness, he realized, are related to the volume of blood in
the brain. According to his theory of evolution, the adoption of
an upright stance brought certain benefits to the human race, but
it caused the flow of blood through the head to be limited by
gravity, thus reducing the range of human consciousness. Certain
parts of the brain ceased or reduced their functions while others,
particularly those parts relating to speech and reasoning, became
emphasized in compensation. One can redress the balance by a number
of methods, such as standing on one's head, jumping from a hot bath
into a cold one, or the use of drugs; but the wider consciousness
thus obtained is only temporary. Bart Hughes shared the common goal
of mystics and poets in all ages: he wanted to achieve permanently
the higher level of vision, which he associated with an increased
volume of blood in the capillaries of the brain.

The higher state of mind he sought was that of childhood. Babies
are born with skulls unsealed, and it is not until one is an adult
that the bony carapace is formed which completely encloses the
membranes surrounding the brain and inhibits their pulsations in
repsonse to heart-beats. In consequence, the adult loses touch with
the dreams, imagination and intense perceptions of the child.  His
mental balance becomes upset by egoism and neuroses. To cure these
problems, first in himself and then for the whole world, Dr Huges
returned his cranium to something like the condition of infancy by
cutting out a small disc of bone with an electric drill.  Experiencing
immediate beneficial effects from this operation, he began preaching
to anyone who would listen to the doctrine of trepanation. By
liberating his brain from its total imprisonment in his skull, he
claimed to have restored its pulsations, increased the volume of
blood in it and acquired a more complete, satisfying state of
consciousness than grown-up people normally enjoy. The medical and
legal authorities reacted to Huges's discovery with horror and
rewarded him with a spell in a Dutch lunatic asylum.

Joseph Mellen met Bart Huges in 1965 in Ibiza and quickly became
his leading, or rather one and only, disciple. Years later he wrote
a book called _Bore Hole_, the contents of which are summarized in
its opening sentence: 'This is the story of how I came to drill a
hole in my skull to get permanently high.' ...(a few paragraphs
detail Joseph Mellen's early experiments with LSD, and how he finds
out about Bart Huges.)

The time came when Joey felt he had preached enough and that he
now had to act. He did not agree with Holingshead that the third
eye was merely a figure of speech, believing in its physical
attainment through self-trepanation.  Support for this can be found
in archaeology. Skulls of ancient people all over the world give
evidence that their owners were skillfully trepanned during their
lifetimes, and many of these appear to have been of noble or priestly
castes. The medical practice of trepanation was continued up to
the present century in treatment of madness, the hole in the skull
being seen as a way of relieving pressure on the brain or letting
out the devils that possessed it. By his scientific explanation of
the reasons for the operation, Bart Huges had removed it from the
area of superstition, and Joey Mellen proposed to be the second
person to perform it on himself in the interest of enlightenment.

Bart had become a close friend of Amanda Feilding, and they went
off to Amsterdam together while Joey took care of Amanda's flat.
This was the opportunity he had been waiting for to bore a hole in
his head.  The most gripping passages in _Bore Hole_ describe his
various attempts to complete the operation. They are also extremely
gruesome, and those who lack medical curiosity would do well to
read no further. Yet to those who might contemplate trepanation
for and by themselves, Joey's experiences are a salutary warning.
It should be empahasized that neither he, Bart nor Amanda has ever
recommended people to follow their example by performing their own
operations. For years they have been looking for doctors who would
understand their theories and would agree to trepan volunteer
patients as a form of therapy Strangely enough, not one member of
the medical profession has been converted.

In a surgical store Joey found a trepan instrument, a kind of auger
or cork- screw designed to be worked by hand. It was much cheaper
and, Joey felt, more sensitive than an electric drill. Its main
feature was a metal spike, surrounded by a ring of saw-teeth.  The
spike was meant to be driven into the skull, holding the trepan
steady until the revolving saw made a groove, after which it could
be retracted. If all went well, the saw-band should remove a disc
of bone and expose the brain.

Joey's first attempt at self-trepanation was a fiasco. He had no
previous medical experience, and the needles he had bought for
administering a local anaesthetic to the crown of his head proved
to be too thin and crumpled up or broke. Next day he obtained some
stouted needles, took a tab of LSD to steady his nerves and set to
in earnest. First he made an incision to the bone, and then applied
the trepan to his bared skull. But the first part of the operation,
driving the spike into the bone, was impossible to accomplish.
Joey described it as like trying to uncork a bottle from the inside.
He realized he needed help and telephoned Bart in Amsterdam, who
promised he would come over and assist at the next operation. This
plan was frustrated by the Home Office, which listed Dr Huges as
an undesirable visitor to Britain and barred his entry.

Amanda agreed to take his place. Soon after her return to London
she helped Joey re-open the wound in his head and, by pressing the
trepan with all her might against his skull, managed to get the
spike to take hold and the saw- teeth to bite. Joey then took over
at cranking the saw. Once again he had swallowed some LSD. After
a long period of sawing, just as he was about to break through, he
suddenly fainted. Amanda called an ambulance and he was taken to
hospital, where horrified doctors told him that he was lucky to be
alive and that if he had drilled a fraction of an inch further he
would have killed himself.

The psychiatrists took a particular interest in his case, and a
group of them arranged to examine him. Before this could be done,
he had to appear in court on a charge of possessing a small amount
of cannabis. The magistrate demanded another psychiatrist's report
and demanded him for a week in prison.

There followed a period of embarrassment as the rumour went round
London that Joey Mellen had trepanned himself, whereas in fact he
had failed to do so.  As soon as possible, therefore, he prepared
for a third attempt. Proceeding as before, but now with the benefit
of experience, he soon found the groove from the previous operation
and began to saw through the sliver of bone separating him from
enlightenment or, as the doctors had predicted, instant death. What
followed is best quoted from _Bore Hole_.

'After some time there was an ominous sounding schlurp and the
sound of bubbling. I drew the trepan out and the gurgling continued.
It sounded like air bubbles running under the skull as they were
pressed out. I looked at the trepan and there was a bit of bone in
it. At last! On closer inspection I saw that the disc of bone was
much deeper on one side than on the other. Obviously the trepan
had not been straight and had gone through at one point only, then
the piece of bone had snapped off and come out. I was reluctant to
start drilling again for fear of damaging the brain membranes with
the deeper part while I was cutting through the rest or of breaking
off a splinter. If only I had an electric drill it would have been
so much simpler. Amanda was sure I was through. There seemed no
other explanation for the schlurping noises I decided to call it
a day. At the time I thought that any hole would do, no matter what
size. I bandaged up my head and cleared away the mess.'

There was still doubt in his mind as to whether he had really broken
through and, if so, whether the hole was big enough to restore
pulsation to his brain.  The operation had left him with a feeling
of wellbeing, but he realized that it could simply be from relief
at having ended it. To put the matter beyond doubt, he decided to
bore another hole at a new spot just above the hairline, this time
using an electric drill. In the spring of 1970, Amanda was in
America and Joey did the operation alone. He applied the drill to
his forehead, but after half and hour's work the electric cable
burnt out. Once again he was frustrated. An engineer in the flat
below him was able to repair the instrument and next day he set
out to finish the job. 'This time I was not in any doubt.  The
drill head went at least an inch deep through the hole. A great
gush of blood followed my withdrawal of the drill. In the mirror
I could see the blood in the hole rising and falling with the
pulsation of the brain.'

The result was all he had hoped for. During the next four hours he
felt his spirits rising higher until he reached a state of freedom
and serenity which he claims, has been with him ever since.

For some time now he had been sharing a flat with Amanda, and when
she came back from America she immediately noticed the change in
him. This encouraged her to join him on the mental plane by doing
her own trepanation. The operation was carefully recorded. She had
obtained a cine-camera, and Joey stood by, filming, as she attacked
her head with an electric drill. The film shows her carefully at
work, dressed in a blood-spattered white robe. She shaves her head,
makes an incision in her head with a scalpel and calmly starts
drilling. Blood spurts as she penetrates the skull. She lays aside
the drill and with a triumphant smile advances towards Joey and
the camera.  Ever since, Joey and amanda have lived and worked
together in harmony. From the business of buying old prints to
colour and resell, they have progressed to ownership of the Pigeonhole
Gallery and seem reasonably prosperous. They have also started a
family.  There is nothing apparently abnormal about them, and many
of their old friends agree in finding them even more pleasant and
contented since their operations. There is plenty of leisure in
their lives, mingled with the kind of activities they most enjoy.
These of course include talking and writing about trepanation. They
have lectured widely in Europe and America to groups of doctors
and other interested people, showing the film of Amanda's
self-operation, entitled _Heartbeat in the Brain_. It is generally
received with awe, the sight of blood often causing people to faint.
At one showing in London a film critic described the audience
'dropping off their seats one by one like ripe plums'. Yet it was
not designed to be gruesome.  The soundtrack is of soothing music,
and the surgical scenes alternate with some delightful motion
studies of Amanda's pet pigeon, Birdie, as a symbol of peace and
wisdom."

Bill jacobs
I've got seven holes in my skull.
_______________________________________________________________________
William Jacobs    | Someday we'll look back on all this
Astronomy Dept., San Diego State and plow into a parked car.
bjacobs@ucssun1.sdsu.edu



-- 
 Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif.
 The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork


-- 
 Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems --  San Francisco, Calif.
 The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork


    [ Part 7: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!shitlist  Sun Dec 19 20:15:29 1993 remote from exlibris
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Forwarded message:
>From tomj Sat Dec 18 13:56:03 1993
From: tomj (Tom Jennings)
Message-Id: <9312182155.AA03156@wps.com>
Subject: Joanna Went!
To: shit-list
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Wow!

Josh found a flyer a few weeks ago that read:

		1993 anti-christmas SPECTACULAR!
			   featuring
       LA performance diva and splatter performance legend

                          JOHANNA WENT

                    international noise combo 
                          POO POO BOMB
                 with MATTHEW & REJOICE! PIBLOKTO!
                    and special guest: RODNEY

                  HORROR! NOISE! MESS! RELIGION!

                At the Purple Onion, north beach, etc
                    10 pm Friday, December 17th
                                $5

The Purple Onion is an ancient 50's jazz club or something, actually
a really neat place; a small stage, with booths and tables around
it, and a dance floor in front of the stage. Bar (beer & wine) in
one corner.  It's in a basement. Very cozy.

Piblokto opened. 1982 new wave! Guitarist in a bunny suit, bass
player wrapped in wrapping paper (ribbons and all), woman drummer,
and woman singer in a sheer brown "doe" costume. She was actually
better than her band, which was rather uninspired in spite of the
costumes. But it really sounded like the B side of some 7" punk
single you'd find fallen down inside the wall of some South of
Market warehouse.

Matthew and Rejoice were two guys in waiter/religious proseletyzer
drag (black pants and shoes, white shirt, slicked back hair,
restrained and overly cheerful demeanor, little gold crosses) who
did umm, basically one of those Jee-zus gosh-golly stage shows.
They went through the audience handing out Chick comics ("THE
ANGELS") and giving sincere handshakes.

Back on stage, they lip-synced to religous theme songs (sung by
children...), gushed about Jesus said to Timothy... then couldn't
find their place in the bible... Break out into song (Matthew
stepping to the front of the stage to lip-sync the solos by the
little religious chilredn on the tape), making numerous references
to "lifestyle" blather and normalcy and such, occasionally pointing
to Josh and me (the two fags in the place), but never getting in
the slightest mean. They didn't drop character the whole time. It
was very sick and very funny.

Then this woman comes out. She looked like her older sister was
Exine Cervenka, and Greta S. her younger sister. Black strech
tights, top and skirt, think reddish hair with bangs made her face
seem small. An amazing sound track behind her, industrial scary
power trance stuff, occasional muffled groans into the mike, she
puts on a series of odd hats, bags over her head. We were both
thinkign and Josh said, gee, this is very Johanna-like, what an
odd choice.

It got weirder and weirder. The music got more intense, and I
noticed the huge boxes of props. Her props became more demented,
and I find it impossible to describe them; they were disturbing
mixes and blurs of obvious and non-obvious things with loaded
meanings. She had a sign board behind her, with words written on
them, that periodically she'd flip over to reveal the next underneath,
that gave a sort of check-point, though usually tangential or
not-yet-expressed, to the...  thing unfolding. She put on a huge
ugly single tit, gnawed at the nipple, which extended into a hideous
black snake, dangling and shaking, she bit off the end and a gross
brownish liquid spread aver her, she rubbed it all over.

It became obvious, oh, this *is* Johanna Went! She looks *so*
totally different that her pictures in INDUSTRIAL CULTURE!

She underwent transformation after transformation, donning funny
and sick costumes. There was some sort of narrative or something
just under the surface, though I wasn unable to make it explicit.

Sex and death and her body and ugliness and giant tampons, mean
men who wanted to fuck her, sticky fluids, four quarts of blood,
pleasure, craziness, it wound up and up, there was a fascination
to it that lrevented you from looking away though that would never
ahd occurred to me. She started off somewhat self conscious, and
goofy, and ended up in a trance, moving about the stage fluidly
but posessed. Her vocal stuff got more distance and scary.

The final scene-thing, she flipped the final board, and it read,
"He wanted to fuck me in the ass, and beat me up, so I KILLED THEM",
she fucked happy boy, the life-size red silky manthing, with a
round flat yellow head with a smiley-face-inspired horror, impaled
on a stand so that it stood at an uncomfortable-looking angle,
after pulling out his stand/pole so he slumped over a table; she
had on a huge, hideous, reptilian penis-thing which she was tuggging,
stroking, and chewing on the end, over and over, the tip got longer
and harder and finally, after chewing the very tip off, it exuded
sticky gunk, and in a frenzy, fucked the slumped-over happy boy,
screaming, "he wanted to fuck me in th eass, and beat me up, SO I
KILLED HIM".

Yeow! So Iraya and I went *immediately* and asked, "can we be your
fans?" and Iraya asked, are you doing other shows in the area, etc,
and Johanna, looking tired, and disassembling some of her props by
putting her foot on one part and yanking with two hands, said no,
this was the only show, she likes to do clubs because they're small,
but she really wants to be able to to her full show (!) and neess
more space. She said she's been sick all year, and hasn't performed
in years (I think she said).

Iraya and I briefly talked about doing a show, the chance I guess
is slim, but not impossible, I mena, we've both been involved in
such things. It would be an amazing thing. We got her phone number,
then she said she was tired, and had to get stuff clean up. Bye!

Wow!

Next was POO POO BOMB. Two tiny tables with junky electronic doodads,
behind each some housey looking person. They noises made were really
elementary, sounding like indulgent art-stoont stuff from... 82.
The "performance" was by "Nurse Poo Poo", and it was pretty silly.
It was deafning too. It was "performance art", ie. boxes of kid's
toys, a scarecrow like thing Nruse hacked up w th a saw, etc. Very
messy. Very bad choice to follow up Johanna with. But it at least
wasn't in the slightest pretentious. In fact, the whole night was
fun and goofy.

I somehow forgot to say how funny Johanna's thing was. I mean, I
laughed thruogh most of it. It was intentionally funny, but almost
no one was laughing. Too bad!


Special Guest never showed, or we were unable to discern him/her from
the background.


-- 
 Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems --  San Francisco, Calif.


From max@sentex.net Wed Jan 16 09:10:37 2002
Date: Sun, 26 Aug 2001 17:28:47 -0400
From: Sylvia Morscher <max@sentex.net>
To: tomj@wps.com
Subject: old files



    [ Part 2: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj  Wed Sep  8 16:10:22 1993 remote from exlibris
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Subject: Re: HEY WOW!>?
To:	max@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell)
Date:	Wed, 8 Sep 1993 08:33:18 -0400
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>   Now i have 
> TWO pieces of paper plus envelopes with YOUR actual handwriting 
> on them.  I've been showing off your publications to gay activist 
> friends, and especially to slightly narrow people who miraculously 
> tolerate me.  I didn't know you had a component car (rover?), and 
> i LOVE that picture of Jesus with a little friend. 

THat, plus a dollar (US :-) will buy you a cup of coffee... :-)

Many gay activist types disliked HOMOCORE, because it implicitly and
sometimes explicitly criticized the assimilationist agenda, and threw
darts and the handsome-white-hunk mentality. Tough tootsies for them, I
say. I hate disco!

My Rambler sometimes annoys me... especially lately. It's a lot of work.
Mostly because I keep fucking with it. I added an outboard tank so I can
carry 28 gals of fuel. I am having problems with mileage (down to about
14, should be 17). But I'm going on another road trip next week, to New
Mexico. I will eventually move there, or close to it.

The bejeezus thing, really did come from a x-tian babble book. Amazing!
 
> There's a relic of a burned-out building, shaped like a pit with 
> rubble in it on the main drag of here, next to the East End 
> Tavern.  We're going to rent some floodlights and hang paintings 
> in it one evening.  The guy from the gallery down the street, Keith, 
> is planning to get a friend to play classical piano in the bottom 
> of the pit.  I want to walk around in a tuxedo and gloves, or 
> maybe a thrift-store backless black satin depression era ball
> gown with steel stilletto heels, and offer hors d'oeuvres on a tray.

My friend Duke and I did a slide show on a burned-out building. There
had been a big politially-motivated arson, and so of course everyone
though it was related. Nope. It was just slides of funny pictures,
skateboarding, etc. We had a boombox playing unrelated music, and we
handed out flyers for some show or something. Everyone just assumed
signifigance. When we told them no, there was nothing going on except a
slide show, no one believed us. It went on until the police came by,
asked us what was going on, and I think eventually asked us to move
along... it was on a side street so not many people came, but it was
fun.

I strongly recommend you do your art show in the pit! It will be fun!

> That icky conversation about burning bodies was actually a long 
> debate about how beurocracy does or doesn't whatever.  I didn't 
> get it, it made no sense to me, so i started writing e-mail instead.  
> i wrote a bit more, like a play, while they were talking, then 
> showed it to them, and they seemed to like it/be amused....very 
> wierd scene.... Seems like anything, when taken SERIOUSLY, 
> becomes impossibly complicated.  

Hmmm... yes I took it seriously, I guess I should not have, the
apparent subject seemed serious... this reminds me of this slideshow 
we did... :-)

> i have to make a painting for you and mail it.  If i send it to 
> 55 Rondel, sf, 94103, will you get it?  Mail art.  Except i might 
> not mail it until after an opening, because it has to be a good 
> one and i want to put the good ones in the pit for a day.  And 
> you could always give it to someone if you don't want it.  

Yes!!! Wow! I'd be honored to receive one of your paintings!!!



-- 
  Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif.

    [ Part 3: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj  Sun Dec 19 20:15:31 1993 remote from exlibris
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Subject: mail
To:	sylvia@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell)
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Just sent you some archived shit-list stuff. I just started srchiving
everything that goes to shit-list. (Some people I work with archive
every piece of mail through their system in all areas, and I know they
do 100+ per week... ouch!)

-- 
 Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems --  San Francisco, Calif.
 The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork

    [ Part 4: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj  Fri Dec 10 16:10:46 1993 remote from exlibris
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Subject: RESEND: Pigdog Mailing List DIGEST for 12.8.93 (fwd)
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Forwarded message:
>From tjames@netcom.com Wed Dec  8 02:36:25 1993
Date: Wed, 8 Dec 1993 02:34:04 -0800 (PST)
From: Tjames Madison <tjames@netcom.com>
Subject: RESEND: Pigdog Mailing List DIGEST for 12.8.93
To: spock@hecubus.pigdog.com
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	  		  PIGDOG MAILING LIST DIGEST #2
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
				December 8, 1993
			    (c)1993 Pigdog Magazine
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thirteen years ago on this date, frail, housebroken British singer John 
Lennon was offed by a crazy guy with ridiculous glasses, which prompted 
Howard Cosell to burst into tears in front of an audience of millions on 
ABC-TV's "Monday Night Football"

Therefore, this is going to be known as the "Mark David Chapman" issue.

DISCONTENTS

1. Science From Beyond the Grave, by RatSnatcher
2. A Day In The Life Of John_-_Winston
3. Crazy From the Heat, by Tjames Madison
4. REVIEW: The Vinnie Vincent Invasion, by Joshus
5. Powerful Copy Machines I Have Used, by TJM
6. Fast Dirty Food, by Flesh
7. Some Guy Gets Excited About Superman
8. Some Vaguely Threatening Babble About Pets
9. Murdock's Crazy Ideas About Cheating
10. LETTERS, WE GET LETTERS

Pretty slow week. I think everyone must be out washing their pets or 
something. I've taken the liberty of digging through the musty Pigdog 
Morgue to bring you good people most of this stuff. Some of it is even 
interesting. (Notice that I've attempted to overcome the lack of quality 
by offering LOTS of crap....)

Next week will be better...everyone will send me their most wittiest and 
cherished love poems that they write to themselves when they're standing 
in the bathroom, naked, and looking at themselves in a full-length 
mirror. If you are female, you will be extra-descriptive. And if you 
don't do me this one little thing that I ask, I must request that you 
deliver to me a puppy dog, for Christmas, wrapped up in a big red bow.

Thank you.


1. The Tesla2 Files, by RatSnatcher

(This was originally written for Pigdog Magazine. It got lost somewhere 
along the way, probably because Zach didn't want to have anything to do 
with it after awhile. This is possibly owing to the fact that his crazy 
Uncle kept pounding Tesla into his head for months and months...even 
trying to lure him into attending a bizarre TeslaCon in Colorado. We must 
have Zach "explain" his Uncle someday. All I know is that he used to be a 
world class chef who was Head Chef at one point for the Queen Elizabeth 
II. He was also a crazy Berkeley hippie, and one day he went WACKO and 
decided to give up everything to build a Tesla Coil. Well...this is sort 
of explained in the story. I don't know how much I want to believe...the 
prospects are too terrifying.)

............................................................................

Science from Beyond the Grave: 
The Chronicles of Tesla 2
		
By R. Snatcher
 
 
	Can a ghost scientist possess a living creature, and through that 
creature, continue scientific research?
	For some time now, my Uncle has been obsessed with building the 
lost inventions of a 19th century mad scientist named Nicola Tesla. 
	It didn't seem like a mistake, at the time,  to give my Uncle  
one of my special books about Nicola Tesla. I had no inkling that a book 
could be a tool of possession, and I had no Idea that my uncle would take 
it upon himself to carry on Tesla's weird line of research, and 
eventually become Tesla. But now I know.
	There isn't much resemblance on the surface. My uncle wears 
baseball caps and drinks cheap beer, for instance, while Tesla used to 
wear cheap three piece suits and drink prissy cocktail wine, but it's the 
determination, and overwhelming will to build bizarre, and sometimes 
dangerous inventions that makes them one in the same.
	I realized this was on the return trip from the worst part of 
Emeryville. I was in the shot-gun seat of my uncles green 1970's Ford LTD 
sedan, which is a strange car because of its metric measurements on the 
speedometer and other gauges. Stranger, we were on our way back from 
picking up a specially designed part for the new Tesla Coil that my uncle 
is building. I'm not sure why, maybe it's destined to be this way, but 
when ever he builds these devices, he insists that Special Ed and I come 
along to document every detail. Ed sat in the back seat videotaping the 
burned-out ghetto crack homes, and passing traffic with his Sony 
CCD-FX710 Hi-8 machine. I was holding a $300 piece of  PVC pipe. Actually 
it was the rather expensive main piece of my Uncles new Tesla Coil. 
	He had this part specially built at a machine shop. It took him 2 
weeks to find a shop that would take the job because nobody wanted it--it 
was too weird. As it turned out, it took 3 men on a lathe 6 hours to 
complete, and when we arrived, the shop boss looked relieved that someone 
was actually coming in to pay for the thing. Anyone would have to admit 
that the finished piece is beautiful. Hundreds of feet of pure copper 
wire was wrapped around a piece of PVC pipe. An equal amount of 
mono-filament fishing line was wrapped in between each rotation of the 
copper so that it never touches itself. The finished product gleams like 
a golden baseball bat. It's someday going to be the main amplifying coil, 
the part of the Tesla Coil where thousands of volts of electricity will 
be assembled and finally sent up to a copper toilet-bowel float that will 
shoot lightening bolts through the air at anything that can conduct 
electricity.
	Ed has this on tape. We asked him why in the hell he's building a 
Tesla Coil. He cocked his Canon Laser baseball cap at us and roared 
laughter over the throaty Ford engine. "Because I'm fucking CRAZY! That's 
why." he said. And we knew he was. But then he went into a wide-eyed sort 
of trance and he told us a bizarre story. You see, my Uncle believes that 
Nicola Tesla was assassinated--run over with a car--because he was going 
to give the world plentiful free power. 
	A Tesla coil is a device that looks similar to a Van Der Graf 
machine, but instead of making your hair defy gravity with static 
discharges, a Tesla coil flings off electrons in extremely low frequency 
(ELF) waves. They supposedly can light up fluorescent lights without 
wires, and be used as electrical weapons to fry people, or just people's 
brains. Nicola Tesla wanted to light entire cities with a giant ber-coil. 
He wanted to transmit gobs of power through the air, and he was also 
developing a way to harness the Earth's electromagnetic field as a source 
of power. With these technologies he would light up the world, and maybe 
control it. For that, the power companies came in with their secret 
police and had him run down in the street. Then his papers were seized by 
every imaginable secret government agency.
	Tesla is now operating from beyond the grave, through my Uncle, 
to continue his research and his quest for free energy.
	You must realize that my uncle is not a mad-scientist by trade. 
He started out as a chef, and as far as far as I know, he always was a 
chef, until late in 1992, right after I gave him my Tesla book. In the 
fall of 1992 he bought a giant personal computer system. A machine so 
lavish, that it would make any engineer sweat. Then he loaded it up with 
CAD programs. Right after that, he signed up for tons of electronics 
correspondence classes. Nobody understood why. I especially didn't 
understand. He locked himself away for months with vast amounts of 
electronic parts and Budweiser. And it was only later that I realized he 
was building Tesla Coils and other devices. Now his apartment is one 
giant electronics dump. There are soldering irons, voltage meters, ohm 
meters, and various other electrical tools laying everywhere. He went 
from chef to mad-scientist in only four months.
	"I just feel that theres something terribly wrong," my uncle 
says as we pull into the parking lot of his favorite bowling Alley/Bar. 
"We all missed something back there. Tesla's research hasn't been taken 
advantage of. He had the answer. There's something there, and I'm going 
to find it."
	I think he will find it. Tesla 2 is here, and I must document 
this on-going Tesla ghost story in Pigdog. 
	 When he throws the switch on "the big one" I'll be there, and so 
will Pigdog. When my uncle, Ed, and I (Tesla Team 3) go to clandestine 
meetings with strange engineers and shadowy government insiders, we'll 
get it all on hidden camera, and write it down here.	 
 
............................................................................

2. John_-_Winston: A Life

(john_-_winston's name is familiar to anyone who's wandered into 
alt.alien.visitors...he's a crazy guy from Milpitas who claims to have 
made contact with Giant Aliens who park their ships in craters in Nevada 
and on top of mountains like Mt. Lassen. "They're not here to hurt us," 
he soothes us; "they only want to prevent us from destroying ourselves," 
which is why Winston claims that these Big-Headed Aliens have been in 
close contact with every president since Harry Truman. Winston gets a lot 
of his stuff from the "Weekly World News," all of which he reports as 
science fact. He crossposts HUGE amounts of nonsense all over the net, 
which invariably results in three or four snapper-headed wannabe 
net.policemen vowing to get him "kicked off the net" every week. I kind 
of like him. If I had a crazy uncle like RatSnatcher, I would want him to 
be john_-_winston. JW can be reached at John_-_Winston@cup.portal.com)

............................................................................

Subject: A Day In The Life Of John Winston.
 
  Many years ago, just after the Watts Riot and the so-called Gas
Crisis I was on my way just past Redwood City, Calif. to make a record
about UFOs when I noticed a person in a car beside the road. Something
told me that I should stop and see if the person needed help. The 
person turned out to be a member of a certain race of people. He turned
out to be a man who had been stabbed by  his girlfriend a few days 
before and he had a bandage on his arm. He said that he had been travel-
ing on his way to San Francisco with a friend and the person had been
stopped by a policeman, found to have had a warrant on him, and had been
thrown in jail. This young man had then been in a position that he had 
to drive on along. The car had run out of gas and wouldn't start. After 
telling me this I suggested that he come in the car with me.
 
  He hopped in and we started in the opposite direction to my house in 
Milpitas.  I then started talking like a person possessed, about UFOs. 
I mentioned to him that the people in the flying saucers were making
themselves known and seen more since 1947 because we had been experi-
menting with atomic bombs and were about to start setting off H-bombs
which might very well blow up our planet and affect other planets. They 
were here to try to stop us from doing that because one of our planets
that was called Maldek was blown up in ancient history and is now  the 
meteorite belt. 
 
  I then explained that the space people who are hear are from many
places such as Venus, Mars, Jupiter and a bunch more places.  Some of 
them look like us and can walk among without looking any different from
other people but most of them have to go through a change in dimension
before they can be in the physical form. 
 
  I told him many other things. I filled him up with food and it just 
so happened that I had saved away 5 gallons of gasoline.  We then went
back, put the gas in his car and got it started. He then said, "This
is a miracle."  I then asked him what he meant. He then explained
that as he was stranded on the side of the road he looked up in the sky
and said, "Space people, if you are really up there, please send some-
one to come and give me some food, get this car going and tell me the 
truth about UFOs. You then came along." I then explained that this sort 
of thing happens to me quite a bit since I was given two spiritual 
masters on the side of Mt. Shasta to give me guidance and I volunteered
to let the space people also work through me.
 
 He then seemed happy and went on his way.
 
John Winston.
 
............................................................................

3. james watt, by Tjames Madison

(I'm sensing a trend here, with all these stories about crazy middle-aged 
men. Perhaps. But the following story really happened. Another reject 
from Pigdog #3)

............................................................................

	When I was 12 years old, an old widower named James Watt (not 
that one) was having a nice dinner for himself of peas and corned beef on 
night, watching reruns of "Mayberry RFD," when something essential in his 
head snapped for good. I don't know if it was Ken Berry's awful acting, 
or maybe his peas were too mushy, or maybe even he saw a horrific image 
of his dead wife's clutching, skeletal hands coming out of the tv set 
toward him: I don't know. Maybe all three. Whatever it was he was gone. 
He stood up, a small slop of drool clinging to his lower lip. A napkin 
was tucked neatly into his white undershirt like a bib. He lurched toward 
the front door of his tiny bachelor's apartment and, maybe pausing to see 
if he might reclaim his mind from the precarious ledge it was teetering 
on, maybe not, he reached for the doorknob and shook it open. He fell to 
the railing outside his second floor apartment. He begin to sing, in a 
loud, tuneless voice. People, including me, came out of their apartments 
to stare at him. He continued singing for some time. It was 7:30 p.m. 
Quite a crowd gathered. After he tired of singing, he began to chant, and 
mumble, chant and mumble, in dual cacaphony. His rap went something about 
flies and insects raking out his eyeballs, and his chanting had to do 
with the Northeast. He seemed to be driving a bus at times, the next 
minute he was leading his platoon, in his war. Eventually th chanting and 
the singing and the mumbling just stopped. He gripped the rail and 
wavered there for a brief instant...in slow motion time he tilted to and 
fro and you could see from the ground that every vein in his neck was 
stressed to the limit -- he looked like a hot dog left too long in a 
microwave. He looked down, at himself, he didn't know anyone was watching 
him. He noticed that his right hand held a knife. He held it before his 
face and began to shriek at the universe, naming off a long litany of 
complaints, too long to list. It wasn't even words he was hollering, his 
face beet red and sweaty, it was just sounds and fury and construction. I 
believe he was being tried on another plane. I believe he believed he had 
been done a great injustice.
	Hours later, James Watt still stands at the railing. Past 
midnight now, James Watt still stands, brandishing his butter knife with 
utter futility. The knife has become his Excalibur.
	Everyone else has lost interest, wandered back inside on this 
warm June night in Los Angeles, turned on their televisions loud angainst 
the angry red man on the railing. I kept peeking through the curtains, 
mostly wondering if he would fall or jump or try to attack someone with 
his silly knife. And he wouldn't shut up. Finally I, too, lost interest 
and closed the curtains for good and went and sat down, and when I did I 
just...waited. I felt sorry for Mr. Watt, but I was too young to know 
why. It just seemed like a terrible thing, for a man to snap like that 
and lose himself.
	The police eventually came, in the morning, and they pried James 
Watt's white-knuckled hands from the railing, and from the butter knife. 
He didn't even notice they had come, and when they led him away from 
everything that he used to call home, he didn't protest or say a word, 
except: "gah."
	I never heard about him, ever again. He drove a bus, that's all I know.
 
    "You lose yourself
    You reappear
    You suddenly find you've got nothing to fear
    Yet a question in your nerves is lit
    And you know there is no answer fit
    To satisfy
    Ensure you not to quit
    That it is not he or she or them or it
    That you belong to."
    --Zimmerman

............................................................................

4. Brushes With Near Greatness!

(Okay, so that last one was sort of lame. I must have been listening to 
Enya when I wrote it. This next one will turn those frowns upside down, 
however. This is Joshus^H^H^HJoshua, writing about some horrible 70s band 
I barely remember. I do remember KISS, though. I recall being in Music 
class in 7th grade and having "Show and Tell Day." Most of us brought 
things like "The New Mouseketeers" or "Shaun Cassidy." The black kid 
brought in "Brick House" by the Commodores, and we danced, after a white 
fashion. But the Bad Kid, he brought "KISS ALIVE II". I think some little 
girls cried when he put that on. Big scary makeup and platform 
shoes...Jesus what a bad introduction to "heavy metal." I just remember 
the first line of the album: "YOU WANT THE BEST YOU GOT THE BEST...THE 
HOTTEST BAND IN THE WORLD: ***KISS***!!!" And seque into "God of Thunder" 
or some tripe. I don't remember which song, exactly, because I was busy 
trying to look up Miss Carter's red dress...oh my. My first teacher 
crush. She even spoke FRENCH.

Years later I bought "KISS DOUBLE PLATINUM" for two bucks at Target. I 
still feel ripped off.)

............................................................................

>From luriete@nextnet.ccs.csus.edu Tue Dec  7 22:44:57 1993
Date: Thu, 2 Dec 93 14:46:50 PST
From: joshus lurie-terrell <luriete@nextnet.ccs.csus.edu>
Subject: Vinnie Vincent Invasion

VINNIE VINCENT INVASION

line up: Marc Slaughter (vocals)
	 Vinnie Vincent (guitar)
	 Dana Strum (bass)
	 Bobby Rock (drums)

In 1977, singer (!) and guitarplayer Vinnie Cusano, alias Vinnie Vincent,
records with his band Treasure a good, melodic rock album. In '82 this talented
guitarplayer joins the mega-band Kiss, he does only stay for two albums. He
rather focusses his mind on an own band, in which he will be boss, concerning
guitarplay and compositions. He finds some other musicians to join him:
bassplayer Dana Strum (ex-Ozzy), singer Robert Fleischman (ex-Journey/Channel)
and drummer Bobby Rock. The debut album is a great mid-tempo heavy metal-LP,
with beautiful and high vocals of Fleischman, to which Vinnie's guitar
waterfalls in style of Joshua Perahia seem a bit uncontrolled. Despite the big
amount of money that's invested in the band by their record company, Vinnie
Vincent's Invasion doesn't become a major metl band. Robert Fleischman leaves
after the first album and is replaced by Marc Slaughter. The second album has
a bit more controlled guitarplay and Marc's vocals are in line of Robert's.
Again a great album, but it doesn't become the wanted breakthrough. De
V.V.Invasion even splits up and it's not shure wether Vinnie tries to create a
new line up or not. Anyway, his record company gives him the key of the street.

albums:	Invasion (Chrysalis '86)
	All Systems Go (Chrysalis '88)

............................................................................

5. The Ballad of Johhny 5090

(This is more drivel I wrote about copy machines during a stretch where I 
worked 11 out of 12 days. I don't know why I bothered. I mean...copy 
machines? Another REJECT from Pigdog #3)

............................................................................

 BUILDING THE BETTER BEAST
(Our Expert Rates the New Crop of High Volume Duplicating Machines)
 
 
Deep in the belly of every Xerox 5090 Photocopier hides a tiny, powerful 
mini-brain known as an ElectroMobe. This small, but utterly efficient, 
microchip is the nerve center of the machine that many call the greatest 
copier ever made. A vast network of recessed sensors deployed inside the 
copier relay the slightest aberration to the 'Mobe, which then, aping the 
human mind that conceived of it, sends a termination signal to the main 
processing unit. A piece of paper gone even 2 degrees askance will shut 
the machine down instantly, thanks to the ever-vigilant work of the 
ElectroMobe Brain. There is, quite simply, nothing else like it at work 
anywhere in the world.

Which brings us to the state of copying technology at the present time. 
After a long stasis, which saw companies like Canon and Kodak bringing 
belching monsters to the fore time and time again to forge a lead in the 
stagnant marketplace, Xerox introduced in 1991 the 5090, and has not 
looked back since. Quite literally, its competitors have been left far 
behind. The 5090 is the Anvil on which the plain paper revolution of the 
1990's is being forged.

The 5090's specs are truly terrifying. 170 copies per minute. A reliable 
duplex tray which can hold up to 200 sheets at a time. A dual 
finisher/stacker, which can contain up to four "sets" in progress while 
collating and finishing to send to an automatic stacker tray. An 
ingenious hot glue binding system that does in one versatile package, 
almost as an afterthought, what messy, inconvenient machines costing many 
thousands of dollars once were required for. An ultra-sensitive Automatic 
Document Handler (ADH) that can hold nearly 300 sheets at once, and can 
run both extremely heavy (cardstock) and light (thermal) weights of 
paper. Add to that impressive array a complex-though-simple terminal 
touch screen, a 3.5 floppy disk drive, and three colossal paper trays 
with a combined sheet storage capacity of just under 5000, and you have 
what can only be called the Lamborghini of copiers, the Best of the Best.
Many have tried, but few have succeeded, in duplicating Xerox's success 
with this machine. Late 1992 and so far this year have seen an influx of 
supposedly "high-volume" competitors from companies such as Konica and 
Minolta, with impressive national ad campaigns to boost sales. The astute 
reader will note that Xerox has yet to air an ad for the 5090; it does 
not need one.

So, in the spirit of fairness, this space has been provided to review 
what the other's have to offer. It is not as a shuck for Xerox that we 
attempt to portray ourselves, yet the fact remains that Xerox has created 
something bigger, possibly then themselves; a machine so blindingly 
perfect that all others are become without value.
 
KODAK
 
Kodak's Ektaprint line was a reliable, workhorse copier, for both 
high-volume "full-service" work and also for the most menial of small 
jobs. In it's time  which lasted most of the previous decade  the 
Ektaprint 235 stood up to all comers, including Xerox's own 5010 and 
5060. Then came the 90's, and the 5090 (and, to a lesser extent, the 
5100) have put this fine beast out to a well-deserved pasture.
In truth, the Ektaprint line produced only barely passable solids, 
possessed an ADH constructed like a Polish tank, and had only a paltry 
array of "special features" for jobs which required extra handling. The 
method to switch trays was clunky, and few key operators to this date 
have been able to decipher the secret method to get the 235 to switch 
from letter to legal stapling. Also, the duplex tray was notoriously 
unreliable. The "Suicide Run" was a staple of 235 activity.
On the other hand, the machine rarely required servicing. In fact, it 
would run until it ran out of ink, and sometimes not then (the only 
method to tell if ink was required was a small red switch inside the 
door, which turned on a tiny light behind the toner container. If you 
could see the light behind the container, then it was time to replace it.)
Still, some thrifty shops still insist on using this machine even today. 
This is roughly equivalent to choosing an Apple IIe over a Macintosh 
Quadra solely on the basis of cost.

Early last year Kodak introduced a "competitor" to the 5090 in the form 
of the 535. While still comparitively slow (90 cpm), the 535 does rival 
the 5090 in terms of sheer size. Kodak seems to have adopted a "bigger is 
better" philosophy here. With the full finisher installed, the machine is 
a mammoth 19 feet long, and weighs approximately 17 tons. The controls 
are still basic, and the copies produced retain the Kodak "grainy" feel, 
though the solids are a bit more dependable.

While it's tempting to call the 535 an enormous failure from start to 
finish (in that it exceeds the 5090 in no areas at all), there remains a 
niche for Kodak and it's "pay-for-play" leasing policy. The 635 might be 
worth watching for, if they can learn their lessons well. (Though a quick 
scan through the history of Eastman belies this possibility  from 
Ektaprint 90 through 535, they have simply taken a mediocre machine and 
made it bigger and louder, without actually improving it.)
 
CANON
 
I have never trusted Canon or their machines, color copiers excepted. 
They are the antithesis of Kodak. Where Eastman machines are solid and 
armor-plated, Canon's entries have always seemed fragile...high-impact 
plastic in a world which demands flexibility.

Their latest entries are more of the same, and they don't even really try 
to compete with the 5090, despite their ads' claims. These cheap machines 
average around 75-90 impressions per minute, and their imaging technology 
is below even Kodak's par. They are unpopular with service bureaus and 
offices requiring high-volume work (except in Japan, where even this is 
changing rapidly; in fact, the 5090 may do there what Ford and GM could 
not in turning the trade balance around). They seem best suited to a 
medium office market requiring a few thousand impressions per day.
Any idea of Canon challenging Xerox for the high-volume throne is 
laughable at this time.
 
MINOLTA, KONICA, RICOH
 
See Canon entry, above.
 
XEROX
 
There is no substitute. After a long, woeful string of popular failures 
(the 5010 was so hated by key operators it became common practice to 
attach pictures of lemons to their frames), Xerox wised up and unleashed 
the aforementioned Better Machine upon an unsuspecting public. Actually, 
the public had some clues to its arrival, namely an extremely heavy and 
expensive internal publicity blitz. Within three days of its release, all 
5090s in existence were booked up for sale or leasing, with a nine-month 
waiting list). Simply put, here was a machine that did what it promised.
But not without problems. The early release models were full of bugs. 
Software problems were so prevalent in the early days that Xerox 
retrofitted all 5090s with an extra internal RAM card to prevent this 
touchy maintenance issue from reoccurring. Even now, shops with 5090s can 
expect to see their area tech an average of once every 1.7 days. This is 
not to fault the machine. Most, of not all, of the service problems stem 
from the amazing productivity of the machine itself. In the store I work 
in, our two 5090s can expect to see an average of 600,000 impressions 
each, every month. This exceeds the average count on our Kodak machine by 
a 10:1 ratio. That works our to something near 7.2 million copies a year, 
quite impressive indeed. And since Xerox offers total technical support 
during business hours at no charge, the service issue is a small one when 
compared to the benefits of the machine.

Not long after the introduction of the 5090 came the 5100, smaller, more 
compact machine not intended as a direct antecedent of the 5090. It can 
supply apprx. 90cpm, and it's main claim to fame lies in its ability to 
do internal 11x17 duplexing, through the ADH. It is not an entirely 
wonderful machine, however, and many shops have abandoned it in favor of 
the far superior 5090.

Then there is the Docutech. This machine carries the 5090 chassis and 
engine, features four paper trays, and contains a full-powered 486 
microprocessor in its brain stem. The most notable feature is its ability 
to scan in documents and store them to a 230Mb hard drive for later 
retrieval. The keyop merely punches in the filename and the machine calls 
up the document and begins printing from the specified tray(s), without 
the need for lens flash. This can be useful for large corporations which 
need to print 100,000 copies of the same document each week, or each day, 
but is almost entirely unnecessary for most shops. In fact, the basic 
Docutech does not come with an ADH. Collating a 97-page document would 
require individually hand placing and scanning each page, then setting 
the page order through the terminal.

More evil by far are the goons Xerox has hired to promote this machine. 
They know little or nothing about the working of the 5090 gut, yet can 
expound mightily on the hard drive.

There are several options currently available to refine the 5090. An 
11x17 document handler, for instance, and a booklet maker are among 
these. With all options installed, the 5090 would stretch some 26 feet long.
 
CONCLUSION
 
You already have discerned it. When in doubt, go with the 5090. It's got 
a hefty price ($5000/month or so on a fixed 24- or 36-month lease), but 
it's productivity is unrivaled by anything on the planet.
If Spock wanted a copier, he would pick the 5090.
 
-30-
COPY MANIA
Madison

............................................................................

Quote Of The Week

>From ror@netcom.com Tue Dec  7 22:46:18 1993
Date: Sat, 4 Dec 1993 14:16:27 -0800 (PST)
From: RatSnatcher <ror@netcom.com>
To: Tim Madison <tjames@netcom.com>
Subject: Gawd!


You *know* you've been hacking too long when you have dreams like this:

This is from alt.folklore.computers:

-------------------

I've been playing around with fork bombs and similar stuff lately. 
Yesterday (day before yesterday, if you must know) when my alarm clock
went off, I thought it was spawning new alarm clock processes and I had
to kill it quickly so it wouldn't fill up the process table and prevent
me from doing _anything_ about it. The only problem was, there was a
monitor process that I didn't kill, and every time I killed off one of
the ring_alarm(x) processes, it would wait 9 minutes then spawn another
one. 

............................................................................

6. Fresh Vegetables For Rotting Flesh

(I've decided to surprise myself and not even read this one. That Flesh 
guy...he's...he's CRAZY.)

............................................................................

			Them's gud etins, jed!

One thing that really pisses me off about ALL food critics, is that they 
write about places that don't need it. For example; I used to go to New 
Dawn Cafe, on 16 and Gurerro. Not any more  Thanks to the Guardian, we 
can't even get in there now. The food is great, and is served in huge 
amounts (if you order a large plate of home fries, you get enough for 
three people). Now, I can only remember what the food is like. Meanwhile, 
a few blocks down Mission stood Miz Browns. The used to serve plate sized 
omlettes for three bucks. I say used to, because they went out of 
business due lack of customers (even with the bar in the back), and the 
resturaunt was sold to someone else who drove the place into a tree. My 
girlfreind and I went there thinking that it was still Miz Browns, 
looking forward to a huge fantastic breafast.

BZZZZT.

The food was shitty, the service sucked, and the drinks were horrid (how 
can anyone fuck up a Tequilla sunrise?)

So with this in mind, here's my list of places that no food critic would 
dare step into, that the food is great...

Jim's Cafe. Mission & 22nd

Sincere Cafe 16th & Mission

Without Reservations- Castro & 18th

Chavas- 18th & South Van Ness (This place doesn't need the business. 
However it makes the list on a default. They only have one waitress that 
speaks english, and I've never known a food critic to go to a resteraunt 
where anything other than english and french was spoken).

I won't say what the food is like. Hell, I may not eat the same things 
anyone else would eat (example: when in Without Reservations. I order the 
half pound cheesburger). You order the food, and check it out for 
yourself. All I'm doing is listing the places that I've found personally 
to be  a. cheap
       b. serve good food
       c. needs the business.

............................................................................

ASCII FUNHOUSE!

There were no new submissions, so I'm re-running GARVato. Ed made a 
FANTASTIC ansi movie of the GARVato-mobile crashing into a brick wall and 
exploding, but unfortunately that won't work on most terminals. Just 
imagine that little truck driving across the screen and BLOWING UP upon 
impact.

      ____
 ____//_]|________
(o _ |  -|   _  o|
 `(_)-------(_)--'
     GARvato!
 
............................................................................

7. SuperDork

(This was written awhile back by some retarded fanboy on alt.superman. I 
have no good excuse why I was reading alt.superman. I think the idea of 
running this is, "Let's make fun of some retarded fanboy," but I could be 
wrong. This could be poignant to some people. Maybe someone is reading 
this right now and weeping bitter tears of sorrow mixed with anxious joy. 
I...don't...know.)

............................................................................

Well, I know that a lot of people think that Superman cannot exist without
Clark Kent, he may have to, because although Superman can (obviously) come
back to life, Clark cannot.  I know that he is only MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD,
but he has been missing for so long that people have GOT to piece it
together if he comes back.  Here it is in black-and-white for you:
     Superman and Clark Kent first surfaced in Metropolis at the same time.
     Superman and Clark Kent both "died" at the same time (in the same 
place).
     Superman and Clark Kent both REAPPEAR AT THE SAME TIME?????
Wouldn't YOU, if you knew these facts, begin to AT LEAST ASSOCIATE the two
men in your mind?  Would you not then, begin to realize that they look alike?
Would you not then, begin to wonder about the possibility that they could be
one and the same?
Those who say that Clark cannot die are forgetting that Clark IS Superman,
and not just a part of his personality.  For Superman to exist without Clark,
he would have to work hard to establish a new identity, yes, or simply be
Superman ALL the time (which, to me, doesn't wash, because then it would be
impossible to have a personal life, as it would endanger all of his friends).
But, establishing a new identity may not be so hard.  It may be much like
moving to a new city, where you feel quite alien for a long while, until you
build a personal life, and things feel like HOME.  The tricky part, of 
course,
is the 'home-sickness', where Superman would constantly be thinking about how
much better his former personal life had been, and be tempted to return to
that.  His relationship with Lois Lane is a tricky part, I do admit.
Obviusly, she is very important to him, and interacting with her (other
than in secret) as someone other than Clark would be impossible.  People
would be bound to recognize him as a double for Clark (unless he adopted
an ENTIRELY new look, which also doesn't really work without altering the
way Superman looks in an equally drastic manner).  Anyway, it's all VERY
interesting, AND I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE HOW IT TURNS OUT FOR REAL!!!!!!!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
      /|
     / ||\ ____________  _____               THE SODHED is
    /  || \       |    | |   / /\   \  /     Colin S. Reid
   /   ||  \    | | |  | |  / /  \   \/      Reidcoli@Max.cc.Uregina.ca
  /____||   \   | | |  | |_/ /____\  /\
 /     ||    \  | | |--| | \/      \/  \       S.O.D!! S.O.D!! S.O.D!!
/      ||     \ | | |  | | /\       \   \
               \| | |        \            Be dangerous and unpredictable,
                              \               and make a lot of noise.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
+++

............................................................................

8. CATS...and DOGS....and RATS....

(Small thread from PSP about destroying animals just for no good reason 
at all. This in no way rivals Murdock's infamous "Sacrifice" thread from 
a couple years back ("see??? People are standing in LINE to KILL YOUR 
DOG!"), but it's still fairly amusing. BTW: Zach's family indeed does 
have such a device. I touched it once. It felt _clammy_.)

............................................................................

>From   : Ratsnatcher #1
 
To     : Wisteria #145
 
Subject: Ha!
 
Date   : 23 Sep 93  23:24    (C:\MIB\MSGS\MSG*.BBS #6373)
 
 
You people think you have macho cats. I used to have a rabbit that after it
escaped was brought back by the POLICE because some old guy found it "digging
at his foundations." I also have 115 pound doberman pinscher who has 
bitten so many people that by LAW, I have to walk him with a muzzle. My 
cats beat the shit out of him and he is constantly terrified. I can kill 
them all with a remote control device that I keep on my person at all times.
 
 
[Message Base Beta #4]
[23/50] Reading Messages: 45
 
 
[45/50]
 
>From   : Tjames #3
 
To     : Ratsnatcher #1
 
Subject: Ha!
 
Date   : 28 Sep 93  23:50    (C:\MIB\MSGS\MSG*.BBS #6637)
 
 
> I can kill them all with a remote control device that I keep on my
> person at all times.
 
HahahahAHAHA! But I have the special remote control device that can kill YOU
at any time! *Someone* had to have it so they gave it to the person most
capable of recognizing the WARNING signs!
 
Don't think I won't use it, either!
 
(I almost had to that time at Specs when you spit the beer all over the 
flabby charwoman...my fingers actually *twitched* in my pocket over the 
button. But you were reprieved by an electrical FLUKE. Sometimes I take 
it out of its special lubricated sheath and just play my fingers lightly 
across the chrome surface...it's incredibly erotic! I think I want to 
feel this device, RIGHT NOW!)

............................................................................

9. Murdock Is a Dirty Rotten Cheat

(Doctor Murdock has the crazy idea that he can actually graduate college. 
He wants to do it by devising strange devices that will implant correct 
test answers into his head at the appropriate moment in class. In a way, 
I sense that he's going to eventually become just as BERSERK as Tesla 2. 
That's okay though...just another Crazy Uncle...to somebody. I also bet 
he's REAL UNHAPPY that I'm including this post he originally wrote to 
alt.cyberpunk.tech. Hey...that stuff is PUBLIC DOMAIN, pally!)

............................................................................

        Hello, everyone!  I'm working on a project that I have quite a bit
of enthusiasm invested in and would VERY much like to accomplish, 
however, I have run into a few small problems, and I need some 
specialized advice.  If anyone could help me out in my venture I would be 
forever grateful.  I want to thank everyone in advance.  Now, let me get 
down to the nitty gritty...
 
 
Mission Objective:
                        To be able to have information (notes, textbooks,
                        possibly even graphs, etc.) available to me while I
                        take tests in my college courses WITHOUT people even
                        realizing that I am accessing sources of hidden data.
 
                        Note:  This application that I am working on in
                        *NO* way is being developed because I wish to
                        replace my rigorous studying habits, but rather, to
                        give myself an extra "security buffer" when taking
                        tests.  There is nothing I hate more than studying
                        hours and hours for a test only to have a problem
                        in front of me and the answer just on the TIP of my
                        memory, but not being able to completely remember the
                        answer.
 
 
 
Mission Project:
                        Build a small PC that can fit into a hip pouch (I've
                        done research and this can be accomplished without
                        too much $$$ invested), and have a 5 key chord
                        keyboard underneath my pants on my leg.  However...
 
 
Problem in Development:
                        Although the computer can hold a mass amount of
                        information, and I would eventually learn how to
                        master the 5 key keyboard under my pants, I cannot
                        figure out how to get the information TO ME without
                        other people catching on to the fact that I am
                        cheating.
 
My Theories:
                        I've thought about maybe having a text-to-speech
                        software program output to a device that would
                        broadcast to a little, wireless ear bud.  And even
                        though the ear buds would be small enough (I think)
                        the cost in having to develop the card that would
                        send the radio signal would be far too much than
                        what I want to spend on this device.
 
                        Another way I thought of, was maybe rig up a setup
                        where the PC would output to one of those little
                        LCD displays that you see on pocket spell
                        checkers, or something.  The only problem with this
                        is that it is larger and you run the risk of other
                        students noticing what you are doing.
 
                        An extreme case would be to output to a small
                        electronic signal that would send you morse code
                        signals to any part of your body, but because of
                        the slow transmission rate of data with this 
			scenario,
                        it's better to just spend your time studying your
                        nuts off than bother with inputting your text 
			onto the
                        small hard drive of the PC.
 
 
Conclusion:
                        What bugs me is the fact that the technology is
                        THERE/HERE and what I want to do CAN be
                        accomplished with a little ingenuity and
                        perseverance. *ANY* help/ideas that you guys/gals
                        could offer would be immensely appreciated in helping
                        me accomplish my task. And please, let me make myself
                        clear here:  Even though this application is 
			obviously
                        defined as "cheating", this is not the way I see it.
                        I see it as merely taking my experience with
                        technology and applying it to the incredibly
                        competitive academic structure our system offers to
                        us. Grade Point Averages = Long Term Money.  I'm a
                        Business major and I simply see this as a way of
                        competing.  For those of you who see this as simply
                        cheating and see absolutely no part of my side to
                        this, please blow me and save your flames.
 
Thanks again!
 
Ciao!
-- 
_============================================================================_
| Chris Murdock          ........available at  --=>  
pigdog@netcom.com       |
|                                                                            |
|"Don't be a Watson.  Be a Sherlock Holmes and figure the shit out 
yourself."|
|                                                               -- 
Me        |
|____________________________________________________________________________|
 
............................................................................

10. Clear the Way for the S, the S1Ws....

............................................................................

Dear Tjames,

Blow me, mudracker...

Regards,
Chris Murdock

(_Clinic run out of Prozac again, Chris?_ -- ed.)
............................................................................

Dear Tjames,


I have no cigarettes!!!!

NONE!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!

Yours Forever,
Paul

(_I have 39 left_ -- ed.)
............................................................................

(The following letters were all so mean and nasty that I combined all of 
them into a mini-digest. I may compile this into a file that says hateful 
things randomly when I log out)

Dear Tjames,

(1)
You said 3 or 4 times a week before.

You lied.

(2)
Looks like Pignet was a total and complete failure. Oh well.

Imminent death of Spock expected soon.

PS: I was wathcing the Polly (uhura) Klaas thingy news conference. While the
FBI guy was talking, his beeper went off ... it made exactly EXACTLY!!! 
the same sound as those old Bridge Sensors on the old startrek.. the
dooh-duing dwing doo sound. Sort of like the communicators, but it came
on usually when they were doing a sensor sweep or something. Anyway, he
turned around right after he finished talking, and used his
cellular phone.


COULD IT BE......SPOCK?

(3)
I floss my teeth with your penis, you pole schmoker.

Warmly,
Joshua Lurie-Terrell
............................................................................

+++

Once again we reach the end of the ROPE. The bottom of the BUCKET. The 
DARK CRUSHING SENSATION that invades your chest and may either be a 
severe, possibly fatal stroke, or just HEARTBURN.

WHO KNOWS?!?!

ANNOUNCEMENT: Next week's edition will come out on WEDNESDAY. Or, 
actually THURSDAY morning. (I still consider this Tuesday, even though 
technically it's not. Isn't that fascinating?) This is because some guy 
at work just QUIT, and I have to cover his absence on Tuesday. "Kill him! 
PULL HIS ARMS OFF!" I would like to take a few moments to thank NO ONE 
for making this edition possible. Except Joshus, who is becoming a great 
attack dog. Also MUCH thanks to tomj, for helping Flesh and I out with 
our little "project." Also, Mr. T. Nemet says his list is better than 
mine because he greets new members with personalized messages in Hungarian.

Blow me.

PIGDOG OFFICIAL fnord WELCOMING MESSAGE to all seven NEW MEMBERS:

WELCOME! 

............................................................................
Send all correspondence to: tjames@netcom.com
Subject line of: "Pigdog-l" (without the quotes) AUTOMATICALLY goes into 
this digest. You have been warned.

		R			o			R
		A	l	u	c	a	r	d
............................................................................
"Freedom is a Road Seldom Traveled by the Multitudes...." -- Chuck D.

"...or Really Dumb Guys." -- Me




-- 
 Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems --  San Francisco, Calif.
 The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork
^A^A^A^AFrom tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj  Fri Dec 10 16:10:49 1993 remote from exlibris
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Subject: wanna be on my SHIT-LIST
To:	sylvia@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell)
Date:	Fri, 10 Dec 1993 16:03:31 -0500
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Hey, heh heh, wanna be on my shitlist? You'll get... shit... in the
mail. It's mot hyper sophisticated. Mostly fun stuff, some "serious" if
it's 
    [ Part 5: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj  Wed Sep  8 16:10:33 1993 remote from exlibris
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Subject: Re: cgange
To:	max@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell)
Date:	Wed, 8 Sep 1993 08:52:45 -0400
Cc:	tomj@fido.wps.com (Tom Jennings)
In-Reply-To: <54m69B1w165w@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca> from "Sylvia Maxwell" at Aug 31, 93 06:17:39 pm
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> What is the rainbow crowd?

The Rainbow Family is a giant (10,000+) nomadic cultural thing in North
America. They look more or less like "hippies". You don't see to much of
them usually. They are genuinely nomadic, and hold various Gatherings,
usually a big annual one. Each year in a different US state. About
10,000 people show up, sometimes less. They take advantage of US Federal
homesteading laws, much to the chagrin of authorities. Gatherings are
free, and everyone pitches in -- or not. They don't worry about it.
There are communal meals (pretty minimal though, poverty is an
assumption so far in the background it's startling) made up of
donated/liberated/dumpster-dived food. They aer not necesseraily
vegetarians. They have no or barter or minimal economy. I have an
ex-roommate who is a Rainbow person now. They are definitely way far
outside the usual channels. They're quite serious. They tend to be
vehicle-people, white, babies'n'dogs. They disdain alcohol, smoke lots
of pot. Usually quite trsutworthy. They are dirty.

Their methodology for gatherings is unique. They have a "welcome
committee" up where vehicles come in, who tell you where things are,
where to park, etc. They also scope people out; if they have alcohol --
generally the only thing forbidden besides firearms -- instead of a
lecture or whatever, they say "got any alcohol? Let's drink it! Here's
some of my pot!" and try to get the owner to consume it on the spot.
Usually works.

Two years back, in Nevada, the Great Circle gave Welcome Committee duty
to the Faerie camp (the gay/lez bunch within the Family) because they
did an excellent job of (1) defusing a bunch of asshole bigots with fun
instead of anger and (2) "took over" a small stage devolving into bland
ordinary faux hippy folksy music and turned it into a big open party. It
was a great honor, apparently.

Too much hippy for me, though the gatherings are definitly worth
checking out. They are always the first week in July. 

A Council of oldtimers (which apparently anyone can attend and provide
input, listened to or not I know not) picks the next years site, many
months in advance. A few months before, a seed group goes to the site,
and chooses a location distractingly near the real site. This draws fire
from the locals and authorities, if any trouble arises, and keeps eyes
of the actual site. They usually rent an apt or something an have a
stable mail address. Word is spread mouth to mouth and hand to hand. No
advertising of any sort is generally done, and as far as I can tell, is
frowned upon. They deal with legal issues (more and more every year I
guess) and all that.

About a month before the actual event, another seed group populates the
site and starts to prepare it. In Nevada, it took place partly on
private land; the worked out a deal with the owner that they would leave
it utterly spotless and would install a water system based upon a
water-hammer ("free" water pump power). 

I can attest to the cleanliness thing. In nevada, I was there and left
early, so there were only a few thousand people. It was *spotless*. On a
mian trail, someone had dropped about a half-dozen cellophane candy
wrappers. It was a Big Deal. It was an issue at the Great Circle, and
instead of castigation and finger pointing (they the do all this stuff
internally of course, at big gatherings they tend to be fairly cool cuz
there's fresh faces and fresh energy) they went on about how important
it was they left the place clean. Seems to work.

It's a retty cool thing, iff you like hippies, eating oatmeal as your
main source of nutrition, walking 6 hours into the woods, carrying
water, being asked to eat food just cooked as you walk down a trail,
LSD, get really dirty, dig shitters, keep damnfools from shitting in the
stream, etc etc. There are some christian hippies. There are more queer
ones. I hate tie-dye, and mistrust peace and loveism. I own guns and
like computers. Oh well.

-- 
  Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif.

From max@sentex.net Wed Jan 16 09:10:46 2002
Date: Sun, 26 Aug 2001 17:29:54 -0400
From: Sylvia Morscher <max@sentex.net>
To: tomj@wps.com
Subject: more old files

http://www.sentex.net/~max/damn-bret.html

    [ Part 2: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!hookup!fido.wps.com!tomj  Tue Feb  1 06:20:38 1994 remote from exlibris
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From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings)
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Subject: SCUM Manifesto
To: shit-list@fido.wps.com
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I have no idea why, but I typed in the whole SCUM Manifesto, and
converted it to HTML (the WorldWideWeb format). It's easily converted to
plain-er ASCII. 

Not sure what to do with it now.  Her 'tis.


                             the
<p>

                        SCUM Manifesto
<p>

                      by Valerie Solanas
<p>

<p>

This is the only copy of the SCUM Manifesto I've ever seen. This
version was published by PHOENIX PRESS, presumably in the UK (price
given as "75p"), though no contact information was provided. I have
no idea what, if any, changes were made to the text. I tried to
change nothing except change some obvious (to me) Anglicizations
back to Americanisms (eg. empathise to empathize). The copyright
is certainly retained by Valerie, where ever she is; likely jail.
Seeing how it's a manifesto, and the Phoenix people don't own it
either, I figured Valerie Solanas wouldn't mind my typing this all
in and giving it away for free.
<p>

If you have any authoritative data, or additions to make (skip the
comments on content please) please send them along, and I'll include
on my archive.
<p>

  -- tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings), Jan 1994.
<p>

<p>

>From the back cover of the PHOENIX PRESS booklet:
<p>
<pre>
	"Valerie Solanas' SCUM Manifesto was written in 1967 and
	published in 1968, the year she shot and wounded Andy
	Warhol. The text used here is that of the 1983 edition of
	the Manifesto that was published by the Matriarchy Study
	Group."
</pre>
<p>

And now on with it.
<p>

                             the
<p>

                        SCUM Manifesto
<p>

                      by Valerie Solanas
<p>

<p>

Life in this society being, at best, an utter bore and no aspect
of society being at all relevant to women, there remains to
civic-minded, responsible, thrill-seeking females only to overthrow
the government, eliminate the money system, institute complete
automation and destroy the male sex.
<p>

It is now technically feasible to reproduce without the aid of
males (or, for that matter, females) and to produce only females.
We must begin immediately to do so. Retaining the mail has not even
the dubious purpose of reproduction. The male is a biological
accident: the Y (male) gene is an incomplete X (female) gene, that
is, it has an incomplete set of chromosomes. In other words, the
male is an incomplete female, a walking abortion, aborted at the
gene stage. To be male is to be deficient, emotionally limited;
maleness is a deficiency disease and males are emotional cripples.
<p>

The male is completely egocentric, trapped inside himself, incapable
of empathizing or identifying with others, or love, friendship,
affection of tenderness. He is a completely isolated unit, incapable
of rapport with anyone. His responses are entirely visceral, not
cerebral; his intelligence is a mere tool in the services of his
drives and needs; he is incapable of mental passion, mental
interaction; he can't relate to anything other than his own physical
sensations. He is a half-dead, unresponsive lump, incapable of
giving or receiving pleasure or happiness; consequently, he is at
best an utter bore, an inoffensive blob, since only those capable
of absorption in others can be charming.  He is trapped in a twilight
zone halfway between humans and apes, and is far worse off than
the apes because, unlike the apes, he is capable of a large array
of negative feelings -- hate, jealousy, contempt, disgust, guilt,
shame, doubt -- and moreover, he is <i>aware</i> of what he is and
what he isn't.
<p>

Although completely physical, the male is unfit even for stud
service.  Even assuming mechanical proficiency, which few men have,
he is, first of all, incapable of zestfully, lustfully, tearing
off a piece, but instead is eaten up with guilt, shame, fear and
insecurity, feelings rooted in male nature, which the most enlightened
training can only minimize; second, the physical feeling he attains
is next to nothing; and third, he is not empathizing with his
partner, but is obsessed with how he's doing, turning in an A
performance, doing a good plumbing job.  To call a man an animal
is to flatter him; he's a machine, a walking dildo. It's often said
that men use women. Use them for what? Surely not pleasure.
<p>

Eaten up with guilt, shame, fears and insecurities and obtaining,
if he's lucky, a barely perceptible physical feeling, the male is,
nonetheless, obsessed with screwing; he'll swim through a river of
snot, wade nostril-deep through a mile of vomit, if he thinks
there'll be a friendly pussy awaiting him. He'll screw a woman he
despises, any snaggle-toothed hag, and furthermore, pay for the
opportunity. Why? Relieving physical tension isn't the answer, as
masturbation suffices for that. It's not ego satisfaction; that
doesn't explain screwing corpses and babies.
<p>

Completely egocentric, unable to relate, empathize or identify,
and filled with a vast, pervasive, diffuse sexuality, the male is
pyschically passive. He hates his passivity, so he projects it onto
women, defines the make as active, then sets out to prove that he
is (`prove that he is a Man'). His main means of attempting to
prove it is screwing (Big Man with a Big Dick tearing off a Big
Piece). Since he's attempting to prove an error, he must `prove'
it again and again.  Screwing, then, is a desperate compulsive,
attempt to prove he's not passive, not a woman; but he <i>is</i>
passive and <i>does</i> want to be a woman.
<p>

Being an incomplete female, the male spends his life attempting to
complete himself, to become female. He attempts to do this by
constantly seeking out, fraternizing with and trying to live through
an fuse with the female, and by claiming as his own all female
characteristics -- emotional strength and independence, forcefulness,
dynamism, decisiveness, coolness, objectivity, assertiveness,
courage, integrity, vitality, intensity, depth of character,
grooviness, etc -- and projecting onto women all male traits --
vanity, frivolity, triviality, weakness, etc. It should be said,
though, that the male has one glaring area of superiority over the
female -- public relations. (He has done a brilliant job of convincing
millions of women that men are women and women are men). The male
claim that females find fulfillment through motherhood and sexuality
reflects what males think they'd find fulfilling if they were
female.
<p>

Women, in other words, don't have penis envy; men have pussy envy.
When the male accepts his passivity, defines himself as a woman
(males as well as females thing men are women and women are men),
and becomes a transvestite he loses his desire to screw (or to do
anything else, for that matter; he fulfills himself as a drag queen)
and gets his dick chopped off. He then achieves a continuous diffuse
sexual feeling from `being a woman'. Screwing is, for a man, a
defense against his desire to be female. He is responsible for:
<p>

<b>War</b>: The male's normal compensation for not being female,
namely, getting his Big Gun off, is grossly inadequate, as he can
get it off only a very limited number of times; so he gets it off
on a really massive scale, and proves to the entire world that he's
a `Man'. Since he has no compassion or ability to empathize or
identify, proving his manhood is worth an endless amount of mutilation
and suffering and an endless number of lives, including his own --
his own life being worthless, he would rather go out in a blaze of
glory than to plod grimly on for fifty more years.
<p>

<b> Niceness, Politeness, and `Dignity'</b>: Every man, deep down,
knows he's a worthless piece of shit. Overwhelmed by a sense of
animalism and deeply ashamed of it; wanting, not to express himself,
but to hide from others his total physicality, total egocentricity,
the hate and contempt he feels for other men, and to hide from
himself the hate and contempt he suspects other men feel for him;
having a crudely constructed nervous system that is easily upset
by the least display of emotion or feeling, the male tries to
enforce a `social' code that ensures perfect blandness, unsullied
by the slightest trace or feeling or upsetting opinion. He uses
terms like `copulate', `sexual congress', `have relations with'
(to men <b>sexual</b> relations is a redundancy), overlaid with
stilted manners; the suit on the chimp.
<p>

<b>Money, Marriage and Prostitution, Work and Prevention of an
Automated Society</b>: There is no human reason for money or for
anyone to work more than two or three hours a week at the very
most. All non-creative jobs (practically all jobs now being done)
could have been automated long ago, and in a moneyless society
everyone can have as much of the best of everything as she wants.
But there are non-human, male reasons for wanting to maintain the
money system:
<p>

1.  Pussy. Despising his highly inadequate self, overcome
    with intense anxiety and a deep, profound loneliness when by
    his empty self, desperate to attach himself to any female in
    dim hopes of completing himself, in the mystical belief that
    by touching gold he'll turn to gold, the male craves the
    continuous companionship of women. The company of the lowest
    female is preferable to his own or that of other men, who serve
    only to remind him of his repulsiveness. But females, unless
    very young or very sick, must be coerced or bribed into male
    company.
<p>

2.  Supply the non-relating male with the delusion of
    usefulness, and enable him to try to justify his existence by
    digging holes and then filling them up. Leisure time horrifies
    the male, who will have nothing to do but contemplate his
    grotesque self. Unable to relate or to love, the male must
    work. Females crave absorbing, emotionally satisfying, meaningful
    activity, but lacking the opportunity or ability for this, they
    prefer to idle and waste away their time in ways of their own
    choosing -- sleeping, shopping, bowling, shooting pool, playing
    cards and other games, breeding, reading, walking around,
    daydreaming, eating, playing with themselves, popping pills,
    going to the movies, getting analyzed, traveling, raising dogs
    and cats, lolling about on the beach, swimming, watching TV,
    listening to music, decorating their houses, gardening, sewing,
    nightclubbing, dancing, visiting, `improving their minds'
    (taking courses), and absorbing `culture' (lectures, plays,
    concerts, `arty' movies). Therefore, many females would, even
    assuming complete economic equality between the sexes, prefer
    living with males or peddling their asses on the street, thus
    having most of their time for themselves, to spending many
    hours of their days doing boring, stultifying, non-creative
    work for someone else, functioning as less than animals, as
    machines, or, at best -- if able to get a `good' job --
    co-managing the shitpile. What will liberate women, therefore,
    from male control is the total elimination of the money-work
    system, not the attainment of economic equality with men within
    it.
<p>

3.  Power and control. Unmasterful in his personal relations with
    women, the male attains to masterfulness by the manipulation
    of money and everything controlled by money, in other words,
    of everything and everybody.
<p>

4.  Love substitute. Unable to give love or affection, the male
    gives money. It makes him feel motherly. The mother gives milk;
    he gives bread. He is the Breadwinner.
<p>

5.  Provide the male with a goal. Incapable of enjoying the moment,
    the male needs something to look forward to, and money provides
    him with an eternal, never-ending goal: Just think of what you
    could do with 80 trillion dollars -- invest it! And in three
    years time you'd have 300 trillion dollars!!!
<p>

6.  Provide the basis for the male's major opportunity to control
    and manipulate -- fatherhood.
<p>

<b>Fatherhood and Mental Illness (fear, cowardice, timidity,
humility, insecurity, passivity)</b>: Mother wants what's best for
her kids; Daddy only wants what's best for Daddy, that is peace
and quiet, pandering to his delusion of dignity (`respect'), a good
reflection on himself (status) and the opportunity to control and
manipulate, or, if he's an `enlightened' father, to `give guidance'.
His daughter, in addition, he wants sexually -- he givers her
<b>hand</b> in marriage; the other part is for him. Daddy, unlike
Mother, can never give in to his kids, as he must, at all costs,
preserve his delusion of decisiveness, forcefulness, always-rightness
and strength. Never getting one's way leads to lack of self-confidence
in one's ability to cope with the world and to a passive acceptance
of the status quo. Mother loves her kids, although she sometimes
gets angry, but anger blows over quickly and even while it exists,
doesn't preclude love and basic acceptance. Emotionally diseased
Daddy doesn't love his kids; he approves of them -- if they're
`good', that is, if they're nice, `respectful', obedient, subservient
to his will, quiet and not given to unseemly displays of temper
that would be most upsetting to Daddy's easily disturbed male
nervous system -- in other words, if they're passive vegetables.
If they're not `good', he doesn't get angry -- not if he's a modern,
`civilized' father (the old-fashioned ranting, raving brute is
preferable, as he is so ridiculous he can be easily despised) --
but rather express disapproval, a state that, unlike anger, endures
and precludes a basic acceptance, leaving the kid with the feeling
of worthlessness and a lifelong obsession wit being approved of;
the result is fear of independent thought, as this leads to
unconventional, disapproved of opinions and way of life.
<p>

For the kid to want Daddy's approval it must respect Daddy, and
being garbage, Daddy can make sure that he is respected only by
remaining aloof, by distantness, by acting on the precept of
`familiarity breeds contempt', which is, of course, true, if one
is contemptible. By being distant and aloof, he is able to remain
unknown, mysterious, and thereby, to inspire fear (`respect').
<p>

Disapproval of emotional `scenes' leads to fear of strong emotion,
fear of one's own anger and hatred. Fear of anger and hatred combined
with a lack of self-confidence in one's ability to cope with and
change the world, or even to affect in the slightest way one's own
destiny, leads to a mindless belief that the world and most people
in it are nice and the most banal, trivial amusements are great
fun and deeply pleasurable.
<p>

The affect of fatherhood on males, specifically, is to make them
`Men', that is, highly defensive of all impulses to passivity,
faggotry, and of desires to be female.  Every boy wants to imitate
his mother, be her, fuse with her, but Daddy forbids this; <b>he</b>
is the mother; <b>he</b> gets to fuse with her. So he tells the
boy, sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly, to not be a sissy,
to act like a `Man'.  The boy, scared shitless of and `respecting'
his father, complies, and becomes just like Daddy, that model of
`Man'-hood, the all-American ideal -- the well-behaved heterosexual
dullard.
<p>

The effect of fatherhood on females is to make them male -- dependent,
passive, domestic, animalistic, insecure, approval and security
seekers, cowardly, humble, `respectful' of authorities and men,
closed, not fully responsive, half-dead, trivial, dull, conventional,
flattened-out and thoroughly contemptible. Daddy's Girl, always
tense and fearful, uncool, unanalytical, lacking objectivity,
appraises Daddy, and thereafter, other men, against a background
of fear (`respect') and is not only unable to see the empty shell
behind the facade, but accepts the male definition of himself as
superior, as a female, and of herself, as inferior, as a male,
which, thanks to Daddy, she really is.
<p>

It is the increase of fatherhood, resulting from the increased and
more widespread affluence that fatherhood needs in order to thrive,
that has caused the general increase of mindlessness and the decline
of women in the United States since the 1920s. The close association
of affluence with fatherhood has led, for the most part, to only
the wrong girls, namely, the `privileged' middle class girls,
getting `educated'.
<p>

The effect of fathers, in sum, has been to corrode the world with
maleness. The male has a negative Midas Touch -- everything he
touches turns to shit.
<p>

<b>Suppression of Individuality, Animalism (domesticity and
motherhood), and Functionalism</b>: The male is just a bunch of
conditioned reflexes, incapable of a mentally free response; he is
tied to he earliest conditioning, determined completely by his past
experiences. His earliest experiences are with his mother, and he
is throughout his life tied to her. It never becomes completely
clear to the make that he is not part of his mother, that he is he
and she is she.
<p>

His greatest need is to be guided, sheltered, protected and admired
by Mama (men expect women to adore what men shrink from in horror
-- themselves) and, being completely physical, he yearns to spend
his time (that's not spent `out in the world' grimly defending
against his passivity) wallowing in basic animal activities --
eating, sleeping, shitting, relaxing and being soothed by Mama.
Passive, rattle-headed Daddy's Girl, ever eager for approval, for
a pat on the head, for the `respect' if any passing piece of garbage,
is easily reduced to Mama, mindless ministrator to physical needs,
soother of the weary, apey brow, booster of the tiny ego, appreciator
of the contemptible, a hot water bottle with tits.
<p>

The reduction to animals of the women of the most backward segment
of society -- the `privileged, educated' middle-class, the backwash
of humanity -- where Daddy reigns supreme, has been so thorough
that they try to groove on labour pains and lie around in the most
advanced nation in the world in the middle of the twentieth century
with babies chomping away on their tits. It's not for the kids
sake, though, that the `experts' tell women that Mama should stay
home and grovel in animalism, but for Daddy's; the tits for Daddy
to hang onto; the labor pains for Daddy to vicariously groove on
(half dead, he needs awfully strong stimuli to make him respond).
<p>

Reducing the female to an animal, to Mama, to a male, is necessary
for psychological as well as practical reasons: the male is a mere
member of the species, interchangeable with every other male. He
has no deep-seated individuality, which stems from what intrigues
you, what outside yourself absorbs you, what you're in relation
to. Completely self-absorbed, capable of being in relation only to
their bodies and physical sensations, males differ from each other
only to the degree and in the ways they attempt to defend against
their passivity and against their desire to be female.
<p>

The female's individuality, which he is acutely aware of, but which
he doesn't comprehend and isn't capable of relating to or grasping
emotionally, frightens and upsets him and fills him with envy. So
he denies it in her and proceeds to define everyone in terms of
his or her function or use, assigning to himself, of course, the
most important functions -- doctor, president, scientist -- therefore
providing himself with an identity, if not individuality, and tries
to convince himself and women (he's succeeded best at convincing
women) that the female function is to bear and raise children and
to relax, comfort and boost the ego if the male; that her function
is such as to make her interchangeable with every other female. In
actual fact, the female function is to relate, groove, love and be
herself, irreplaceable by anyone else; the male function is to
produce sperm. We now have sperm banks.
<p>

In actual fact, the female function is to explore, discover, invent,
solve problems crack jokes, make music -- all with love. In other
words, create a magic world.
<p>

<b>Prevention of Privacy</b>: Although the male, being ashamed of
what he is and almost of everything he does, insists on privacy
and secrecy in all aspects of his life, he has no real <b>regard</b>
for privacy. Being empty, not being a complete, separate being,
having no self to groove on and needing to be constantly in female
company, he sees nothing at all wrong in intruding himself on any
woman's thoughts, even a total stranger's, anywhere at any time,
but rather feels indignant and insulted when put down for doing
so, as well as confused -- he can't, for the life of him, understand
why anyone would prefer so much as one minute of solitude to the
company of any creep around. Wanting to become a woman, he strives
to be constantly around females, which is the closest he can get
to becoming one, so he created a `society' based upon the family
-- a male-female could and their kids (the excuse for the family's
existence), who live virtually on top of one another, unscrupuluously
violating the females' rights, privacy and sanity.
<p>

<b>Isolation, Suburbs, and Prevention of Community</b>: Our society
is not a community, but merely a collection of isolated family
units.  Desperately insecure, fearing his woman will leave him if
she is exposed to other men or to anything remotely resembling
life, the male seeks to isolate her from other men and from what
little civilization there is, so he moves her out to the suburbs,
a collection of self-absorbed couples and their kids. Isolation
enables him to try to maintain his pretense of being an individual
nu becoming a `rugged individualist', a loner, equating non-cooperation
and solitariness with individuality.
<p>

There is yet another reason for the male to isolate himself: every
man is an island. Trapped inside himself, emotionally isolated,
unable to relate, the male has a horror of civilization, people,
cities, situations requiring an ability to understand and relate
to people. So like a scared rabbit, he scurries off, dragging
Daddy's little asshole with him to the wilderness, suburbs, or, in
the case of the hippy -- he's way out, Man! -- all the way out to
the cow pasture where he can fuck and breed undisturbed and mess
around with his beads and flute.
<p>

The `hippy', whose desire to be a `Man', a `rugged individualist',
isn't quite as strong as the average man's, and who, in addition,
is excited by the thought having lots of women accessible to him,
rebels against the harshness of a Breadwinner's life and the monotony
of one woman. In the name of sharing and cooperation, he forms a
commune or tribe, which, for all its togetherness and partly because
of it, (the commune, being an extended family, is an extended
violation of the female's rights, privacy and sanity) is no more
a community than normal `society'.
<p>

A true community consists of individuals -- not mere species members,
not couples -- respecting each others individuality and privacy,
at the same time interacting with each other mentally and emotionally
-- free spirits in free relation to each other -- and co-operating
with each other to achieve common ends. Traditionalists say the
basic unit of `society' is the family; `hippies' say the tribe; no
one says the individual.
<p>

The `hippy' babbles on about individuality, but has no more conception
of it than any other man. He desires to get back to Nature, back
to the wilderness, back to the home of furry animals that he's one
of, away from the city, where there is at least a trace, a bare
beginning of civilization, to live at the species level, his time
taken up with simple, non-intellectual activities -- farming,
fucking, bead stringing. The most important activity of the commune,
the one upon which it is based, is gang-banging. The `hippy' is
enticed to the commune mainly by the prospect for free pussy --
the main commodity to be shared, to be had just for the asking,
but, blinded by greed, he fails to anticipate all the other men he
has to share with, or the jealousies and possessiveness for the
pussies themselves.
<p>

Men cannot co-operate to achieve a common end, because each man's
end is all the pussy for himself. The commune, therefore, is doomed
to failure; each `hippy' will, in panic, grad the first simpleton
who digs him and whisks her off to the suburbs as fast as he can.
The male cannot progress socially, but merely swings back and forth
from isolation to gang-banging.
<p>

<b>Conformity</b>: Although he wants to be an individual, the male
is scared of anything in himself that is the slightest bit different
from other men, it causes him to suspect that he's not really a
`Man', that he's passive and totally sexual, a highly upsetting
suspicion.  If other men are "A" and he's not, he must not be a
man; he must be a fag. So he tries to affirm his `Manhood' by being
like all the other men.  Differentness in other men, as well as
himself, threatens him; it means <b>they're</b> fags whom he must
at all costs avoid, so he tries to make sure that all other men
conform.
<p>

The male dares to be different to the degree that he accepts his
passivity and his desire to be female, his fagginess. The farthest
out male is the drag queen, but he, although different from most
men, is exactly like all the other drag queens like the functionalist,
he has an identity -- he is female. He tries to define all his
troubles away -- but still no individuality. Not completely convinced
that he's a woman, highly insecure about being sufficiently female,
he conforms compulsively to the man-made stereotype, ending up as
nothing but a bundle of stilted mannerisms.
<p>

To be sure he's a `Man', the male must see to it that the female
be clearly a `Woman', the opposite of a `Man', that is, the female
must act like a faggot. And Daddy's Girl, all of whose female
instincts were wrenched out of her when little, easily and obligingly
adapts herself to the role.
<p>

<b>Authority and Government</b>: Having no sense of right and wrong,
no conscience, which can only stem from having an ability to
empathize with others... having no faith in his non-existent self,
being unnecessarily competitive, and by nature, unable to co-operate,
the male feels a need for external guidance and control. So he
created authorities -- priests, experts, bosses, leaders, etc --
and government. Wanting the female (Mama) to guide him, but unable
to accept this fact (he is, after all, a MAN), wanting to play
Woman, to usurp her function as Guider and Protector, he sees to
it that all authorities are male.
<p>

There's no reason why a society consisting of rational beings
capable of empathizing with each other, complete and having no
natural reason to compete, should have a government, laws or leaders.
<p>

<b>Philosophy, Religion, and Morality Based on Sex</b>: The male's
inability to relate to anybody or anything makes his life pointless
and meaningless (the ultimate male insight is that life is absurd),
so he invented philosophy and religion. Being empty, he looks
outward, not only for guidance and control, but for salvation and
for the meaning of life.  Happiness being for him impossible on
this earth, he invented Heaven.
<p>

For a man, having no ability to empathize with others and being
totally sexual, `wrong' is sexual `license' and engaging in `deviant'
(`unmanly') sexual practices, that is, not defending against his
passivity and total sexuality which, if indulged, would destroy
`civilization', since `civilization' is based entirely upon the
male need to defend himself against these characteristics. For a
woman (according to men), `wrong' is any behavior that would entice
men into sexual `license' -- that is, not placing male needs above
her own and not being a faggot.
<p>

Religion not only provides the male with a goal (Heaven) and helps
keep women tied to men, but offers rituals through which he can
try to expiate the guilt and shame he feels at not defending himself
enough against his sexual impulses; in essence, that guilt and
shame he feels at being male.
<p>

Most men men, utterly cowardly, project their inherent weaknesses
onto women, label them female weaknesses and believe themselves to
have female strengths; most philosophers, not quite so cowardly,
face the fact that make lacks exist in men, but still can't face
the fact that they exist in men only. So they label the male
condition the Human Condition, post their nothingness problem,
which horrifies them, as a philosophical dilemma, thereby giving
stature to their animalism, grandiloquently label their nothingness
their `Identity Problem', and proceed to prattle on pompously about
the `Crisis of the Individual', the `Essence of Being', `Existence
preceding Essence', `Existential Modes of Being', etc. etc.
<p>

A woman not only takes her identity and individuality for granted,
but knows instinctively that the only wrong is to hurt others, and
that the meaning of life is love.
<p>

<b>Prejudice (racial, ethnic, religious, etc)</b>: The male needs
scapegoats onto whom he can project his failings and inadequacies
and upon whom he can vent his frustration at not being female. And
the vicarious discriminations have the practical advantage of
substantially increasing the pussy pool available to the men on
top.
<p>

<b>Competition, Prestige, Status, Formal Education, Ignorance and
Social and Economic Classes</b>: Having an obsessive desire to be
admired by women, but no intrinsic worth, the make constructs a
highly artificial society enabling him to appropriate the appearance
of worth through money, prestige, `high' social class, degrees,
professional position and knowledge and, by pushing as many other
men as possible down professionally, socially, economically, and
educationally.
<p>

The purpose of `higher' education is not to educate but to exclude
as many as possible from the various professions.
<p>

The male, totally physical, incapable of mental rapport, although
able to understand and use knowledge and ideas, is unable to relate
to them, to grasp them emotionally: he does not value knowledge
and ideas for their own sake (they're just means to ends) and,
consequently, feels no need for mental companions, no need to
cultivate the intellectual potentialities of others. On the contrary,
the male has a vested interest in ignorance; it gives the few
knowledgeable men a decided edge on the unknowledgeable ones, and
besides, the male knows that an enlightened, aware female population
will mean the end of him. The healthy, conceited female wants the
company of equals whom she can respect and groove on; the male and
the sick, insecure, unself-confident male female crave the company
of worms.
<p>

No genuine social revolution can be accomplished by the male, as
the male on top wants the status quo, and all the male on the bottom
wants is to be the male on top. The male `rebel' is a farce; this
is the male's `society', made by <b>him</b> to satisfy <b>his</b>
needs. He's never satisfied, because he's not capable of being
satisfied. Ultimately, what the male `rebel' is rebelling against
is being male. The male changes only when forced to do so by
technology, when he has no choice, when `society' reaches the stage
where he must change or die. We're at that stage now; if women
don't get their asses in gear fast, we may very well all die.
<p>

<b>Prevention of Conversation</b>: Being completely self-centered
and unable to relate to anything outside himself, the male's
`conversation', when not about himself, is an impersonal droning
on, removed from anything of human value. Male `intellectual
conversation' is a strained compulsive attempt to impress the
female.
<p>

Daddy's Girl, passive, adaptable, respectful of and in awe of the
male, allows him to impose his hideously dull chatter on her. This
is not too difficult for her, as the tension and anxiety, the lack
of cool, the insecurity and self-doubt, the unsureness of her own
feelings and sensations that Daddy instilled in her make her
perceptions superficial and render her unable to see that the male's
babble is babble; like the aesthete `appreciating' the blob that's
labeled `Great Art', she believes she's grooving on what bores the
shit out of her. Not only does she permit his babble to dominate,
she adapts her own `conversation' accordingly.
<p>

Trained from an early childhood in niceness, politeness and `dignity',
in pandering to the male need to disguise his animalism, she
obligingly reduces her own `conversation' to small talk, a bland,
insipid avoidance of any topic beyond the utterly trivial -- or is
`educated', to `intellectual' discussion, that is, impersonal
discoursing on irrelevant distractions -- the Gross National Product,
the Common Market, the influence of Rimbaud on symbolist painting.
So adept is she at pandering that it eventually becomes second
nature and she continues to pander to men even when in the company
of other females only.
<p>

Apart from pandering, her `conversation' is further limited by her
insecurity about expressing deviant, original opinions and the
self-absorption based on insecurity and that prevents her conversation
from being charming. Niceness, politeness, `dignity', insecurity
and self-absorption are hardly conducive to intensity and wit,
qualities a conversation must have to be worthy of the name. Such
conversation is hardly rampant, as only completely self-confident,
arrogant, outgoing, proud, tough-minded females are capable of
intense, bitchy, witty conversation.
<p>

<b>Prevention of Friendship (Love)</b>: Men have contempt for
themselves, for all other men whom they contemplate more than
casually and whom they do not think are females, (for example
`sympathetic' analysts and `Great Artists') or agents of God and
for all women who respect and pander to them: the insecure,
approval-seeking, pandering male-females have contempt for themselves
and for all women like them: the self-confident, swinging,
thrill-seeking female females have contempt for me and for the
pandering male females. In short, contempt is the order of the day.
<p>

Love is not dependency or sex, but friendship, and therefore, love
can't exist between two males, between a male and a female, or
between two females, one or both of whom is a mindless, insecure,
pandering male; like conversation, live can exist only between two
secure, free-wheeling, independent groovy female females, since
friendship is based upon respect, not contempt.
<p>

Even amongst groovy females deep friendships seldom occur in
adulthood, as almost all of them are either tied up with men in
order to survive economically, or bogged down in hacking their way
through the jungle and in trying to keep their heads about the
amorphous mass. Love can't flourish in a society based upon money
and meaningless work: it requires complete economic as well as
personal freedom, leisure time and the opportunity to engage in
intensely absorbing, emotionally satisfying activities which, when
shared with those you respect, lead to deep friendship. Our `society'
provides practically no opportunity to engage in such activities.
<p>

Having stripped the world of conversation, friendship and love,
the male offers us these paltry substitutes:
<p>

<b>`Great Art' and `Culture'</b>: The male `artist' attempts to
solve his dilemma of not being able to live, of not being female,
by constructing a highly artificial world in which the male is
heroized, that is, displays female traits, and the female is reduced
to highly limited, insipid subordinate roles, that is, to being
male.
<p>

The male `artistic' aim being, not to communicate (having nothing
inside him he has nothing to say), but to disguise his animalism,
he resorts to symbolism and obscurity (`deep' stuff). The vast
majority of people, particularly the `educated' ones, lacking faith
in their own judgment, humble, respectful of authority (`Daddy
knows best'), are easily conned into believing that obscurity,
evasiveness, incomprehensibility, indirectness, ambiguity and
boredom are marks of depth and brilliance.
<p>

`Great Art' proves that men are superior to women, that men are
women, being labeled `Great Art', almost all of which, as the
anti-feminists are fond of reminding us, was created by men. We
know that `Great Art' is great because male authorities have told
us so, and we can't claim otherwise, as only those with exquisite
sensitivities far superior to ours can perceive and appreciated
the slop they appreciated.
<p>

Appreciating is the sole diversion of the `cultivated'; passive
and incompetent, lacking imagination and wit, they must try to make
do with that; unable to create their own diversions, to create a
little world of their own, to affect in the smallest way their
environments, they must accept what's given; unable to create or
relate, they spectate.  Absorbing `culture' is a desperate, frantic
attempt to groove in an ungroovy world, to escape the horror of a
sterile, mindless, existence.  `Culture' provides a sop to the egos
of the incompetent, a means of rationalizing passive spectating;
they can pride themselves on their ability to appreciate the `finer'
things, to see a jewel where this is only a turd (they want to be
admired for admiring). Lacking faith in their ability to change
anything, resigned to the status quo, they <b>have</b> to see beauty
in turds because, so far as they can see, turds are all they'll
ever have.
<p>

The veneration of `Art' and `Culture' -- besides leading many women
into boring, passive activity that distracts from more important
and rewarding activities, from cultivating active abilities, and
leads to the constant intrusion on our sensibilities of pompous
dissertations on the deep beauty of this and that turn. This allows
the `artist' to be setup as one possessing superior feelings,
perceptions, insights and judgments, thereby undermining the faith
of insecure women in the value and validity of their own feelings,
perceptions, insights and judgments.
<p>

The male, having a very limited range of feelings, and consequently,
very limited perceptions, insights and judgments, needs the `artist'
to guide him, to tell him what life is all about. But the male
`artist' being totally sexual, unable to relate to anything beyond
his own physical sensations, having nothing to express beyond the
insight that for the male life is meaningless and absurd, cannot
be an artist. How can he who is not capable of life tell us what
life is all about? A `male artist' is a contradiction in terms. A
degenerate can only produce degenerate `art'. The true artist is
every self-confident, healthy female, and in a female society the
only Art, the only Culture, will be conceited, kooky, funky, females
grooving on each other and on everything else in the universe.
<p>

<b>Sexuality</b>: Sex is not part of a relationship: on the contrary,
it is a solitary experience, non-creative, a gross waste of time.
The female can easily -- far more easily than she may think --
condition away her sex drive, leaving her completely cool and
cerebral and free to pursue  truly worthy relationships and
activities; but the male, who seems to dig women sexually and who
seeks out constantly to arouse them, stimulates the highly sexed
female to frenzies of lust, throwing her into a sex bag from which
few women ever escape. The lecherous male excited the lustful
female; he <b>has</b> to -- when the female transcends her body,
rises above animalism, the male, whose ego consists of his cock,
will disappear.
<p>

Sex is the refuge of the mindless. And the more mindless the woman,
the more deeply embedded in the male `culture', in short, the nicer
she is, the more sexual she is. The nicest women in our `society'
are raving sex maniacs. But, being just awfully, awfully nice, they
don't, of course descend to fucking -- that's uncouth -- rather
they make love, commune by means of their bodies and establish
sensual rapport; the literary ones are attuned to the throb of Eros
and attain a clutch upon the Universe; the religious have spiritual
communion with the Divine Sensualism; the mystics merge with the
Erotic Principle and blend with the Cosmos, and the acid heads
contact their erotic cells.
<p>

On the other hand, those females least embedded in the male `Culture',
the least nice, those crass and simple souls who reduce fucking to
fucking, who are too childish for the grown-up world of suburbs,
mortgages, mops and baby shit, too selfish to raise kids and
husbands, too uncivilized to give a shit for anyones opinion of
them, too arrogant to respect Daddy, the `Greats' or the deep wisdom
of the Ancients, who trust only their own animal, gutter instincts,
who equate Culture with chicks, whose sole diversion is prowling
for emotional thrills and excitement, who are given to disgusting,
nasty upsetting `scenes', hateful, violent bitches given to slamming
those who unduly irritate them in the teeth, who'd sink a shiv into
a man's chest or ram an icepick up his asshole as soon as look at
him, if they knew they could get away with it, in short, those who,
by the standards of our `culture' are SCUM... these females are
cool and relatively cerebral and skirting asexuality.
<p>

Unhampered by propriety, niceness, discretion, public opinion,
`morals', the respect of assholes, always funky, dirty, low-down
SCUM gets around... and around and around... they've seen the whole
show -- every bit of it -- the fucking scene, the dyke scene --
they've covered the whole waterfront, been under every dock and
pier -- the peter pier, the pussy pier... you've got to go through
a lot of sex to get to anti-sex, and SCUM's been through it all,
and they're now ready for a new show; they want to crawl out from
other the dock, move, take off, sink out.  But SCUM doesn't yet
prevail; SCUM's still in the gutter of our `society', which, if
it's not deflected from its present course and if the Bomb doesn't
drop on it, will hump itself to death.
<p>

<b>Boredom</b>: Life in a society made by and for creatures who,
when they are not grim and depressing are utter bores, van only
be, when not grim and depressing, an utter bore.
<p>

<b>Secrecy, Censorship, Suppression of Knowledge and Ideas, and
Exposes</b>: Every male's deep-seated, secret, most hideous fear
is of being discovered to be not a female, but a male, a subhuman
animal.  Although niceness, politeness and `dignity' suffice to
prevent his exposure on a personal level, in order to prevent the
general exposure of the male sex as a whole and to maintain his
unnatural dominant position position in `society', the male must
resort to:
<p>

1. Censorship. Responding reflexively to isolated works and phrases
   rather than cereberally to overall meanings, the male attempts
   to prevent the arousal and discovery of his animalism by censoring
   not only `pornography', but any work containing `dirty' words,
   no matter in what context they are used.
<p>

2. Suppression of all ideas and knowledge that might expose him or
   threaten his dominant position in `society'. Much biological
   and psychological data is suppressed, because it is proof of
   the male's gross inferiority to the female. Also, the problem
   of mental illness will never be solved while the male maintains
   control, because first, men have a vested interest in it -- only
   females who have very few of their marbles will allow males the
   slightest bit of control over anything, and second, the male
   cannot admit to the role that fatherhood plays in causing mental
   illness.
<p>

3. Exposes. The male's chief delight in life -- insofar as the
   tense, grim male can ever be said to delight in anything -- is
   in exposing others. It doesn't' much matter what they're exposed
   as, so long as they're exposed; it distracts attention from
   himself. Exposing others as enemy agents (Communists and
   Socialists) is one of his favorite pastimes, as it removes the
   source of the threat to him not only from himself, but from the
   country and the Western world. The bugs up his ass aren't in
   him, they're in Russia.
<p>

<b>Distrust</b>: Unable to empathize or feel affection or loyalty,
being exclusively out for himself, the male has no sense of fair
play; cowardly, needing constantly to pander to the female to win
her approval, that he is helpless without, always on the edge lest
his animalism, his maleness be discovered, always needing to cover
up, he must lie constantly; being empty he has not honor or integrity
-- he doesn't know what those words mean. The male, in short, is
treacherous, and the only appropriate attitude in a male `society'
is cynicism and distrust.
<p>

<b.Ugliness</b>: Being totally sexual, incapable of cerebral or
aesthetic responses, totally materialistic and greedy, the male,
besides inflicting on the world `Great Art', has decorated his
unlandscaped cities with ugly buildings (both inside and out), ugly
decors, billboards, highways, cars, garbage trucks, and, most
notably, his own putrid self.
<p>

<b>Hatred and Violence</b>: The male is eaten up with tension, with
frustration at not being female, at not being capable of ever
achieving satisfaction or pleasure of any kind; eaten up with hate
-- not rational hate that is directed at those who abuse or insult
you -- but irrational, indiscriminate hate... hatred, at bottom,
of his own worthless self.
<p>

Gratuitous violence, besides `proving' he's a `Man', serves as an
outlet for his hate and, in addition -- the male being capable only
of sexual responses and needing very strong stimuli to stimulate
his half-dead self -- provides him with a little sexual thrill..
<p>

<b.Disease and Death</b>: All diseases are curable, and the aging
process and death are due to disease; it is possible, therefore,
never to age and to live forever. In fact the problems of aging
and death could be solved within a few years, if an all-out, massive
scientific assault were made upon the problem. This, however, will
not occur with the male establishment because:
<p>

1. The many male scientists who shy away from biological research,
   terrified of the discovery that males are females, and show
   marked preference for virile, `manly' war and death programs.
<p>

2. The discouragement of many potential scientists from scientific
   careers by the rigidity, boringness, expensiveness, time-consumingness,
   and unfair exclusivity of our `higher' educational system.
<p>

3. Propaganda disseminated by insecure male professionals, who
   jealously guard their positions, so that only a highly select
   few can comprehend abstract scientific concepts.
<p>

4. Widespread lack of self-confidence brought about by the father
   system that discourages many talented girls from becoming
   scientists.
<p>

5. Lack of automation. There now exists a wealth of data which, if
   sorted out and correlated, would reveal the cure for cancer and
   several other diseases and possibly the key to life itself. But
   the data is so massive it requires high speed computers to
   correlate it all. The institution of computers will be delayed
   interminably under the male control system, since the male has
   a horror of being replaced by machines.
<p>

6. The money systems' insatiable need for new products. Most of
   the few scientists around who aren't working on death programs
   are tied up doing research for corporations.
<p>

7. The males like death -- it excites him sexually and, already
   dead inside, he wants to die.
<p>

8. The bias of the money system for the least creative scientists.
   Most scientists come from at least relatively affluent families
   where Daddy reigns supreme.
<p>

Incapable of a positive state of happiness, which is the only thing
that can justify one's existence, the male is, at best, relaxed,
comfortable, neutral, and this condition is extremely short-lived,
as boredom, a negative state, soon sets in; he is, therefore, doomed
to an existence of suffering relieved only by occasional, fleeting
stretches of restfulness, which state he can only achieve at the
expense of some female. The male is, by his very nature, a leech,
an emotional parasite and, therefore, not ethically entitled to
live, as no one as the right to life at someone else's expense.
<p>

Just as humans have a prior right to existence over dogs by virtue
of being more highly evolved and having a superior consciousness,
so women have a prior right to existence over men. The elimination
of any male is, therefore, a righteous and good act, an act highly
beneficial to women as well as an act of mercy.
<p>

However, this moral issue will eventually be rendered academic by
the fact that the male is gradually eliminating himself. In addition
to engaging in the time-honored and classical wars and race riots,
men are more and more either becoming fags or are obliterating
themselves through drugs. The female, whether she likes it or not,
will eventually take complete charge, if for no other reason than
that she will have to -- the male, for practical purposes, won't
exist.
<p>

Accelerating this trend is the fact that more and more males are
acquiring enlightened self-interest; they're realizing more and
more that the female interest is in <b>their</b> interest, that
they can live only through the female and that the more the female
is encouraged to live, to fulfill herself, to be a female and not
a male, the more nearly <b>he</b> lives; he's coming to see that
it's easier and more satisfactory to live <b>through</b> her than
to try to <b>become</b> her and usurp her qualities, claim them as
his own, push the female down and claim that she's a male. The fag,
who accepts his maleness, that is, his passivity and total sexuality,
his femininity, is also best served by women being truly female,
as it would then be easier for him to be male, feminine. If men
were wise they would seek to become really female, would do intensive
biological research that would lead to me, by means of operations
on the brain and nervous system, being able t to be transformed in
psyche, as well as body, into women.
<p>

Whether to continue to use females for reproduction or to reproduce
in the laboratory will also become academic: what will happen when
every female, twelve and over, is routinely taking the Pill and
there are no longer any accidents? How many women will deliberately
get or (if an accident) remain pregnant? No, Virginia, women don't
just adore being brood mares, despite what the mass of robot,
brainwashed women will say.  When society consists of only the
fully conscious the answer will be none. Should a certain percentage
of men be set aside by force to serve as brood mares for the species?
Obviously this will not do. The answer is laboratory reproduction
of babies.
<p>

As for the issue of whether or not to continue to reproduce males,
it doesn't follow that because the male, like disease, has always
existed among us that he should continue to exist. When genetic
control is possible -- and soon it will be -- it goes without saying
that we should produce only whole, complete beings, not physical
defects of deficiencies, including emotional deficiencies, such as
maleness. Just as the deliberate production of blind people would
be highly immoral, so would be the deliberate production of emotional
cripples.
<p>

Why produce even females? Why should there be future generations?
What is their purpose? When aging and death are eliminated, why
continue to reproduce? Why should we care what happens when we're
dead? Why should we care that there is no younger generation to
succeed us.
<p>

Eventually the natural course of events, of social evolution, will
lead to total female control of the world and, subsequently, to
the cessation of the production of males and, ultimately, to the
cessation of the production of females.
<p>

But SCUM is impatient; SCUM is not consoled by the thought that
future generations will thrive; SCUM wants to grab some thrilling
living for itself. And, if a large majority of women were SCUM,
they could acquire complete control of this country within a few
weeks simply by withdrawing from the labor force, thereby paralyzing
the entire nation.  Additional measures, any one of which would be
sufficient to completely disrupt the economy and everything else,
would be for women to declare themselves off the money system, stop
buying, just loot and simply refuse to obey all laws they don't
care to obey. The police force, National Guard, Army, Navy and
Marines combined couldn't squelch a rebellion of over half the
population, particularly when it's made up of people they are
utterly helpless without.
<p>

If all women simply left men, refused to have anything to do with
any of them -- ever, all men, the government, and the national
economy would collapse completely. Even without leaving men, women
who are aware of the extent of their superiority to and power over
men, could acquire complete control over everything within a few
weeks, could effect a total submission of males to females. In a
sane society the male would trot along obediently after the female.
The male is docile and easily led, easily subjected to the domination
of any female who cares to dominate him. The male, in fact, wants
desperately to be led by females, wants Mama in charge, wants to
abandon himself to her care. But this is not a sane society, and
most women are not even dimly aware of where they're at in relation
to men.
<p>

The conflict, therefore, is not between females and males, but
between SCUM -- dominant, secure, self-confident, nasty, violent,
selfish, independent, proud, thrill-seeking, free-wheeling, arrogant
females, who consider themselves fit to rule the universe, who have
free-wheeled to the limits of this `society' and are ready to wheel
on to something far beyond what it has to offer -- and nice, passive,
accepting `cultivated', polite, dignified, subdued, dependent,
scared, mindless, insecure, approval-seeking Daddy's Girls, who
can't cope with the unknown, who want to hang back with the apes,
who feel secure only with Big Daddy standing by, with a big strong
man to lean on and with a fat, hairy face in the White House, who
are too cowardly to face up to the hideous reality of what a man
is, what Daddy is, who have cast their lot with the swine, who have
adapted themselves to animalism, feel superficially comfortable
with it and know no other way of `life', who have reduced their
minds, thoughts and sights to the male level, who, lacking sense,
imagination and wit can have value only in a male `society', who
can have a place in the sun, or, rather, in the slime, only as
soothers, ego boosters, relaxers and breeders, who are dismissed
as inconsequents by other females, who project their deficiencies,
their maleness, onto all females and see the female as worm.
<p>

But SCUM is too impatient to wait for the de-brainwashing of millions
of assholes. Why should the swinging females continue to plod
dismally along with the dull male ones? Why should the fates of
the groovy and the creepy be intertwined? Why should the active
and imaginative consult the passive and dull on social policy? Why
should the independent be confined to the sewer along with the
dependent who need Daddy to cling to? A small handful of SCUM can
take over the country within a year by systematically fucking up
the system, selectively destroying property, and murder:
<p>

SCUM will become members of the unwork force, the fuck-up force;
they will get jobs of various kinds an unwork. For example, SCUM
salesgirls will not charge for merchandise; SCUM telephone operators
will not charge for calls; SCUM office and factory workers, in
addition to fucking up their work, will secretly destroy equipment.
SCUM will unwork at a job until fired, then get a new job to unwork
at.
<p>

SCUM will forcibly relieve bus drivers, cab drivers and subway
token sellers of their jobs and run buses and cabs and dispense
free tokens to the public.
<p>

SCUM will destroy all useless and harmful objects -- cars, store
windows, `Great Art', etc.
<p>

Eventually SCUM will take over the airwaves -- radio and TV networks
-- by forcibly relieving of their jobs all radio and TV employees
who would impede SCUM's entry into the broadcasting studios.
<p>

SCUM will couple-bust -- barge into mixed (male-female) couples,
wherever they are, and bust them up.
<p>

SCUM will kill all men who are not in the Men's Auxiliary of SCUM.
Men in the Men's Auxiliary are those men who are working diligently
to eliminate themselves, men who, regardless of their motives, do
good, men who are playing pall with SCUM. A few examples of the
men in the Men's Auxiliary are: men who kill men; biological
scientists who are working on constructive programs, as opposed to
biological warfare; journalists, writers, editors, publishers and
producers who disseminate and promote ideas that will lead to the
achievement of SCUM's goals; faggots who, by their shimmering,
flaming example, encourage other men to de-man themselves and
thereby make themselves relatively inoffensive; men who consistently
give things away -- money, things, services; men who tell it like
it is (so far not one ever has), who put women straight, who reveal
the truth about themselves, who give the mindless male females
correct sentences to parrot, who tell them a woman's primary goal
in life should be to squash the male sex (to aid men in this endeavor
SCUM will conduct Turd Sessions, at which every male present will
give a speech beginning with the sentence: `I am a turd, a lowly
abject turd', then proceed to list all the ways in which he is.
His reward for doing so will be the opportunity to fraternize after
the session for a whole, solid hour with the SCUM who will be
present. Nice, clean-living male women will be invited to the
sessions to help clarify any doubts and misunderstandings they may
have about the male sex; makers and promoters of sex books and
movies, etc., who are hastening the day when all that will be shown
on the screen will be Suck and Fuck (males, like the rats following
the Pied Piper, will be lured by Pussy to their doom, will be
overcome and submerged by and will eventually drown in the passive
flesh that they are); drug pushers and advocates, who are hastening
the dropping out of men.
<p>

Being in the Men's Auxiliary is a necessary but not a sufficient
condition for making SCUM's escape list; it's not enough to do
good; to save their worthless asses men must also avoid evil. A
few examples of the most obnoxious or harmful types are: rapists,
politicians and all who are in their service (campaigners, members
of political parties, etc); lousy singers and musicians; Chairmen
of Boards; Breadwinners; landlords; owners of greasy spoons and
restaraunts that play Muzak; `Great Artists'; cheap pikers and
welchers; cops; tycoons; scientists working on death and destruction
programs or for private industry (practically all scientists);
liars and phonies; disc jockies; men who intrude themselves in the
slightest way on any strange female; real estate men; stock brokers;
men who speak when they have nothing to say; men who sit idly on
the street and mar the landscape with their presence; double dealers;
flim-flam artists; litterbugs; plagiarisers; men who in the slightest
way harm any female; all men in the advertising industry; psychiatrists
and clinical psychologists; dishonest writers, journalists, editors,
publishers, etc.; censors on both the public and private levels;
all members of the armed forces, including draftees (LBJ and McNamara
give orders, but servicemen carry them out) and particularly pilots
(if the bomb drops, LBJ won't drop it; a pilot will). In the case
of a man whose behavior falls into both the good and bad categories,
an overall subjective evaluation of him will be made to determine
if his behavior is, in the balance, good or bad.
<p>

It is most tempting to pick off the female `Great Artists', liars
and phonies etc along with the men, but that would be inexpedient,
as it would not be clear to most of the public that the female
killed was a male. All women have a fink streak in them, to a
greater or lesser degree, but it stems from a lifetime of living
among men. Eliminate men and women will shape up. Women are
improvable; men are no, although their behavior is. When SCUM gets
hot on their asses it'll shape up fast.
<p>

Simultaneously with the fucking-up, looting, couple-busting,
destroying and killing, SCUM will recruit. SCUM, then, will consist
of recruiters; the elite corps -- the hard core activists (the
fuck-ups, looters and destroyers) and the elite of the elite --
the killers.
<p>

Dropping out is not the answer; fucking-up is. Most women are
already dropped out; they were never in. Dropping out gives control
to those few who don't drop out; dropping out is exactly what the
establishment leaders want; it plays into the hands of the enemy;
it strengthens the system instead of undermining it, since it is
based entirely on the non-participating, passivity, apathy and
non-involvement of the mass of women. Dropping out, however, is an
excellent policy for men, and SCUM will enthusiastically encourage
it.
<p>

Looking inside yourself for salvation, contemplating your navel, is not,
as the Drop Out people would have you believe, the answer. Happiness
likes outside yourself, is achieved through interacting with others.
Self-forgetfulness should be one's goal, not self-absorption. The
male, capable of only the latter, makes a virtue of irremediable
fault and sets up self-absorption, not only as a good but as a
Philosophical Good, and thus gets credit for being deep.
<p>

SCUM will not picket, demonstrate, march or strike to attempt to
achieve its ends. Such tactics are for nice, genteel ladies who
scrupulously take only such action as is guaranteed to be ineffective.
In addition, only decent, clean-living male women, highly trained
in submerging themselves in the species, act on a mob basis. SCUM
consists of individuals; SCUM is not a mob, a blob. Only as many
SCUM will do a job as are needed for the job. Also SCUM, being cool
and selfish, will not subject to getting itself rapped on the head
with billy clubs; that's for the nice, `privileged, educated',
middle-class ladies with a high regard for the touching faith in
the essential goodness of Daddy and policemen. If SCUM ever marches,
it will be over the President's stupid, sickening face; if SCUM
ever strikes, it will be in the dark with a six-inch blade.
<p>

SCUM will always operate on a criminal as opposed to a civil
disobedience basis, that is, as opposed to openly violating the
law and going to jail in order to draw attention to an injustice.
Such tactics acknowledge the rightness overall system and are used
only to modify it slightly, change specific laws. SCUM is against
the entire system, the very idea of law and government. SCUM is
out to destroy the system, not attain certain rights within it.
Also, SCUM -- always selfish, always cool -- will always aim to
avoid detection and punishment. SCUM will always be furtive, sneaky,
underhanded (although SCUM murders will always be known to be such).
<p>

Both destruction and killing will be selective and discriminate.
SCUM is against half-crazed, indiscriminate riots, with no clear
objective in mind, and in which many of your own kind are picked
off. SCUM will never instigate, encourage or participate in riots
of any kind or other form of indiscriminate destruction. SCUM will
coolly, furtively, stalk its prey and quietly move in for the kill.
Destruction will never me such as to block off routes needed for
the transportation of food or other essential supplies, contaminate
or cut off the water supply, block streets and traffic to the extent
that ambulances can't get through or impede the functioning of
hospitals.
<p>

SCUM will keep on destroying, looting, fucking-up and killing until
the money-work system no longer exists and automation is completely
instituted or until enough women co-operate with SCUM to make
violence unnecessary to achieve these goals, that is, until enough
women either unwork or quit work, start looting, leave men and
refuse to obey all laws inappropriate to a truly civilized society.
Many women will fall into line, but many others, who surrendered
long ago to the enemy, who are so adapted to animalism, to maleness,
that they like restrictions and restraints, don't know what to do
with freedom, will continue to be toadies and doormats, just as
peasants in rice paddies remain peasants in rice paddies as one
regime topples another. A few of the more volatile will whimper
and sulk and throw their toys and dishrags on the floor, but SCUM
will continue to steamroller over them.
<p>

A completely automated society can be accomplished very simply and
quickly once there is a public demand for it. The blueprints for
it are already in existence, and it's construction will take only
a few weeks with millions of people working on it. Even though off
the money system, everyone will be most happy to pitch in and get
the automated society built; it will mark the beginning of a
fantastic new era, and there will be a celebration atmosphere
accompanying the construction.
<p>

The elimination of money and the complete institution of automation
are basic to all other SCUM reforms; without these two the others
can't take place; with them the others will take place very rapidly.
The government will automatically collapse. With complete automation
it will be possible for every woman to vote directly on every issue
by means of an electronic voting machine in her house. Since the
government is occupied almost entirely with regulating economic
affairs and legislating against purely private matters, the
elimination of money wand with it the elimination of males who wish
to legislate `morality' will mean there will be practically no
issues to vote on.
<p>

After the elimination of money there will be no further need to
kill men; they will be stripped of the only power they have over
psychologically independent females. They will be able to impose
themselves only on the doormats, who like to be imposed on.  The
rest of the women will be busy solving the few remaining unsolved
problems before planning their agenda for eternity and Utopia --
completely revamping educational programs so that millions of women
can be trained within a few months for high level intellectual work
that now requires years of training (this can be done very easily
once out educational goal is to educate and not perpetuate an
academic and intellectual elite); solving the problems of disease
and old age and death and completely redesigning our cities and
living quarters. Many women will for a while continue to think they
dig men, but as they become accustomed to female society and as
they become absorbed in their projects, they will eventually come
to see the utter uselessnes and banality of the male.
<p>

The few remaining men can exist out their puny days dropped out on
drugs or strutting around in drag or passively watching the
high-powered female in action, fulfilling themselves as spectators,
vicarious livers*[FOOTNOTE: It will be electronically possible for
him to tune into any specific female he wants to and follow in
detail her every movement. The females will kindly, obligingly
consent to this, as it won't hurt them in the slightest and it is
a marvelously kind and humane way to treat their unfortunate,
handicapped fellow beings.] or breeding in the cow pasture with
the toadies, or they can go off to the nearest friendly suicide
center where they will be quietly, quickly, and painlessly gassed
to death.
<p>

Prior to the institution of automation, to the replacement of males
by machines, the male should be of use to the female, wait on her,
cater to her slightest whim, obey her every command, be totally
subservient to her, exist in perfect obedience to her will, as
opposed to the completely warped, degenerate situation we have now
of men, not only not only not existing at all, cluttering up the
world with their ignominious presence, but being pandered to and
groveled before by the mass of females, millions of women piously
worshiping the Golden Calf, the dog leading the master on a leash,
when in fact the male, short of being a drag queen, is least
miserable when his dogginess is recognized -- no unrealistic
emotional demands are made of him and the completely together female
is calling the shots. Rational men want to be squashed, stepped
on, crushed and crunched, treated as the curs, the filth that they
are, have their repulsiveness confirmed.
<p>

The sick, irrational men, those who attempt to defend themselves
against their disgustingness, when they see SCUM barrelling down
on them, will cling in terror to Big Mama with her Big Bouncy
Boobies, but Boobies won't protect them against SCUM; Big Mama will
be clinging to Big Daddy, who will be in the corner shitting in
his forceful, dynamic pants. Men who are rational, however, won't
kick or struggle or raise a distressing fuss, but will just sit
back, relax, enjoy the show and ride the waves to their demise.
<p>

			- end -
<p>


-- 
 Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems --  San Francisco, Calif.

From max@sentex.net Wed Jan 16 09:10:57 2002
Date: Sun, 26 Aug 2001 17:31:45 -0400
From: Sylvia Morscher <max@sentex.net>
To: tomj@wps.com
Subject: yet more old files



    [ Part 2: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj  Fri Dec 10 16:10:49 1993 remote from exlibris
Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf)
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From:	tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings)
Message-Id: <9312102103.AA00602@wps.com>
Subject: wanna be on my SHIT-LIST
To:	sylvia@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell)
Date:	Fri, 10 Dec 1993 16:03:31 -0500
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Hey, heh heh, wanna be on my shitlist? You'll get... shit... in the
mail. It's mot hyper sophisticated. Mostly fun stuff, some "serious" if
it's interesting enough... the other people in the list are WPS users,
friends, mostly non-techies. Though I dump techie stuff. Flesh (my
friend and soon, TLG intern) generates some, and he's doing the gopher
server (gopher to wps.com).

We'll be putting up a WWW server soon. 

-- 
 Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems --  San Francisco, Calif.
 The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork

    [ Part 3: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!hookup!fido.wps.com!flesh  Wed Dec 22 21:49:57 1993 remote from exlibris
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From: flesh@wps.com (Flesh)
Message-Id: <9312220552.AA06150@wps.com>
Subject: Re: People like this should be KILLED
Date: Tue, 21 Dec 1993 21:52:42 -0800 (PST)
Cc: shit-list@fido.wps.com
In-Reply-To: <9312201920.AA11220@wps.com> from "Tom Jennings" at Dec 20, 93 11:20:17 am
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Well. You know, we all could reply to Mr White. A nice little message 
like....


Mr. White.

Having recieved your xmas greeting, I would like to take this opprotunity 
to point out that it is this holiday season, the most suicides a year 
occur. I would've been one of them, however, I  decided to happily imursh 
myself in my work. It was working too! Was, until I recived your letter. 

I'm going to slit my wrists now. Thanks for pushing me over the edge.



    [ Part 4: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj  Mon Dec 20 16:10:21 1993 remote from exlibris
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From:	tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings)
Message-Id: <9312201920.AA11220@wps.com>
Subject: People like this should be KILLED
To:	shit-list@fido.wps.com
Date:	Mon, 20 Dec 1993 14:20:17 -0500
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...and all traces of their existence wiped from every database on the
planet, every phonebook every phone-sex hotline. Maybe through
extreme vigilance we can stamp this kind of thing out!

Probably not. But we can try!!!

*This* is what poison, rabid rats, blow-darts, electrical torture,
and being run over slowly by a truck as your family is forced to
watch, are for! Self defense!

The crime?! Bad taste? Idiocy? Foolishness? No -- the pinheaded
assumption other people want to indulge in this mall-inspired
rubbish.

Happy fucken holydays indeed.




Forwarded message:
> From white@interval.com Mon Dec 20 11:02:46 1993
> Message-Id: <9312201858.AA24545@interval.interval.com>
> Mime-Version: 1.0
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
> Date: Mon, 20 Dec 1993 11:00:55 -0800
> To: everyone@interval.com, lubdub@aol.com, MOONUNIT@orange.cc.utexas.edu,
>         pavel@parc.xerox.com, electric@netcom.com (F. Randall Farmer),
>         "frank chen" <frank_chen@go.com>, Diane Li <dli@us.oracle.com>,
>         <dshurman_+p_ATC_+a_HumanNet_+lDaniel_Shurman+r%MHS+d_DACC342C01349D20-DACC342C02349D20%Humanware@mcimail.com>,
>         knutson@itsa.ucsf.EDU (Brian Knutson),
>         Joshua.Loftus@Forsythe.Stanford.EDU, msomol@us.oracle.com,
>         tmeritt@leland.stanford.edu, arnoma01@dons.ac.usfca.edu,
>         rauchway@leland.stanford.edu, johnmcw@violet.berkeley.edu,
>         sunrise@Euphrates.Stanford.EDU, esquivel@Euphrates.Stanford.EDU,
>         jtsherman@aol.com, renosboy@aol.com, rachelc106@aol.com, kjj@tenet.edu,
>         jonathan@casa.stanford.edu, skropf@us.oracle.com, jwishnie@vivid.com,
>         ellen@cs.stanford.edu, ly@cs.stanford.edu, dli@us.oracle.com,
>         chun@mcc.com, srinija@MCC.COM, vemuri@CS.Stanford.EDU,
>         dianazon@leland.stanford.edu, opel@leland.stanford.edu,
>         piggie@leland.stanford.edu, shazam@leland.stanford.edu,
>         goose@leland.stanford.edu, asd-board@Euphrates.Stanford.EDU,
>         pcd-students@Euphrates.Stanford.EDU
> From: white@interval.com (Sean Michael White)
> Subject: Happy Holidays
> Cc: asb@MEDIA-LAB.MEDIA.MIT.EDU, electronic.cafe@pro-palmtree.socal.com,
>         mark@path.net, tomj@fido.wps.com, kathyr@aol.com,
>         ullmer@bigcheese.math.scarolina.edu, hlr@well.sf.ca.us,
>         emma@csli.stanford.edu, HARTFIELD@AppleLink.Apple.COM,
>         75030.1004@CompuServe.COM, claudlee@aol.com,
>         workinger@leland.stanford.edu
> 
> Happy Chanukah,
> merry Christams,
> joyous Kwanza,
> happy New Year,
> and safe passage to you all.
> 
> If I've left you out, you have different needs this season, or even if you
> have everything you need, I wish you hope and fulfillment in the coming
> year. And please remember to have fun!
> 
> With my love,   <--- I can see tears running down your cheek now...;-)
> Sean
> 
> 
> 
> *%\@/*%$%*\@/*%$%*\@/*%$%*\@/*%$%*\^/*%$%*\@/*%$%*\@/*%$%*\@/*%$%*\@/*%*
> *  X   !   X   !   X   !   X   !   .   !   X   !   X   !   X   !   X   *
> *      O       O       O       O  .|.  O       O       O       O       *
> *                                 -*-                                  *
> *   Athbhliain Faoi Mhaise!       '|`           _    Happy New Year!   *
> *   Inpakaramaana Vidumurai!      *:*          ("D     Chag Sameach!   *
> *   Frohliche Weihnachten!       * . *        ~(=r      Boas Festas!   *
> *   Sarbatori Fericite!         **   **    .../__\       Gut Yontif!   *
> *   Joyous Solstice!          *** o   ***     [MJ]       Iyi YIllar!   *
> *   Mele Kalikimake!           *\    O *              Hyvaeae Lomaa!   *
> *   Merry Christmas!          ** \\    **            Wesolych Swiat!   *
> *   Happy Hanukkah!         ***    \\   ***        Stastny Novy Rok!   *
> *   Pari Artsagourt!         * o     \\  *       Kellemes Unnepeket!   *
> *   Shub Naya Baras!        **    O    \\**     Blwyddyn Newydd Dda!   *
> *   Vesele Vanoce!        ***\\       o  \***    Ching Chi Shen Tan!   *
> *   Feliz Navidad!         *   \\  o       *      Felichan Jarfinon!   *
> *   Joyeux Noel!          **  o  \\    O   **       Joy to the World   *
> *   Bom Natal!         ****        \\     o ****      - And to All a   *
> *   God Jul!             ** o     o  \\ o   **           Good Night!   *
> *   Cheers!            ***     O       \\    ***                       *
> *   *:D       o_     *****************************      e@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
> *     _      <' )~      ___      #####  _v_            @@@"""""""""""""*
> *    /<~    ["""] V  o [___] _@_ #####__|~|_ A        @" ___ ___________
> *   %'=    @|HHH|[~] U |\ /|/^^^\##[{}{}{}{](") !    II__[w] | [i] [z] |
> *  %' )   /%|HHH||$|/V\|XXX|~~~~~##[}{}{}{}](:)<*>  {======|_|~~~~~~~~~|
> * %(__6 |==D|HHH||$|\^/|/ \|=====##[{}{}{}{](:) V  /oO--000'"`-OO---OO-'
> ************************************************************************
> 
> I don't know the original creator of this ascii-art but I thought
> it was the closest thing to the season.
> 
> -------
> white@interval.com            "I'm being followed by a moon shadow..."
> 
> 
> 


-- 
 Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems --  San Francisco, Calif.
 The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork

    [ Part 5: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj  Wed Dec  8 00:09:14 1993 remote from exlibris
Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf)
	via UUCP; Wed, 08 Dec 93 14:43:35 EST
	for max
Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5)
	id AA26904; 8 Dec 93 00:09:14 EST (Wed)
Received: from relay2.UU.NET ([192.48.96.7]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <53998(1)>; Tue, 7 Dec 1993 23:09:50 -0500
Received: from fido.wps.com by relay2.UU.NET with SMTP 
	(5.61/UUNET-internet-primary) id AA02831; Tue, 7 Dec 93 22:29:39 -0500
Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery)
	id AA28732; Tue, 7 Dec 93 19:28:17 -0800
From:	tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings)
Message-Id: <9312080328.AA28732@wps.com>
Subject: Re: Cu Digest, #5.89 (fwd)
To:	max@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell)
Date:	Tue, 7 Dec 1993 22:28:16 -0500
In-Reply-To: <PPR4Dc1w165w@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca> from "Sylvia Maxwell" at Dec 5, 93 08:49:48 pm
X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23]
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Content-Length: 970       

> What is happening with the erotic magazine?  

Which erotic zine? My new one, yet to be? (Zine that is -- it wasn't
going to be an erotic zine, but a fag/punk/technology zine. Probably
with a readership of 1: me!)

> i guess you won't get the painting for a couple of days.  I told you 
> i had mailed it, but actually it was sitting parcelled in the hallway 
> and i was about to mail it, but i couldn't find your address.  which 
> i didn't find until days later, after locating the last person to 
> whom i'd leant your mail art.  so it was really mailed on Friday.  

I really look forwrd to it! Really!

> Subj: living a life
> All: You are a deviant control freak struggling with decontructing the 
> rules of games.
 
I wonder if this doesn't preface every possible user of email and
related stuph...


-- 
 Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems --  San Francisco, Calif.
 The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork

From max@sentex.net Wed Jan 16 09:11:02 2002
Date: Sun, 26 Aug 2001 17:32:59 -0400
From: Sylvia Morscher <max@sentex.net>
To: tomj@wps.com
Subject: even more



    [ Part 2: "Attached Text" ]

>From tdkcs!hookup!fido.wps.com!flesh  Thu Dec 30 23:45:17 1993 remote from exlibris
Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf)
	via UUCP; Fri, 31 Dec 93 09:04:31 EST
	for max
Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5)
	id AA02585; 30 Dec 93 23:45:17 EST (Thu)
Received: from fido.wps.com (fido.wps.com [140.174.77.1]) by nic.hookup.net (8.6.5.Beta5/1.76) with SMTP id XAA12353; Thu, 30 Dec 1993 23:45:23 -0500
Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery)
	id AA03707; Thu, 30 Dec 93 20:42:24 -0800
From: flesh@wps.com (Flesh)
Message-Id: <9312310442.AA03707@wps.com>
Subject: End of Year E-Zine Listing (fwd)
To: shit-list@fido.wps.com
Date: Thu, 30 Dec 1993 20:42:23 -0800 (PST)
Cc: zorca@aol.com, zorca@well.sf.ca.us, cs000rrs@selway.umt.edu,
        tjames@netcom.com
X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23]
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Content-Length: 18314     

Forwarded message:
>From owner-cypherpunks@toad.com Thu Dec 30 18:43:27 1993
Date: Thu, 30 Dec 93 21:26:34 -0500
Message-Id: <9312310226.AA28681@bsu-cs.bsu.edu>
From: Anonymous <nowhere@bsu-cs.bsu.edu>
To: cypherpunks@toad.com
X-Remailed-By: Anonymous <nowhere@bsu-cs.bsu.edu>
X-Ttl: 0
X-Notice: This message was forwarded by a software-
	  automated anonymous remailing service.
Subject: End of Year E-Zine Listing
Organization: Anarchy for Tentacles

Once again, we find ourselves facing a new jahre and pondering
the untold wonders of the anarchy of cyberspace!

In celebration of this joyous occasion, I've decided to 
post a compilation of electronic 'zines for your perusal.

I especially like the reference for Practical Anarchy and will
probably send a copy of this message to our old chum, Larry
"the squid" Detweiler.

Enjoy,

- Spooge

/---------------- good stuff follows ------------------/


Last updated: 27-Aug-93 by John Labovitz <johnl@netcom.com>

This is a summary of electronically-accessible zines.  The format should 
be fairly self-explanatory.  In most cases, descriptions are excerpted from 
the masthead of the zine listed.

[For those of you not acquainted with the zine world, "zine" is short for 
either "fanzine" or "magazine," depending on your point of view.  Zines are 
generally produced by one person or a small group of people, done mostly for 
fun, and often irreverent, bizarre, and/or esoteric.  Zines are not 
"mainstream" publications -- they generally do not contain advertisements 
(except, sometimes, advertisements for other zines), do not have a large 
subscriber base, and are not produced to make money.]

If you have any additions, deletions, or changes to this list, please email
them to johnl@netcom.com.

I will post this list (and/or changes to the list) to various mailing lists 
and Usenet news groups.  It can also be obtained via anonymous FTP from 
netcom.com as "/pub/johnl/zines/e-zine-list", and via email (either single 
issues or subscriptions) from e-zines-request@netcom.com.

If you publish an e-zine, or know someone who does, please send a copy to 
e-zines@netcom.com and I'll add the relevant info to this database.

All comments, suggestions, changes, deletions, etc., are welcomed and 
encouraged.

        John Labovitz
        johnl@netcom.com

-----

Arm The Spirit
 "Arm The Spirit is a anti-imperialist/autonomist collective that 
  disseminates information about liberation struggles in advanced capitalist 
  countries and in the so-called 'Third World.'  Our focus is on armed 
  struggle and other forms of militant resistance but we do not limit 
  ourselves to this.  In Arm The Spirit you can find news on political 
  prisoners in North America and Europe, information on the struggles of 
  Indigenous peoples in the Americas, communiques from guerrilla groups, 
  debate and discussion on armed struggle and much more. We also attempt 
  to cover anti-colonial national liberation struggles in Kurdistan, 
  Puerto Rico, Euskadi and elsewhere."

  Editor(s): Autonome Forum <aforum@moose.uvm.edu>
     Format: ASCII text
        FTP: etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/Politics/Arm.the.Spirit
     E-Mail: aforum@moose.uvm.edu, subject: "ATS: e-mail request"
     Postal: Arm The Spirit, c/o Wild Seed Press, POB 57584, Jackson Stn.,
               Hamilton, Ontario, L8P 4X3, Canada
             Arm The Spirit, c/o Autonome Forum, POB 1242,
               Burlington, VT 05402-1242, USA
      Phone: +1 416 527 2419 (FAX for Canadian group)


Armadillo Culture
 "Being the excremeditation of a hyperactive armadillo's activities, 
  opinions, and other stuff..."

  Editor(s): Steve Okay <sokay@mitre.org>
     Format: ASCII text
        FTP: etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/Zines/Armadillo.Culture
     Postal: Armadillo Culture, 2857 Foxmill Rd. Herndon, VA 22071, USA


ART COM
 "An online magazine forum dedicated to the interface of contemporary art 
  and new communication technologies."

  Editor(s): Carl Eugene Loeffler <artcomtv@well.sf.ca.us>
     Format: ASCII text
     Usenet: alt.artcom
     Postal: ART COM, POB 193123 Rincon, San Francisco, CA 94119-3123, USA
      Phone: +1 415 431 7524 (voice), +1 415 431 7841 (fax)
      Other: Whole Earth 'Lectronic Link (WELL): ART COM Electronic Network 
               (ACEN)


BLINK
 "BLINK would like to be a forum for the issues surrounding the intersection
  of consciousness and technology.  This is our best defense against
  postmodern angst: To critically look at and anticipate the cultural and
  social changes spurred by the rapid development of technology."

  Editor(s): Justin Kerr <ratsbats@casbah.acns.nwu.edu>
             Joe Germuska (managing editor)
             Danny Dunlavy (chiphead)
             Jake Eldridge (assistant editor)
     Format: ASCII text
        FTP: blink.acns.nwu.edu:/pub/blink
     Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us


Computer Underground Digest
 "An open forum dedicated to sharing information among computerists and 
  to the presentation and debate of diverse views."

  Editor(s): Jim Thomas and Gordon Meyer <TK0JUT2@NIU.BITNET>
     Format: ASCII text
        FTP: ftp.eff.org:/pub/cud
             etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/CuD/cud
             halcyon.com:/pub/mirror/cud
             aql.gatech.edu;/pub/eff/cud
             ftp.ee.mu.oz.au:/pub/text/CuD (Australia)
             nic.funet.fi:pub/doc/cud (Finland)
             ftp.warwick.ac.uk:pub/cud (United Kingdom)
     Gopher: etext.archive.umich.edu
     Postal: Jim Thomas, Department of Sociology, NIU, DeKalb, IL 60115, USA
      Phone: +1 815 753 0303 (voice), +1 815 753 6302 (fax)
     Usenet: comp.society.cu-digest
 CompuServe: DL0 and DL4 of the IBMBBS SIG; DL1 of LAWSIG; DL1 of TELECOM
      Other: GEnie: PF*NPC RT libraries; VIRUS/SECURITY library
             America Online: PC Telecom forum under "computing newsletters"
             Delphi: General Discussion database of the Internet SIG
             PC-EXEC BBS (+1 414 789 4210)
             Rune Stone BBS (IIRG WHQ) (+1 203 832 8441) NUP:Conspiracy
             RIPCO BBS (+1 312 528 5020)
             via Fidonet File Request from 1:11/70
             ComNet in LUXEMBOURG BBS (+352 466893)
             Bits against the Empire BBS (+39 461 980493) (Italy)


Crash
 "A guide to traveling through the underground.  Alternative travel
  stories, hints, and tips."

  Editor(s): John Labovitz <johnl@netcom.com>
             Miles Poindexter
             Nigel French
     Format: ASCII text
        FTP: netcom.com:/pub/johnl/zines/crash
     Postal: Crash, 519 Castro #7, San Francisco, CA 94114, USA
  

CTHEORY -- Virtual Review of Books for Post-Modem Theory
 "CTHEORY is a new international, electronic review of books on theory, 
  technology and culture. Reviews are posted monthly of key books in 
  contemporary discourse as well as theorisations of major 'event-scenes' in 
  the mediascape. Editors and contributors include: Kathy Acker, Jean 
  Baudrillard, Bruce Sterling, Arthur and Marilouise Kroker, Deena and 
  Michael Weinstein. CTHEORY will also offer the possibility of interactive 
  discussions among its subscribers in the electronic theory 
  'sim-posium/salon.'"

  Editor(s): <ed22@musica.mcgill>
     Format: ASCII text
     E-Mail: LISTSERV@VM1.MCGILL.CA
               with text body: "SUBSCRIBE CTHEORY <full-name>"


Cyberspace Vanguard
 "News and Views of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Universe"

  Editor(s): TJ Goldstein <tlg4@po.cwru.edu>
             Sarah Alexander, Administrator <aa746@po.cwru.edu>
     Format: ASCII text
     E-Mail: cn577@cleveland.freenet.edu
             Cyberspace Vanguard@1:157/564 (FidoNet)
             CVANGUARD (Delphi)
     Postal: Cyberspace Vanguard, POB 25704, Garfield Heights, OH 44125, USA


Drum
 "Drum is not an isolated event but an ongoing process."

  Editor(s): R. Patrick Jones <dh644@cleveland.Freenet.Edu>
     Format: ASCII text
        FTP: etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/Zines/Drum
     Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us


Ego Project
 "This 'zine is a product of me and as such will contain anything I feel 
  like putting in it.  Whatever I feel like putting in it shall include,
  but is not limited too, anything I feel applies to Gothdom in general.   
  Album/single/tape reviews, book and movies reviews, etc. The Sisters of 
  Mercy and the Mission are my main focuses, but since neither of them 
  put out music on anything resembling a frequent basis I imagine other 
  groups will be featured quite frequently."

  Editor(s): Corey Nelson <ieya@byron.u.washington.edu>
     Format: ASCII text
     Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us
     Postal: Ego Project, 1717 Monroe #b, Bellingham, WA 98225, USA


Factsheet Five / Factsheet Five - Electric
 "FactSheet Five is the central clearinghouse of information about zines,
  those opinionated publications with press runs of 50 to 5000 (often done
  through surrepticious use of on-the-job supplies and xerox).  Mike 
  Gunderloy of Rennsalaer, NY published 44 editions of F5.  Hudson Luce 
  published the final issue, #45.  I opened my big mouth (or, rather, let 
  my fingers blab away) about doing an online, net-accessible version of
  FactSheet Five."

  Editor(s): Jerod Pore <jerod23@well.sf.ca.us> (electronic version)
             Seth Friedman <sethf5@well.sf.ca.us> (paper version)
     Format: ASCII text
        FTP: etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/Factsheet.Five
             nigel.msen.com:/pub/newsletters/F5-E
             src.doc.ic.ac.uk:/literary/newsletters/factsheet-five
     Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us
       WAIS: nigel.msen.com
     Postal: Factsheet Five, 1800 Market St., San Francisco, CA 94102, USA
               (This is for *BOTH* the electronic and paper versions; 
                or for items that can't be delivered to a PO box)
             Seth Friedman, POB 170099, San Francisco, CA 94117-0099, USA
               (This is for the paper version *only*, especially 
                subscriptions)
      Other: The WELL
             BBSes around the world


FUNHOUSE! -- The cyberzine of degenerate pop culture
 "Dedicated to whatever happens to be on my mind at the time I'm writing.  
  The focus will tend to be on those aspects of our fun-filled world which
  aren't given the attention of the bland traditional media, or which have 
  been woefully misinterpreted or misdiagnosed by the same.  FUNHOUSE! is
  basically a happy place, and thus the only real criteria I will try to 
  meet is to refrain from rants, personal attacks, and flames -- and thus 
  FUNHOUSE! is an apolitical place.  Offbeat films, music, literature, and 
  experiences are largely covered, with the one stipulation that articles 
  are attempted to be detailed and well documemnted, although this is no 
  guarantee of completeness or correctness, so that the interested reader 
  may further pursue something which may spark her interest."

  Editor(s): Jeff Dove <jeffdove@well.sf.ca.us>
     Format: ASCII text
        FTP: netcom.com in /pub/johnl/zines/funhouse


High Weirdness by Email
  random Internet information

  Editor(s): <mporter@nyx.cs.du.edu>
     Format: ASCII text
     Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us


International TeleTimes
 "International Teletimes is a general interest magazine. There are several
  recurring monthly columns but the rest of the content changes from month to
  month as new themes are chosen. The goal of Teletimes is to attract a large
  variety of writers from all over the world so that the readers will be 
  exposed to a great variety of ideas and opinions."

  Editor(s): Ian Wojtowicz <ian@breez.wimsey.com>
     Format: Macintosh Doc-Maker application
        FTP: sumex-aim.stanford.edu:/info-mac/per/teletimes-*.hqx
     Postal: TeleTimes International, 3938 West 30th Ave.,
               Vancouver, BC V6S 1X3, Canada
      Other: OneNet (network of FirstClass BBSes)
  

InterText
 "InterText is a bi-monthly fiction magazine with over 1000 subscribers
  worldwide."

  Editor(s): Jason Snell <intertxt@network.ucsd.edu>
             Geoff Duncan <gaduncan@halcyon.com>
     Format: ASCII text
             PostScript
        FTP: etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/EFF.journals/InterText
 CompuServe: Electronic Frontier Foundation's "Zines from the Net" section, 
               accessible by typing "GO EFFSIG"


Obscure Electronic
 "OBSCURE is the zine that profiles the people in this publishing subculture."

  Editor(s): James P Romenesko <intertxt@network.ucsd.edu>
     Format: ASCII text
        FTP: etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/Zines/Obscure.Electric
     Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us
     Postal: POB 1334, Milwaukee, WI 53201, USA


People Power Update
  The newsletter of the bicycle advocacy group "People Power"

  Editor(s): Ron Goodman <goodman@cats.ucsc.edu>
     Format: ASCII text
        FTP: netcom.com:/pub/johnl/zines/ppu
     Postal: People Power, 226 Jeter Street, Santa Cruz, CA 95060, USA
      Phone: +1 408 425 8851 (voice/fax)


Play by EMail
 "Electronic 'zine about free play-by-electronic-mail wargames.  Reviews, 
  game openings, information."

  Editor(s): Greg Lindahl <gl8f@fermi.clas.Virginia.EDU>
     Format: ASCII text
        FTP: ftp.erg.sri.com:/pub/pbm/PBEM-Fanzine
     Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us
     Usenet: rec.games.pbm


Practical Anarchy Online
 "An electronic zine concerning anarchy from a practical point of view, to 
  help you put some anarchy in your everyday life. The anarchy scene is 
  covered through reviews and reports from people in the living anarchy."

  Editor(s): Chuck Munson <cmunson@macc.wisc.edu>
               Bitnet: cmunson@wiscmacc.bitnet
             Mikael Cardell <cardell@lysator.liu.se, 
               Fidonet: Mikael Cardell@2:205/223
     Format: ASCII text
     Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us
     Postal: Practical Anarchy, POB 173, Madison, WI 53701-0173, USA
             Practical Anarchy, c/o Mikael Cardell, Gustav Adolfsgatan 3,
               S-582 20 Linkoping, Sweden


Quanta
 "Quanta is the electronically produced and distributed magazine of science 
  fiction and fantasy.  As such, each issues is packed with fiction from 
  amateur and professional authors from around the world and across the net."

  Editor(s): Daniel K. Appelquist <quanta@andrew.cmu.edu>
     Format: PostScript
             ASCII text
        FTP: export.acs.cmu.edu:/pub/quanta
             ftp.eff.org:/journals/Quanta
             lth.se:/documents/Quanta
             catless.newcastle.ac.uk:/pub/Quanta
     Gopher: gopher-srv.acs.cmu.edu (in the Archives directory)
     Postal: Quanta, 3003 Van Ness St. NW #S919, Washington, DC 20008, USA
 CompuServe: "Zines from  the Net" area of  the EFF forum
               (accessed by typing GO EFFSIG)


Scream Baby
 "What do I want?  Besides world peace, a sexy Mexican maid, and someone to 
  use their fucking brains around here, I want a really good
  all-encompassing-sub-culture zine.  Music, literature, art, television,
  film, weird space-time kinks, events, information, news, humor, interviews,
  and re:views of 'Stuff I Think Is Cool.'  Not all at once, of course.  
  Each issue of Scream Baby will come out whenever I can scrape together 
  25-30 kilobytes of really good stuff."

  Editor(s): Blade X <bladex@bladex@wixer.cactus.org>
     Format: ASCII text
        FTP: etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/Zines/ScreamBaby
             ftp.eff.org:/pub/journals/ScreamBaby
     Postal: Cyberlicious <tm>, POB 4510, Austin, TX 78765 USA
      Other: WWIV: 46@5285


Unplastic News
 "the odd e-mail magazine w/a fever"

  Editor(s): <tibbetts@hsi.hsi.com>
     Format: ASCII text
        FTP: ftp.eff.org:/pub/cud/misc/journals
             etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/EFF.journals/Unplastic_News
             quartz.rutgers.edu:pub/journals
     Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us


Voices from the Net
 "There are a lot of folks with at least one foot in this complex region we
  call (much too simply) "the net." There are a lot of voices on these wires.
  From IRC to listservs, MUDspace to e-mail, Usenet group to commercial bbs
  -- all kinds of voices -- loud and quiet, anonymous and well-known. And yet,
  it's far from clear what it might mean to be a "voice" from, or on, the
  net. Enter "Voices from the Net": one attempt to sample, explore, the
  possibilities (or perils) of net.voices. Worrying away at the question.
  Running down the meme. Looking/listening, and reporting back to you."

  Editor(s): Bookish <tibbetts@hsi.hsi.com>
             CountZer0 <mgardbe@andy.bgsu.edu>
             NEURO <fbohann@andy.bgsu.edu>
     Format: Macintosh HyperCard stack
             ASCII text
        FTP: sumex-aim.stanford.edu:/info-mac/per/voices-*.hqx
             etext.archive.umich.edu:pub/zines/Voices
     E-Mail: Voices-request@andy.bgsu.edu
               to subscribe:
                 subject: Voices from the Net
                 body: subscribe


Whole Earth Review
 "We are dedicated to demystification, to self-teaching, and to 
  encouraging people to think for themselves.  Thus our motto: 'ACCESS TO
  TOOLS AND IDEAS.'  Tools in the Whole Earth sense include hammers, books, 
  and computer conferencing systems.  Our readers are a community of 
  tool-users who share information with one another.  The ideas we make 
  accessible have not often been found in university courses, but are 
  becoming recognized as part of what you need to know to be truly educated.  
  Our readers contribute to the editorial content as well, with both reviews 
  and articles."

  Editor(s): <>
     Format: ASCII text
             Macintosh PageMaker 4.2 files
     Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us
     E-Mail: wer@well.sf.ca.us
     Postal: Whole Earth Review, 27 Gate Five Road, Sausalito, CA 94965, USA
      Phone: +1 415 332 1716 (voice), +1 415 332 3110 (fax)


-----

Sites archiving e-zines with FTP:

  ftp.eff.org
  etext.archive.umich.edu
  ftp.cic.net
  quartz.rutgers.edu
  ftp.msen.com
  ftp.halcyon.com
  world.std.com
  netcom.com in /pub/johnl/zines)
  nigel.msen.com in /pub/newsletters
  grind.isca.uiowa.edu (128.255.19.233) in /info/journals

Sites archive e-zines with Gopher:

  gopher.eff.org
  etext.archive.umich.edu
  gopher.cic.net
  gopher.msen.com
  gopher.well.sf.ca.us
  world.std.com
  gopher.unt.edu

-----


    [ Part 3: "Attached Text" ]

    [ The following text is in the "iso-8859-1" character set. ]
    [ Your display is set for the "US-ASCII" character set.  ]
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Date: Thu, 1 Sep 1994 23:52:49 -0700 (PDT)
From: Tom Jennings <tomj@wps.com>
Subject: Re: talk a bout a transfiguration whoooa!
To: Sylvia Maxwell <max@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca>
In-Reply-To: <BiJPqc8w165w@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca>
Message-ID: <Pine.3.89.9409012307.E4545-0100000@fido.wps.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII

> may i please put this in snoozie?

Um, did I answer you already? My computer is senile and cannot remember.

Yes is the current answer.

>
> Tom Jennings writes:
>
> > I know exactly what I want my building to look like. I don't care abou
> > stuff like rooms or value or wood or concrete or steel. It needs a place in
> > back with dirt. It cannot be flat. There is a particular combination of
> > pale light brownish grass that everything dies into in the semi-arid
> > high-desert (newly raised sea bottom) that most of the West coast (or north
> > america) is. There must be a pile or iron for plants to grown in, old
> > tangled rusted on top but filthy with 40 year old caked grease down amongst
> > the weeds where you go to grab them to clean up the yard on odd five year
> > intervals, and when you realize just how heavy, filthy and tangled the iron
> > objects really are you give up (pulling your hand back, think layer of old
> > grease, dirt, dead grass, cobwebs and dead bugs, hot thread of a sore
> > muscle you pulled on a little too hard at the wrong angle and a bright
> > white and red scrape on your bare shin where the cast iron steering gear
> > rose and fell at an unpredictable angle when you tugged at the pile).
> > That's what smart plants wrap themselves in to get away from thoughts of
> > lawnmowers or even human interest in their existence.
> >
> > I want to take up again my practice of putting unwanted vegetable sexual
> > parts into the dirt outside the kitchen. In our last warehouse 666 Illinois
> > st I did this. Friends live there now so I get to visit. There is 3rd year
> > stunted corn, big pile of peppermint, inedible green beans, wild flowers,
> > and an avocado tree nearly 6 feet high and six feet wide with a 2 inch
> > diameter trunk! It can't have sex though, only masturbate, because it's the
> > only avocado tree around.
> >
> > In the impentrable scrabble in the corner of the parkin lot I scraped out a
> > tiny hole to bury my old lizard in. There is now a giant fennel growin on
> > top of it; this has no bearing to the lizard buried there, as fennel grows
> > everywhere here anyways and the lizard had no water or flesh in it's 2-foot
> > long body (strange beast; the sort of animal that makes you wonder about
> > existence itself. It requred 105 degree temperature, ultraviolet radiation,
> > it ate only bugs and mammals, and drink literally no water. It would
> > urinate after eating mice. It was utterly solitary, apparently approaching
> > one of it's own to mate in some violent ritual. It was flatly terrified of
> > all and any humans, even me, who fed it reliably. Nearly all animals lke
> > me, even wild ones. It lived in it's intensive care station at the end of a
> > 40 foot hall way, and would bask on it's electric rock under the 100 wat
> > red heatlamp and blacklight bulb; as I approached, it would rise up on all
> > four legs, hiss, and **BOLT** at high speed under its rock pile to peer at
> > me until I left. The only thing that would bring it out while I was aroun
> > was a small white mouse dropped into it's cage, which caused it to speeed
> > out, grab the mouse with no unnecessary motions, suffocate the mouse and
> > inhale it. Utterly no cruelty, nor recnognition of the mouse. Strange
> > beast. It actually grew abou 6" and gained about half a pound of weight,
> > the vet at SPCA was furious I was able to buy one, he explained the rather
> > extreme requrements for it's survival and assumed I would not meet them. So
> > when we moved to 666, and it no longer was the solitary occupant of 120 sq
> > ft of dark hallway, and had to be within visibility of humans most of the
> > time, and it stopped eating. It lost weight. After a month of this, I
> > simply couldnt take it any more. A lizard expert (sic) told me that lizards
> > hibernate/sleep when it gets really cold, and the least awuful way to kill
> > them is to put them in a box, in the freezer. They sleep. Then freeze to
> > death. I puzzled the ramifications of this contrast for a long time.) I
> > always wonder about it's skeleton, should I go dig it up.
> >
> > My friend Erika has a little house in Santa Fe. Her and her boyfriend Scot
> > have a chaotically controlled garden. She has a large patch of Datura. It
> > really is a
> >
> > --
> > World Power Systems -- San Francisco CA
> >
> >
>
>

 Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems --  San Francisco, Calif.

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    [ Part 4: "Attached Text" ]

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Date: Sat, 3 Sep 1994 04:10:51 -0400
Message-Id: <199409030810.BAA00895@wps.com>
From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings)
To: <@uunet.ca:tdkcs!exlibris!max@xenitec>
Subject: I am overloaded beyond belief
Apparently-To: <@mail.uunet.ca:tdkcs!exlibris!max@xenitec>

I'm sorry, but I am nearly unable to read email here due to the
incredible volume of mail. If it's not of critical importance I
may not get to it for weeks. It's not that I don't value it, but
a measure of desperation.

 - If you are writing about Little Garden business, please write
   to admin@tlg.org (The Little Garden), and it will be routed to the
   appropriate person in the office.

 - If it's personal mail, rest assured that I will eventually get
   it, but if it's important and time-sensitive you're better off
   calling me on the phone, though be warned that I go weeks at a time
   without playing back the messages.

This is an automatic response; your message is here waiting for me to
read it.

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From: flesh@fido.wps.com (Flesh)
Message-Id: <199409042331.QAA04657@wps.com>
Subject: Another 800 number ((Jesse's) (fwd)
To: w00f@fido.wps.com

    [ Part 5: "Attached Text" ]

Date: Mon, 24 Oct 1994 09:42:29 -0700 (PDT)
From: Tom Jennings <tomj@wps.com>
To: Sylvia Maxwell <max@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca>
Subject: Time's up (fwd)
Message-ID: <Pine.BSI.3.90.941024094124.19825A-100000@fido.wps.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
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What fun FidoNet is!!! :-)

Don't publish... georeg sent this to me for amusement purposes, I guess.

I love that Steve Winter! I would never have thought it possible to dream
up such a character...


 Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems --  San Francisco, Calif.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
