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Angstmonster 29
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+ / __ \_ | \ /_/ >\__ \| | Y Y \<_> ) | \__ \| |\ ___/| | \/ +
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* 06.16.03 angstmonster issue 29 *
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¡edited (poorly) by gir¡
<Jaz-O> our zine cant be like angstmonster, where they TRY to be funny and
don't succeed
§+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§
+ +
+ Brief words from gir +
+ Explanation: Time and Space zeng +
+ visual friend hanman +
+ HELLO ANGSTMONSTERIANS!!!!!!!!!!! penis arbuckle +
+ letter from aching john libertus +
+ cellar door irrelevancy tex +
+ Sleepy pockets... atom +
+ Damned "X" estell +
+ Thoughts on a Grey Day oregano +
+ An Example gir +
+ +
§+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§
VCUSuxDik: im not writing for angstmonster
VCUSuxDik: im not angstmonster material
VCUSuxDik: more importantly, i don't like you little underground computer fags
<swissphil> dude
<swissphil> this is IRC
<swissphil> if it's not blown out of proportion it sucks
<lifelike> pfft
<lifelike> there are no other sexcharts
<lifelike> I WAS IN WIRED, DUDE
<gir> asdff is never happy
<gir> no matter what
<whitcomb> with a name like that who would be
<whitcomb> her parents fell asleep at the keyboard
<gir> donnie darko is a good movie
<oregano2k> good at sucking
<lb> if you take enough xanax, bukakke won't bother you anymore
<sorm> vocabulary is a tool of the man
---------------
: Brief Words :
: from gir :
---------------
Look, just get all the haters up and out of MY WAR! If you recall (which many
among you may not) way back four mighty issues ago, I said there should be some
P E to the A C E all up in this thing we are calling a Text Scene.
Unfortunately, one man disagreed. That man has since become a monster devoured
by the power that is war, the great sloppy beast of destruction that fuels
economies and rapes innocent villagers and blows up really chill spots. Once
one becomes such a monster, their only option is to abandon the things they
love and seek refuge in non-existence which is where linear would appear to be
at the moment, as no one has heard from him in a few weeks. Has he gone the
way of Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden? Was linear trained by the US
government to LIE and CONFUSE the text community? Does anyone really KNOW what
is going on? ARE WE EVEN FIGHTING A WAR!?!
It has come to my attention that since this war transpired, not a single life
has been lost as a result! What kind of war transpires without the loss of
life? Sure, ASCII BAT may have died in prison but that was a matter totally
unrelated to this war. HOWEVER! in their return to the scene Tripe, that
uninformed propaganda machine, claimed: "TURD was swiftly and soundly wiped off
the face of the planet by the glorious EFIL4SEIBMOZ organization for their hate
crimes." As stated in TURD number 8, I have taken responsibility for TURD
after ASCII BAT'S DEATH! Even that responsibility is going to be stripped
from me. Late last week ASCII BAT'S estranged brother, ANSI BUNNY, contacted
me claiming that he deserves to be the overseer of his brother's great
creation. Depending on how the judge interprets the will of an undead, now
redead, being, we shall see. While that continues to take development, I'd
like to send a big FUCK YOU to TRIPE for not doing their homework on the status
of such a great piece of the zombist movement. You should fear for the
livelihood of your brains dear TRIPERS!
I speak now the to Text Scene as a whole: if we want to have a war, we need to
do it right. There needs to be some bloodshed the likes of which no zombie has
ever seen! So I put it to you faithful and mighty followers of the T X T, go
out there and kill a tfile writer! Don't just kill him, run planes into him,
throw condom bombs at his window late at night while he tries to sleep, break
into his house and format all of his hard drives so that his extremely 0day
tfiles are extremely 0bytes!
The call for bloodshed should only be taken into consideration if you believe
in this "war," which many refuse to acknowledge. There was a time when I found
myself doubting its existence and will continue to do so until there are
casualties.
Moving on to more happier sunshine things, like ANGST, it was brought to my
attention by none other than John Libertus himself that the poem featured in
angstmonster number seventeen was NOT penned by John Libertus! We apologize
for misdirecting credit and hopefully this confusion has not irritated you in
any way! However, if you or anyone you know has information about said poem,
do contact us. Should your information be helpful, you will become eligible
for a reward! And if not for us, do it for the hamsters and lasers! Because
without poetry, what's the point of hamsters and lasers?
-------------------
: Explination: :
: Time and Space :
: by zeng :
-------------------
So yeah I'm new to this and I'm just sitting in class bored to death but
that's not the point. I clicked "RANDOM TFILE TITLE GENERATOR!" button to
get an idea for a topic and after sifting through several I finally found
one I felt a little comfortable with.
Who came up with time? I mean who was the "genius" who said we'll have 24
hours in a day 60 minutes in an hour and so on. Did this "genius" need any
special schooling, or was he/she a common day genius like Einstein? It just
seems weird how one person or maybe even a group of people just got together
and said "Hey, lets set up this standard for the whole world and count time
using this method. But personally I think whoever came up with the method
should've thought a little bit longer because there never seems to be enough
time in a day. Also, don't even get me started on this whole "day-light
savings time" deal. It's bad enough I lose an hour of sleep every six months
just to get it back six months later.
As for the space subject, I have no comment on that. I'll will probably be
dead by the time all the cool stuff happens. We can't expect to see much in
the next 100 years if those NASA people are still using 386's to send people
out of orbit. My teacher has made the comment that the older computers
didn't need heat sinks and could handle more punishment than today's
computers, but who cares all the more reason technology should advance more.
I would love to own a computer that I could use at home for games and
internet browsing and still have the option of taking it into space or even
send it with the family pet into orbit, but when that is possible I'll
probably just get my grandkids to do it for me. And while I'm at it, when
I'm old and weak, I'll just tell those grandkids to come up with a better
way of keeping time so I could be 20 again.
---------------------
: visual friend :
: by hanman :
---------------------
I have never seen your face
But you are my friend
I have never heard your voice
But you are close to me as no one else
I have never felt your warmth
But I know what you think
Are you real or only a ghost?
-------------------------------------
: HELLO ANGSTMONSTERIANS!!!!!!!!!!! :
: by penis arbuckle :
-------------------------------------
I guess there needs to be some explanation in this file. Well I am Penis
Arbuckle. That is the first thing you need to know. I am a 17 year old white
kid in Compton. I listen to metal and get the shit beat out of me everyday. I
shall now tell you about a certain time, where I decided I needed to fight
back. I went to school one morning. I usually have to have my parents walk
with me, so I don't get shot. This time they couldn't walk me to school. My
dad had a meeting and my mom was too hungover from one of her "girl's night"
outings. I just knew something was going to happen. The second I stepped out
of my door, I put on my headphones and started running. This was the only way
I would get to school safely. Somehow this didn't work. I was stopped two
blocks down from my house by a group of roughs. There were at least 4 guys who
wanted to kick my ass. For what reason? Because I shot a nigger friend of
theirs 2 years ago when he was trying to rape my girlfriend. He had already
stabbed me twice and left me for dead. This incident left a bitter taste in
every blacks mouth in Compton, and lord knows there is a lot of blacks in
Compton. They all were gunning for me, but I was illusive and knew how to
manage myself. But not with 4 guys, I knew this time I knew the outcome wasn't
going to be positive. They started by pushing me into a dumpster, this cracked
my skull right open and blood started gushing out from the wound. This didn't
help as it temporarily blinded me. I immediately fell and covered my face,
knowing that is what they would aim for. Then they started kicking me in the
back. Little did they know, when I got stabbed twice by their friend, I had a
metal plate inserted in my back to keep me from keeling over. Each of them
kicked it, then grabbed their foot, as they had broken all of their toes. I
got up grabbed one of their knives and started stabbing people. I killed all
four of them. I sat in the alley crying and bleeding. I felt like shit. I
almost lost my life, but in the process of me saving my own, I ended four
others. How can any of this be justifiable? A vendor saw the whole thing and
had already called the cops. A lot of good this did me, as my head was already
busted and four blacks already dead. I was immediately arrested and taken to
jail. This is where I sit today, I am in California's state penitentiary.
Serving 2 life sentences. But on a lighter side, I got two drug dealers into
the writer oregano. They think he needs to write some more stuff. I shall be
a correspondent for you from the big house. I look forward to writing for you
again.
----------------------
: letter from aching :
: by john libertus :
----------------------
Dear Occupant -
Due to our special purchase,
we make you the following offer,
guaranteed by the intersection of tongues through the ages,
(birdsongs before dawn, the song of the morningstar)
unacquainted with one another, and, thereby, rot-proofed
against the fraud of collusion,
that this bastard, praying up front there, in front of everyone,
is lying, is out for a piece of your soul -
(Danger! Danger! Fearful as a whisper out under the sky)
(the Author and Printer agree, and a tree is cut down,
something that reached for heaven is sacrificed)
Dear Occupant, it has come to our attention that,
the bill, long overdue, for mockery
of rightness refused any justice,
made impotent, crucified,
the ink of the ledger entry, dear Occupant,
(poured from my arm, bright red, arterial,
when I punched through the glass of the door,
closed to my justification,
in a spasm of hopeless rage;
the bill of the butcher was paid, bright red on the lawn,
in hemoglobin, on chlorophyll;
but like the iron and magnesium,
each one a key for a lock the other can't open,
the language not spoken,
in an impossible conversation
our only answers are silence, silence and bleeding,
silence and waiting to die)
and yet, the birds were singing, dear Occupant;
the shadow on the grass
only proved that the sun was shining;
when the rains came, the blood washed away, without sign
Dear Occupant, our guarantee is firmly backed
by someone's agony:
(What if it isn't so? What if
the childhood vision of rightness
is torn beyond repair?
What if your treasure,
the work of your love for a lifetime, is broken,
never again to be whole?
What if the Power
is only a mask worn by Chance?)
No clockwork despair,
just the extra charge for hope:
it's just that the hunger, endured long enough,
quits its gnawing;
it begins to feel like a weakness, a sinking,
when you know
that what's left of your soul can be killed
with a casual blow
(What if it's all a lie -
what if it isn't so?)
Let me go out, then, into this midnight winter's storm, alone,
down into the darkness of the valley,
and make my way upstream through this vampire cold
("What if your love was only a dream of summer?
Admit that I'm smarter, admit I was right all along!")
To this uncaring hunger that kills, I bring my hard anger;
to the sneer of the blizzard's raging, I bring this hard answer:
up there, on the hillside, her grave lies waiting,
and there will be a dying; both despair and this flesh will dissolve.
This stream is the course of the life that flows in it;
somewhere it springs from a mystery;
if all of the heartache, all of the pain be for nothing,
let my search for its source be forgotten; with the thaw,
let my bones be entangled in some thicket upstream, never found.
I wake only to drowse again, drowse just to wake again, slaphammer heart;
stretch wide just to freeze again, shrink tight to hold off the pain -
Dear Occupant, treasures -
candy, roses;
pleasures,
to your doorstep,
and off in a plane
to another world
(you won't pay a thing)
where excitement
fandango,
balmy and
bangled, and
people will bow, and they'll bow, and they'll bow, and they'll bow -
(all of the knee-bends, all of the trying to twist somehow away
from the pain of the nails,
back to the
shape of the human,
animal writhing,
Please! Back to the grace remembered! Please, raggedy man!
But the one in the middle is gone,
and which of us left
has the right to ask who forsook who?)
Dear Occupant (computer to put name here),
this letter would begin with your name, but
the name is not the thing,
the thing is,
the you you cannot name:
the you that you dream for your friends to praise,
the you for you to admire in the scraps of your selfbook,
are wraps of gossamer fantasy against a deadly storm;
we know ourselves in our lonely pain and fear at another's agony.
Dear Occupant, be careful;
be fearful,
be afraid when you deal with love:
because somewhere within the hope,
and betrayal of trust,
the trust,
and betrayal of hope,
worse than the passing of wonder from flesh we die.
---------------------------
: cellar door irrelevancy :
: by tex :
---------------------------
When I was told I'd have $18.00 subtracted from my first check to pay for my
Papa John's shirt, I thought, "Eh, fuck it, maybe I can wear it on laundry day
or something."
Such was not to be the case.
I have yet to ever wear it in any non-employed context; it sits lonely on the
coat hook on the back of my door whenever it's not in use. Perhaps the best
way to explain this phenomenon was what happened today as I walked outside to
check the mail. It was a beautifully sunny day, high 60's, the faintest trace
of a breeze rustling through the grass in the front yard. Not a person in
sight, yet I was afraid to be seen in the dusty lavender banner of my
occupation.
I don't know my neighbors at all. I don't know their names, I don't know what
they look like, I just barely know not to run over their kids. We're not the
kind of people to have cookouts and singalongs and that kind of thing, even
though they are. Despite all of this, though, I feel more apprehensive to
leave the house in my work shirt than in, say, my moose boxers.
It's like giving open notice to the world: "Yes, I work a menial job for my
money. The food I get is a better perk than the money I make. Dollar bills do
not miraculously fly out of my asshole." The little onion, pepper, and tomato
beneath the corporate logo might as well be the prisoner barcode of my
minimum-wage, minimum-security incarceration.
These shirts are "uniforms" because that's exactly what today's employer wants:
one form, one body, one personality to deal with. There would be uniminds if
it were possible, and to the extent that they are possible, they do exist, in
the form of employee conduct regulations. For the time being, though, managers
must settle for having a pleasantly similar selection of purple shirts to stare
past.
Such is the price one pays for their little slice of the money in the world to
be had. Some men are doctors; some men are soldiers; some men are pizza chefs
and food-service holders. It is simply the individualist nature to revolt
against the broad classification of a group of people. As I would never
crassly lump a handful of human beings together by something so arbitrary as
temporary employment, so I object to being known as your pizza bitch.
Sorry to disappoint those who whispered of me in hushed, reverent tones. I'll
call you once I develop money diarrhea.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
: W-a-H-µ-R-d-Z--0v--W-h-I-z-D-µ-M-b--F-ö-W-N-d--iN--f-I-k-T-i-0-N! :
---------------------------------------------------------------------
"Passion isn't a path through the woods. Passion is the woods.
It's the deepest, wildest part of the forest; the grove where
the fairies still dance and obscene old vipers snooze in the
boughs."
"A relationship can occasionally fulfill a person, but only a
collision can transform them."
"Progress: the victory of laughter over dogma."
"People who've bought into poverty are just as shallow and
exploitative as those who've bought into wealth. Both have
been stultified by their lack of imagination."
The proceeding quotes are all from Larry Diamond, a character
in the Tom Robbins book Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas...
---------------------------------------------------------------------
: W-a-H-µ-R-d-Z--0v--W-h-I-z-D-u-M-b--F-ö-W-N-d--iN--f-I-k-T-i-0-N! :
---------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------
: Sleepy pockets... :
: by atom :
---------------------
Okay here I am. On the edge to fall asleep at work. I barely can keep my eye's
open and gir told me to write a tfile to stay awake. What are sleepy pockets?
The term originated in my brain by Larissa (*waves*) who put it into my head.
Kinda find the term sleepy pocket cute. Like Hot Pockets just Sleepy Pockets.
I'm sure everybody of you out there has them from now and then. It's when you
get all sleepy and barely can keep awake during the day. If it wouldn't be for
my job I would just nap right now and probably wake up 30 minutes later all
dizzy and sleepy. But behind me is a coworker who pisses me off with his music
and next door is another coworker who swings over from now and then to look
over my shoulder to tell my boss I'm chatting on AIM rather than doing work.
Not to mention that without me here 80% of the work would not be able to be
done anyways (brag) hehe... So what can I do. I cant sleep nor can I stand
the feeling that I could sleep but I just can't or maybe I would start to snore
horrible. That would just end in a mess... Hmm well I'm still sleepy and my
brain has shut off so I think I will step outside for a few and maybe grab me
a COFFEEE (finally I figured out why they have coffee in the most offices heh)
--------------
: Damned "X" :
: by estell :
--------------
If the picture has an "X" on it, then the center of the "X" is serious. What
does it mean?
Well. It's really just that simple. How can you not understand? I am the
picture. Find the center and that's where its serious. Why?
If you look at the picture with the "X" over it, it's perfectly divided. Why
an "X?" Perfect little quarters edging at each other. All the points threaten
to pierce the other at any given moment.
It's serious because I made the picture perfectly divided. That's why you
can't see the "X" no matter what lie you told me. It's my picture, my "X." Get
your own picture. Find your own division to undefine.
And as for the serious, well maybe you don't have serious. Maybe you're picture
has no center. Or maybe your serious is because of no center.
Maybe it has no divisions. Maybe you let your picture go. I made the serious so
fuck off you can't have it.
All I know is. When I see the picture, it has an "X" and at the center is
serious.
Without the "X" I could be free. I choose near-bursting center points without
purpose.
FUCK YOU! I HATE YOU! LEAVE ME MY SERIOUS.
Worthless.
--------------------------
: Thoughts on a Grey Day :
: by oregano :
--------------------------
I was asked to write something a little more honest. I tend to go for the
big reaction, the laugh, the joke, the startling comment in my angstmonster
writing. That is not something I will apologize for, I tend to think of my
regular life as mundane but gir asked if I could give him something a little
more real. This might ramble a little, I think that is okay, this file is just
some thoughts from the past 24 hours.
I have American Analog Set on the CD player, their Know By Heart CD. I am
not sure if this will color my writing, but I put it on because it is rather
subdued. I considered Beth Orton too, but that might be too melancholy, and I
am not quite so morose today.
This whole week, in Chicago has been grey and cold; sometimes drizzly,
sometimes foggy; a grey funk has descended on my life.
First is the idea of school being out. I rememebr how amazing that last
day of school was. That half day where classes were 20 minutes long and you
got your grades from your teacher and signed yearbooks and said goodbye. In my
mind those days are sunny and warm and the green school fields are full of
dandelions and all the houses have crowds of yellow daffodils. But this June
it is cold. So it clashes with my memory. When my nieces say school is done
for the year I cannot get the image right in my mind, the cold and the grey do
not jibe. I keep asking them how school is and they think I am messing with
them. I do mess with people too much, but I was serious when I thought school
was still in session. The school idea is important it is a way of marking
time. When you are out of school the year is just a non-stop year. So having
markers puts things in a kind of perspective and makes the year more
manageable.
I had a particularly bad Thursday and for a reason that might be silly but
really bothered me. At the YMCA I have had the same passcard for 10 years. I
take pride that I have been going to the YMCA to work out for ten years and I
liked that my card shows me with long hair and a heck of a lot younger. But
the girl at the front desk kept bothering me to get a new card so that it can
be scanned with the id scanner. I think I was proud that my card would not
scan and that the front desk people had to type in my number by hand, it made
me different and made me special. We have to take our specialness where we can
get it. So getting a new card meant giving up this old image of me and giving
up my specialness. I had been fighting with the girl for weeks now. But
finally there was a showdown and I insisted on talking to the manager, who I
have known for ten years and he insisted that I do in fact get a new card.
I felt betrayed by this. The manager, himself, has no problem with keying
in the card when he is working the front desk, and we chat all the time, even
drink together when I see him at the local bar, and I felt it was wrong of him
to back a temporary worker rather than a long-time client. But I went with it
and felt the loss all day, and even into today. The loss is not just the loss
of the card, but the loss of respect for the front desk girl the loss of
thinking the manager would back me up if push came to shove. It was an alone
feeling.
The niece is in the office and she is looking for things to do so I am
handing her comics here and there from my supply. I no longer care about
comics, a year ago (maybe) I would not want people touching my comic books, I
kept them in mint condition. But tastes change, and now I am done with comic.
Read the book The Orchid Thief and the main guy in the book is very into
antique mirrors for a while, then has nothing to do with them. Then tropical
fish, and then wants nothing to do with them. Then orchids and at the end of
the book he has nothing to do with them. I am not that bad in my obsessions,
but I am done with comics. I no longer care. I am moving on.
I was going to talk about women here too. That really is the
top-of-the-mind thing today. As it is every day. But parties involved should
not be invoked in a textfile. Plus all this is going to come back to me later
when this is published. But it is a mess when you have one person you may be
interested in real life and another on IRC many hundreds of miles away. Do oyu
go for the ill fit near home or the good fit far away? Probably just to dig up
the garden and start fresh.
That is my grey day, that is as close to sincere as I can get for a
textfile. I hope this whole thing does not bite me on the bum. I am going to
read this over just once and check for clarity and then send it away before I
lose my nerve.
I'll end on an insincere note: I hope your day is sunny, not grey.
--------------
: An Example :
: by gir :
--------------
Each different example is trying to teach something about what we are trying
to learn.
So what's that one?
Excuse me?
What's that example trying to teach about?
No no no, you don't understand. That was just an example, you weren't supposed
to take it serious.
What good is it teaching us the example if it isn't going to teach us anything?
You just need to know the example, don't worry about it means.
Why not?
BECAUSE I DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT AND THERE'S NO REASON YOU SHOULD EITHER! IT
JUST WORKS THAT WAY! DON'T QUESTION IT!
Bu-
GET OUT! NOW! Does anyone else have any questions?
...
æææææææææææææææææææ
æ Æfterthought(s) æ
æææææææææææææææææaæ
Although many of you may not notice, I blame OS X for the delayed release of
angstmonster. ANGSTMONSTER'S RELEASE WAS DELAYED! I DIDN'T EVEN NOTICED?
That's because I just made that up to have something to talk about. It seemed
like a delay in the release of the Internet's most treasured text possession
would be a good topic of discussion for ending this issue of such a treasure.
But fear not! If you missed your chance to contribute to this round of golden
delicious goodness, there is a chance to be redeemed in two weeks. If you
decide to submit to the NEXT angstmonster, you are putting yourself in the
running with the elitist of the elite. The long awaited HAMSTERS AND LASERS
issue has come... It is waiting in the shadows of our base of operations,
hoping that more people will tickle it's belly and feed it yummy treats, hoping
that more people will take up high powered weaponry and blow shit up, hoping
that you (YES YOU READING THIS RIGHT NOW) have something to say about hamsters
and lasers as a means for destroying all things ninja and pirate.
As one conflict dies down, another is on the horizon... I'm not saying you
have to take part in the bloodshed, just be weary of peglegs and eyepatches and
ninja hoods.
_____
/ |\ |\ /\ |\ |
\ | | |/ |/ < > |/ | *
/ |_| | | \/ |\ | *
FRIENDS:
http://www.bubblemonkey.org/cheesencrackers/ !CHEESENCRACKERS!
http://www.addendumtextfiles.org ¿ADDENDUM¿
http://www.angstmonster.org/txt/kob/ |Kids on Bridges|
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.
If you you are looking to SUBSCRIBE to angstmonster, send an email to
<gir@angstmonster.org> and say "YES YES DO ADD ME TO YOUR WONDERFUL EMAIL LIST
OF HAPPY FUN DOOM SO I CAN GET A COPY OF ANGSTMONSTER DELIVERED TO MY MAILBOX
EVERY OTHER MONDAY!" Remember, if you don't say those exact words, you shan't
get added to the list.
Thanks and enjoy your day...
copy-spwep 2003 issue 29
angstmonster.org 06.16.03
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)
