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INTEGRAL.FUNCTIONS.001
dd/mm/yy = 15/01/96
file_siz = 019k
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Integral Functions is an electronic 'zine that covers a broad range of
obscure and experimental topics. Material within the magazine includes:
poetry, short stories, essays, rants, reviews (books, movies and music),
experimental literature (computer generated poetry, etc.), personal
philosophies, chat logs, e-mail, and ASCII artwork. Topics within each
issue are diverse and will change from one issue to the next.

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   This is the very first issue of Integral Functions, The 'zine will be
put out on an approximately bi-weekly (every two weeks) basis.  

   I'd like to point out that this 'zine doesn't focus around any one
particular topic, emotion, or point of view.  You might notice some re-
occurring themes.  However, this is not intentional on a conscious level.

   I don't really like the idea of 'target markets', but here's a list of
a few attributes from what I assume/predict will be our 'average' reader:

   - computer literacy attained before puberty
   - semi/full working knowledge of 1-3 computer languages
   - interested in fiction, poetry, and/or art (outside of school)
   - thinks about the future more than the past or present
   - has more than 1 year experience with BBS/Internet culture
   - hearing the term 'information-highway' causes sudden vomiting

   The above list is not an attempt to generalize or limit our potential
readers.  Please glance through the 'zine and decide for yourself whether
it fits your tastes or not.

   You'll notice that the identities of both the staff and those that
contribute to Integral Functions will - for the most part - remain
anonymous.  In 'cyberspace', it doesn't matter who you are...only what you
say makes a difference.  Reputations can be formatted and re-initialized.
Identity is nullified.

   In closing, I would like to thank Leo X for his ideas and support, and
I also encourage readers of Integral Functions to become writers.  Once
we have the magazine available through FTP and a stable address, you will
be able to send in loads of stuff (...won't you?).  I'd like to say a lot
more, but...I won't.

                                       Editor 15/01/96

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Table_Of_Contents (in order of appearance - not importance):


0.  Introduction by the Editor

1.  "Conception-Birth(zine)" = An experimental cut & past poem.

2.  "Lactose Intollerant Timothy" = Why you should never leave the house.

3.  "Educational Interlude" = What happens without sleep.

4.  "Algorithmic Humanity Departure" = A very short essay.

5.  "Micro-Lexicon" = Seven groovy words to add to your vocabulary.

6.  "Untitled" = Juxtaposition of contingency & existence.

7.  "rant file #822" = Someone bitching about youth culture.

8.  "Bedside Manner" = Scalpel?  Scalpel.  Chainsaw?  Chainsaw.

9.  Last words by the Editor

10.  Copyright/Submission Information

{=========================================================================}

        "Conception-Birth(zine)"
        (compiled by GH)


        OPEN "PHANTASM.LOG" fer_input as #1
        Press Escape twice for Happyland.

        Pieces of the magazine already exists in *.TXT files and
        in my head.  (Do you actually want to be involved?)
        Well, umm...no commitments!  I just want to point out
        that there's...no obligations!)  SEND SEND SEND :).

        "So don't think anything you send will just be a
        waste of time!"
        Would you like to log off?  Yes
        (NO CARRIER)

        Press Escape twice for Happyland.
        LAFF = lame? :)
        <think again>
        # Ready to receive CREAMY.TXT
        **B010000072fe64b

        ("I won't tell anyone who you really are.")
        Delete original message? Yes

        Do you worry about other people reading it?  Going through
        your things...invading your mind?
        (I'm leaning towards 'Dink', but [johnny depp]...
        the name is not important, when the product doesn't
        seem as if it's ever going to exist.)

        Viddying your vonny cal makes me want to sickiwick out
        my guttiwuts.  Dredge...I want to dredge something.
        "Lit-things?"

        "I give up on the magazine.  There no longer is a
        magazine.  Thank you and apologies..."
        Would you like to log off?  Yes

        Your were online for 13 minutes.
        (NO CARRIER)

{=========================================================================}

"Lactose Intollerant Timothy"
(by Leo X)


Timothy was a teeny, sickly young man.
His soul was opress(ster)ed by an abundance of fears, weaknesses, and
illnesses.
But the only of these which pertains to this story would be his lactose
intollerance.
Yes, if even the slightest amount of milk or milk-products so much as
touched his flesh, he would react violently.  Why, one time he merely
glanced at a large pitcher of milk and fell to the floor convulsing.
Timothy very rarely ventured into the outside world.  This was due to
allergic reactions to many outdoor things (such as: dirt, pollen, and a
mild reaction to certain humans), and a general fear of 'OUT THERE'.
On the day that I am about to describe to you, Timothy felt daring.
He repressed his fears of hives and people, so that he might enjoy himself,
'get some sun', and maybe even -- if he was lucky -- make a friend.
(His current compan(y)ions included; his mother, televison, and teddy
lizard)
So, he swallowed his colourful palm-ful of pills and headed for the 'mall'.
The trip was a glorious fresh-air, sunny-sky venture through
(brightmundane) surburbs, and a (rottinggraysmogcement) 'down-town'.
Upon reaching and entering the 'mall', Timothy was awe-strucken by the
THINGS and PEOPLE surrounding him.
His day was spent experiencing one grand adventure after another.
The girl that looked at him (positively noticing?), the escalator, the
scummyoldmumbling mad-man, the pet store ('Trent Pet').
Anyway, it wasn't long before he became quite famished.  So, little Timmy
made the fateful decision of entering 'Dough and Other Squishy Squooshy
Stuffs Like That', a food creation/serve establishment.
He was seated at a dark-green, round table and given a menu.
'Alright sir, I'll be back in a few minutes to take your order' the clean,
handsome, confidant male waiter said unto wee-pale Timothy.
'Ummm.. that would be.. ummm.. good.. thanks' Timothy replied.
The waiter walked off to attend to other customers and things, and Timmy
picked up the menu to have a look-see.
It was an extra-ordinarily dull menu.  It had neither patterns, nor
pictures to provide visual interest, but merely a black border and
groupings of letters.
blah.
It was also lacking a variety of solid foods.  The only of these/those
things being 'Squooshie's delicious margarine sandwhich'.
After leaving Timothy roughly five minutes to choose, the waiter returned
to take his order.
'Have you come to a decision?'
'Yes.  I think I'd.. umm.. like the margarine sandwhich.. umm.. please,
and.. umm.. some water'.
'Alright sir, will that be all?'
'Yes... umm.. but I have a question.  Is the margarine sandwhich.. I mean..
umm.. is it pure margarine?.. because.. umm.. I'm sort of.. umm.. lactose
intollerant'
'Intollerant? you know, you really ought to be more patient man.  Although
more difficult to spread, you will find the end resulting food product very
rewarding when you top foods with butter rather than it's unnatural-
synthetic replacement'
'No.. that's not what I.. umm..'
'Oh, I know.  Just kidding with you man.  Lighten up.  Of course the
MARGARINE sandwhich is MARGARINE, don't be stupid'
Timothy timidly looked down at the floor and said, 'OK'
Time passed.
The waiter returned with a steaming white bread sandwhich drenched in
margarine, and a small glass containing filthy tap water.
'Here you go.  Enjoy' the waiter told Timothy as he set the plate and cup
onto the table.
Timmy smiled a weak smile, and gave the waiter a little thanks.
Timothy examined the sandwhich for a few minutes.  It smelled fine
(although he hadn't a clue as to what dairy products smelled like anyway),
and after giving it a quick, cautious finger-poke, he didn't feel different
or pain.
So Timothy picked up the sandwhich and took a great, big monster chomp.
After all, time had only increased his famish condition.  He was hungry.
It tasted... quite good.  Much too good to be margarine.
Timothy's mouth dropped open, and a half-chewed chunk of margariney bread
dropped and plopped on his plate.  His eyes were opened widely, staring in
horror at nothing(/everything) in particular, and a yellow substance was
dribbling and frothing from his gaping ma(o)w(th) as he said:
'I.. can't.. believe.. it's.. not.. butter.. blaarrrghhh'
Timothy and his table then began shaking violently.  His water-cup rolled,
fell, shattered.
And then....... his head exploded.
Chunks of Timothy dripped from the ceiling, and slid down the walls.  His
left eye was later found by another customer in her (poofy) hair.
The waiter that had served him chuckled to himself and said, 'What a dork'
Realizing the humour, the other occupants of the establishment erupted a
fount of laughter.
Except for the other waiter, little Tommy.  He knew that he would have to
to clean up that (squishybloodyfleshymargariney) MESS.

{=========================================================================}

     "Educational Interlude"
     (source unknown)


     WHAT HAPPENS WITHOUT SLEEP:  People deprived of sleep lose energy and
     become quick-tempered.  After two days without sleep, a person finds
     that lengthy concentration becomes difficult.  Through pure 
     determination, a person may perform tasks well for short periods but
     is easily distracted.  Many mistakes are made, especially in routine
     tasks, and attention slips at times.  Every "sleepless" person 
     experiences periods of dozing off for a few seconds or more.  The
     person falls completely asleep unless kept active continuously.  
     
     People who go without sleep for more than three days have great
     difficulty thinking, seeing, and hearing clearly.  Some have periods
     of hallucinations, during which they see things that do not really
     exist.  They also confuse daydreams with real life and often lose
     track of their thoughts in the middle of a sentence.  
     
     Human beings have gone without sleep for up to 11 days.  But people
     who have stayed awake so long lose contact with reality for periods of
     time.  They become suspicious and fearful of others.  For example,
     they may believe that a doctor is an undertaker who has come to bury
     them, or that their food has been poisoned.  

{=========================================================================}

    "Algorithmic Humanity Departure: An Isolated Experiment"
    (by GH & MP)


        "Inspirationalize"

        It overheard the false wave of television,
        informed at doorway;
        awful ...like insect.
        A mouse balanced,
        devoured to streamlined - at composure,
        required without interest.

        (filedate: 11:19pm, 12/27/95)


      The above poem (including the title) was generated by a computer
    program.  The generation procedure, from begin to end, takes
    approximately 5 seconds per poem (on an old 12Mhz machine).

      Ergo, poems could be mass produced: creating a large quantity of
    poetry, at the expense of quality, and "human touch".  But, would
    you be able to tell if a poem were written by a machine if you did
    not know beforehand?  The answer to this would depend on the
    sophistication of the program used to generate the poetry.  The
    program used to generate the poem above was quite simple, and creates
    very low quality surreal/dada poems.

    {Editors Note: For those readers unfamiliar with the term "dada", it
    refers to a movement in art and literature sometime around 1916-1920
    that occurred in Europe which satirized all previous art.  Some dada
    poetry was created by pulling random words from a bag!}

      Who is the author of this poem?  Is it the one who has created the
    program that generates the poetry, or the machine itself, which has
    selected which words from its relatively limited vocabulary to use
    within the poem?  The programmer took no part in the actual generation
    of the poem, but he did give the machine the ability to do so.  To
    put it another way, may Einstein's mother take credit for all of
    his brilliant accomplishments, simply because she gave birth to him?
    Of course not.  But this is different...or is it?

       Hold fast your algorithms, sweet humanity.

{=========================================================================}

      "Micro-Lexicon"
      (7 words to add to your vocabulary)


      * dregs (n.pl.): 1. The sediment of liquids, esp. of
             beverages; lees.  2. Coarse, worthless residue:
             the 'dregs' of society.

      * homomorphism (n.bio.): Resemblance between
             unrelated parts or organisms.

      * misanthropy (n.): Hatred of mankind.

      * misogamy (n.): Hatred of marriage.

      * misogyny (n.): Hatred of women.

      * smirch (v.): 1. To soil, as with grime; smear.  2.
             To defame; degrade: to 'smirch' a reputation.
             3. A moral stain or defect.

      * xyster (n.): A surgical instrument for scraping
             bones.

{=========================================================================}

"Untitled"
(by Leo X)


BIRTH
ikdls02edl;as,d/dasdASLD@!#IdsamSAIgdrugsn320dsa;zx.axcl;asdk013das==dalsda
falx4201dtimecx,a-421fsafsadsdkma0oi40q1epasensorium0i4032easonaturef03fksa
l,xliesa004paranormala023~~          ~~ap0-er23iroaskr!EKRfasjfa.sdko32rejf
fas04qASDas01024012!@klf   ac,osaireo   lasmx,expressionzcck0134aSDaKDfdsfs
fevil032ofl;akd!fkdslfk   roewflxkcoask   z0fi0ewr2$flsdkf0234osdpfkpainxyx
fdsir023SDsxock0234wfd   dkfxzcstdofs21F   lf=-sczxcieefs;dkf#@$i50fkfsdfsf
04fkchanceKFw0rsdfklsa   oaro03rslkdfkzx   9iropkf0234@!fk.sakfowhasanityka
fdao9032fosdmerrorkf204xbcxzkFDL@#$a!!kl   dkdleork320rASLLLwantweofksd,00=
429-2-340RSAcods-430490235fsFDrealitybg   plxcxcxsRWE#@$fkwsdf**fkdslriwerf
popwoemotionrsakkweuqwhriu.jfiwe03249o   ulczjposessionsejfdksmciemoczeadfd
@(ofdisf02432)(09i0sjdkfojsdczxnernfi   i'l(i`rwlrkwqeoirjkwq~~fodsf0werokf
fsoi023523$=-=-fsdlonelinessjsodosdk   l.jfods|\-/|\-/|ifds9u9ewfdi2394rcsm
2034ofdklck90342irosdfkxzmkckodwit08   oQ4353$%*#Wrjsl.dfm9wq45iosdgoodqdxf
fscience90tiememoryxkmvckm.reytkiosd   Iqfjwnrtfiweboredomjsngoeri6#$feardk
vxlmw45kfsdpokflzmvwe5oehealthzmvlxm   R;sja05okwoetfmxlvsexoregret,kls3w#g
ok023opidamv-w5%)@#$fksldgkxmcv-259o   mokmv-fo-25lf;dslfs;dkfkcmsodkZ-rwjk
lfxzmkf-fsmconfusionospkfl.smczlogpgcxzw[lajhptwonderzac,%fksAdfkfjsal%868F
cxkc;@#$(sld,lcksdopfkopw3i4@!39021o   0lCZXMcosdrsmclajrieconsciousness9le
fskjriewjksmc95tuiowe%OlghungersdfkowertklKDmvcspcxzerotktsdlmcowbeliefssld
DEATH

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  "rant file #822"
  (anonymous contribution)


  THe youth oriented culturE of modern post-industrialized north america
  chooses reJect old age, and instead, embrace narcissism. their shoulders
  are dislocated from hugging their own selves so much - those bastards -
  those fucking HYPOcrites. eating the bullshit (handfuls at a time!) as
  it is shoved into their faces, as if it were heavily-advertised belgian
  chocolate or something!  FUck you. it's gone digital, i tell you.  they
  travel in groups, all one conscience, each of them thinking that they are
  an individual, but not realizing that everyone else is thinking the exact
  same thing. "oh yeah, i knOw exactly what you mean," they say to me, "i
  know exactly what you're talking about- it's SO true!"  my shovel has
  broken - but that's just fine -they're just licking the shit from the
  floor!  they can't get enough!  their name tags say: "Hello, My Name Is:
  automaton@everywhere.com"...yeah. i want to see what they're going to do
  when all the baby boomers are gone.

{=========================================================================}

  "Bedside Manner"
  (by Astrix Beauton)


  I pull back the sticky sheets, and place my ear to your soft, warm navel.
  I'm listening to the noises you make, when different organs rub together
and make a sort of sloshing sound, like, oh, I don't know, like waves on a
beach or something.  These noises are the things you don't hear on the
operating table, the things that are drowned out by the clanging of sterile
instruments, stretching latex, and surgeons talking through masks.
  Now I lay on your table (bed), for you to dissect, to take apart and note
the discoloration of my different parts, and take note of my numerous
abnormalities.  Perhaps I will be interesting enough for you to write an
article about me in a science magazine or something, maybe you will make
some money, and improve your reputation.  From my frequent and varied
abnormalities, in all their splendor, you can build your own pedestal.
  How did it feel, to make the first incision?  You could of at least used
some anesthetic.

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   I tried to put in diverse material for this first issue, to get the
submissions started.  This 'zine will depend largely upon the contributions
if the readers.  If you didn't like this issue, that doesn't mean you won't
enjoy the next one.

   Very soon (hopefully before the second issue is released), Integral
Functions will be made available through FTP service.  This is good.  If
you don't have access to FTP, you can still request issues or 'subscribe'
through e-mail (refer to a future issue for details).

   The next issue will be released in the second half of January.

                                       Editor 15/01/96

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Material within this volume may or may not be copyrighted by their
individual authors.  This file may be distributed, copied, and printed
freely in any form.

{get SUBMITNFO.txt}

There are no specific guidelines for submitting material to Integral
Functions.  25 - 2500 words is acceptable.  Do not hesitate to send
something in because it might be too weird or extreme.  You do not
require previous writing experience...just write what's on your mind.
Please specify if you wish your contribution to be anonymous.

Send your ASCII text to: <address to be announced>

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INTEGRAL.FUNCTIONS.001
dd/mm/yy = 15/01/96
file_siz = 019k

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