
   Æ*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*Æ
   *                            __                         __              *
   + _____  ____   ____  ______/  |_____ ____  ___  ______/  |___________  +
   * \__  \/    \ / __ \/  ___\  __\    \  _ \/   \/  ___\  __/__ \_  __ \ *
   +  / __ \_ |  \ /_/ >\__  \|  |  Y Y  \<_> ) |  \__  \|  |\ ___/|  | \/ +
   * (____  /_|  /___ /____  >|__|__|_|  /___/__|  /___ >|__| \__ \|__|    *
   +      \/   \/____/     \/          \/        \/    \/        \/        +
   * 04.21.03           	 angstmonster                     issue 25 *  
   Æ*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*Æ

                           ¡edited (poorly) by gir¡

                 <oregano2k> angstmonster takes no prisoner
	   <oregano2k> and bites the heads off retarded children
			
§+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§
+                                                                             +
+ Brief words from gir                                                        +
+ A T-FILE?  I CAN'T!                                              brian      +
+ The Gilded Age                                                   tex        +
+ SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE: Observations                           st0vbold   +
+ Reversals of old thought patterns 1 - love / hate                voronika   +
+ Jobs and Shit                                                    steak      +
+ Surprise Me                                                      gir        +
+ Confess, You Dancing Fool!                                       oregano    +
+ People who hate milk should drink paper juice                    kool peith +
+ picnic tables in rainy woodlands                                 tex        +
+ a fond farewell                                                  ch33z-1t   +
+                                                                             +
§+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§

                      <girbles> sorry about the size
	  <oregano2k> that is what I have to say to all my women
				    
                     i am not gir: do you have glasses?
                             fanking: negative
    fanking: i burned those a long time ago along with my fears of rejection

          <st0vbold> I'd give my left nut for a pizza right now
            <oregano2k> send that nut and I'll get you a pizza
                             <st0vbold> tempting
          <girbles> hey man you have two of them for a reason

      <nyar> being icelandic is automatically a point towards pretentiousness
            <nyar> since you come for a nation with a population of 7
                       <gir> DON'T INSULT BJÖRK LIKE THAT!

                  matrix/#cDc injects gir with a sedative.
                                   <gir> =]
                         <magpie> s/seditive/manlove
                          <matrix> with a manlove?
                              <matrix> s/lo/glo/
                             <matrix> s/lo/\ glo/
               <gir> is the manglove involved in some manlove?
           <matrix> well.. you don't know where my hands have been..
                                 <magpie> i do
                         <magpie> and i dont approve
                             <magpie> not one bit
                     SignOff magpie: #cdc (fuck this shit)



---------------
: Brief Words :
: from gir    :
---------------

Dear angstmonster readers,

I've gone retarded.

The only words of wisdom I might be able to impart on the readers of this 
installment of angstmonster is to NOT date someone with a knowledge that 
matches or is superior to your own.  If you do not follow that rule, you will
live to regret it.  

Let's say that a girl decides to leave you, without reason, and suddenly you're
the single father of a very beautiful hamster daughter.  What then?  How do you
go about revenge?  It's quite simple: YOU WRITE A WHOLE MESS OF TFILES ABOUT 
HER!  Being the crafty and resourceful tfiler you should be after all the 
experience you gained from being in "the game" for so long, you begin a tfile 
to end all tfiles that retells the story of heartbreak and turmoil.  To avoid
any confusion, you change the names of the parties involved and then say all of
the events in question took place on Mars.  The casual reader won't know that
you are slyly retelling YOUR VERY OWN story of heartbreak.  However, this girl
will.  You could place the lovers of your tale in the seventh dimension where
they can't be seen, on a distant moon of Jupiter, where only tourists go on the
off season because the food is better and the second anyone tries to plug in a
toaster, SHE KNOWS and your mission has failed.  For a brief second, under the
light of failure, you consider deleting the entire file.  Instead you forge
onward and tell all the good readers of importance and substance that pertains
to the current issue of your zine.

Hi!  My name is gir and this is angstmonster #25!  It marks the death of our
first ever regular column: "Surprise Me" which has died at a very young age.  
The death of "Surprise Me" is a death that we tried to stop using every 
resource available to us, but there was no hope.  Some ideas were meant to die
young and "Surprise Me" was one of them.  In it's memory, I'd like to thank Ed,
who inspired us all with his first angstmonster submission known as "Surprise
Me."  There's a lot going on in the world we live in.  Let's not let this sad
moment in our history stop us from enjoying everything else going on.  Please?

If you can't get over the death of "Surprise Me," fear not!  The soon to be 
MOST FAMOUS INSTALLMENT A TFILE GROUP COULD RELEASE also known as the 
angstmonster hamster and laser theme issue is set to be released on June 30th.
That means that everyone reading this has over two months to send us their 
thoughts concerning hamsters, lasers, OR hamsters AND lasers.  Get them sent to
gir@angstmonster.org and you shall have your spot in the history of tfiles, 
angstmonsters, hamsters, and lasers.

Keep in mind, I've gone retarded.  Anything I say or do doesn't count.  If I 
could teach the things I said or did to count, I'd also teach them statistics 
so I could sleep in on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  Then maybe I'd teach some of my
other abstract forms to write tfiles, believe in evolution, and maybe 
religion.  This would enable me to take a step forward in world domination by
getting all of my sleep at once and upon awakening from the slumber, becoming
ruler of the world.

Then and only then, would I be able to create an army of squirrels to battle
intergalactic space demons for fun and profit.


--------------
: A T-FILE?  :
:  I CAN'T!  :
:   by brian :
--------------

It's just one of things you never really feel like doing.  I mean, you have
these great ideas that sound good in your head . . . they'd probably sound okay
on paper, too.  You hate writing free-hand, though.  But the idea, man, think
about the idea!  A little notebook, nothing fancy, nothing too abstract, just a
notebook.  And a bend in the middle of the cover, with creases trailing off in-
to faded words, beautiful drawings you had spent hours on as they slowly leave
their home and journey into dust.  That sounds nice enough.

    You dropped your notebook once, and I picked it up, after you had left the
room.  I only thumbed through it, so don't get mad just yet.  I flipped through
the pages.  I didn't really read anything, but I think you got some talent.  I
just have this feeling you'll be great.  The way that . . . you had this thing.
I feel really awkward saying this, but I just loved the way you blended your
words with your art.  It's beautiful.  I'd really enjoy reading your work.

    Were you actually prepared for all of this?
        
    Oh, you're being rhetorical?

    Everything sounds so good on paper.  And.  Yet.  Why can't you record it,
close the pages, and feel satisfied?  It.  Is.  Just.  So hard, man.  I mean,
let's think about this.  I have to buy a blank notebook.  Right.  I have to sit
down and create something on a blank white page?  Well.  I mean, I guess I can.

    I'm writing you in this new notebook I got.  It's red.  I don't know why I
chose red.  I guess I just like the color "red".  That's not bad, is it?  Do
you think people will see me with this red notebook and think I'm a writer?
Hope not.  Am I a writer?  I'm writing right now.  Most people aren't writers
until they're published.  Wait, or is that authors?

    And so you close another chapter in your writing career.

    Until, of course, you decide that you've found your new style.  Another
notebook is purchased.  Even a new pen.  So you scribble a few poems that
you've been trying to write down for months.  It's perfect.  Days pass, and
your meetings with your notebook slowly reside, until you close yet another
chapter in your writing career.

    All of this said, how am I supposed to accomplish this?

    Can't I just live in an idea?  It'd be so much easier to live inside of an
idea.

    And believe me, I've done it more than once.  It's nice.


------------------
: The Gilded Age :
:     by tex     :
------------------

I'm entirely new to the textfile thing, and right now I'm listening to Henry
Rollins.  That dude is angry.

But there are really two things I want to discuss:

Coffee and DayQuil.

Used properly, they are the strongest stimulants known to man.  They can turn
every banal day into an orgy of hyperactive tics and nervous laughter.  Used
together, they are horrifying.  They can turn every banal day into a veritable
carnival of vomiting.   

It's funny; I used to just take DayQuil when I was coughing really hard.  Then
one day I was like, "Jesus, this stuff tastes like ass" and I looked at the
bottle and it was peppermint oil that made it taste so bad.  And I thought
about it, and orange peppermints loaded with carcinogenic chemicals sounded
like something from a Kurt Vonnegut book.  But anyways, it made me feel tingly
inside.  I was happy, peppy, frisky, all those things healthy cocker spaniels
are supposed to be.  It was a generally fine state of affairs.  
I spent a good month or so jacked up on DayQuil before people started to
question why I needed 4-5 bottles a month when I wasn't coughing. I was
starting to see orange, too, like you see blue on Viagra.  It was crazy,
because it was very much akin to "seeing the world through rose-colored
glasses".   The problem, aside from trying to explain my chronic bouts of
almost-coughing, was that it became damn near impossible to sleep.  I'd be
lying there, staring at the clock, seeing how many times I could count to a 
hundred within a minute, and it usually got to be about 3 or 4 AM before I 
drifted off. 
Considering I have to wake up at 6 AM, this is bad.  
As such, I started counterbalancing the DayQuil with NyQuil.  You have to
admit, there's a certain logic to it.  This, though, brought a whole new slew
of problems.  For example:  under a good dose of NyQuil, you can sleep twelve
hours and wake up feeling completely unrested and unready in the morning.  I
did, several times.  Each day was a new cycle of grogginess and pain inevitably
leading towards and ending in the bedroom.  Don't interrupt the sleep of people
on NyQuil, it makes them murderous.  
Finally, though, I was able to break the cycle.  My parents got pissed at
having to replace half the medicine cabinet on a weekly basis and just stopped
buying it.  Now I have some super-strong cough pills from when I had bronchitis
instead.  They'll be good for a rainy day.

This, then, leads me to coffee.  I'm sure most of you know what I'm talking
about here, at least.  You wake up wanting to die, and after a few good cups of
steaming java you're... very jittery and paranoid about wanting to die and not
entirely sure what was on that bagel.  It's all good, though.  Generally
speaking, coffee brightens up really dull days.  It teaches you how to dance,
sing, engage in political debate, and all those other things that alienate your
friends.
I'm really not too discriminating; I'll drink basically anything that at one
point brushed against a member of the coffee family.  Good examples include: 
1) Boiling, painfully bad-tasting black coffee from Holiday Inn's continental
breakfast; 2) A glass half-full of milk and half-full of coffee left over from
the night before; 3) a quarter-pound of chocolate-covered coffee beans (feed
one to a dog, it's funny); and 4) a quadruple espresso.  This last one is a bit
of a fudge; it was a double double espresso.  The Ukrainian lady behind the
counter got confused and made me a double double, and I can't confess I knew
the difference, but she only charged me for a single double.  Being
environmentally conscious, I suppose I should say "And I don't drink
Starbucks!", but I really don't care, because we all bring the world closer to
obliteration in our own individual ways, and I live two hours from the nearest
Starbucks.  Isn't that crazy?  I was talking to my friend Eric who lives in
Sacramento and he said he could list five of them within walking distance.  

That's my tribute to coffee.

I'm going to encourage you all to listen to "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots"
by the Flaming Lips, because if you've read this far then you're obviously
discriminating people of refined tastes, and it really does make life better.


----------------------------
: SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE :
:      Observations...     :
:       by st0vbold        :
----------------------------

Have you ever stopped for a second and wonder about things that always 
happen? Or things that never happen? I have, and I have compiled this little 
list of things I have noticed during this week, even though some of them go 
back a long way but never seem to change.

The list as of now:

Brushing your teeth while wearing a coat feels weird.

A lot of old women actually look like the members of Monty Python dressed as
old women.

There is something suspicious about fleamarkets selling new stuff.

You are always a little afraid to pet a horse.

Old women with cell phones look weird.

No one has ever seen squirrel babies (pups? kittens?).

If you are out eating with a bunch of friends, someone always brings up the 
idea of leaving without paying.

You never run out of salt - but often you run out of sugar.

Even though people in shops wear nametags, it feels misplaced to call them by
name.

Everybody hates putting clean sheets on the bed.

You never meet a person, who has had his arm broken by a swan.

Everybody has had his or her nose "stolen" by an uncle.

Insects in other county always look creepy and dangerous.

A wrong number is never busy.

Did I miss anything? Have YOU had your arm broken by a swan? Have you seen
squirrel babies? Or are you just a single older woman, who doesn't look weird 
with a cell-phone? Send me pictures! :)



----------------------
: Reversals of old   :
: thought patterns 1 :
:  - love / hate -   :
:     by voronika    :
----------------------

When we were young, our parents would tell us not to use the word HATE. It was 
too powerful a word to use without understanding. "It's such a strong word" I'd
hear. But, the equally opposite word, its softer sister, would flow like honey 
in the promised land. LOVE, made for you and me? possibly... It is still a 
powerful word though. Sometimes too powerful to describe things. Most certainly
this word is too powerful to use without the same scrutiny as its darker 
brother. Perhaps there should be level words. Words equating out to the amount 
of amour you pour forth for the target of objectification. As kids we break it 
up into 3 levels... Like, REALLY Like (if like didn't describe it enough), and 
Love. I feel these levels need new distinction, and definition. First we'll 
title the new Levels... Attraction, Like, Adore, Smitten, Love, Love 
Personified. Then we define these levels.

Attraction - finding more than acknowledgment of the person necessary... you 
feel a connection, subtle, yet, unrefined.

Like - An attraction pursued by inquisition.

Adore - Finding a desirable attraction, based upon common interests or 
admiration of their interests/mantra/morals/etc.

Smitten - when their love for you overtakes you, and pulls you into an 
attraction.

Love - a force of power within you, pulling your soul toward them. Love is 
gravity of the hearts, entangling you in synchronous orbits.

Love Personified - A love so strong, it becomes an entity of itself... seeming 
to have lived forever, it doesn't grow, but instead shows more of itself, until
you are engulfed.

Perhaps Hate has different levels too, such as Detest, Mortal Enemy, Hate, Hate
Personified. Who knows?


-----------------
: Jobs and Shit :
:    by steak   :
-----------------

Every fucking job interview is the same. Well not the interview as such, but
the type of person who is interviewing you, and more to the point the type of
person that the person interviewing you is looking for, it's always the same.

They are looking for a hard working human who will think little, show a great
willing devotion to the work that they are doing, be able to interact with
customers and trick them into thinking that the person serving them (namely,
you) is not thinking about one hundred and fifty three different ways to remove
their rather important internal organs with a rusty butchers knife.

They want someone who will shut up, do what they are told, quickly, quietly,
efficiently, think very little and just get on with the boring medial task that
they set for the person.

I'm not one of those people, I like to ask questions, I like to wonder what
exactly the fuck it is that is going on, I don't like wearing suits or talking
to people or making people think I like them when all I want to do is get home,
get out of the suit and into some warm and friendly corner with something that
is going to make me feel relaxed and at peace with myself. They don't want a
person like that.

Which I guess is ok, it's up to them. They want to make money, they want to
get greedy, make their business more and more intricate and annoying and get 
the most they can out of said individual for the smallest amount of monetary
spending possible.

But the thing is that this world is very hard for an individual who doesn't
want to conform, it's possible to live your entire life off the land, not 
having to worry with horrid things like jobs or corporate shafting or bullshit 
like that. But the problem with this wonderful way of living is that is damn 
near impossible if you want to have a lifestyle that is anything better than 
you average puritan fundamentalist might like to endure on a daily basis.

In the end I think that the only thing you can do is just bite the bullet and
get a job that means nothing. I job where you don't have to wear a mask, a job
where you still get treated like a bitch but where they leave you alone for
long enough after said treatment has concluded for you to just sit there and 
remind yourself that you are eternally better than they could ever be.

That's the kind of job you want, one where you can think about shit all day
long, not bother worrying about the actual task at hand and just get on with
life. And at the end of the week, you get paid for it.

That's the sort of job you want, honestly, there's nothing to it, except easy
money.


---------------
: Surprise Me :
:   by gir    :
---------------

AN UNAPPRECIATIVE CROWD MUST BE CUT OFF!

If strawberry season doesn't come soon, I'll go mad for sure.

When people whisper in caves, it drives the bats peopleshit insane.

The last time I had any money, it was promptly spent on cds.

I hope you've enjoyed the special friendship.


-----------------------------
: Confess, You Dancing Fool :
:         by oregano        :
-----------------------------

     oregano ran the match against the friction strip and the match flared to
life.  He held the flame to the end of the Marlrobo Red in his mouth and
breathed in.  He shook out the match and took another puff, letting the smoke
into his mouth, then, a second later, huffing the smoke deep into his lungs.
     He blew a stream of smoke up towards the ceiling, "I am supposed to tell
you guys everything I know," he said, "though I really don't get what this is
about.  But go ahead ask away."  He took another pull from the cigarette, then
inhaled deeply, then blew out.
    "Mr. oregano, you have mentioned Little Kings Night as a time you danced,"
said a voice out in the gloom, oregano could not see the face.  "Let's start
there, tell us about Little Kings Night."
    "I see," said oregano, "I see where this may be going.  Okay, lets get it
all on the table.  I did indeed dance on Little Kings Night.  This was a while
ago," oregano sat up in the chair and snubbed out his cigarette while blowing a
stream of smoke.  "There was this bar Cochran's in Champaign. No I better start
further back."
    The observers stood in silence.  They stopped pacing the room.  The air
under the single light over the table was alive with swirls of smoke.
    "Heck with it, let me explain Little Kings," oregano said, he settled back
into his chair, his body language suggested they were in for a long story.
    "This bar, Cochran's had a drink special on Wednesday's  They sold
mini-cases of Little Kings, which is a type of beer.  It's a type of Cream
Ale."
    One of the interrogators interrupted, "They sold cases of beer?  This is a
liquor store?"
   "Nothing doing, this is a bar," said oregano.
   "And they sold cases of beer?" The interrogator raised one eyebrow.
   "Naw, nothing really that weird about it, Little Kings are small bottles,
maybe 6 ounces.  So you'd need a bunch to get drunk.  They sold them in 10
packs.  At least I remember them as 10 packs.  And you went to the bar and
bought a 10 pack and it was very social, everyone carrying these packs around. 
And when someone ran out they'd borrow a bottle.  Or take a bottle coming off
the dance floor..."
   "Dance floor!" shouted the taller of the interrogators.
   "Yeah," said oregano, "there was dancing at this bar.  Anyway, Little
Kings Night had a weird social quality to it different from other nights by the
nature of the Little Kings bottles being so small."
   "Nothing so simple.  I am not much of a dancer, but there was that one
night, Little Kings Night that I went with a group of people, but how did that
start?  I think I have to mention Fred Flintstone."
   oregano put another cigarette in his mouth and lit it up and let the smoke
slowly waft over his head.  "We were living in the dorm, and a there was this
girl who I had a fondness for, she was rather sturdily built and she got the
unfortunate nickname of Fred Flintstone.  In fact her getting that nickname
rather soured the deal.  The night in question she did not have the nickname. 
I think once I thought of her in those terms I lost interst.  Weird how those
things work."
   "So you and Fred Fintstone would go dancing at Cochran's?"
   "No, nothing doing.  This was in the summer, so the dorm only had about 20
people living in it.  And so we all ate together and socialized together.  And
the women in the dorms wanted to go out for a night of dancing and they dragged
me and my buddies with.  Realize I was a lot shyer with the woman back then,
and I was pursuing this girl who would later have an unfortunate nickname, and
being a dorky young lad, I agreed to go with, thinking myself a young
Lothario..."
   "huh?"
   "Ladykiller...stud...whatever..."
   "Continue"
   "So we went out, on Little Kings Night, to Cochran's, where they had a
dance floor," said oregano.
   "And you danced and loved it.  Case closed, bring on the next one," said
the interrogator.
   oregano laughed.  "Never been much of a dancer.  But I promised this girl
I'd dance with her that night.  I had my 10-pack of beer.  And then at some
point, she beckoned and I went out on the dance floor with her.  It was really
loud -- the music and the people -- and there were a lot of lights.  And it was
okay, or seemed that way until the screen came down."
   The interrogator hopped off the table, "What screen?"
   oregano said, "It was a video screen, it came down by remote control and
they started showing a Salt and Peppa video, and I knew I was just in the
totally wrong place; well out of my element.  The place came alive.  It was
really sick.  They did not cheer the video, it was not a celebration, but there
came a new life to the crowd when the Salt and Peppa video came to the screen,
and I knew I was out of my depth, and I soon left the dance floor."
   "And you never danced again?" sneered the shorter of the two interrogators.
   "Later that night,"  oregano took a sip of water from the styrofoam cup in
the table.  The water hit the back of his throat, which the smoke had dried
out, and oregano coughed, then took another sip and it went down smooth, "Later
that night, after we left Cocahran's we headed to Trito's -- a place with the
best onion rings I have had.  We went there, I guess the women had not gotten
dancing out of their system."
   "Let me guess," said the shorter interrogator, "you just sat there and ate
onion rings all innocent?"
   "Nothing doing," said oregano, "there was this crappy dance floor, rather
ad hoc in a corner, with lights and annoying music..."
   "ah ha, the music is annoying now, is it?"
   oregano ignored the challenge, "The place was empty, we had out group from
the dorm, of maybe 6 people, and we outnumbered the rest of the place.  And so
this girl I was interested in dragged me onto the dancefloor and it was so
embarrassing.  I was drunk enough to not care, but I cared and I gave it a
little effort, and then I walked off.  It was too forced. I pretty much didn't
care by then."
   "And you want us to believe that is the sum total of the dancing in your
life?"
   "Well, I have documented before my being humiliated on the South China
Sea."
   "Yes, we have that documented fully, no need to get into that again."
   "Well, the other time that I can remember in in a movie house," said
oregano.
   "We are running out of time, tell us quickly, then you may leave."
   "Well, this movie was running at the midnight show, Stop Making Sense.  A
live concert of the Talking Heads.  And," oregano laughs and seems to remember
something particularly funny, the interrogators look at him and wait for a
response.  "I remember the first time we went, and walking there with my
friends and we were all toasted, and just randomly on the street Costo yells
out, 'This ain't no party!' which is a line from a song in the movie, and this
drunken girl, out of nowhere yells back, 'this ain't no disco!'  Man, what
fun."
   The interrogators look at each other and then one asks, "Get to the
dancing."
   "All right.  So this one guy in our group, Costo, he had been at a theatre
in downtown Chicago where people come to the same movie every week and dance in
the front part of the theatre, and he decides this is going to happen in
Champaign too.  So we all go to the theatre and the film starts and everyone is
in their seat.  Oh wait, I have to back up, I forgot the insane part of this."
   oregano lights another cigarette, then takes a puff then crunches it out
right away, his body language perks up, "So Costo says it has to look
spontaneous, so we all sit in different parts of the theatre.  This is all
college thinking.  What geniuses we were.  So we are all in different parts of
the theare, and Costo gets up and starts dancing to the movie, and a few other
people get up too and, then I get up to help fill the scene and two songs later
the whole place is in dancemania.  And so I sat down and enjoyed the movie and
the craziness."
   "And you went back often?"
   "Yeah, we went to the movie a lot, it was the midnight show for a long time,
but I never danced again.  The people did thought, it was a thing, Costo really
started something.  But no, I just watched and rocked out quietly in my seat."
   The taller interrogator took a folder off the table and said to the
other, "I think that's all we'll need tonight.  Call the guards and take him
back to his cell."
   The two interrgators left the room.  Soon a guard came in, oregano stood
up, let himself be cuffed and was led away.


------------------------
: People who hate milk :
:  should drink paper  :
:        juice         :
:     by kool peith    :
------------------------

Appreciate your good health.  My ankle really hurts.  Here is a picture of 
what it normally looks like:

      0
Here is a picture of what it looks like right now:
       _
      (_)
	     
Its huge. I fell down some stairs and it made a crunching sound.  Now i have 
a monster ankle.  It is so big that things fall to it from the gravity.  Its 
so fat when i jumped into a pool i floated upside down.  My ankle is so 
swollen up that it makes Fred Durst's ego look slim.  I did have a worse 
injury one time though.  It was when my arm bent 
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--------------------
: picnic tables in :
:  rainy woodlands :
:      by tex      :
--------------------

I wrote a really sick thing about killing a goth chick in someone's "post
disgusting stories" LiveJournal once only to realize that their journal had
been defunct for half a year.  All that wasted effort, and now nothing to show
for it.  That's the way of things: the internet is decay.  

Sometimes I'll sit in front of my monitor, looking for something worthwhile or
else just profoundly bored, and I'll come across a web site that looks like I
designed it.  Green text, lame tiled background, and a little notice across the
bottom that reads "Last Updated 6/03/1998".  At first, it's a little
embarrassing, like seeing someone on the john by accident, or funny, like all
those naked baby pictures.  Inevitably, though, it makes me feel profoundly
sad.  I'm looking into a dusty corner of infinity that has long since been
abandoned.

I wonder, too, what happened to the person who wrote it.  Did they ever get
that job they were so nervous about applying for?  Do they still listen to all
that crappy music on their bands page?  Did they run their car into a tree a
few years ago and just never get a chance to leave a goodbye post?  I don't
know, and I won't know, because all of their links go to pages that are
themselves missing, and all the email addresses are gone, too.  (You know how
that goes:  Everyone knows your address, or it becomes too bogged down with
spam, and it becomes simpler to make a new one than to sift through all the
useless mail.) 

So here I am, alone with an enigma.  Who was this person?  What was their
relevance to me, as a living, breathing thing?  It's tempting to just close the
window or find something else to do, I suppose.  But that's not the point.  All
I've ever done or could ever hope to accomplish will one day be nothing more
than the text on this webpage.  All my words will settle down into the
meaninglessness of their component letters.  That, in essence, is the day I 
will cease to matter forever.

That's the problem.  The internet is about connection: to a phone line, to a
server, to another person.  The enticing thing about being online is the chance
to relate to someone outside of yourself, or choose not to, without actually
chancing the exertion or pain or sheer frustration of the real world.  All of
these derelict web pages are loose cables whipping in the wind, hitting against
something from time to time but never actually connecting.  

When you lose the ability to connect, something vital has been lost.

Time to get moving again... 


-------------------
: a fond farewell :
:   by ch33z-1t   :
-------------------

This file is for all you old school ch33z-1t fans.  I have recently realized
that my writing is no longer as good as it used to be.  Actually gir brought
this to my attention when going over the new issue and my only article was
about flipping pancakes with one hand tied behind my back.  This was the best I
could come up with.  So he suggested that I step down as a writer of
Angstmonster and make this my last tfile.  I was heartbroken and asked "What
about my fans?"  "You have no more fans, you are a washed up tfile writer."  I
cried for many hours and then I decided I must let the world know about the
abusive nature of gir.  In the beginning, gir was jealous of my writing, so he
would whip me.  I refused to let the continous beatings bring me down.  But it
has since gotten far worse.  He not only whips me, but he uses me as his human
toilet.  Pissing and shitting all over me.  I think he gets joy out of seeing
his feces in my mouth.  I know this may be gross to some of you, but it i
er all that has happened to me, I am quitting angstmonster.  It has left too
many scars on me.  I am no longer having fun in between the beatings.  Gir is
relentless with the whip and shit.  I will still be on irc, when gir allows me
to be, so you may be able to catch me on there, or you may not.  But for now, I
bid thee a farewell and hope you can keep angstmonster running strong.  As this
is ch33z-1t's farewell.


æææææææææææææææææææ
æ Æfterthought(s) æ
æææææææææææææææææaæ

Well, now that ch33z-1t is gone, there's an opening for the position of 
angstmonster whipping boy.  

Any takers?

                    _____  
/     |\ |\  /\  |\   |
\ | | |/ |/ <  > |/   |  *
/ |_| |  |   \/  |\   |  *

FRIENDS:
http://www.bubblemonkey.org/cheesencrackers/	       !CHEESENCRACKERS! 
http://www.neo-comintern.com                           *THE NEO-COMINTERN*
http://www.textscene.com                               CURRENT TEXTFILE SCENE

OTHER THINGS WE DO:
http://www.angstmonster.org/txt/turd                   THE UNDEAD RISE, DAMMIT!
http://www.angstmonster.org/txt/il                     +iMPULSE LAMEALITY+

?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?

What you have just read was a step into the unknown spontaneous and poorly
edited thoughts for sharing collectively known as "Angstmonster."  All thoughts
on the matter can be sent to <gir@angstmonster.org> or you can just visit the
site http://www.angstmonster.org and see what you think.  Submissions of all 
sorts are welcome!  Everything from prose and poetry to rants and opinions, 
creative text art, recipes for yummy food, reviews of stuff, etc.

Thanks and enjoy your day...

copy-spwep 2003							      issue 25
angstmonster.org						      04.21.03

Feel free to redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and the 
content must not be altered or modified in any way.  Unauthorized use of any 
part of this document is prohibited.  All rights reserved.  (and stuff) 

