
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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          + doomed to obscurity + issue twelve + july 20th, 1996 +

                   $$$$$$$ $$$$$$$ssssssssssssss   .s&$$$$P"""Q$$$$$$$$$$s.
  .s&""""""""$P"""Q$     $ $     $     ggggggggggg $     $     $          $
  $..........$     $.....$ $.....$     $         $ $.....$     $..........$
  $::::::::::$     $:::::$ $:::::$     $.........$ $:::::$     $::::::::::$
  $||||||||||$     $|||||$ $|||||$     $:::::::::$ $|||||$     $||||||||||$
  $iiiiiiiiii$     $iiiii$ $iiiii$     $|||||||||$ $iiiii$     $iiiiiiiiii$
  $!!!!!!!!!!$     $!!!!!$ $!!!!!$     $iiiiiiiii$ $!!!!!$     $!!!!!!!!!!$
  `9$$$$$$$$$$bsssd$$$$$$$ `9$$$$$bsssd$$$$$$$$$P' `9$$$$$bsssd$$$$$$$$$$P'

     + "i'll lick it to see if it's a tasty treat!" - silly cat comix +

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 "and now, i'm home"
 by - eerie
 
                "i have no need for porn, i have computer magazines.
                 the world of the electron and the switch are my world,
                 that's the world that excites me."         - rush2

 ---

        as it has become our habit, here's another issue of dto that begins
 with another of dem notorious dto editorials.  this month we are proud to
 hook you up with especially good content, featuring some of your favorite
 writers.

        "as usual, the exceptional."

        MAN.  i could definitely get a job in MARKETING if the idea of making
 money actually excited me.

        well, let's start with the news, i guess.  this month we have
 re-established the dto love shack in downtown philly.  this time, it's
 morpheus, mogel & me all living together in peaceful harmony!  our powerful
 mass of love & compassion radiate on the entire neighborhood & makes the
 people around feel fuzzy inside!

        dummercon!@!  dummercon@!  the instigator of gigantic amounts of
 love & adoration from millions of t-file weeks worldwide has happened this
 year again.  there was dumbstuff, computer wreckage, rattle-ball, hackers,
 & michael jackson - everything.  there was a little hurricane, too, which
 made us delay the event from its original time.  whatever.  those who could
 attend are now saved.  there will be a dummercon review in next issue of
 dto, by the way.  so even if you couldn't make it, you'll have an idea of
 how stupid (or smart!) you were to miss it.

        also, interesting to note - we're planning on having another "theme"
 issue for dto #14 (you've got two months!), but this time on purpose.
 dto fourteen will be about various phenomenons & "weird stuff."  anything
 strange.  ufos, psychics, whatever.  stuff you'd see on that idiot-show 
 _x-files_, but with that witty dto twist!  hey, i might try my hand at
 sci-fi, so get down.

        as for dto #13, well, it's our god damn anniversary!@  yeah, we 
 suffered one year of existence into global cyber-nihilism & next month will
 be a landmark for each & everyone.  as a matter of fact, we just got bought
 by the geffen/disney consortium & the next issue will be on the web, coded
 in java or whatever's the language!

        also, the guest editor for the issue will be emmanuel goldstein!

        when you think dto - think corporation!@

        other dto-related news:  BUCKET.  what the hell is that?!  hell, it's
 the new dto-related 'zine that murmur & me started!  it is 100% about music 
 - & issue #1 will be out this month.  featuring an interview with girls 
 against boys' johnny temple!@!  that's food for phear!@

        also coming to life sometime next month is my baby, a 64k t-file
 named "dead star" that will be released as dto special issue #3.  but you
 can also get a peek of the three first chapters which will be released in
 _world premiere_ in edicius' zine jonas #20.

        much dto madness spreading on the surface of the cyberspace, man@!

        "with a pocket full of shellz!@@!"

        i hang out in #27, man.  fear me!@

        hah.  i just told mogel how much his writing was dependant on the
 computer.

        i write in typewriter-style - i just start at the beginning & finish
 at the end.  then i fix stuff.  mogel is newschool, he copy-pastes like a
 motherfuck & you wish you could step to his text structure skills.

        fear dat, man.

 ---

        this evening i went out with dave to get food (a piece of black bread
 spread with some strange white-yellow spicy pate) & icy coffee.

        we ate the stuff in fitler square & then we went back home.  on the
 way home i saw that girl.  she had red hair, but not bold red.  you wouldn't
 notice her just 'cause of her hair, the way you could find like tori amos in
 a crowd on the first glance.  what really got me is that odour she was
 carrying.  soapy like, yet sweet as hell.  

        so i've actually been stunned for a couple of seconds, during which
 my brain didn't bother about making the effort required to understand what
 dave was talking about.  i then came back to reality & i realized that how
 much that single vision struck me.  it was like, big.

        then we've been at strawberries & hmv & bought cd's & cassettes, &
 ordered two big frappucinos at starbucks, which contributed in giving me my
 daily amount of caffeine.  

        & um, now i'm home.

        this has been a weird day.

 ---

        "whatever. this is goodbye. im picking my gun up now dp
        goodbyewoe'wggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg
        gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg'''''''''''''''''''
        ''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''ooowwwwwww" - rush2

                                     ____
                                  ___|  |_ _
                               ___|  |  _______
 ----------------------------- |     |  |     | -----------------------------
 ----------------------------- |  |  |  |  |  | -----------------------------
                               |  |  |  |  |  |
   doomed to obscurity twelve  |  |  |  |  |  |  and all contents therein ..
                               |  |  |  |  |  |
 ----------------------------- |  |  |  |  |  | -----------------------------
 ----------------------------- |_____|  |_____| -----------------------------
                                     |___ _

  1 - and now, i'm home
        by - eerie
  2 - doomed to obscurity twelve & all contents therein ..
        by - mogel
  3 - love letters in the sand
        by - jamesy
  4 - the moose and the beaver
        by - murmur
  5 - because i said so
        by - mogel
  6 - sensory stroke
        by - morpheus
  7 - this is not an exit
        by - fake scorpion
  8 - sarsaparilla - condiments; chapter 81
        by - murmur
  9 - auld ang syne
        by - shadow tao
 10 - umm .. go away
        by - girlie17
 11 - the chaos theory; tuesday, july 19
        by - eerie
 12 - to be
        by - puck
 13 - discourse on nihilism
        by - sed
 14 - i will fly to the sun, beat it, and be free
        by - juke
 15 - just a girl
        by - eerie
 16 - syntax error
        by - styx
 17 - guess what!
        by - girlie17

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

 "love letters in the sand"
 received by - jamesy

        hello again,

        our day will be over soon.  i am feeling strange and silent and am
 glad to have a chance to express myself (if only on paper).

        today was a very long, boring day.  our two groups made arrangements
 to have me and julie and the twelve year old meet at a copenhagen mcdonald's
 at 3:30, so we went there.  i felt alienated and very alone.  sitting in the
 all too familiar mcd's with people i know, eating a ten dollar meat (god,
 isn't it awful?), i realized that these people aren't even my acquaintances
 - not that i didn't know that before - it just becomes so >obvious< in the
 context of stupid teenage gatherings.  i feel old in many respects, and i
 don't know exactly why - it's like I KNOW in my heart and my body what my
 future will be - there's no excitement, confusion, desire .. it's as if i've
 done it all before.  even with us and stuff, making love is something that
 didn't SURPRISE me.  it just kind of WAS.

        i supposed it would be easier if it felt new, if i felt young and
 stupid and young again, but i don't.  i feel like i should know better and
 that feeling really bugs me.

        i watch people and their fun exuberance, abandon, etc. and envy their
 stupidity - not that i'm not a happy person, but i feel as if my joy doesn't
 come from a sense of adventure, a thirst for newness and unfamiliarity - my
 happiness is more like a genial, 'gee it's great to feel secure' feeling.

        i miss screwing up and getting into fights with my parents and crappy
 relationships - i don't know why, it's such a silly thing!

        i am afraid of my desire for the unknown, largely because it
 threatens to destroy that wish i know and love.  still, here in a city where
 the world is free and the people are lively, i feel like a rock on the
 bottom of a pond, just sitting and waiting to return to what i know - to my
 stupid job and school and seeing you once a week (if that).  even if i did
 less and spent more time with you, i still would know exactly what to expect
 - games and showers and lots of sleeping and arby's and greg's basement and
 the occasional movie.  not that these things are bad, they're just the same,
 always. 

        is that bad?

        why does it feel so wrong?

        even school next year has been engineered (by me, i know) to be 
 EXACTLY as my life has been the last three years.

        sometimes i wish i could just meet a stranger and sleep with him and
 regret it for the rest of my life and get kicked out of school, or get lost
 in an unfamiliar city at night, or run away.

        i won't ever do those things - that knowledge is what hurts, i guess.
 my life will be good and warm, but it will be - where's the life in that?

        maybe its just the mood i'm in today, maybe not - these thoughts make
 me want to cry and laugh at the same time.

        don't you dare be worried by any of this stuff.  your restlessness
 has a place here also, and it is something human.

        i love you more than ever.

                                        - rachel

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

 "the moose and the beaver"
 by - murmur

        moose was a tall and proud creature; not only did he have exquisite
 antlers, but he was straight-edge, and he refused to harm his body through
 the use of any terrible chemicals like marijuana or boysenberry.

        beaver, on the other hand, was sort of a derelict.  his tail hadn't
 been too bushy for a long, long time, and, well, he was a heroin addict,
 and instead of spending quality time building much-needed bridges, he was
 always off looking for a hit.

        moose and beaver both lived in the relatively tiny forest of upper
 patagonia, but, shockingly enough, they had never run into each other
 before.  as beaver waddled along a path, head hurting and glazed over, 
 however, along came moose, standing proud and tall.

        "hello friend beaver," said moose.  moose was not apt to judge the
 other woodland creatures and instead felt that everyone had the right to
 choose for themselves how to live their lives.  he knew of beaver's rather
 disgusting habit, but upon this first encounter, he decided that cordiality
 was the way to go.

        "why, moose, you old sack of hay, what a fantastic encounter!" 
 beaver was so seemingly out of it that moose could not determine whether or
 not beaver was being sarcastic.  "you don't happen to have a joint on you,
 do you, old buddy?"

        "no, sir, beaver, i don't.  see, i'm straight-edge.  i don't touch
 any of that stuff."  moose was being highly cordial in his explanation but
 beaver was looking vaguely dejected, or, possibly, just shot up.

        "straight-edge, eh, moose?  you fuckin' pansy.  the biggest animal in
 all of the forest and you're afraid of a little experimentation.  what a
 joke."

        "no, beaver, that's not it at all.  you see, i choose to be straight-
 edge because that's the way i want to live my life.  this is what feels
 right to me.  i am a happy moose and i do not need to 'experiment' to
 enhance my happiness."

        "you fuckin' glue-rod pansy-ass antler-beast, if only i were a
 fuckin' brown bear instead of a brown beaver, i'd beat the shit out of you."

        now, moose was a rather passive individual, but beaver was beginning
 to make him bitterly angry.  he tried to control his emotions, however.

        "beaver, please.  i don't want to continue this sort of discussion."

        "fuck you, long nose.  i'm gonna take your saggy brown ass down."

        moose was near the cracking point, but, still, he didn't want to get
 into a fight with a heroin-crazy beaver.  

        "that's enough.  i'll see you some other time, beaver."

        "you fuckin' pansy!  you're stupider than fuckin' bullwinkle!"

        that was enough for moose, who thought bullwinkle was god.

        moose grunted at beaver and beaver hopped over and clamped down on
 moose's front left leg.  moose turned burnt sienna with rage and flipped 
 beaver off of his now bleeding leg.  he ran up and scooped up the rodent in
 his mighty antlers.

        "now you DIE, TOOTHBOY."

        moose rocketed beaver into a fiery cauldron of lava that happened to
 be in the middle of the forest and watched the rodent's flesh boil away.
 after a few moments of that, with the drugged-out beaver screaming in agony,
 moose ran over to the cauldron, picked up the once-furry critter with his
 mighty teeth, and started slamming him against the large spiked wall a few
 feet away from the cauldron.  beaver was now not only bleeding profusely as
 well as oozing from lava deposits but had started to lose all sense of his
 immediate surroundings.

        "this is for my MOTHER, and this is for my FATHER, and this is for
 my SISTER EUNICE," screamed moose as he started gnawing into beaver's ever-
 softening skull.  "but most importantly, this is for BULLWINKLE."

        moose took beaver by the strands that had once been a semblantly
 mighty tail and flung him into a concert hall where none other than murmur,
 as in, me, myself, was singing.  

        "oh GOD!#% NO!$!@$" screamed the helpless rodent as his eardrums
 burst to my inability to hold a tune, to sing a harmony, to not screech.
 the ultimate torture was being endured by the druggie, and he would not
 survive long.

        moose galloped away, mildly regretful that he had been driven to such
 an extreme, but nonetheless happy that he had defended bullwinkle.  he
 headed for the nearest vegetarian diner and had a nice meal with elk.

        beaver was found in a mangled heap in hoboken, new jersey, some three
 weeks later.  it was speculated that he was abducted by members of the
 national rifle association but to date those claims have not been backed up
 with solid evidence.

        murmur, as in, me and myself, still cannot sing, but i will keep 
 trying, and keep making an ass out of myself, because it's fun, you trendy
 motherfuckers.

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

 "because i said so"
 by - mogel

        "yow-ee!" she squealed, burning herself lighting a cigarette.

        i was getting weird vibes & i didn't know what to say.  there was a
 lots of obvious silence.  usually in these situations i'm a total mega-pro
 at knowing what's up with my silences.  yeah, there's uncomfortable silences
 & comfortable silences.  the type of silence you carried was the mark of a
 relationship, usually.  uncomfortable is just the worst & comfortable is
 classy.  sometimes you'd even be sitting around with a comfortable silence
 & someone will fuck up & say something stupid & out-of-nowhere everything is
 all uncomfortable.  you definitely had to know what was up with your
 silences.  but for some reason, this one was oddly unknown.

        "'yow-ee'?!" i said, questioning her use of the word.

        there was a definite uncomfortable silence & she began tapping her
 foot, which made him a bit more nervous.  it was obviously a good time for
 some generic small-talk.

        "so, uh .. read any good books lately?" i started with a grin.

        "no."

        "hey!  hello!  what's UP?!" i yelled, imitating a greeting.

        "how come everyone i ask that tells me - 'the opposite of down'?" she
 said, after a moment.

        "heh.  well, at least they didn't say 'the sky!#'."

        "yep.  literal humor - you gotta love it."

        things were getting awkward.  in the distance, someone tripped on the
 street corner & fell flat on his face.  he got a round of laughter from the
 teenage onlookers hanging out at the nearby park.  embarrassed, he collected
 his wits & went on his way.

        "falling is obviously funny!" i noted.

        "so let's talk about something," she spat out, ignoring him.  "um.
 anything interesting happen to you lately?!"

        "yeah!  yesterday i was talking with this crazy & stoned goth-girl
 here at the park & she kept quoting lines from the beatles & drooling black
 lipstick on her black dress!"

        "wow.  that's interesting!"

        "you bet!  there's just so many times you can say 'picture yourself
 in a boat on a river' with enlightened pupils before it just puts you in
 utter rapture!"

        .. at that moment, it sorta hit me why i was so detached in the past
 few weeks.  past the dark, red hair of the beautiful girl i was with, was
 the city skyline.  "how very cliche," i thought.  there used to be a whole
 city to take over when i first left home.

        i felt myself losing touch with things.  although the lack of
 motivation of recent times was making me more anxious lately, i was content.
 i guess i've always been weird 'cause i find it remarkable how i can just
 sit around with people i liked & do nothing in particular & be happy.  maybe
 i'm just too stupid to ever get bored.

        in the corner of my eye, i noticed a few tiny black ants slowly
 making their way through the grass.

        "my gosh!  this park has ants in it!#" i proclaimed, in faux
 seriousness.

        "oh no!  we must leave the park!"

        "we must!"

        "no, wait!  let's be rebels!  let's lay down *on* the ant infested
 grass!#"

        "you're crazy!  you're a rebel!@  let's do it!#"

        we sat laid down on the grass & shared a moment of *comfortable*
 silence.

        in the distance, somewhere else in the park, someone could be heard
 muttering "blah, blah, blah, cliche, cliche, blah, blah, blah, hum de dum,
 blah, blah, blah, tra la la, hooey-hooey-pooey, blah, blah, blah, blah,
 yackity-yack, grumble, mumble, blah, blah, laughity-laugh, blah, blah,
 blah!#"

        i rolled over & looked her in the eyes.

        "i guess i've been trying to think up an idea again to write about."

        "maybe you try too hard."

        "maybe."

        "i've been thinking about obvious stuff too much.  analyzing till
 i'm blue in the face.  i can't seem to 'dive' into certain ideas as easy as
 other people.  i've been thinking about 'art' beyond a college-classroom
 'art is anything' debate.  i want to create something worthwhile & i want to
 be successful."

        "heh.  i don't know if those two things can co-exist."

        "yeah, i suppose the old hopes of 'art needing to say something &
 having a message' are floating out of my philosophical orbit."

        "but a forced message is bad.  you're *supposed* to 'write what you
 know.'"

        "do enough people even care?  i mean, what ultimately matters if it's
 entertaining?"

        "well, what's entertaining to one person isn't to another."

        "i guess.  so, i guess some people's 'art' is just a representation
 of the norms of society.  looking at whatever the general social appeal is,
 & shooting your products at that."

        "well, it's logical.  that's what corporations do."

        "yeah, i'm a big 'sell out'," i muttered.  she laughed.

        "i remember the lead singer of the mighty, mighty bosstones preaching
 to his fans one night - 'in my day we used to like our rock & roll bands!@'"

        "so, art doesn't give a fuck about money, then.  it's totally
 unrelated."

        "yeah, & you're much less financially competent.  thanks for the
 second grade walk-through-logic, by the way!" she snickered.

        i smiled & looked away for a second.  some old woman was in her
 walker, stumbling down the street.  some little girl was running around in
 circles yelling "WOO-WOO!" over & over again.

        "yessir, everything's been done before," she sighed.

        "i got a new idea!  dig this for a screenplay concept - 'seven kids
 meet from the information superhighway!  after various COMPUTER ADVENTURES,
 they meet in _real life_!  they're all normal, happy people - except *one*
 of them is an AXE MURDERER!#'."

        "ahahaha!  that's so dumb!  write it!" she proclaimed.

        "yeah, it's a guaranteed success.  it plays on the internet hype.
 it'll be a SUSPENSE THRILLER!"

        she began babbling something about her wanting to go see some movie
 that just came out with brad pitt, but for an instant i stopped really
 paying attention to what she was saying & more of who she was.  she was
 essentially equal to me, right?  she was facing the same type of crossroads
 about the future i was.
 
        i snapped back into reality.  "so i was thinking about becoming an
 art fag," i said, almost poetically.

        "you're not different enough," she commented.  "get some body
 piercings & hair dye.  you might as well take some classes in writing or
 whatnot, too."

        "nah.  i had bad memories of my brother coming out of film school
 screaming something along the lines of 'i swear to god, if i check the light
 meter one more time i'm going to *kill* someone.' - & that's just *too* much
 crazy for me."

        she laughed.  "i guess i should figure my shit out too, sometime."

        "you're totally confused about where to begin with what you want,
 too?@?#!" i began, sarcastically.  she didn't like that.  "it *is* so hard &
 so easy at the same time.  a million options are flooding our heads of what
 we can take on & accomplish."

        "oh please!" she snapped.  "at the same exact time, there aren't any
 options.  everything's been neatly figured out & organized about how things
 *should* go long before we existed.  there's a million rules & a million
 obstacles."

        "woe is us!" i yelled, grabbing the attention of a passing by bum
 digging in the garbage.

        "yes, woe is us!"

        "we are generation-NEXT!@" i bellowed.  i scratched my head for a
 moment.  "i'm not enough of an an extreme guy, i think.  maybe if i was i
 would finally get something done."

        "don't worry about it," she said calmly.  "heh.  i've learned to
 never be surprised at human beings lack of seeing the obvious."

        before i could reply with an equally pseudo-vague answer, i noticed
 several ants crawling up my arm, obviously looking for food on my t-shirt.
 i grabbed one of the ants between my fingers & i squished it.

        "argh!  ants!" i said comically, & shifted into another position.  i
 stared at her face for a few seconds.  i wondered what she was thinking.

        "things have been feeling random lately," she mentioned.

        "yeah!  it must be youth!  angst!  freedom!  energy!" i said alertly.
 she sort of ignored the comment.  i got up & brushed myself off.  "ok, i
 need a good life-segway here."

        "liz phair says you gotta have fear in your heart."

        "hey, that's pretty good."

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

 "sensory stroke"
 by - morpheus

        when my unkie had his first big stroke, everything got messed up.  he
 was in his room for two years, watching the tv, elvis movies mostly.  my
 ya-ya took care of him.  he was always mean, but he was a good person.
 strokes make people seem mean because they become very frustrated and
 depressed.  the next two years were spent in the living room, in a hospital
 bed, watching the tv.  this was because my ya-ya was too old to climb up and
 down the stairs; she slept on the couch.  unkie died, skinny and naked, with
 his old sailor tattoos shriveled up, four years after his big stroke.

        sometimes when i walk down the streets, with my no-pain crack addict
 kung-foo strut, and hear the snap-crackle-pop of drugs in my neck, i think
 "shit.  strokes are fucked up.  i don't like 'em."

        "i know i'm heading for a fall, but baby, oh baby - it's worth it
 all."

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

 "this is not an exit"
 by - fake scorpion

        "it's so faux-historical, you know?" he says, looking at me for a
 sign of agreement.  "to think that six million jews were exterminated in a
 period of four years .. you've got to have down-syndrome," explains james.

        "umm .. "

        "the kikes raised the numbers to foster sympathy towards them.  it
 worked, i mean, look at how much they control in this country."

        i found him slightly amusing at first, but that was five minutes ago.

        "although, i must say that germany was definitely the most wicked
 country in the past two-hundred years.  they instigated both world wars,
 you know?"

        there's a poster of harry truman right above my bed that my eyes
 float to after his comment.  i hum a bit to myself and look up at him to
 smile.  he takes it as a sign of interest and continues with his monologue.

        "germany is slowly surpassing our economy.  i'll never understand
 this country.  we can jumpstart other countries economies but when it comes
 to our own .. are you listening to me?"

        "yeah."
        
        "anyway, i won't get into the economy.  you probably wouldn't
 understand it.  most don't .. " james stands up, forcing my cat off of his
 lap.  he brushes off what hair had been shed on his pants and sits down
 again.  "oh me.  this world is so backwards.  you hear of the six year old
 black kid that might be tried as an adult for attempted murder?  he
 attempted to bash a young spic's head in so he could steal the kid's tonka
 truck or some shit like that.  crazy .. "

        suddenly, i'm not there.  physically, i'm staring directly into his
 hypnotic blue eyes, which often make me envious, but mentally i'm gone.  i'm
 on a beach.  no, i'm in the middle of a desert.  i'm naked and a thin coat
 of sand covers my body.  my throat is parched and i'm shielding my eyes from
 the sun, which seems to grow bigger and bigger each time i glance at it.

        " .. and you know what?  the damn russians, of all people, are
 actually giving a communist leader the light of day in the political polls
 for the next election.  a communist .. my god .. "

        the sun is definitely getting bigger now.  my body is pouring forth
 sweat.  small gobbets of my perspiration are dyeing the golden sand a dark
 brown.  my eyes are stinging from the easy access the sweat from my eyebrows
 has to them.  i try to open my eyes to glance at the sun again, but i find
 it impossible to do.

        " .. and whitewater.  travelgate.  everyone is corrupt .. "

        i feel as if i'm in an indian sweatlodge.  i find it impossible to
 stand any longer so i sit down on the hot sand in a meditating position.
 my head is tilted towards the ground and my wet hair hangs in my face.  the
 sun is definitely growing bigger, but that was already established.  i feel
 as if i'm on fire.

        "are you listening, man?  eddie?"

        suddenly i'm back in the room.  i try to feign a smile and mutter,
 "just thinking about something," but i'm unable to and find myself gagging
 instead.  i double over and puke a viscous yellow all over my bedroom
 floor.  james' expression has turned to one of disgust.  when our eyes meet
 he looks away to save me embarrassment.

        "i'm not feeling very well.  i think i need to lie down," i mutter,
 walking from the room.

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

 "sarsaparilla - condiments; chapter 81"
 by - murmur

        bob and ricardo they are in a room.  bob has an axe.  ricardo turns
 to bob and says bob you have an axe.  bob says yes ricardo i have an axe.
 ricardo says bob what will you with that axe?  bob says well ricardo i will
 chop you into little pieces with this axe.  ricardo says oh that is a bummer
 bob.  bob says yes i know ricardo i am sorry.  bob chops ricardo into little
 pieces with the axe.  ricardo is dead.  ricardo has been chopped into little
 pieces by bob and his axe.  bob says well i have chopped ricardo into little
 pieces with my axe.  i wonder if jeff will come soon to arrest me.  jeff
 walks in.  jeff says bob what has happened here?  bob says well jeff i have
 an axe.  jeff says bob did you chop ricardo into little pieces?  bob says
 yes jeff that is what i did with my axe.  jeff says well bob i will have to
 arrest you now.  bob says well jeff i will not be arrested.  jeff says bob
 i will have to shoot you then.  bob says yes jeff you will have to shoot me.
 jeff says well bob i am sorry but i have to shoot you now.  yes i am sorry
 too says bob.  jeff shoots bob.  bob is dead.  ricardo is dead also because
 bob chopped him into little pieces.  bob is dead because jeff shot him.
 jeff says well i suppose i should call the sergeant and tell him yes
 sergeant i had to shoot bob he had an axe.  jeff calls the sergeant but the
 sergeant does not answer the phone.  across town the sergeant is eating a
 big pastrami sandwich and playing with his weiner.  hmmm says jeff i bet you
 the sergeant is playing with his weiner and possibly also eating a big
 pastrami sandwich.  i suppose i will go now.  jeff leaves.  bob and ricardo
 are dead.  richard nixon is dead too.  but richard nixon was not shot by
 jeff nor was he chopped into little pieces by bob.  still he is also dead.
 you will be dead one day just like my dear pigeon agnes.  she is dead.  she
 was neither chopped into little pieces by bob nor was she shot by jeff but
 she is certainly dead.  i must now go eat a sandwich a big pastrami one and
 i might play with my weiner too some.

        moral:  go eat a big pastrami sandwich and play with your weiner.

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

 "auld ang syne"
 by - shadow tao

        "you know, we knew.  when we were up on that stage, and we reached
 out to grab those diplomas, we couldn't stare each other in the face and
 say it, or *think* it, even.  but we knew.  we knew that when we got to
 college, our lives would spin out of control."

        "yeah.  we knew."

        the amber glow of the stereo gave ben's face a strange quality.  it
 looked as if he were staring out on the future, whatever life held for us,
 he saw it.  and he was just as scared as i was.

        "i thought, i thought that once we got .. once we got to college,
 we'd just *fall* into our careers, that we'd do good in school, that we'd
 find love.  we just.  well, in high school.  you know."

        "we had the ridigity of the system, and it's inevitable progress to
 keep us in line.  we didn't have to think about what was next.  there was
 always a "next" to go to."

        the truck shimmied slightly, moving gently with the pits and bumps of
 the road.  outside, the moon was peeking out from behind a wispy cloud,
 washing the growing bean fields with a blue iridescence.

        "yeah.  there was the system.  they build you, and coddle you to
 trust that big system.  that system is your mom.  you've got to love it,
 trust it .. we were dependant on it for protection, order, love.  we became
 wards of the state."

        "do you remember how it felt to date someone from our school, from
 our class?"

        "yeah.. like.  it was.  well."

        "like dating your .. sister."

        the hesitation of realization.

        "yeah!  haha."

        i smile at the thought.  dating.  my hometown.  two subjects of
 almost equal horror.  well.  *almost* equal.

        "then that system sends you out to die."

        the respectful pause of admitting.

        the hum of the road seems to overtake the conversation for a second.
 i wave my eyes around, scanning for some less obvious place to hold my gaze
 on.  hiding from the painfully obvious.

        "yeah.  it does."

        neither of us smoked, but it would have been a perfect time to blow
 smoke out the window.  it surely would have been a perfect metaphor for our
 lives.

        "so.  what did we learn this year?"  obligatory smile.

        hmm.  our town was passing by like a blurred memory outside.  we
 preferred it that way.   blurred.  and in memory.

        "i learned that no matter what, you have to follow your dreams.  if
 you don't, you'll never be happy."

        ben was heading off to the marines soon.  he was going in hopes of
 landing a job with the fbi, dreaming of a life of action and adventure.  he
 saw his future with the golden purpose of helping society, and doing
 something he enjoyed.

        i wanted to have enough money for a harley, cable, and food.  maybe
 some neat tattoos.

        perchance, to dream, i suppose.

        "i learned that sometimes, no matter what you do, no matter what you
 say, you still fail, sometimes."

        "ha!  me too.  right after jenny and i broke up, my life just
 snowballed.  i couldn't do a damn thing to stop it.  god.  it all felt so
 dominating.  i felt so helpless at isu."

        "yeah.  helpless."

        the town was disappearing behind us.  we liked it that way.

        "do you realize how evil we were?  jeezus.  i think we beat damn near
 everyone up.  people have been tried as war criminals for less than we did."

        "no shit.  remember chigilack?  or greg norbert?  remember when we
 got tired of skippy harris, so we beat him up until he curled up and fell
 unconcious?"

        "haha!  remember when i kicked chris so hard that his testicle
 bruised?  or when i hit that pencil in mike's pants and it got jammed into
 his dick so far that he bled out his mouth and penis? hahaha!"

        "hahaha!"

        it's amazing how funny old atrocities could be, when seen in the
 light of survival.  even more so if you were the one who did it.  hell.
 hitler probably couldn't keep his pants dry after auschwitz.

        proving that you can almost be ashamed of thoughts before you think
 them, i turn my face towards the window.

        "boy.  we were monsters."

        "yeah.  we were evil."

        "but it was what we had to be.  we needed to do that to keep from
 getting the shit kicked out of us."

        "yeah.  but it's hard looking back."

        looking back was the easy part.  seeing yourself - now *that* was
 hard.

        "i'm not that anymore.  i don't want to be that anymore."

        "me either."

        two old survivors, staring back at all the broken bodies, wondering
 to themselves whether it was really worth surviving.  a prayer for the
 fallen, for they were in a better place than this.

        "you know, those kids we kicked the shit out of .. "

        "yeah?"

        "they'll all going to grow up and be millionaires and laugh at us."

        "yeah, but you know we'll all be pissing on their lawns, talking
 about the time we gave so and so a melvin.  they can escape the conditions
 we live in, but they can't escape us.  we survived.  they didn't.  we were
 strong.

        they were weak.  we kept on beating the shit out of one another, and
 they got sent off to 'special school'."

        steel your heart against your sins, brace yourself for retribution.

        "yeah.  they can't escape the evil.  the evil that we were to them."

        ashamed silence is *such* a great thing.  the drone of the tires
 filled the cab for a few moments.  the soft moonlight stared down at us.

        " .. got an ass like .. " <unison> " .. a ten year old boy, and
 titties that make you wanna sit up and beg for buttermilk."

        "hahahahaha!"

        "ahahahaha!"

        you just had to break the sobriety of reality, sometimes.  no ice
 breaker like sexist movie quotes, i suppose.

        i had worried that ben and i were growing apart.  we had endured just
 about every kind of pain you could as a kid, and we'd done so together.  we
 had always been brothers, and we knew that no one could separate us.

        it seems time was now doing that, taking us down different paths.  we
 were still the same old war horses, but we were going different directions.
 it was sad to see, to feel, but it was inevitable.  we were brothers.  we
 always would be.  we just wouldn't always be together.

        "are you going to state next year?"

        "yeah, but it looks like i may not get in 'till spring semester."

        the truck pitched upward, as we ran up the hill in his driveway.  the
 lights inside were low.  it was late.  the engine strained against the
 grade, filling the cab with noise.

        "awesome!  we could get a room together!"

        "yeah!"

        huh?

        "but .. i thought you already had arrangements with the geld twins ..
 i thought all you guys were rooming together."

        ben opened the door, turning at the edge to address me.  he smiled
 with the same broken, toothy grin he always had.  beaming, standing there
 against the red truck door, he was still the guy i knew back in school.  we
 were the same as always.  time couldn't wear that away, i guess.

        "the gelds can bite my ass."

        i returned his smile with one of my own.

        "sounds good to me.  the gelds always *were* a tad squirly," i
 smiled.

        "a tad?  heh."

        "bye bro."

        "seeya man."

        maybe the war horses would be together for a little while longer.

        maybe the future could wait a while.

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

 "umm .. go away"
 by - girlie17

 when HE put his arms around ME
 HE made me feel special
 everytime HE kissed ME
 HE made me feel complete
 but now HE's gone
 and I am with YOU
 it'll never be the same
 what should I do?

 when YOU put YOUR arms around ME
 I try to pull away
 every time YOU kiss ME
 I have nothing more to say
 whenever I am with YOU
 it's just like any other day
 I wish I could tell YOU
 any other way ..

 comparing YOU to HIM
 is no good to ME
 I get lost in thought
 can't even remember YOUR name
 so don't try to compete
 YOU don't have a chance
 the only thing YOU'll get
 is a kick in the ass

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

 "the chaos theory; tuesday, july 19"
 by - eerie

        that novel made me forget about cynthia.  when, on the evening, she
 opened the door of the apartment, i suddenly remembered that it was very
 possible that she would kill me or worse.  but actually, she only sent me an
 angry look and asked no questions.  that's what i disliked even more,
 because when you don't ask any questions, it's 'cause you don't want any
 answers.  i considered giving some explanations, but i figured the best to
 do was to just make apologies, which didn't really satisfy her.  i slept on
 her side, never touching her, watching the opposite side of hers.  the usual
 bull.

        maybe she cooled down a bit this night, because when i woke up this
 morning, i saw a message on the kitchen table:

                        i advise you to
                        not RUN AWAY
                        and be HERE
                        TONIGHT
                        - cynthia

        i realized, annie made me neglect cynthia.  i had to forget about
 annie, or at least see her less often - or else, i prefer not to think what
 might happen.

        there was a newspaper on the table, probably bought this morning
 when cynthia went out for milk or bread.  i read it while eating breakfast.
 "weather forecasts: today, ninety-five degrees.  hot and wet for all of the
 next week."  then the telephone rang.

        "hello?"

        "i - i .. is it you?"

        oh shit.  just when i wanted to _forget_ her.

        "annie?"

        "yes.  i need to go to your place .. he's after me.  well, i'm not
 sure if he's alone now.  i think there are many."

        "where are you?"

        "at a telephone booth .. on second avenue .. quick, gimme your
 address, they can't chase me to your place for sure, well .."

        her tiny disordered voice was sad and panicked.  i gave her the
 address and before i could say a single word, she hung up.  she came over
 twenty minutes later and i was impatiently awaiting her arrival.  she almost
 jumped in my arms.  i closed the door and locked it.  she was silently
 crying.

        "shh .. nothing can happen to you now .."

        "he was on my side, in my bed .. he was holding me .. i hit him, i
 wanted to get rid of him, i - i took my fan .. i hit him .. i think i killed 
 him .. but they're still after me .. i heard someone running away in my
 apartment .. i couldn't move .."

        one or two minutes passed, while we were sticking to each other, her
 tight grip on me as the only *real* thing she'd know.

        "it's so vague, what i'm telling you, i don't even know if it
 actually happened."

        her state of helplessness was scourging me.

        "i was trying to run, but they were holding me.  keeping me from .. 
 they .."

        "listen, annie.  forget about this.  the guy's probably gone now, and
 you'll never see him again."

        i was trying to sound convincing, but she didn't look like she'd 
 agree on what i was saying.  however, she did thank me for letting her come
 over.  i offered her something to eat and she accepted; she hadn't eaten
 anything from since she woke up and haven't slept a lot either.  at least,
 she looked better now that she calmed down.

        "there is one thing.  it'd be better if you could go before five,
 before my girlfriend comes in.  well, that's if you feel okay.  or else,
 we'll work something - "

        "you have a girlfriend?"  (much to my surprise, she smiled.)

        "er, yeah.  her name's cynthia."

        "you're lucky."

        pause.

        "i haven't took a shower.  can i use yours?"

        "sure, it's this way."

        she entered the bathroom, didn't even close the door to remove her
 clothes.  anyone entering the apartment at that moment would see her, naked
 and beautiful.

        i wondered why she didn't have any sort of inhibitions about her
 body.  she was never afraid to let her nudity hit my eyes - and that fact
 caused me much questioning these last four days.  one evening i told myself
 that it was pretty damn stupid to ponder those questions.  she does this
 because she's free of doing whatever she wants.  even i couldn't consider
 myself as being as free as her.  of course, i was naked the two nights i
 slept with her.  it was some sort of answer to her nudity, as if i couldn't
 do anything but imitate her.  i entered her life without changing a single
 one of her habits - and, on the contrary, i was adapting to her life style.
 maybe that's what bothered me.

        she spent fifteen minutes under the shower.

        when she got out, with a towel around her body and another one
 covering her hair, she came in the living room, where i was sitting,
 continuing the book i started reading yesterday.

        "what are you reading?"

        i showed her the cover.

        "never read it.  is it good?"

        "i can't tell.  i'm only reading chapter two, but for now it's pretty
 good."

        i closed the book, inserting a piece of paper on the current page,
 and i stared at annie.

        "oh my, how stunning, you actually wear something!"

        (she smiled)  "you don't like it?"

        "uh .."

        she laughed.

        "let's say it's something i don't see that often."

        "you always exaggerate.  well, you're almost right.  now that i'm
 on my own, there's no one to regulate my life, so i can be naked as much as
 i want.  you can tell me if it bothers you, but even if you did, i wouldn't
 believe you."

        in such a situation i would have kissed her, but cynthia's face
 suddenly appeared, dry, in the scheme of things, reminding me, another time,
 that it'd be better if i wouldn't fuck around too much.  so we simply
 watched each other.  we had a deep understanding of each other, annie and i,
 she was realizing and i was realizing too.  we were each other's emergency
 exit.  i was helping her calm down the illness that was biting her inside,
 and she was breaking the monotony i was drowning into with my life with
 cynthia.  since three nights ago, i was plainifying the fact that i was
 going to be a schizophrenic, even if i was trying to forget about it.  it
 was haunting me.  that's pretty much the reason why i started writing.

        "how did you get my phone number anyway?"

        "i searched your jean pockets the other day and i found some id
 cards.  i wrote down the phone number .. in case it'd serve a purpose."

        she left around four thirty, then cynthia arrived.  i kissed her
 softly and apologized again.  she seemed more receptive to my excuses.  i
 invited her out.  we ate in a diner.  then drank in bars.  we came back
 around midnight - she couldn't go to sleep too late, because she had work
 the next day, and midnight was pretty late already.  i had the feeling that
 the wounds that were killing our relationship had stopped bleeding.  i was
 unclothed and lying on the bed, ready for the usual post-fight fuck when she
 got out of the bathroom, full of anger, holding a piece of underwear and
 staring at me with an inquisitive look.

        "oh, shit.  annie .. "

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

 "to be"
 by - puck

 mr. krulewicz said,

 "if you were a handi-snax,
        i'd be your little red stick;
                dipping into your processed cheese flavored substitute and
  s      p      r      e      a      d      i      n      g        i      t
        onto your salt covered crackers.

 when you'd walk down the street, 
        people would say:
                there goes a walking handi-snax, 
        and there goes her little red stick.

 ever go horse-riding?skiing?swimming?bridgewalking?cardplaying?  under a
        blue moon whose light sticks to you like the skin on milk?

 if i were a popsicle,
       you'd be my popsicle stick;
            and in the dry heat I would melt
       and bleed down your legs.

 she smiled, and handed him his medicine.

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

 "discourse on nihilism"
 by - sed

        oftentimes, in life, the perpetually confused go around in circles
 asking the "ultimate" questions of life - "who am i?" or "why am i here?" or
 "what's the meaning of life?" or even "how come the evil man in the tv is
 stalking me?"  being the perpetually confused, they have no idea how to even
 begin answering their questions.  when your existence is a miserable nine to
 five low wage rut, you often times come home from work so exhausted out of
 your mind that the last thing you have the energy to do is explore that
 k-rad philosophical stuff.

        what to do?  you want all the answers to all the important questions,
 without that pesky soul searching, truth, and uneasy realizations that they
 lead to?  simple, find one philosophy that'll give you all the answers you
 want to hear.  that's why sed introduces it to you in one worldview,
 philosophy, and religion!  nihilism a-la suburban slacker!  woo woo!  zee
 sweedish chef say zat eez very very goot!

        yeah, it's rather gloomy, but it'll solve your philosophical
 problems, and your friends won't think you're a weirdo for having your own
 worldview!  your media idols say nihilism is cool, so should you!

        feeling like your future is floating downstream with all you having
 to look forward to is a lifetime of low paying jobs and alienated faces in
 the street with unlimited phobias of everyone & everything?  well, with
 nihilism a-la suburban slacker(tm), you can look forward to NO FUTURE AT
 ALL.  that's right, with rising rates of disease, poverty and the
 overwhelming threats of chemical holocaust or invasion by aliens, you'll be
 dead in a bit!  every cheesy film noir, intellectual proto-blade runner,
 1984-future will be coming true!  with dead cities in your rear view mirror,
 you have the present to look forward to.

        about that gosh-darn present, you probably think everything's all
 bad.  the president is a crook, the cops are power hungry fascists, rent is
 going up, the income gap between rich and poor keeps increasing, but then
 again, your parents recycle the sunday paper, and you're seeing lolla-pa-
 fucking-looza - so everything is a-ok!#  well, with nihilism, your future
 is a rotting fish stinking cesspool, and the everlasting now has storm
 clouds on the horizon.  with nihilism a-la suburban slacker(tm), you can sit
 in your room and rock out to your new cds & feel the pain in that anne rice
 book you picked up at waldenbooks and feel *good*! existentialism,
 catholicism, and situation don't let you sit in your room and mope, RIGHT?
 RIGHT?!  ANSWER ME, UNKEMPT YOUNGSTER!#

        those important questions i mentioned earlier are still gathering
 dust in your brains probably.  but nihilism a-la suburban slacker(tm) can
 take care of those important issues.  see, it's very simple.  with a two-
 fold attack plan of depressed, resigned apathy to everything and an
 abundance of senseless violence, all those primal questions philosophers
 have struggled over for millennia can be answered in a way that'll make you
 HIP and COOL.

        for instance, what's the meaning of life?  since the future is a
 nightmare out of the subconscious, no point to striving to create a better
 world, huh?  with the man oppressing you at every (imagined) opportunity,
 any effort wasted on improving your own lot will only be a moot point ending
 in your extended misery, eh?  so, naturally, the meaning of life has to come
 down to lying around, doing nothing, and moping.  lots of moping.  the
 reason we're here, according to the philosophy, is scientifically proven to
 be GOD'S PERSONAL PRANK.  that's right, you're just cheap entertainment for
 the almighty!  ha ha ha!  so that means, your true identity is A JOKE AT
 ANOTHER'S EXPENSE.  don't you feel special?

        nihilism a-la suburban slacker(tm).  trent says it's cool.  it looks
 neater than spacehog glasses.  let it work for you *today*!#

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

 "i will fly to the sun, beat it, and be free"
 by - juke

        "the time has come, son.  we're going to visit the sun now.  you
 knew it would come eventually, didn't you?"

 ---

        before i go, i must have my coffee.  i'm not going to the sun unless
 i have my coffee.  i like it black with a little bit of cream in it.  half
 and half.  peel back the lid of the cream and let it slowly drip in.  gently
 stirring it into the coffee.  i don't want any bubbles.  i hate bubbles.
 bubbles give me gas.  he better get it right.  i'm going to the sun, he
 knows that.

        to the sun that i am about to visit, i marvel in your wonders.  i sit
 and wonder when, if ever, i could overcome them, beat them.  i know i will
 though.  it'll just take a bit of time.

        everything takes time these days.  i have to go step by step no
 matter what i'm doing.  because if i'm not careful, i might screw things up
 and not ever even get to the sun.  so of course i'm careful.  i'll get
 there.  i know i will.

        with my coffee i'm going to eat some split-pea soup.  i know it's
 early, but that's okay.  my soup is very similar to my coffee.  it has to
 be exactly right or i will not partake in its what-should-be-wonderful
 taste.  and if it isn't exactly what it should be, i'll wait.  i don't want
 my pea soup cold while i'm preparing to visit the almighty sun.  i want to
 leave it warm, warm enough so when i get back it's still warm enough for me
 to eat and enjoy.

 ---

        come twist with me, my artistic equal.  you were supposed to fly to
 the sun with me, but you're not going with me anymore.  i wanted to be there
 with you.  i wanted you there to share your ideas with me.  we talked to the
 sun once before, even walking through it.

        you are now once again reduced back to fighting on earth again, but i
 know you will rise up again and fight the sun.  you have to, you're better
 than the sun.  my battle with the sun will include your spirit, thriving to
 be set free just like mine will be.  i will use your spirit to help me
 defeat the sun, like i know you will want me to do.  i weep for you now, and
 i will weep for you in the future.

 ---

        my coffee has arrived.  it's cold, has some sugar in it, as well as
 as some 2% milk.  i hate 2% milk.

        the pea soup is done as well.  it's colder than the coffee.

       so both my coffee and split-pea soup are cold.  the have to be
 exactly right for me to eat and drink so i can get the energy i will need to
 go fight with the sun coffee and soup.  and when i fight the sun, what kind
 of energy would i have if i had partaken in cold split-pea soup and cold
 coffee with 2% milk?

        i will wait.

 ---

        it's not that the sun is a bad thing.  it's not at all.  in fact, it
 just might become one of my closest friends.  it's just that i need to
 defeat it.

        everyone fights a fight like this once in their life.  someone you
 like, maybe even love, is in your way, but you have to face them, fight
 them, anyways.

 ---

       i'm going to paint the sun again.  i'm going to paint it bright yellow
 with hints of gold and with an impressionistic feel to it.  nothing will
 ever be done in a realistic way again, ever.  for i have made sure of that.
 everything will be into the sun, and when you are in the sun, nothing is
 real.  it is what you make of it.  it is what your impression of it is.  if
 i attack the sun realistically i will be burned by it.

 ---

        the coffee is back again.  it has milk in it.  half and half this
 time.  i hinted a smile when my dad brought me the coffee.  good coffee
 makes me smile sometimes.  the split-pea soup is done as well.  it's heated
 to perfection.

 ---

        my chest explodes and paint pours out.  movement comes from my hand,
 grabbing my brush, slowly evolving the paint into something that is i.  i
 refuse to let it be anything other than i.  the sun will be there painting
 next to me, helping me along the way with the brightest colors possible.
 colors that man has never seen before because they can only be seen by the
 artist and with the love the artist has for his art and himself.  i need the
 sun to be able to experience this wonderful experience.  the experience that
 only an artist, a writer, a musician can experience.  the experience that
 creates the magnificent feeling that someone gets from their own creation.

        i grab the brush and lay it across the front of my face.  i feel the
 weapon that will allow me to finally beat the sun.  the brush and my mind.
 that is all i need.

 ---

        this all kind of makes me want to do a dance around the sun.  i'm
 going to beat you.  i swear, i shall beat you.  i have to.

 ---

        i weep.  i fall.  i fight back.  i beat it.  i lay down.  i rest.  i
 get my strength back.  i fight the next fight.  causing more and more
 pressure until the sun explodes and takes out everything around it, except
 me, for i have become the sun and because i was the one that took out
 everything.

        i cry.  i weep.  i lay down.  my strength comes back.  i fight again.

 ---

        i put my coffee down, sipping the last bit of pea soup from my spoon.

        i hear my father coming from the den.  slowly his mouth opens, as if
 he were actually talking in slow motion.  with my body shuddering from
 fright and anxiety he whispers these eight words to me.

        "let's go sun, we can't wait any longer."

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

 "just a girl"
 by - eerie

        girls are so dumb.

        that one day, that guy gets dumped by his girlfriend and calls me up
 full of pain and remorse and that kinda stuff.  he says:  "oh my god, if i
 could, i think i'd KILL HER!@"  so i'm like, holy fucking shit, that boy
 doesn't deserve to be dumped by such a dumb girl.

        so i hang up, i get into some telephone booth and i turn into
 _chiq-killer_, the guy you don't want to fuck with.

        i get at this girl's place and smash the front door with my foot.
 her parents are in the living room, puzzled, and they ask me, "god, who are
 you?!@"  i say i'm chiq-killer (but i don't mind if you actually call me
 god) then i get my hand on my flame-throwing gun and burn those
 motherfuckers in the next nanosecond.  go to hell, for you educated your
 girl into becoming one of those bitches.  fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

        the chick comes out of her room screaming, and when she sees me and
 what i've done to her mommy & daddy, she quickly goes back to that room,
 stupidly hoping that i'd let her live.  chicks are dumb like that.  i laugh
 (for dramatization purposes - i've read too many comic books, i guess) and i
 stare at her door for one minute so i could hear her weep.  when i have
 enough of that (you get easily tired of hearing a chick weep, believe me), i
 slam her door and shout:

        "YOU DON'T SCREW WITH MY FRIENDS, HOOKER.  NOW YOU'RE GONNA FACE THE 
 WRATH."

        without even listening to whatever she says for her defense, i get
 a hold of my handgun and shoot until she stops talking.  dumb bitch.  then i
 set the house on fire - it's a habit i have - and i come back home.

        that guy calls me the day after, he's crying over the phone and says
 his ex-girlie's dead.  i say, dumb fuck, isn't that what you wanted?  then
 he says:  "BUT IT WAS A METAPHOR!@  I DIDN'T _REALLY_ WANT HER DEAD!@@!"

        boys are so stupid.

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 "syntax error"
 by - styx

        "hope is the denial of reality.  it is the carrot dangled before
 the draft horse to keep him plodding along in a vain attempt to reach it .."

                                 - margaret weis / tracy hickman, 1984 -

 ---

        it's tradition, on my father's side of the family, to have annual
 gatherings for as long as i remember.  on christmas eve, we all go to my
 grandmother's and play christmas records and eat perogies and the adults all
 pretend they like each other.  on independence day, we all go to my uncle's
 and he sets off fireworks and he lets all of the kids keep the charred
 parachute-men after they've been blown up.  on memorial day, they all come
 to my house and we have a big barbecue.  i have over twenty cousins and a
 big fat wad of aunts and uncles, so it's a pretty large shindig.

        when i was younger, these three days were usually the greatest days
 of the year.  although the adult-portion of my family is stereotypically
 dysfunctional (and amusing), us kids got along great.  my cousin jason has
 been my best friend since i was a fetus.

        those three days are pretty depressing now that i've grown up a bit.
 things have changed.  uncles gave way to death and step-uncles, aunts gave
 way to weight and worry-lines, grandparents gave way to heart attacks and
 pills, cousins gave way to relocation and rebellion; things have changed.

        it was never more apparent to me than this past memorial day.  there
 was a thick cloud over everyone.  they were all aware, but they just ignored
 it.  people were missing.  so was i.  i just kept in my room and played
 guitar until they left.

 ---

        i don't need anyone to justify what i do,
        i don't need anyone to solve or see through;
        especially not you.

 ---

        last week, working at my gas station, i was doing the usual; sitting
 in the booth counting the minutes to the end of my shift.  a group of three
 cars pulled into the lot, and one made its way over to the vacuums.  instead
 of parking alongside them, the old man parked in front of them.  in doing
 so, he blocked off both vacuums for himself.  anyway, he put his fifty cents
 into the machine and proceeded to clean his car.  since he had parked in
 front of the vacuums instead of alongside the vacuums, the hose wouldn't
 reach all the way inside.  being the bright american he was, he started
 yanking the hose. it broke.  surprise, fucker!  if you yank something, it
 gives way!  with a look of i'm-gonna-give-that-cashier-a-piece-of-my-mind on
 his face, he comes up to the booth.

        "your vacuum broke!"

        "yes, well, if you yank something hard enough it will give way."

        "i didn't yank it!"

        "yes, you did."

        "it wouldn't reach!"

        "that's because you didn't park alongside the vacuum."

        he went back to his car, started it back up, and pulled alongside the
 vacuum with the intact hose like a bright american would.  after cleaning
 his car, he came up to me _again_ and just stood there.

        "what?"

        "i'd like my fifty cents back."

        exactly.

 ---
 
        bad memories of people are like poison.  you can't watch certain
 movies, listen to certain songs, go to certain places, or talk to certain
 people.  a friend of mine told me that the key is to forgive.  "you don't
 even have to talk to the person," she said.  "just forgive them.  then
 you're free."

        "that's a lot of forgiving," i said.

        she smiled.  "a lot of freedom, too."

 ---

        a.a. milne, the author of the original winnie the pooh books, was a
 genius.  hundred-acre wood is utopia.  he created a stupid bear, a
 hyperactive tiger, a pathetic pig, an ignorant owl, a neurotic rabbit, a
 manic-depressive donkey, and an overbearing kangaroo mother with a bratty
 little shit kid.  they had so much fun.  the worst thing that happened was
 when winnie got stuck in rabbit's hole because he was fat.  everyone helped
 him out, though.  they didn't give him any food for an entire week so he'd
 lose some inches around his stomach, and at the end of the week they all
 lined up and pulled him until he popped out.  then he ate a lot of honey.

        imagine what it would be like if it was written today.

        winnie would be in special-education classes on a forced diet; tigger
 would be put on ritalin; piglet would be attending self-help meetings at the
 local ymca at the suggestion of his therapist; owl would be stuffed and
 mounted on a shelf with a price tag hanging from his clipped wings; rabbit
 would be put on xanex; eeyore would be put on lithium; roo would be a
 runaway, and kanga would be grieving at home reading _family circle_.

        i'll take idealism over reality anyday.

        leave everyone alone.  they're _fine_.

 ---

        i am in horrible health.  i have scoliosis, which basically means
 that my spine is shaped like an 's' and my lower back hurts all the time.
 kurt cobain had it, too, and when he killed himself it was a cool thing to
 tell everyone you had it.  it's not cool.  it sucks.

        i have at least four cavities; not because i neglect my dental
 hygiene, but because my family has been blessed with bad dental endurance.
 i brush my teeth three times a day and floss just like all those commercials
 tell me to, but to no avail.  i can't even eat ice cream or chew gum.  it
 hurts.  i'd have the cavities taken care of by now if i wasn't diagnosed by
 guesswork in white coats as having a genuine phobia of needles.  i can't
 help but believe them, actually, because everytime i get a needle i pass out
 and it becomes this huge ordeal.

        i've been smoking cigarettes for three years, and i've brought myself
 up to almost two packs per day now.  that's a lot of money and a lot of time
 taken away from my life.  sometimes i even get small chest pains and my left
 arm hurts a little.  it's pretty scary since i'm only nineteen years old.

        i've been smoking pot longer than i've been smoking cigarettes, and
 i've been, literally, smoking it daily for a over a year and a half.  not
 only can i support the fact that it causes memory loss and it's
 psychologically addicting, i can also support the fact that, ultimately, it
 doesn't do a damned good thing for you.

        "do exercises to strengthen your lower back, asshole!
     
        "if you're such a pussy, get the cavities filled without the needle!"
     
        "quit smoking cigarettes!"
     
        "stop smoking pot since you think it sucks so much!"
     
        i am.  today is the first day i haven't smoked pot for a year and a
 half.  i only smoked a pack of cigarettes.  i did the exercises in the
 scoliosis pamphlet today that my doctor gave me two years ago.  i made a
 dental appointment for next week.  today has been _really weird_, but i'm
 sick of feeling like shit.  i have no idea how long this will last, though.
 it's probably just a short-lived moment of clarity in a big mass of cobwebs
 and confusion.  that's normal, though.  after all, i'm part of generation-x,
 right?

 ---
    
        this past winter at the philadelphia zoo, there was a fire in the
 middle of the night that destroyed the entire primate section and killed all
 of the primates along with it.  smoke was seen by the overnight workers but
 they didn't bother to investigate.  they thought it was from a chimney.  of
 course, everyone melted (no pun intended) when they heard.  now there's a
 collection going to restore the primate section of the zoo, and it's going
 quite well.

        first off, have you ever seen a chimney at a zoo?  no.  that's
 because the buildings aren't heated by wood, they're heated by modern
 heating systems.  second off, why doesn't the city pay for it?  it's fine
 and dandy to create a pretty little community effort facade, but really.
 people are giving their money away to enough bullshit as it is.  leave us
 brainwashed, spoonfed sheep alone, please.  third off, there shouldn't be
 any fucking zoos in the first place.  it's been said thousands of times
 before me, and it will be repeated thousands of times after me.  it is _not
 right_ to take animals from their natural habitats, lock them up in cages,
 give them just enough food to keep them alive, and charge money so people
 can see them piss on themselves and eat dirt.

        it takes away from the whole majesty of an animal.  you want to see
 wolves?  go to alaska (you could've seen them in your backyard but we killed
 them all for bounty money in these here parts, by the way).  you want to see
 lions?  go to africa.  tigers?  go to india.  panda bears?  go to china.  if
 we had to put out genuine effort to see these animals instead of ten bucks,
 we'd have a lot more respect for them.

        primates are perfectly able to run away from natural forest fires,
 and nobody has to give money to anyone.

 ---

 ?SYNTAX ERROR IN 113 - we aren't fine.

 ---

          " .. i'm saying we should remove the carrot and walk forward with
 our eyes open."

                                 - margaret weis / tracy hickman, 1984 -

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 "guess what!"
 by - girlie17

 for all the times
 u left me alone
 couldn't remember to
 kall, pick up a phone

 your stupid mind games
 or lack of affection
 u suck - good luck - you stupid fuck

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  (c) copyright 1996 doomed to obscurity productions - all rights reserved.

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