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Doomed to Obscurity Issue 10
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+ doomed to obscurity + issue ten + may 7th, 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've never met a girl that i didn't beat & engulf in flames." - styx +
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_____
6/ ^..^ "my heart belongs to ramen soup"
\_____(oo) by - mogel
WW WW
greetings, my lovely friends!
this month in dto history has been a glorious plethora of confusion,
anger, love, betrayal, disruption in the law, discovery, excitement,
reunion, growth, angst, bliss, & all-around wacky times. however, we still
persevere through thick & thin - all for you, mighty dto reader!
forgive my excessively happy mood, but a lot of things in my life
have been finally working out for me. in the middle of this
gosh-golly-great state i'm in, out comes time to fry up my good ol' editor &
slap you guys with another helping of our oh-so sexy style.
we're so cute.
when you read through this issue of dto, there's going to be one
obvious element that will stick out in your heads more than anything - a
theme!# dto's *coincidental* look at love. i guess spring time's emotional
buzz is coming loud & clear all over the dto member list, like a disease.
yes, dto tackles the very concept of love in its various angles &
stages. on a related front, i was surprised to find not one, but *two*
articles relating to the concept which i joke about quite a bit,
"cyber-love"; that is, meeting a girl/guy from "online". strangely enough,
however, this phenomenon is becoming all-too common lately. it's been
hitting more & more computer geeksters as the day goes by.
you know what's funny about it? as bizarre & potentially disastrous
meeting someone via computer & then getting into a relationship is - there
is, of course, nothing wrong with it inherently. i'm not talking about the
long distance "you live in china & we're probably never going to meet, but
you never know!#" & not something actually solely dedicated to modem contact
("we dcc chat every day - but he didn't op me on irc, should we break
up?!#"), just the idea of initial communication. the computer, of course,
is a way of seeing someone's personality, intelligence, & ability to
communicate layed out before you, crystal clear, ready to be liked or
disliked.
but love is such a funny notion, in every way. what's acceptable to
one person isn't to another. what's wonderful to one person, might be
disgusting or stupid to even their closest friends. love is one of the most
difficult to define words in existence, along with "art", & the english
language does a horrible job at using both.
wouldn't it be great if you could buy your relationship's progress in
stores? think about it. various messages with random cliche coupons such
as "let's just be friends" or "i'm thinking about you" or "you mean a lot to
me" or "i love you" or, of course, the very popular "fuck you, you
emotionally fucked up obsessive computer geek! stop stalking me!". that
would be a REAL book of love, man.
"love is more fun than james earl jones on a trampoline!"
- midget caesar
in this issue, aside from tons of sappy stuff, you're also going to
see various comebacks from writers that we haven't heard from in a while,
such as kaia, crank, shadow tao, kojak, & sweeney erect. in coming issues,
you should expect the return of fake scorpion, sed, neko, vanir, & others.
another thing to note is the silly ascii portraits of all the dto writer's
heads (a nice touch, eh?) that appear before every writer that wrote this
month - a total of _16_!# woo woo. also interesting to note, as almost a
retort to jamesy's "girls can't write" article last issue, we have *four*
girl writers in dto this month. that's an e'zine all-time record, i
believe. who would have thought that a 'zine could successfully put out
articles by styx, jamesy, *&* girls & still not have any problems? i think
that's just a taste the power of _dto & you_!
as i gaze over this issue of dto one last time, i see a lot of
encoded (some more than others) messages of personal, real-life things going
on in all of our various lives. this is recorded history, folks. our
history. a lot of things have been going down this month, but let's please
stay 'connected' no matter what happens between any of us.
good news! the new & super awesome, souped-up dto homepage has
returned, after prism.net crashed *yet again* last month (we still love you,
teletype). the page was created & is maintained by jamesy. check it out:
http://wwti.iway.net/dto.
in other news, a month after it's establishment, the official "dto
love shack" was declared illegal & after cops invaded the premises - me,
black francis, & dead cheese were forced to move out & go our separate ways.
subletting sucks. but it's just *another* example of THE MAN trying to
bring us down.
last but not least, _the_ e'zine event of the year, dummercon, is
coming in july. the attendees include *almost* every member of dto, a
plethora of #zines regulars, tons of wacky philly kids, & more. information
on the event will be released soon, so keep your eyes open. this year's
dummercon will make history. after all, anyone that doesn't have a part in
wrecking yet *another* one of rattle's computers is missing out.
at any rate, this issue is a huge treat, clocking in at 83k. munch
away, pookiebear!
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___| | _______
----------------------------- | | | | -----------------------------
----------------------------- | | | | | | -----------------------------
| | | | | |
doomed to obscurity ten | | | | | | & all contents therein ..
| | | | | |
----------------------------- | | | | | | -----------------------------
----------------------------- |_____| |_____| -----------------------------
|___ _
1 - my heart belongs to ramen soup
by - mogel
2 - doomed to obscurity ten & all contents therein ..
by - mogel
3 - white lumps: someone likes the outdoors a lot!
by - dead cheese
4 - identity crisis
by - kaia
5 - julian simmons & the psychic friends network
by - sweeney erect
6 - the happy game
by - juke
7 - why everyone should smoke pot
by - styx
8 - a girl he never met
by - kojak
9 - gimme access!
by - mogel
10 - we are the sons of no one
by - murmur
11 - no outlet
by - crank
12 - phat rhymes & dope thymes: old skool
by - dead cheese
13 - you think it's over now?
by - james hetfield
14 - i bet it would be really funny if
by - puck
15 - shine six/eight & the last musty smells
by - eerie
16 - asking for it
by - black francis
17 - nowhere to go but up? who says we're moving?
by - whoops
18 - realize
by - shadow tao
19 - the original evil sugar - condiments; chapter 1000
by - murmur
20 - mistaken
by - girlie17
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/o O\ \ /
| ^_ | o|| "white lumps: someone likes the outdoors a lot!"
/\___/\// by - dead cheese
| toast |
someone likes the outdoors a lot. i think it might be me. i like to
swing. i like to run. i will play in the sun pouring down. i will pick up
sticks and swing them, pretending i am a great warrior! i will grasp the
ants that walk by between my thumb and fingers and watch them squirm, until
they bite me! i will eat the ants that bite me, but not the ants that are
nice - for they shall receive a much nicer fate. i will throw them into
the pond and teach them to swim!
someone likes the outdoors a lot. i think it may be freddy. freddy
likes to pick the apples from the tree and eat them right there! freddy
will smell the morning air and feel the dew between his toes and laugh in
delight because there is nothing more wonderful than dew 'twixt the toes!
freddy will catch up his baby sister in his arms and run! simply _run_!
sometimes freddy will stumble on a rock and his sister will cry, but that's
ok. freddy knows how to make his sister feel better. he has only to take
the rock he stumbled upon and smack the sweet child in the head three times
(no more, no less!) and the dear girl will be quiet for hours.
someone likes the outdoors a lot. i'm not quite sure who it is!
whoever it is must love the sun, the trees, the animals, the air, the dew.
someone must love the outdoors a lot! i love the outdoors a lot! i really
do!
someone likes the outdoors a lot! i think it might be me! i will
sing to the treetops! i will play in the running waters! i like the
outdoors a lot. i really, really do! why don't you believe me? why do you
argue? i like the outdoors, and you should, too!
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| o.o |
|\ - /| "identity crisis"
,|_)_(_|. by - kaia
/ \
$ pico journal.txt
__________________________________________________________________________
| |
| |
| it'll never happen to us .. |
| |
| we'll never be art fags, |
| nor new age children, |
| nor alternafreaks, |
| nor lousy poets searching for meaning in toothpaste. |
| |
| we'll never be mean, rough-n-tumble motherfuckers, |
| nor shiny happy invertebrate 'yes'-kids. |
| |
| we'll never be stuffed literary turds, |
| nor intellectual fuckers writing songs about fermat's last |
| theorem. |
| |
| well, maybe *she* was an intellectual fucker - |
| |
| .. in a sense. |
|--- |
| the meaning of Life is to LOVE. |
|--- |
| no. the meaning of Life is to be HAPPY. |
|--- |
| *NO. the meaning of Life is SHIT.* |
| |
| um, not to be lewd or anything; maybe i need to reword. |
| |
| life is what you produce. life is something that happens out |
| of necessity: you don't choose writing or poetry or music or art or |
| politics or fame; these things choose you, so you produce them. |
| there's no search for meaning involved. life is processing your |
| environment - growing as you make certain parts part of you and |
| discarding the gunk that doesn't matter. although sometimes it's |
| hard, life is something you should be able to walk away from with a |
| sense of accomplishment. |
| |
| in summary, life is .. well, Life *is* shit, and that's all |
| there is. |
| |
|<EOF> |
|__________________________________________________________________________|
so i woke up this morning with a mild hangover and my girlfriend
lying on top of me, her belly to mine, her long legs a softly entwining work
of art. i took a quick mood check and even though my head was pulsing, i
decided i felt neither unhappy, nor unsad. just generally content. kind
of. but also restless, like i needed something. a cigarette?
perhaps. i groped for the pack on the bureau.
{fuck!} my fingertips wouldn't reach. i feared moving an inch,
however, lest i nudge her from her beautiful dreams. how silly, i thought,
to be trapped between my girlfriend's legs! many men would give their right
hand to be in my position ..
she was the one whose wildly innocent eyes had secretly claimed a
semester of my physics class lust. back then, i had constantly worried she
would catch me staring. i didn't know why, but i would have sooner bathed
in windex than ever let this happen! so, each of my precious gazes had
yielded only a brief burst of eye-candy: <look over; see what she's doing;
huzzah! she's not talking to the boy next to her; ok, now hurry, look
away .. phew!# close call!#>
.. and after nearly a thousand glances of her pretty silhouette, i
had been able to close my eyes and trace the outline of her back. how i had
ached to do this for real!
and now, with our two-month anniversary approaching, its *reality*
was like anything surreal. {surreal kinda like a giant eyeball}, i mused.
{giant eyeball, heh.} giant eyeball with an iris of blue sky and
fluffy clouds.
{miro, miro on the wall
who's the fairest of them all?
my girl, cause *she's* a giant eyeball .. }
i was so just-woken-up silly! i mouthed a funky air-drum and began
to rap to myself, in whispers, about having no foresight and 20/20
hindsight. it was amusing, for a while. then i got bored and stopped ..
all was silence.
i stared at the tom & jerry wallpaper and yearned once more for a
nicotine fix.
silence.
the craving passed as i synchronized our breathing. maybe if i
concentrated hard enough, our hearts would synchronize, too. after all,
after nearly two months, i'd noticed how our minds were very much alike ..
was it really true, or just what i wanted to believe? although
there's no one i respected more than someone who could disagree *well* with
me, i've always adored how she's agreed with almost everything that's ever
exited my mouth. she'd validate a fucking fishbone were i to spit it out.
what persuasive magic i must work!
{heh, strange how whenever i get verrry extra-specially close to her,
like, a tongue's length away from her soul, all i see is my own reflection,
staring back.}
i thought some more.
{heh! maybe that really *is* all she is. a giant eyeball
reflecting - me back to me. a giant eyeball with an identity crisis!}
hmm. i couldn't tell whether the thought had been *really* deep, or
just deceptively indulgent as morning-silly musings often are. either way,
it amused me and i ached to record it, but my powerbook was also out of
reach, right next to the cigarettes. again, i fought the urge to squiggle
away ..
{honeygirl, i must really love you}
only
for a moment
every cell in my body lived for her only.
and my life was completely fulfilled but
for a moment
only -
my tummy did this little flip-flop as i craned my neck to kiss her
cheek, and then, almost magically, she shifted so i could free my arms and
fumble for what i wanted .. huzzah!#
{powerbook? bingo!}
quickly, unthinkingly, i typed thoughts relating to my girlfriend and
on the meaning of life.
{cigarette? bingo!}
i put the cigarette to my lips and my mouth watered in anticipation
of a smoke.
{lighter .. ?}
ack! where was it? it wasn't on the table. goddamnit! i lifted my
head to see if the lighter had fallen onto the carpet, but i couldn't see
over the edge of the bed, and i *still* really didn't want to wake my
girlfriend ..
sigh.
i inhaled the cigarette raw. {ech!#} i decided i must really
reaallly dig my woman, because pretending to smoke was nothing like the real
thing.
"i love you."
she probably didn't hear me through her sleep.
better that way, i figured, because one of the only original opinions
she harbored was that you only tell people you love them when you know them
like yourself.
by her definition i didn't think we'd ever "love" each other. doubts
on our compatibility had nagged me from the very beginning. her hobby of
choice, for example, was babysitting. by my definition, however, i loved
her very much. to me, LOVE was such a paradoxical word - both beautiful
and stupid, rare and commonplace Life. it was so many things .. including
garden-variety lust and infatuation - the stuff dreamers go through like
toilet paper. the stuff that's as common as bad guitarists in wannabe punk
bands. the stuff that's nothing more than a psychoactive drug. the stuff
that's unavoidable, since we're all just animals with selfish genes, anyway.
{resistance is futile!}
her beauty keeps me coming back for more .. maybe, by her definition,
*that's* what i loved - i certainly knew her luscious, creamy body like my
own flesh! i totally admitted i hungered to devour her physicality far
before her scattered mind and its goddamn agreeability and sloppy reasoning.
like, some of her twisted logic i'd never understand. why did she
waste her soul on arguing pointless points and finding the exception to
every single fucking rule in the universe? why had she joined the grammar
police? why did she torture her soul by chaining her mind to the idea of
purity?
heh. to trick the boys into thinking she's hard-to-get, perhaps. or
for security, perhaps - "as long as i don't fuck them, i won't be a whore,
but anything else is fair game." yeah? so 69 me baby let's bring in
another lover now work me harder i want it up the ass!
um ..
anyway, i didn't know why she chose to share her virginity with me,
something about my being worth it, she said. ..WORTH IT?! bring in the
testosterone and a pretty girl, and all rationality is gone out the window!
{icky.} the cigarette was starting to get soggy between my lips, so
i spit it out.
i'll never understand her, but i positively love her!
the first time we went all the way, it was magic. and now - now we
fuck like rabbits. its a nice counterbalance to the intellectual boredom.
i can honestly say i'm blissful in her company.
i used to call this bliss "happiness," and sometimes i still feel
myself falling into the trap of thinking i'm happy when i'm really just
blissful. until people realize the difference, they'll never ever be
"happy," because true happiness is nothing special, it's just Life.
ah! the meaning of life? i rushed to record it while i still
remembered.
if my girlfriend was neither my life, nor my happiness, what was she?
{she's my heavenly bliss!}
bliss. it's nothing more than another psychoactive drug. just
like most songs are nothing more than 4 chords. bliss, it's just a drug,
that's all .. once you take enough, it fucks up the whole happiness scale.
your mind resets its idea of "normal" to what used to be "bliss," and
suddenly, anything that would have otherwise been normal would be as boring
as enya, and anything that would've otherwise been bad would toss your soul
tumbling headfirst into a fiery pit of hell with all the boys who seduce
women by looking pathetic. then, you realize it's time for everyone to
learn some new chords.
happiness, love, bliss, lust, whatever. it was *all* just a part
of Life.
i put my fingertips to the keys, but nothing came out. for the life
of me, i couldn't remember most of my thoughts from the last few minutes.
then, suddenly, it came to me in a flash: the meaning of life. it
was different from all the rest, and so obvious and common-sense! i let it
rip as fast as my fingers could type. then i put the powerbook down, and
put my arms around her, and put my thoughts to rest in her sweet warmth.
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v0 0v
/\x/\ "julian simmons and the psychic friends network"
| ||| | by - sweeney erect
| ||| |
'~^^^~`
one day julian simmons woke up bored and cranky and decided he needed
a way to share his misery with many others. so he checked his morning paper
and discovered an ad for a job in telemarketing. since there are few better
ways to spread human misery than to be a telemarketer, julian hopped in his
porsche and applied for the job.
as it happened, the job was not technically telemarketing. it was,
in fact, a job working on a 1-900 psychic line. his job was officially
described as "answer the phone. keep the poor bastard on the line for as
long as you can." julian decided this was going to be a job he liked a lot
while he kept it.
the first caller was an old woman. "hello? hello?" julian began to
mumble incoherently. he figured she'd probably be hard of hearing and she'd
think he was saying something. it worked.
"hello?"
"nargle bargle."
"what's that sonny?"
"harple darple."
"huh?" she asked concerned, "i'm hard of hearing."
with some urgency julian repeated, "*harple darple*."
after a few minutes he began to add words. "hagry pagry die unless
murgle druggle listen to me kolp huppy buried in grappo .. " and so on and
so on. after about ten minutes she hung up clearly panicked.
his next call wanted to know where to invest his money. "i'm closing
my eyes. i'm imagining something. i'm broadcasting it to you," said
julian.
the man got excited. "i see it!"
"what is it?"
"buy ibm stock."
"nope, that's not it."
"oh. at&t?"
"nope."
after about ten minutes julian said, "look, i'm not really thinking
of anything. so do us both a favor and hang up."
his next caller was a rabid new age believer named sandra. she
sounded very pretty. in julian's experience very little but good could come
from desperate, naive women.
"stay right there," he said. "you need sex magic and i'll be right
there."
"hurry," she said. "i need you bad."
"you've got no idea, babe," he said and ran out to his car. it would
be a good day after all.
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.x%%%x.
( O_O ) "the happy game"
\ o / by - juke
-`~~~'-
this evening, i think i shall kill myself. do not worry. it's only
for enjoyment. please do not think i am depressed or suicidal. nor do i
have any sort of psychological or mental illnesses. i assure you my head is
on as tight as it could possibly be, thank you. it is just that i like to
play games.
i do not play these games very often. in fact, they are quite rare.
it is just that when i play them - i play as hard as i can and do not stop
until the game has reached the end and the winner has been declared. i play
so hard sometimes people question whether i am really playing a game at all.
i know i am, and that's all that matters to me.
this, which for now i will dub "the suicide game" is a new game.
what am i thinking? of course it is a new game. i would be dead otherwise,
wouldn't i? of course i would. more inane comments by me. anyways, back
to my fun.
you know what? i really do not like calling my little game "the
suicide game." it sounds rather negative. let's call it "the happy game."
yes, i like that much, much better.
i think i should bring up the question of my psychological state
again. please have total faith that i am 100% sane. i have no doubts in my
mind about that and i hope you have no doubts as well. i can not play my
game if you have doubts. please be honest. do any have you have any doubts
at all?
no?
good, but please do not be afraid to comment at any moment before my
game starts.
this evening i am going to ask for you complete patience. my games
are never quick and easy, nor are they easy to understand in thy mind. my
games are for the intellect, for no one less than an intellect could even
comprehend the complicated and intricate rules and instruction one must
follow in this game.
now that i am sure of our understanding of my psychological state and
i am sure of your complete patience, i will begin the first and last "happy
game."
good night everyone. i hope you all have a nice evening, i know i will.
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____
(-o0-) "why everyone should smoke pot"
| __ | by - styx
|__U_|
ou should smoke po tbecause it makes you feel good. and warm. it ameks
you drink a ot because your mouth gets real dry and you get hungry nd pizza
and dibarettes tatse better. it doesnt' cost as much as coke or nothing so
you don't go broke. you also amke friends with all of the really cool kids
at shcool not like those magic the gatering faggoits. it alsot makes you
play instrunments better. my riend's brother said that it situmlates the
left side of your brain so you actally get smarter when you smoke pot. well
ont' get me wrong you can't take your SATs on pot or drive or nothing!!!!
you just draw better pictures and play the guitar better when you pot pot.
that is all. it isn't addicting either. iread in _high timees_ that ethse
doctors in nevad a injected THC equivlant of about for thousand joints into
this mouse and it shit on itself and all but after a couple of days it was
fine!!! like my friend;s dog that ate all my friend's pot and for a bunch
of days it sat in the corenr and shit on hinmself. it was fnny but after
some time the dog shit outside like he is supposed too. also when chicks
smoke pot they get all honry and want to get down your boxesr and shit! my
frined's brother says that he has beeen with more chicks high then not.
there is also some music and movies adn books you dont' fully undestand
until when you are stoned. like alise in wonderland, pulp fictoin, pink
floydd, mtv's oddities, 2001 a space odissey, and many others!!!!! trust
me, they take on a totallyd ifferent meaning! just rememeber: why did god
putt pot on the eardth if he did not want us to use it????
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| o.o |
| _ | "a girl he never met"
_\___/_ by - kojak
/ \_/ \
he poured all of himself into her. his thoughts, hopes, dreams,
aspirations, letdowns, loves, regrets - she knew what he was & who he wanted
to be. but who was she? a nickname, in a sense, & nothing else. an
enigma.
there was a familiarity in their conversation. a connection.
something he couldn't explain. he could tell her anything and not have to
worry about her telling all his friends. she was a confidant, someone to be
trusted. he was at a point in his life where he needed someone to trust.
someone to hold on to. without her, he might've slipped over the edge.
many a night had been spent staying up late talking to her, expressing how
he felt, waiting for a reaction. she'd always know just what to say and
when to say it. after talking to her, he'd feel infinitely better about
whatever situation was troubling him .. even if it was a situation that
involved their relationship. he was content while talking to her.
no other girl had made him feel so himself. he didn't have to worry
if he was looking bad that day or didn't get a lot of sleep & wasn't
responsive during conversation. she allowed for things like that, something
that other girls hadn't. he'd always wanted someone to be his best friend.
sure, he'd had best friends in the past, many of them being a confidant much
like her, but she was different. she was the _real deal_.
at the same time that he shared all these things with other people,
he would get self-conscious. the notion that someone knew who he was at his
core, the raw basics of his being, scared him. he didn't want to be known,
he wanted to remain anonymous, a voice in the crowd. he'd never been known
to have open, heart-to-heart talks with people, always struggling with his
emotions by himself. he lived a lonely life, in a sense. not physically
lonely, for he was a very outgoing person with tons of "friends", but how
could he consider them that? they were simply acquaintances, people who he
asked how they were doing when he saw them. nothing more, nothing less. he
knew everything about everyone, absorbing other people's problems, but now
problems of his own were building. he was becoming a steam cooker, the
pressure just welling up inside, until one day, he'd blow.
but that's just what she was to him, a release. he could tell her
anything and everything, and she'd still be there at the end of his rambling
offering him a response, usually logical. this treatment was something he'd
never felt before, and he became addicted to it.
because this girl knew who he was, what he was, he felt that he had
to know her. he consumed himself with finding out about her - having her
tell him exactly what was going on in _her_ life. their talks became more
and more serious. topics of all varieties popped up in conversation. he
found himself attracted to her; not for her great looks or body, but for
HER. the way she acted, the way she talked, the way she reacted - he became
immersed in her. he wanted to be a large part of her life, but how could he
tell her this?
she knew him, and he knew her. they were perpetually together, yet
always apart. the distance between them wasn't a relationship distance,
but a physical distance. the physical distance between them tore him apart.
he wanted so badly to reach out and touch the delicate skin of her face. to
hold her near him and feel her breathing. it wasn't about sex, it was about
commitment, love, & expression. he wanted to merge with her, become one.
"why must she be so far away?" he thought on a regular basis. he
tormented himself with thoughts of what *could* be between them, how he'd
like things to be. he pictured them together, holding hands and walking
down a crowded city street, two people among thousands - yet not intertwined
with the masses around them. a world where only the two of them counted and
nothing else was of any particular importance. he felt in tune with her, as
if they had already joined minds.
her mind intrigued him, always twitching, thinking, creating. never
before had he been so attracted to someone. it was her that would make him
complete, he thought, and only her.
slowly, he became an overbearing person. his constant emotions
became a stress on their relationship; him pushing her away at the very
same time he needed her close. the distance between them grew, matching the
geographic distance. he felt cold and alone, having no one to talk to.
finally, she was gone; physically there, a friend, but nothing more. she
was another "acquaintance"; something that could've been so much more, if
he'd only been able to approach the situation in another way. he felt sorry
for her, himself - the two of them. he'd done this to himself, it was
nothing that he could fix. he was delegated to the position of friend, when
he could've been a lover. this realization hurt him, struck a chord deep
within his soul.
"there could've been so much more," he wrote in a letter to her, "we
could've been perfect. a dream. now that dream is shattered, and with it,
my being."
it was a girl he never met.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"gimme access!"
by - mogel
date: 7:27 pm tue apr 16, 1996 number : 23 of 24
from: mastermindz base : private mail
to : mogel refer #: none
subj: new user application replies: none
stat: normal origin : local
yo, sup, i'm spunky fucky monkeys mutha fuckin man. u dig? i can zone
on the telephone all night long u kno.. i am the elite mutha phucka, the man
from down unda', there never will b anotha'.. you see what i'm sayin? these
phools that i'm playing,.. you know they all used to the game but you'll
never beat me cause' you don't even know my name.. you dig?
haha.. anyway. i'm on all the elite boardz in da' area and i am a
member of e-vil software. i'm old enough to kno whatz goin on, and where it
be.. u dig? and uhh, i also do ansi on the side.. u dig, so i'll talk to u
l8r master-bater.. hahaha.
- mastermindz [e-vil]
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
_____
/_____\
// o.o \\ "we are the sons of no one"
(| _ |)) by - murmur
__\ /__
/_ `-' _\
he didn't know what she looked like, had only this vague image. he
didn't know how'd she sound in person, he'd only talked to her on the phone
a couple times. really, he didn't know too much about her. all he knew
he'd learned via a computer. a few computers, actually. his computer and
his dad's computer and the whole big computer lab at his expensive liberal
arts university. but what he did know, he liked. he liked that a whole
lot.
she was flying in on wednesday. it was her spring break, and she
wanted to get away from home. he wasn't really sure when she got the
airline ticket what she hoped to do when she got there. but in that span of
three weeks he got to know her a lot better. he'd known about her for over
a year, because of this old bbs he used to call. that's the first place he
saw her handle anywhere. but he'd never so much as seen a picture. he
really had no idea what to expect.
it was wednesday already. wow. already? it had been three grueling
weeks of anticipation and nervousness. in that time he got to know a lot
about her. but you can't replace actual physical interaction with much of
anything. he knew that. he knew that full well as he got on board the bus
to meet her at the airport. he didn't have a car, see. had to take the
bus. it was a nice bus, he figured, so far as buses come and go.
three hours of reflection on the bus. what would she look like?
would her online personality really be her? or was it an illusion? he had
no way to know. for he, he wasn't the same online as he was in person. how
could he be? nobody could act out his true persona online. there are so
many things you can't appreciate about someone over a computer screen.
their conversations had gotten really serious. they found each
other's images, their online personas, to be truly amazing. they clicked.
but that was online. there are so many differences between being online and
being REAL. they'd find out, of course. he hoped like hell that all was
not a fairy tale. but all he could do was wait and see.
really, he'd already made his mind up that she was extra-special and
was everything he's always hoped for in a girl. she said the same about
him, too. it would take calamity to strike things down. but how can you
not worry about calamity? put all your eggs in a basket like this and BOOM!
something not-so-good is liable to happen. he knew better. i mean, hell,
he might NOT find her attractive at all. it wasn't that unreasonable, was
it?
the bus was stopping. he was at the airport. first chance he got,
he checked the time. then he checked the arrivals. her flight was on time
and was scheduled to land in .. fifteen seconds! he was worried she'd
already be off the plane before he got to the terminal. that would kind of
sabotage the ideal he had of the situation. she'd be wandering around,
looking for him, but he wouldn't be there yet. it would take away some of
the excitement of the encounter that he had imagined.
he got to the terminal and found that indeed the plane was landed
and docked. but he couldn't tell if anyone had gotten off or not. after a
minute he became pretty convinced that the passengers were still on the
plane. the crowd around him appeared to be waiting for people as well.
sure enough, the doors open and people started streaming off. he'd
been there almost five minutes now. perfect timing, he thought. now it was
just a matter of picking her out. he roughly knew what dimensions she was,
height-wise, hair-wise. how hard could it be?
after what seemed like an eternity of sizing people and realizing
that septuagenarians were not what he was looking for, anciness set in
really heavily. he was beginning to get really concerned. not really too
concerned, maybe, but the suspense was getting to be absurd. someone
practically perfectly matching her height and hair had already gotten off
but walked on by. it was maddening.
finally, in a pack of miscellaneous persons that all looked roughly
the same to him, someone matching her description walked off the ramp
leading from the plane. she looked puzzled, vaguely lost in the airport.
she walked very slowly, and he stood where he was, roughly in the main
walkway, possibly making an inconvenience of himself. they stared at each
other, trying to figure out if he was he and she was she and they were
sufficiently sure and she came up to him and dropped her bag and they hugged
each other.
she was finally here, he thought. i wonder what the heck she's
thinking. boy, i hope she likes what she sees. he practically forgot that
he had to do the same thing in reverse; being so caught up in worrying about
what she thought about him, he almost forgot to form an opinion about her.
they went down to baggage to claim her other bag and hurried out to catch
the bus back, which got there only two minutes after they got to the bus
area.
they headed for the back of the bus after they got on. he was still
trying to figure her out, trying to convince himself that this was the girl
he thought she was. she didn't look quite like he expected; but he really
had no preconceived notion to go on. he'd been forced to make up a generic
model of what she might look like for lack of knowledge. he spent so much
time reconciling that he finally knew what she looked like that he almost
forgot to bother to actually think about what she looked like.
as the bus got underway, they kept on talking. it was sort of
awkward, because he didn't really know what to say and he was still uptight
about what she was thinking. he was quickly catching on, though; she was,
in fact, exactly what he'd hoped she'd be. at least, she fit the mold. he
hadn't had exact notions, of course. but he still wasn't sure what she was
thinking. he was acting shy. he was uncomfortable in the seat on the bus
and fidgeted and still acted shy.
his mind was made up that everything was right. he knew it in his
heart. he wanted just to hold her hand now, to tell her that that's what he
felt. but his timidness held him back. he wasn't ready. he didn't feel
the timing. he kept staring at her hand on her leg, wanting just to reach
out and grab it, to hold it and have it, but he wasn't sure how to. and he
still didn't really know what she was thinking.
they kept talking, he kept fidgeting and staring at her hands. he
didn't know what to do. he wanted to do something. it seemed to him they'd
already been on the bus for an hour. he only wanted to hold her hand right
now and he couldn't even bring himself to that. he wanted a spark, a sign,
he wanted a nudge any sort of aid he could get from her.
so he kept figeting and staring at her hands, at her face, at her
legs, watching her hand placement on her legs, wanting the left hand on her
left leg free so his right hand could just reach over and grab it and hold
it and have it but he still couldn't bring himself to do it so he kept
figeting and staring and talking and fidgeting and staring and talking and
staring and talking some more.
a silence ensued. a short silence. he was going nuts but was
somehow mildly relieved by the silence. after a moment she said something
to him, while he stared down at his own hands.
"whatcha thinkin'?"
he paused. his mind cleared. he felt his nerve finally returning.
"do you reeeaaaalllllyyy wanna know?"
"yeeaahhhh."
he reached his right hand to her left and grabbed it, held it, had
it, finally, finally making a statement. he seemed to be blushing but it
made no difference to him because he'd finally done it and there was his
hand and her hand and they were together.
he to this day doesn't remember the next few moments in very
particular detail. all he knows is that after some hand fidgeting, some
hand jockeying, a couple glances at each other, he was surprised to find
that they were kissing, kissing on the bus. she'd said "kiss me on the
bus" before. they both knew that that was an old song, even though they
weren't sure who by.
everything he'd hoped for seemed to come true for him during her
visit. he became quite convinced that she was in fact everything he'd ever
wanted from life, and he wasn't about to, and isn't about to, let her go for
anything. now he knows what she looks like, what she sounds like, what she
smells like, and he sees years and years ahead of them in tranquility.
those years are but a vague image to him, though, and only time will tell
what will come of the future. but he had a vague image before, and the
reality of that image was good, very good. and he has nothing but an
optimistic view of this vague future. he liked his future, what he could
see. he liked it a whole lot. but he doesn't know what she sees in her
future, their future. he can only speculate. with time that too will come
into his, their focus.
for now, in their present, all they can do is be young and free.
their lives started anew, with new promises, new potential; they are the
bastards of young, the sons and daughters of no one. "bastards of young".
isn't that an old song?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
\ O__
< "no outlet"
_/ \_ by - crank
the sunlight caressed her dark hair as he had done so many times,
with wonder and amazement that someone such as her could exist, she's so
perfect for him. sitting lithely on the grass with her legs to the side,
she spoke to him, to his interior, but he wasn't listening to what she said
as much as to the sounds she made. this is so much more than love, he
thought to himself. i care about her more than i ever have anyone else in
the world, and we'll be together always. i'll never let her go.
she paused in her monologue then, and looked across the field to a
small grove. she reached to her face and moved her finger lightly along her
bottom lip, a habit of hers that usually meant she was deep in thought. he
looked to the grass around him, pulled on a weed. looked at her briefly as
she looked at her hands. the sunlight makes her hair reddish. it's very
pretty. she becomes prettier every day i spend with her.
she continued on with her words. he felt the rays of the sun
pressing into the back of his dark green shirt and gently warming the back
of his neck. the breeze felt wonderful. what more could he ever need
besides days like this spent with her? before her, he'd never felt love,
and he feared that without her, he never would again. she loves him, too,
though. he could feel it.
her cold blue eyes looked upwards to meet his, and snapped him back
into reality from his reality. he not only heard, but listened to what she
told him next and had been telling him for the past half hour: things need
to change. he's not enough anymore. he's not making her happy, and she's
going to do whatever it takes to make herself happy regardless as to the
consequences.
"i thought you loved me," he said to her.
"i did," she answered back, unable to meet his eyes any longer.
he quietly asked if she were breaking up with him, expecting but not
receiving a negative answer. very surprised, he began to rattle off things
she had said to him, empty promises she had made about lifelong commitment,
their shared future together .. god, she doesn't even look upset for what
she's doing to me!
he watched as she rose from her seated position, grass blade
imprints on her bare shins. she gathered up her books and her windbreaker,
and cast a last glance at him. he couldn't meet her eyes. he couldn't
raise his head. she turned and walked away, to the edge of the grass and
through the parking lot, as he stared through tears at her receding form.
she disappeared into a building across the way, without once looking back on
him.
he was once sitting in the grass, the warm sun at his back, not a
speck of white in the bright blue sky. but now, a cloud drew over his sun,
and for a lifetime his world became grey.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"phat rhymes and dope thymes: old skool"
by - dead cheese
i was walkin' down da strip da other day / 'n i saw a _fine_ piece of
meat comin' my way. / i said, "damn bitch. you lookin' good tonight." / she
look at me all wack like she know i ain't right / and she said, "sheeeit
homey, don't you know? / i ain't a bitch or a ho. / i keeps my chin up
high, / my money on my mind, / 'n a hand in my pocket dat keeps me on mine."
<work it, work it, baby> hell, yeah. <talkin', talkin', to the lady>
awwww shit. / my mind is a pit. / i likes my condoms big 'though i
know dey ain't fit. / dat's cuz i'm smooth, g. / i'm the place to be. / i
treat a hooker right, / then i wax all night. / "wussup, sugar? i gots da
key to your lock." / "you keep your key in your pantz, i'll keep my hand on
my glock." / haha, yeah. / dey don't want a man. / dey wants a bitch wit'
big hands.
<work it, work it, baby> haha, yeah. <talkin', talkin', to the lady>
i'm stuck in a rut. / i decides to give up. / i heads back to my crib
at the end of the block. / i can't cross the street or i'll get beat by my
pops. / i opens the door 'n i screamz, "oh no!" / cuz my momz is up 'n down
wit' dat same damn ho. / i runs to my room / eats a bag of shrooms / i pulls
down my pantz 'n my fruit of the looms. / i looks at my wonder / bigger den
thunder / as i starts to plunder / my brotha'z room / i finds what i want /
a blunt 'n a cunt / i stares at da bitch while i smacks my runt / i'z about
to break time / bust open a lime / i rolls my eyez in my head puts mine on
mine
<work it, work it, baby> shit, yeah. <talkin', talkin', to the lady>
word to all my homeys in da house! peace out to the brothaz 'n da
sistaz dat wuz good to me 'n mine. awww yeah. peace out.
- riboflava
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____
///\\|\
|| Oo || "you think it's over now?"
__\__/__ by - james hetfield
/ o \
| | T ||
it's just the beginning, you fool. nothing is ever over. we all
have memories. we all remember what was. every single one of us carry
around memories of our past loves, of our past breakups. this is just the
start.
today is april 30th. it's almost may. right in the middle of
spring. but here in chicago, it's freezing outside. winds blow people
around like they were leaves. this is no coincidence. one man's spring is
another girl's winter.
enough of the artistic bullshit. you know what you did. you held
inside of your feelings for someone else for six months, not letting anyone
else know what was growing inside of you. growing like a mold. it was
destroying you. you had to do something about it. you had no choice.
right?
you haven't been listening to your tori amos cds, have you.
you could have done something about it six months ago. it wouldn't
have grown to be what it is today if you had worked it out six months ago.
someone trusted you. someone trusted you to be honest with them. to let
them know when things bothered you. you broke that trust. you took that
trust and drop-kicked it. that is why you are the bad guy, hon.
of course, you get away with it. we always do. but by breaking that
trust, by not letting that someone else know what was going on when it could
still have been managed out, you have scarred that other person. that other
person will be walking around with quite a bit of baggage for a long, long
time. she wasn't just a passing fling. almost two years isn't just a
passing fling. and to not let her know what was going on, to let yourself
get infatuated with someone else, you have emotionally destroyed her.
sure, you can tell yourself you needed to do this. it was the only
way. you can tell yourself that she brought it upon herself by being
clingy. great. keep mind-fucking yourself to believe what your penis wants
you to believe. that's the way of manhood, dearie.
hopefully, someday, you will realize what you've done. you'll
realize the pain you've caused to this other person. you've already begun
to see it, but there is an entire other side of it you will never see.
hopefully you'll understand that. and hopefully you won't be the same
little cock and do the same thing to someone else.
rationalize all you fucking want. just be thankful you have someone
else's bosom to bury your face into, so you don't have to think about what
you've done.
what's that? she took things too seriously, you say? you didn't
like someone clinging onto you, you say? wake up. infatuation has taken
over your mind. there is little difference between your new fuck-toy and
your past love. what's that? little precious makes you laugh? she talks
about your favorite tv shows? she has wacky phrases of her own? she's just
another package, one you haven't gotten to open yet. you're a five year old
on christmas, just waiting for the next big present in the corner. what
happens when you've unwrapped this present? will you move on to the next
one?
i loathe your logic. if i hadn't made the same mistakes, maybe it
wouldn't be such a big deal to me. but i have. i've made them time and
time again. but no more. i've realized what i was doing. i realized how
much i've tortured my girlfriend's soul in the past, and i'm trying my
damned best never to let it happen again. i won't let it. will you?
learn from what you've done. take a look at the misery you've
spawned. of course she still jokes around with you. she loves you, you
moron. any little playful poke into her stomach by you gives her a little
wishful hope that someday you'll change your mind. she's in a pathetic
state. go ahead and deny it's not your fault. go ahead and say she
shouldn't have loved you so much. go ahead and accuse her of caring too
much. then think about what you want from your next acquisition.
relationships get repetitive. people aren't as exciting as they used
to be. sometimes you just want to get rid of the old ball and chain. and
for what? to replace it for another. another you don't really know all
that well. one that you haven't experienced. one that's shiny and new.
but you don't know what's under the wax coating.
have fun with your new present. and after a while, ask yourself "i
wonder what happened to that hamster mom gave me when i was 11," and realize
you tossed it in the blender.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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%^^^%
|O o|
( ^ ) "i bet it would be really funny if"
`0'\\ by - puck
/(_)\
oh, and i mean if to the highest
iffyness that the word itself can
be taken because the event(s) encapsulated
in the following lines may or may
not have happened and the
surgeon general himself has
said that believing or not believing
in the following event(s) may
or may not be hazardous to your
concept of self, your sense of
identity, but
anyway
i bet it would be
really funny if when
god gave moses the
ten commandments
way up high on
MOUNT SINAI, if
during the speech he
gave him
assuming that a speech was given,
and i feel justified in assuming just
that, because just getting the car
keys from my dad brings with it an
hour speech, and hell, these were the
ten commandments.
but it would be really funny if
when god gave moses the ten
commandments way up high on
MOUNT SINAI, if during the
speech he stopped in the middle
of one of his words
and i don't mean stopping in the middle of an
obvious word, like a compound word, like if
he cut himself off in the middle of the word
cupcake right after the cup part .. no, i mean
if he cut himself off in the middle of a regular
word, like laugh, like stopping between the g
and the h, that's what i mean, (of course, assuming
that that words cupcake and laugh were even
used in this speech, assuming that the speech took
place, assuming that this entire event took place)
but it would be funny if when god gave
moses the ten commandments if he stopped
in the middle of a word of his big speech
(like between the g and the h in laugh) and
jus
FLIPPED MOSES THE BIRD!
t
and then carried on like he didn't do anything
at all.
and i bet this would be funny because moses's
face would probably look really surprised.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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#%#%@)
@'_ _|
(% o o|) "shine six/eight & the last musty smells"
| > | by - eerie
| - |
|____|
"_flammable_"
"warning: intentional misuse by deliberately concentrating & inhaling
the contents can be harmful or fatal. keep out of reach of children.
material safety data sheet available."
she heard all of our lies.
stomach aches; her tears are dripping on the mattress. she tries to
wipe it off. that sticky white liquid should do it, she thinks.
"don't you dare complain when you start losing plastic body parts:
crunched elbows, coaxial shoulders, fingers turning to ashes, ethereal skin,
blisters & dead cells, all - falling apart, disembodied."
sleeping brain wakes up from speed feed. eyes don't want to shut
down anymore. "whatever you say," screams the poet as his face turns into a
screech, "i know it's gonna be empty. i saw the rest of you & figured you
deserved to keep your fucking blind fug-stinking mind shut, so at least you
can stop being harmful."
futile terror - they might try & praise some shy god - morphing into
that piece of clay you can play with endlessly. everything you are now has
been stolen from someone who's now dead buried & long forgotten - everyone's
gonna be forgotten sooner or later, accepted as liars. high pitch sound is
no cure anymore.
i feel like i'd put this all in caps; but what purpose will it
serve? too much gratuitous purity hurts - we need the truth to be hidden.
"get some more into a blood drip."
try & stay away from saturation.
when you're into it, you can't describe it.
"tomorrow might just as well be an illusion. & what about yesterday?
this moment cannot be eternal. every zillionth of second we spend alive we
do nothing but _losing_ & _dying_."
can't remove those nails in my cranium - they're settled way too
deep - & have no more head.
i can't reach anything, yet this is going too fast.
someone once told me that the lack of scruples from a robber comes
from the fact that he's been robbed before. then, who was the first one to
steal? & most of all, why in hell did he?
never had any problem with that. maybe, unconsciously there's
something i used to have that someone took without asking.
i shivered hard; there was nothing better to do that day.
bridge was always very busy. visceral bridge was even busier. ten
seconds of wait, pressurizing, carved phallic plague. needful atrocities.
ten thousand square miles of dead skin.
the psychotropic ships leave the harbour for sub-mediterranean
dimensions. respite, unrespected like the rest, but as we put it around
here, who cares. hard solitude. failed metamorphosis. mustard-plaster
waste. remains of plastic residues padlocked in their oblivion. cheap
nyquil fucker. all pretentious can only be archaic & definitely
extinguished as lamp-posts of faded innocence.
pathetic matrix.
nothing's in the freezer but candy shrapnels. i'm eating them for
there's nothing else to eat, plus: there's no other place to stay.
everything else died. i hope my soul can freeze & live eternally until
something comes & wakes me up.
"bastard!"
like this.
"what the fuck are ya' doin' here?"
"i wish i could be like you."
"shut up, dicksucker!"
slap!
"i don't care if you come here & fuck around. but why d'you have to
steal our fucking stuff all the time? yer lucky t'be a kid, 'cuz i'd have
shot yer baby face down 'fore you could even say a moth'fuckin' word."
alright, better act like a kid then.
"i need the stuff, ian .. i really d - "
"get it somewhere else, kid, we're not santa claus."
"i don't believe in santa anymore, man."
"could've figured that out."
he sits down on a chair, less annoyed. like he understands. like
there's no difference between a junkie & a child.
"no money, no candy, kid."
like a sentence would fix everything.
"why, thank you. now that really does help."
he sighs. his lack of aggressiveness is no surprise. he seems to be
unwillingly kind to a certain category of people, namely little boys. sucks
when you're a bodyguard. so like he wants to get rid of me, he gives me
some stuff. then he goes away - weakness kills. i go away too & sell it
all to some stupid junkie i barely know. like, "hey man, i guess you'd want
some?"
started to rain; ran home; streets emptied themselves in minutes.
rained for three days.
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______
| _ _|
( o o|) "asking for it"
| > | by - black francis
| o |
|____|
[black francis (to kurgan@48)]: HAHAHA. COLLECTIVE SOUL!@?
[black francis (to snapper@613)]: oh dear.
[black francis (to ferrari@549)]: boy, you're dumb.
[black francis (to monster@564)]: ARGH HOLY FUCK IT'S A MONSTER.
[black francis (to wonder woman@244)]: ARE YOU REALLY WONDER WOMAN???
[black francis (to wonder woman@244)]: YOU CAN LASSO ME ANYTIME, BABY.
[black francis (to sawdust@138)]: ARE YOU REALLY SAWDUST???
[black francis (to teapot@564)]: ARE YOU REALLY SHORT AND STOUT???
[black francis (to wild@225)]: holy crap, you're wacky.
[black francis (to ren@38)]: WHERE IS STIMPY? HAHA. GET IT???
[black francis (to nuts@42)]: to you.
[black francis (to nuts@42)]: are you in any way wacky?
[black francis (to pervert pirate@262)]: gives a whole new meaning to the
term "booty", i guess.
[black francis (to g710@64)]: what the hell is wrong with you?
[black francis (to mr pink@244)]: "but i don't want to be mr. pink."
[black francis (to lolli-pop@244)]: "can i lick you?"
[black francis (to water babee@549)]: HOLY CRAP. YOU SPELLED BABY WRONG.
[black francis (to doornob@225)]: HOLY CRAP. YOU SPELLED DOOR KNOB WRONG.
[black francis (to short dog@601)]: ARE YOU REALLY SHORT???
[black francis (to death@244)]: that's an original one.
[black francis (to wacco@2)]: AS IN
WACO, TEXAS???
[black francis (to yacco@2)]: ARE YOU AND WACCO FRIENDS?
[black francis (to hurricanes@221)]: i have nothing amusing to say in
reference to your handle.
[black francis (to mike mayo@208)]: YOU WANT SOME KETCHUP WITH THAT???
HUH, ASSHOLE???
[black francis (to cracker jack@33)]: WHERE'S MY FREE PRIZE, JERK OFF?!??
[black francis (to pseudepigrapha@33)]: uh.
[black francis (to senator sinister@33)]: ARE YOU RUNNING AGAINST MAYOR
PISSED-OFF NEXT YEAR?
[black francis (to black@614)]: i really really hate you.
[black francis (to black@614)]: I HOPE YOU DIE SOON.
[black francis (to black@614)]: STUPID BASTARD.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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_________
| whoops |
| is |
| behind| "nowhere to go but up? who says we're moving?"
| this | by - whoops
| wall.|
|_________|
you hear it whispered in dark rooms, shadowy figures in corners
making vague gestures, all so confusing. it's sung from hilltops in bad
remakes of even worse originals. idiots who won't let go of a decade from
long ago sing about it and paint it on their multicolored shirts. high
school students pretend they understand it, college freaks think the high
school freaks were all wrong and only they really know about it, everyone
else just laughs at the childish attempts of the youngins and prides
themself on their vast amount of experience with it. what is it?
it's this .. love crap. we spend most of our young life chasing
after it in its various forms - give me love, give me rock and roll, give me
sex and affection. we want caring, affection, tenderness, fucking, sex,
love .. what do we really want? do we really know? does it really matter?
probably, some day, as we're walking out in traffic and see a large
bus heading our way. perhaps then, the notion will suddenly announce its
position in our head, and we will shout out "i get it, it's .. !" only to be
crushed by the bus and photographed in our last moment of triumph by the
japanese tourists on it. maybe when we're 80, lying in a bed, looking at
our family staring down at us as we breathe our last breath, we try to get
out "i understand .. " but all they can say is "grandma's having a
conniption fit" and look away to avoid the grotesqueness of it all.
l for the lampreys who swim around in circles and hiss threateningly
at us on our trip to seaworld when we never really got along
with each other anyway,
o for the orangutans who scratch themselves as we take pictures of
them on our honeymoon together after having been locked in a
hotel room with you for 24 hours when the power went out and
we couldn't get down from the 42nd floor,
v for the vampires who bite each others necks as we carefully avoid
touching each other in the smelly theatre where your feet
stick to the popcorn-and-cum infested floor,
e for everything else.
fuck it all, you know. it doesn't matter anyway.
we pursue it, sometimes we find it, sometimes we hold on to it,
sometimes we screw it up, and usually we lose it because we're
motherfuckers. but we're always looking for it; conscious of it or not,
we're always looking around, trying to find it in its various forms, and if
we can't get it maybe for a while we'll settle for one or two of its
substitutes - sex, affection, care, vodka, or fingerbanging mother theresa.
so we find it, by accident. we tripped while walking along on the
street and love stared us in the face. now, we're scared. what the hell?
somebody loves me? i love somebody? that means i have to like, think about
someone besides myself for a change.
in the other 'incarnations' of love, we still can be the selfish
beings that humans inherently are. sex is pure self-pleasure, of course.
caring for someone? they care for us back. they give us warez. pure self
service. being affectionate? maybe we'll get sex. then that pleasure.
yay.
but love comes along and opens a big can of whoop-ass on us. we get
scared. would you believe .. honest to god, it's not easy! we may have
stepped in it by accident, but fuckitall if we're not stuck in it now. love
is pressure - pressure to communicate, pressure to be there for someone
whenever they need them. pressure to be a bad weather friend. "if love
isn't forever, it's not the weather .. " love is tough shit, guys. it can
hurt. makes you bleed. also makes you laugh. stick with it, though - in
the end, it's all that really matters to anyone.
oh, gross! how disgustingly hedonistic and un-angsty.
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///\\\\
| O.O | "realize"
| ^__^| by - shadow tao
__\ /__
the little room that connected the gym with the locker room was dark
and old. the brown fibreboard doors between the cache of various balls and
the walkway were chipping and peeling. the lock on the doors was old and
rusty. the face kind of ground against a hidden force when you spun it.
there, near a decrepit old pay phone, lurked a large boy, standing a good
half-foot taller than children his age. there, near the relative shadow of
the doors, he waited for his friends.
nathan chigilack had challenged one of the stronger boys in the
class, and as a result, was going to get hurt. he wanted to be there for
the fight, but he couldn't go without greg or mark. he glanced down at the
edge of the dirty rug near the door. the grey chalk of the school driveway
was covering it, draping across it like a sooty paint. out of reaction, he
inhaled, breathing in the dusty odor of the passageway. it smelled like an
old closet. or a rock quarry.
dirty and overused.
he heard some kids voices, and his ears pricked up. his eyes scanned
the gym wall, finding third graders on their way to lunch.
back to looking at the carpet.
just as his eyes fell to the dark red rug, mark ran around the
corner, and into the hallway.
"greg's coming, he had to read something for mrs. berken."
"really? eh. berk caught him with that cheese in his desk, i guess."
" .. "
"it makes a good eraser."
"if you keep it in your desk long enough."
"but it's really greasy. your paper gets all messy."
"well, it bounces, it's hard. you know. you can throw it at girls,
or berk, or whatever."
"i had some .. "
greg rounded the corner in his compact, stomping stride.
"berk caught your cheese stash, huh?"
"yeah. she said if i wasn't going to eat it, i should give it back
to the snack lady."
"well, that snack lady ain't gonna pass out much cheese from now on.
i've got at _least_ 10 pieces in my box."
"yeah. let's hurry, jim. i bet carl's already started picking on
nathan, and i don't want to miss *this*."
the group burst through the door, running through the school parking
lot, onto the playground. the three boys, running in a staggered 'v', cut
through a pack of girls and the special ed's on their way. the road was
relatively clear, and the park playground was already starting to get
crowded. mark, being the dominant of the three, headed for the giant wooden
rope gym. greg followed him, grabbing hold of one of the rough, fibrous red
ropes that were tied all around it. as greg swung up towards the
playground-ward edge, where mark was, jim slowly made his way behind his
friends, being a little cautious, due to his size. the pre-fight had
already begun.
"what the fuck do you think you are?"
"i think i'm better than a dumb bully who wants to push me around."
nathan was trying his best to stand up to carl.
"dumb bully, huh?"
<shove>
"stop it or i'll tell."
nathan's front had cracked. carl looked around, slowly, his eyes
meeting each member of his own group.
"tell who? mr.grant? hahahaha!" carl wasn't wasting time.
the crowd laughed quietly. everyone knew what was next.
"mr. grant can't even hear his car horn, so he *ain't* gonna hear you
scream."
nathan was doomed.
the crowd inched closer, waiting for the last words to be said.
violence was in the air. it hung in the air like an electric charge,
keeping everyone away, but energizing the crowd with a bloodthirsty energy.
"shut the fuck up, you stupid spic."
unexpected.
the silence blasted through everyone like a shockwave.
the knowledge of what would happen next
caromed from mind to little mind. this
was going to be a show. a fight to remember.
of all the things to say, that was not the one thing carl needed to
hear, especially given his current state.
carl was the strongest boy in the class. he was part-hispanic and
had visible muscles where the rest of them had none. he was also filled
with enough rage and hate at so many things that who he was beating up
didn't really matter to him. just how much they screamed. he liked causing
suffering. he had so much to give.
nathan was *just* about to find that out.
carl jabbed to the left as a feign to throw nathan off guard, and it
worked. nathan turned to his left to block the feign from carl, only to
open himself up to a massive right hook, square in the face. nathan
staggered backwards across the cement, falling in a small pool of his own
blood and amazement. nathan, his nose broken and spraying, began to cry and
flinch at carl's advance across the cement ..
mr. grant seemed so far away. the sun stared down at them.
carl picked nathan's negligible weight up by the back of his shirt
and shoved him at the water fountain. nathan stumbled and fell, landing
only feet away. carl was angry and charged with the malice of victory, but
that only encouraged the crowd. nathan was bawling with fear, crying out in
hopes of someone helping him. his eyes looked so pleading. god knows with
what emotion they met in the other kids. the children were like a stone
wall.
"you wanna wash that blood off, you fuckin' turd?"
" .. " nathan sobbed as he held his nose. the dripping red onto his
shirt had grown to cover his chest.
"huh?"
the crowd visibly leaned forward to see the victor.
carl picked nathan up by the back of his head, palming it like a
ball. his hands were tensed and grasping, nathan's hair jutted out from
every fingerhold. carl had turned his side to nathan, as nathan was lunging
out in fear at carl, hoping to wound him for just one moment. nathan's fear
was incredible; he kicked and punched, wanting so desperately to run away.
carl had won, though. nothing nathan could do to stop that _now_.
carl scanned his eyes across the crowd, challenging his enemies with
his dominance; building his own confidence by meeting his own packs hungry
eyes. he had asserted himself as the lead dog of the class, and it was
acknowledged by this, and this alone. nathan's cacophonous screaming had
pitched into madly desperate pleas for mercy. he had to beg. he had to
plead for mercy.
but you can't ask for something that just isn't there.
with a mighty sweep, carl brought nathan's mouth down on the rim of
the fountain. a sickening crunch of teeth and bone and gum rang out. blood
poured down onto the cement, spilling everywhere around the two, like a fat,
crimson spider. carl let go of nathan's head, as nathan began to scream
like no sound ever heard by those children's ears. his mouth awash in huge
red gushes of blood, nathan's body curled up into a little ball. his legs
jerking and twisting, nathan had been reduced to a spasming, harmless,
wailing nothing.
that wasn't enough. not *nearly*.
the other boys, wanting to show allegiance, swarmed down off the
jungle of the playground, like wolves waiting for the prey to fall.
snarling punches and kicks rained down on chigilack from every direction,
but help was on it's way. all jim could do was stare.
mr. grant had heard the scream.
with his loping gait, mr. grant rounded the edge of the park's tennis
courts to see what had happened to chigilack. the boys, so eager on making
status for themselves, scattered like roaches. the remainder of the
children, perched in the playground equipment, began to run. scattering
every which way, they looked for a place to hide; a place to prevent them
from being blamed.
the hawks of war had scattered, and all that was left was the
twitching body of the loser.
and him.
the wolves had become roaches.
and the war-hawks; scattered crows.
his mind hadn't responded when he saw the teacher round the corner.
as fearsome as mr. grant's anger was, all he could do was stare at the
broken nathan.
there had been so many fights that year. so much fear.
jim didn't really know why, but the felt like the victim.
someone had stolen something away from him, and there
wasn't a thing he could do about it. he felt violated
and alone, even if didn't know what those things were.
all you could do was try to survive.
and all you could do is hope.
broken nathan.
broken and screaming.
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"the original evil sugar - condiments; chapter 1000"
by - murmur [with random lines from mogel & jamesy & kojak]
he refuses to admit "yeah i did it but i stopped." contorted lad!
didn't he smell the fire? mmmm, pecans. how many unruly rebels were going
to be abused before they found that giddy enjoyment in their lint: the
fruitcake supreme chisel. hoe on the right, spade on the left, no wonder
the tomatoes stagnate, you filthy cur. the pathological pedophile from
dixon testified before the jury of graph-ooooo-maniacs! only to be
sentenced to shrubbery. so DROP YOUR TROUSERS, FLAUBERT! expose the filthy
and wholesome goodnesslessness. john would go on to play superior obfuscate
on dimple, and move directly to his transfer phase. shazam! he put two
blood down on koko, one on smudge the ignored, and one on igo the hungry,
all the while acquiring an igloo for his travels. john, you see, john was
down in it. eating his vegetarian sausage, john would spit repeatedly into
the clam dip. of course, sam, this particular clam, was too much of a dip
to do or say too much about it, and hell, he was a fucking clam, so it's not
like he could have said anything, and he was dead, so it PROBABLY DIDN'T
MATTER A WHOLE HELL OF A LOT, YOU MISERABLE STREET URCHINS. "who am i, and
why am i here, and free marbles?" he shouted, unconvincingly, erstwhile
covered in vomit. it was all a dream, then he creamed, and was bought out
by some larger corporation. the split pea soup enveloped it better than
ezra in its own lovely green moistness, a lovely green moistness that too
enveloped the theologians with love, and great sexual thoughts, although
it's hard to say whether they were icelandic radishes, or jim's. so fuck
all that, we've gotta get on with these, sam. sam? SAM$#?!?# take this
love handle and shove it deep, until it strikes oil, then sell it to texaco.
moral: hold my hand, let her cry, i only wanna be with you.
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__/\__
\ Oo / "mistaken"
/_/\_\ by - girlie17
HE WAS HOT
MAYBE NOT
ON SECOND THOUGHT ..
BUT I WAS CAUGHT
WHAT'S DONE IS DONE
IT WAS FUN
JUST ANOTHER PUN -
I WAS SCREWED
EVENTS MISCONSTRUED
HE SAID THIS
I SAID THAT
I WAS BLAZED
CONFUSED & DAZED
QUESTIONS RAISED?
SHORT REPLY
I WONDERED WHY
REGRET WAS HIGH
THAT NIGHT GONE BY!
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___| | _______
| | | |
| | | | | |
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----------------------------- | | | | | | -----------------------------
| | | | | |
| | | | | |
|_____| |_____|
|___ _
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(c) copyright 1996 doomed to obscurity productions - all rights reserved.
"better living through sheer idiocy & a whole lot of free time."
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