
               F U C K E D  U P  C O L L E G E  K I D S
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                - t h e  p o e t r y  v e n t u r e -
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        sometimes it is very hard to be objective as an editor.
        to read something and disagree with it, only to think
        that one should be fair on submissions. or do i say
        "my zine" and judge based on what i like?

        this release finds me making that decision. those who know
        me will read through and quickly understand why i say
        these words. let it be known, that i am trying to be
        fair and just. for now...

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        the devil herself

        i am not a manic-depressive
        or a diabetic
        or cancerous, hell
        i don't even get colds much

        maybe i'm lucky
        maybe it's because i don't
        lick my fingers before counting my money

        so

        once upon a time there was this bitch, right?
        and she was raped once or twice
        and she thought she knew exactly what was wrong with everything
        and she thought she knew the solutions to everything
        and she decided, snatch-loose and meat-drunk,
        to write some songs about it

        and all the girls related to her
        and all the girls cried for her
        and all the girls made mix-tapes of her
        and gave them to their shallow boyfriends

        and she called herself tori amos
        but all the boys knew she was really the fucking devil
        or else why would she whine and bitch
        about jesus all the time?

        she's not a manic depressive
        or a diabetic
        or cancerous, hell
        she pretends she's been there

        maybe she could
        stop telling everybody about it
        like any good patient would

        styx    - the fedz@rad.edu



        the day feel upon me with heat
        the smell of sweat filled my lungs
        the bright light bounced off every window only to reflect into my eyes
        the streets were busy with people walking about
        the cars had horns that barked the world aloud
        
        i began to go mad
        
        this is torture in itself
        this is why i long for winter to fill my heart
        this is why i give all my attention to the kindness of the night
        this is why i wait for all the people to fade away
        this is the time worth dying over
        
        i began to go mad
        
        and so i drank the dark
        and i felt the cold of madness fill my mind
        and i became hard as my blood began to freeze like water 
        and the world began to fade away
        and my life turned to joy
        
        so i toasted, and then drank another
        
        rage



        mishappinessery
        
        i feel your love
        but it's not love
        it's hate
        i feel your love
        but it's not love
        it's fists
        i've seen your love
        for i have the blackeyes
        to prove it
        i've known your love
        the damned baby
        within me 
        proves it
         
        abused and broken love
        beatings unspoken of
        
        you say
        i love you too
        fuck you
        
        lohateve
        
        Nightshade



        samurai
        
        dull flicker, the room dances with life;
        whisper of trance pours from the speakers
        bowing head, warrior prepares for strife
        
        so much time crashes by;
        its the longest minutes of his life
        and his duty begs him to cry
        
        as he wishes he was dead
        silent warrior kneels among the bodies
        while the field runs red
        
        dis



        bbang

        they all whisper goodbye,
        inconstancy eternal
        a soft wave - a star blinking
        out in an inner universe
        (the thread breaks)
        and the nothingness is
        greater than the pre-time
        void known only as

              The Beginning

        suddenly, a personal piece is
        vacant
        unnatural, a missing
        hand on a tick-tock,
        leaving a winter bleak
        soul behind to nurse
        its wounds, and arm
        itself for the next battle

        demonika



        A Cry

        A Cry ...
        In the dark,
         For the secrets that are still yet to be revealed.
         For the loses of the past.
        
        In the daylight,
         only this heart may shine,
         for the nights hold the shadows of the past,
          too close at hand.
        
        Shimmering moonlight,
         tears roll down,
         as I reach for no one that is there.
        
        Having lost, what I once had,
        and counted on,
        only because, I trusted ...

        A Cry ...
        will not be heard,
        for those that have betrayed ...
        Nor, will A Cry be felt,
        for the loss of this one.
        
        Kamira


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        E D I T O R S:   jericho@dim.com   &   demonika@dim.com
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        to receive new issues via e-mail, send mail to
        jericho@dimensional.com with "subscribe poetry".  if
        you do not have FTP access and would like back issues,
        send a list of missing issues and they will be sent. 
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	A V A I L A B I L I T Y:
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        WWW:        http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho         
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        (c) Copyright. All poems copyright by original author.     
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        F O U N D E D:                         October 30, 1997


