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Doomed to Obscurity Issue 03
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ doomed to obscurity + issue three + october 30th, 1995 +
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"$$$" . "
S$ $ s .s s" ""$s
"$ $ .ss$S "$ $$
"$$$$Sss $ss$S"""$ s: $:
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.$s "$ S. Ys S :$ "
. " $. Ys :$ : .
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+ "underground is whatever you want as long as you're real." - mayfield +
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ pillow
+ submitted by - thalassocracy
my pillow, my pillow
when i am sleepy my pillow is there.
unless i lost my pillow,
then it is not there.
i rest my head on my pillow
when i am tired.
i rest my other head on my pillow
when i am looking at magazines.
my pillow needs to be washed.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ gee, we really need more lobsters
+ by - mogel
bo0t sk0ot n b0ogie!@
lateness nips at our toes over here at dto headquarters. mind you,
we haven't had a lack of submissions or rad people. mostly black francis
has been real busy and i've been scraping up some permanent-type deals for
us to march gracefully over the pathetic underling 'zines out there that
only wish they had the pool of eliteness that we expel without the
slightest bit of effort.
okay. here's goes the fun update stuff.
we've got a new, e-mail address for all submissions, questions,
complains, comments, threats, and sexual requests. dto@prism.net. talk to
us, we're lonely. we've also got a kickin' anonymous ftp site.
ftp to prism.net /pub/dto.
the mysterious and constantly shifting dto whq "paste" went down,
permanently. we're gonna get ourselves a new whq sometime. eventually,
bF will put a board up again. more updates in the future.
dto mailing list. big fun! get the newest releases. send email to
majordomo@prism.net and have the body of the mail say "subscribe dto" and
you'll get our text warez faster than you can say "i phear mogel." and
that's fast!
to much irony, there's also a dto www page up and about now, too.
http://www.prism.net/dto
as you can see, i've been a busy beaver!@ this has all been made
possible by the glorious teletype, joining the g0dly ranks of dto. oh, you
can occasionally catch one of us on irc (ef-net, #zines, where all the r3al
'zine groupies hang out).
[insert rattle's cameo appearance here]
but can it get much radder? you bet. we've got lots more articles,
writers, money-making schemes, phear instilling, and government breakdown
plots all heading your way. although i really don't have anything
personally in this issue, i myself am working on some rad stuff, including
the much talked about dto manifesto.
"you'll fail. too many people." - gweeds
here's the part where i spazz into a rant about how much the dto
crew rules and how pathetically formulated most other 'zines are. but i
think i'll spare you. _this time_. however, you _do_ realize that dto _is_
taking over the world, don't you?
"how can i help the cause of dto?" you ask.
media stunts, my friends!
kick puppies everywhere. be dubbed "the crazy puppy-kicker guy" by
the media. just be sure to wear a dto t-shirt when you go out. spread the
name dto around everywhere. television, newspapers, radio. when there's
media looking at _you_ - slip in some dto.
dre. cousin ed. black francis made millions of people hear the
words "i phear mogel." that, my friends, is art. don't miss out on the
zany high-jinx!
anyhow, as you'll see, this issue is certainly a motley crew of
articles. good stuff. enjoy.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
____
___| |_ _
___| | _______
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+---------------------------- | | | | | | ----------------------------+
| | | | | |
doomed to obscurity three | | | | | | and all contents therein ..
| | | | | |
+---------------------------- | | | | | | ----------------------------+
|_____| |_____|
|___ _
1 - pillow
by - thalassocracy
2 - gee, we really need more lobsters
by - mogel
3 - doomed to obscurity
by - disorder
4 - buggies of death; dto versus the amish
by - shadow tao
5 - biography
by - dead cheese
6 - who the hell cares?
by - mogel
7 - head like a dole
by - sweeny erect
8 - art is alive
by - james hetfield
9 - gulags; formerly known as education
by - sed
10 - potato soup
by - lobo
11 - he gave it all away
by - fake scorpion
12 - fuck me, if you dare
by - kaia
13 - i must suck, for i am not beaten down by the man
by - murmur
14 - please excuse me; i'm feeling nauseous
by - vanir
15 - worcestershire sauce - condiments; chapter 7
by - murmur
16 - toilet
by - fake scorpion
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ dto spotlight on - disorder
disorder; writer - the man, the myth, the bastard. in his spare time, he
plunders small systems, insults small minds, and generally pisses
people off. it's beyond 'natural', beyond 'talent', the ability to
insult, offend, and otherwise provoke people while at the same time
educating them. editing rad 'zines like _fuck_ and _cotno_ is tough
work. we smooch you hardcore, damien.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ doomed to obscurity
+ submitted by - disorder
why the name? it implies what we are all destined to be. first off,
i was not one of the ones who founded this new zine, or one who helped think
of any part of it. i read the first issue, and it it rung a bell somewhere
in me. i kicked back and thought about what exactly the title meant, and
where i was going...until a few years ago at least. then things changed in
the relationship between myself and obscurity.
how did things change? why did they change? because i wanted them
to. it occurred to me that like millions before me, i was capable of passing
beyond this realm without leaving a visible mark, without leaving some
fragment of a legacy to those who follow me. that isn't something i want to
come to pass if i can help it. there is no reason in the world why every
single individual who wants to leave his or her mark can't do so.
read. this one action can get you further in life than hundreds of
hours of mindless labor. read other people's works, so that you can see
what was done before you. understand what others thought of fundamental
questions in life and use that as a foundation for your own educated
thoughts on why things work the way they do.
write. if in no other way, you can always write what you think, how
you feel, where you have been, and what you have experienced. your thoughts
and feelings will later be used to help guide someone else. what you write
will go on to be read by thousands, maybe millions in the future.
somewhere, in some form, what you write will be kept in logs, on ftp
servers, on private bulletin board systems.
what? write about events, how they relate to you, why they affect
you and others. write about trends in society, society itself, or the
governing bodies that affect that society. write about why you feel
repressed, why you feel free, and what to do about it.
change. suggest it, tell about it, push it, do everything short of
forcing it on someone. change is the most wicked engine of creativity. by
changing everything around us, we open ourselves to new ideas, new methods
of doing what we are required. via change, we as the human race may be able
to push beyond society and forge a new living where we are closer to being
content.
thats it. short as it may be, it sums everything up. don't doom
yourself to obscurity. strike out against the idea of passive resistance.
be active in the struggle to make a change.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ buggies of death; dto versus the amish
+ submitted by - shadow tao
day 1; infiltration
===================
the day was just ending in the area known as middlebury, indiana. i
had snuck across the technophobe border with my e-wheat specialist team. it
had been easy sneaking past their feeble patrols; we had left large amounts
of laxatives in the local hay deposits. my team consisted of four men
including myself. there was 'fataldeath cyberhacker'; an expert at hacking
barns and horse carriages, 'mr. perkins'; a veterinary assistant/gogo dancer
who would be helping us to sedate the savage guard-cows near the attack
point, 'young newbie'; unknowing cannon fodder, and myself.
the day was not without some setbacks. while stealthily avoiding a
patrol in a "port-a-johnny", mr. perkins had a 'gogo flashback' and started
to dance maniacally. this tipped over the "port-a-johnny" and discharged most
of the odious contents onto fataldeath. we also lost our red box in an
unfortunate incident when young newbie tried to pay for gas with dime tones.
tomorrow, we invade the amish stronghold of shipshewana.
+--- dto ---+
day 2; invasion
===============
we invaded shipshewana early. the attack cows were still groggy from
a night of hunting, and we were ready to begin the attack under the cloak of
dawn. mr. perkins quickly moved into action, spreading low grade
tranquilizers among the herd. unfortunately, due to the ever-present song
'adelweiss', he started to dance a-go-go. the cows, in a fit of good taste,
trampled him until he stopped doing 'the monkey'. we were in the process of
lifting his broken body when it was discovered that he had 20 dollars on him
and had not contributed for gas for the invasion van. we left him for dead.
not just because he had bogarted all that cash, but also because it was damn
hard sneaking around with someone wearing 3 inch high heels.
we preceded to town in a buggy hax0red by fataldeath. unfortunately
for us, we had to leave fataldeath behind as well. he had been kicked in
the head by one of the horses and was lying unconscious. he wasn't dead, it
was just that everyone had gotten tired of listening to 'ice, ice, baby' in
the invasion van, and besides, he smelled like shit. we took his wallet,
too.
+--- dto ---+
day 3: attax0r!@!@
==================
we hid out in a dumpster just outside of a small church, lying in
wait for our prey. a bell rang out! church was dismissing! young newbie
and i jumped out onto the street. we ran towards the people filing out of
the pews, throwing diskettes and screaming "repent, techno-heathens!@@#" all
the way.
unfortunately, we had made a slight error in navigation.
we had traveled in a circle and were currently attacking a large
group of "guns for jesus" baptists.
with only our mentos to protect us, we retreated to a shallow
irrigation ditch. the mentos, while somewhat powerful, were only enough to
calm some of the kindergarten class. the adults were still enraged at our
blatant attack on goodness and were quickly trying to avenge their god by
way of teflon bullets. i, fortunately, had remembered my armor. named
'young newbie.'
i retrieved his wallet later that night. i took my new-found cash
and bought some new 28.8ks so i could courier my w4r3z. i also had enough
left for some thumpin' new subs for the dto invasion van.
back to you, frank.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ dto spotlight on - dead cheese
dead cheese; head flunky - born in a tropical area and raised in a temperate
zone, dead cheese is a very confused individual. known to stick his
head in the fridge while standing in hot water, dead cheese is often
referred to as "you crazy bastard." he was the head editor of pez,
goat rest its soul, which means he got to cover up the president's
mistakes. with a head like a bowling ball and a body like mr. potato
head, dead cheese has made his nitch as being the most aerodynamic
member of dto. and with his major goal in life being to figure out
how to keep his underwear from riding between his butt cheeks, dead
cheese is, in his own words, "a grapefruit."
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ biography
+ submitted by - dead cheese
you suck.
"lookee here! more o' dat fun angst stuffeses!@$%"
is that what you said when you saw that first sentence? that's
right. you didn't say it. because if you had said that, you wouldn't suck.
if you said that, you should be on some sitcom getting paid corporate
millions for saying a sickeningly few catch phrases and making those
capitalist bastards rich off the stupidity of the viewing public. so, you
didn't say something cool. you must suck. congratulations. you're now
part of an elite club consisting of billions of people who suck. but that
means you're a conformist now because you're in a group.
"uh-oh. gotta change quick."
fuck you. you're a conformer conforming to the non-conformist norm.
you stay up late to watch 120 minutes on mtv because then you can say things
like, "i knew them before you" and "you're trendy." you fight the right,
the left, and the inbetween. you hope to be accepted by them all, but never
dare to be a part of them because they're like everyone else. they _are_
everyone else and you don't like them.
"fuck them. i don't need them. i'm different."
you suck. you're a social outcast by your own doing. not because
you're any different from them, but because you want to be different from
them. you do whatever is most opposite of them. you don't think for
yourself. you think against yourself. you tell them they're wrong simply
because they are. or maybe they aren't. you don't care. you're different,
just like everyone else.
"you're just trying to put me down."
fuck you. you already are down. you're in a vortex created by you
for you. forever spiraling downward because. because you want it that way?
because they want it that way and you can't stop them? no. because you
made it to sustain your angst rebellion against the common good which was in
itself created in an attempt to make something of that miserable slime you
and everyone else calls your life. it's not. it's your death.
"it's not my fault."
you suck. you put the blame of your own minuscule self-worth on
others. this allows you to sit back and watch everyone hate you because you
hate them for what you think they did to you. and maybe they did do it to
you. you don't care. you're happy with the fact that they're not. of
course, you wouldn't let them know you're happy. because you're not. and
you let them know it.
"stop trying to change me."
fuck you. you try to change them. us. me. you. you try to make
them conform to you because you're right and they're not. you never realize
that success means failure because then you aren't different. you're them.
you don't understand that they're human and that means being human, so you
try to be sub-human. you can't win. you can only lose. you're falling to
nothing and nothing's waiting to catch you.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ who the hell cares?
+ submitted by - mogel
IRC log started Tue Oct 3 13:57
*** Value of LOG set to ON
*** mogel (dto@prism.net) has joined channel #oj
*** users on #oj: mogel Subrina TheDragon eLeK gizmo Bluesy6 lefty Jiang
minky Curtiss Kamel Jerramy faux bush i Hallz lotte beagle Newone
ojguilty eli1965 pfitzer Danster Nibasss NIN hog char saltine Baliff
BibaS TheMaXX Arura shamrk ChemR Cracked FeeDBaCK Reggie Moriah
dtorres tushar Greta_ hemna kylem suede locust monk_ hymie Xyyz
OkieBoy h0trod chingada butterfly feds Hilary gipped TreK sar|n
MrZiGZaG iire Robbie_ fLemming DIE_OJ RCCola hachis OjRuleZ [Enigma]
gregeg TradicA lisabitch Check_m8 pattii packet skeleton rcolbert
Immortal BAPBAP gt^ mp BijoyG Quintan SirReal dobachi +JJolly oj_free
edk1 RaZi @_DrmWEav Green MOP _Wyvern_ Ximax- OJBitez ArthrDent
Fishhook `zOMBie- hot18 zoner sheppr dragnldy AZON j-walkr chloe_
Stevie- SerdarY Aesop mntbiker Kodiak Steve212 saabstory Lea braxt
luxor_ DigitalJ Simpsons beast dropp rszarka Zombie Guru_A0 vtv Sync
MrJoe GMAN tmas valerie_ @Kewp Pendragon Bugsin8r [MikeH] Jazbo
cherybutt jx2 freak _h0mi_ ManOfPwr srml lieru irishdrin Kid_Vid
onlyinUSA kolbepc Fry_O_J sufu Crom maz mohnkerns tmhaupt das Krejt
SONiC +MrTwister K1mble hoffy brad BRAiN +barecub Rob1 xor +Demon
wonder Weirdo Stt_ sloan nbannon Niels FnordOJ jsbx lolola Synergy
Skill LithiumX udp\ip hihi +SirLunar the_quark cruznet Nomster mcgoo
trifecta +Moev NeilM Shaddow crazydogg Val dag Shake Xed Adriel
Hawaii support NotGuilty Unifex Flagg
<mogel> 100 computer chat geeksters sitting around talking about oj.
armageddon is at hand. this is the climax of humanity.
<Fry_O_J> mogel fuck you!!!!!!
IRC log ended Tue Oct 3 13:58
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ head like a dole
+ submitted by - sweeny erect
this is the transcript to a speech delivered by presidential
candidate bob dole at a church in kansas on june 25, 1995, on the heels of
his triumph attacking hollywood and revisionist moral standards and history.
+-- dto --+
ladies and gentlemen, thank you for inviting me to speak at your fine
church. of course we all know there is one true god, mars, god of war.
sure, his requirement of virgin sacrifices is tough, especially if there
comes a time when the only available virgin is your own daughter, but it is
worth it when he grants you power to rip your enemy's heart still beating
from his tensing body...yes well anyway, today i would like to address a
subject very near and dear to my own heart, values in the school system.
(applause)
specifically i would like to address the way physics is being taught
in our school system today. it has come to my attention that we are
teaching an evil, perverse, revisionist kind of physics called quantum
physics. the other day i heard an interview in which the main proponent of
this crap said the physics of einstein was dead. stephen hawking is that
man's name and he holds the lucasian chair of math and natural science at
cambridge or oxford or harvard or one of those other damned snob schools.
let me tell you, mr. hawking, when i become president and as soon as i find
out exactly what school you're at, look out. we've got stealth bombers that
can put a smart bomb right into your tea and crumpets before you have a
chance to blink. hell, i may not even wait to find out what school you're
at. i may just bomb all the damn snob schools and let God sort out the
bodies.
(applause)
tell me about your admission requirements, well i was just a poor
farm boy from kansas, how was i supposed to know about your fancy ass tests,
i could have done just as well as any little rich boy, as any #^*&*!&ing
kennedy brats, i could have been the handsome easy going electable one!
anyway, mr. hawking, i fought a war to bring einstein over to this country
and save him from hitler. where the hell were you during this war
mr. hawking? i was in the trenches fighting germans and italians and
japanese, often all within the same day. i lost an arm fighting to bring
einstein over to this great land and if his physics were good enough for me
and uncle sam, they are good enough for you mr. hawking.
(applause)
have you heard this new crap hawking and his cohorts are preaching?
knee jerk reaction to authority, just like beavis and butthead and punk
music. i even heard the lead singer for one of those punk bands has a
degree in quantum physics. being a quantum physicist is just as good as
being a communist, just as subversive.
quantum physics says that there is no certainty, just probabilities
and all natural laws are subject to "probability". they say God shoots crap
with the cosmos, to coin a phrase.
well i won't abide by it.
(applause)
no certainty? one thing's for certain. you give me a few minutes
alone with hawking or that candy ass musician and i'll beat them to a pulp
with my good arm...
[ at this point dole was sedated and led off the stage by his handlers. ]
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ art is alive
+ submitted by - james hetfield
"what's art, got to do, got to do with it.."
-tina turner
take a deep breath. scan your surroundings. you're in a world where
the one of the most influential elements of your life is popular culture.
popular culture, in which, art is not an element of.
blow your nose, you can take in deeper the stench of modern culture.
_batman forever_ has become the biggest smash movie hit ever. does it have
a theme? nope. a plot? nope. is it senseless action/adventure? you bet
it is!
mcdonalds is still the most popular fast food chain in the world.
does it serve quality food? or fat-filled slop? does the food really taste
that good compared to real food you can get? nope. it's amazing they're
still in business, looking at how a lot of food chains can actually make
real food, cook it and all, in just a little more time than mcdonald's takes
to put out their slop. but hey, that's popular culture for you.
what do the greatest actors and actresses of our times do to make
money? they star in crappy movies like batman forever. but besides that,
their income comes from making cola commercials. the role models of our day
tell us what to drink. this is popular culture.
what i'm trying to say is; popular culture is shit. we already
understood that. but what not enough people understand is that the artists
of today, the pearl jams, the val kilmers, these people do not reflect the
real art of our culture. these people simply reflect popular culture. the
reason they hit it big is because the people with all the money don't know
anything about art to begin with.
i have been walking around lately believing that art is dead. and in
the onlooker's mind, it might as well be. but last night, i was reminded of
where artistry really comes from; it has nothing to do with mtv, it has
nothing to do with paramount pictures, it has nothing to do with samantha
james (a scary british-wannabe chyck on the chicago alternateen station).
although there seemed to be some artistry in the 1980s in popular
culture, this artistry is quite dead today. comparing a movie like e.t. to
free willy is a joke. looking at the empire strikes back and comparing it
to die hard 2 makes me nautious. comparing "blasphemous rumors" by depeche
mode to "black hole sun" by soundgarden... well, i think you're beginning to
get the idea. the entertainment of the 90s rests on the popular belief
that life is probably meaningless, a belief that just emerged (dominantly,
at least) recently. and since life is meaningless, so can be music, so can
be movies, etc, etc. and for the few of us striving for something better,
all we can do is watch and learn, learn for a new tomorrow.
where is art today? my better judgement tells me not to say this,
but yes, art can be found in "cyberspace", millions of writers just writing
because they want to. then again, there are the billions of people in
cyberspace that haven't a clue. but that's just reality, in its twisted
form.
artistry can be found in a small home in a province of france, where
a man exiled from czech. is writing about his past, and our past.
artistry can be found in a run down apartment in new york city, where
a writer types away at his/her word processor, trying to get their thoughts
down before they have to catch the subway for work.
and finally, artistry can be found inside of an adolescent, who looks
around himself or herself, and doesn't say "this sucks." but asks "why does
this suck? what did we do to make it suck?"
i was once told by one of the most intelligent (and wise) people i
know that our generation is the one that will probably bring the world down
with us. nihilism is a disease; like the plague, it will disembowel us
until we cannot fight it any longer. however, no matter how fucked up our
world is, it's always going to be better than the alternative, and believe
it or not, we can accomplish something on the way there. it may not be part
of the popular culture of today to accomplish anything with art, but
hopefully once again, as it has been in the past, it will become part of the
popular culture of tomorrow.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ dto spotlight on - sed
sed; writer - sed is a sometimes-existent, sometimes comatose person living
in new york city. let me correct that. sed is a deranged acid trip
illusion of herbert glockenspiel, a freelance photographer, who has
been relaxing for the last 15 years at bellevue mental hospital. sed
gives vocals & rhythm guitar for a ska band, & runs a k-neato bbs.
sed mainly is into breaking any mechanical object he can get his
hands on, failing his way thru high school, & working on having the
weirdest bodily mutilations in the textfile scene. seems for a
fragment of a acidhead's imagination, sed lives awfully well. sed
currently has developed a dementia of his own, imagining he is a
glass of orange juice & will tip over if he lies down, which means
herbert has a looonnngg way to go before he can rejoin society in all
it's cholesterol-laden glory.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ gulags; formerly known as education
+ submitted by - sed
ring, ring.
the bell was loud, almost annoying to my ears. it was alerting me to
the fact third period was over, and five more torturous periods awaited me
before i received a shift off from high school.
actually, once upon a time i liked school. it was a long, long time
ago, back in kindergarten or first grade. back when you believed you still
had potential. do i sound bitter? good, because i should be. somehow,
then a bit later, i discovered the truth.
they don't care about me. the public school system is a sham. the
teachers only care about shutting you up. i had the rare pleasure of
surviving a environment of mental atrophy for all these years. my
classmates weren't so lucky. they ended up in a downward spiral (in
descending order) of abuse -> rap -> alcohol -> pregnant (if female) or
amazingly idiotic (if male). nothing educational about that. i was the
only kid in ninth grade who actually read _1984_ and extracted any relevance
to what's going on in america now. and i got taunted for that. what i am
just wondering, what happened to education? if they find a kid with rich
parents or a head start, they lock them up in the room called "gifted" and
shower them with indoctrination that will make them white collar sheep.
those of us who aren't that fortunate, hey, we're put in the "normal"
classes, where we learn all those important skills such as admitting you can
never be anything, discussing monday night football, etc. sad, huh?
then, one day, i tried to, i guess for lack of a better word, rebel
against all this crap. in my math class, taught by ms. borgensnatz, we were
supposedly learning graphing. one kid sitting next to me was hard at work
trying to figure out how to make a swastika on the scientific calculator,
the other was just not there. when you looked into her eyes, you could see
she was empty, but wasn't always. there was something there, but it was
crushed and tortured until it slinked away, leaving a pot-riddled shell.
kind of like me, actually except that something survived in me. barely.
getting back to the subject, the teacher had something new for us. a
'declaration of independence from drugs.' "huh, what does this have to do
with math?" i thought. then, suddenly i remembered. she left the lesson
plan at home today. in order to stop the class from deteriorating into a
riot, she had to have something to calm them down. she must have received
this in her school mailbox this morning. one more pr campaign from the dea.
signing a xerox instead of the dea actually going after the drug gangs. but
the drug gangs have guns. which make the dea afraid. nevermind. it went:
"i agree not to ever do drugs. drugs are morally wrong, addictive,
and can ruin my life. i can be happy without drugs, drug free is the way to
be!".
well, hmm. i can say pretty safely everyone in this class has done
drugs at one time or another. and morally wrong? depends. since the first
day my monkey-great-great-great-great-great-etc-grandfather jumped out of
the tree, us people have been popping shrooms, eating berries and ingesting
artificial substances. and happy without drugs? take away the american
people's alcohol, nicotine, caffeine and maybe even television and see how
long it would take for a coup. all i can agree with it on is ruining your
life, but hey, religion, finances and your job can do that also if you
over-emphasize each one.
so then, the slip of paper had come to me. every person in my class
so far has signed it. i decided not to. even though i had never done
anything stronger then marijuana, i just couldn't agree with it. i couldn't
sign my name to a piece of hypocrisy. so i passed it on. my neighbor, a
typical kiss-ass told the teacher i didn't sign it. she talked to me after
class, said "what is your problem? listen, i don't give a fuck if you do
drugs or not! just why do you have to stand out? can't you just conform?"
_no_! i have to stand out! i am me. i'm a character in a morality
play written by sed to demonstrate the apathy and doubletalk of the new york
city public school system. i can't just sit back in the seat and fit in.
just isn't me. because i am me, and i'm not you. and just conform? fuck
no. conformity means giving up your soul, your essence. its the
equivalence of death. i mean, if you have nothing individual to distinguish
you from the masses, what will define you? a beer belly, a hair color or
what? you is what makes yourself you. and i sure as fuck won't give that
up.
once again, being me has gotten me ended up in the principals office.
the principal isn't my pal. he reminds me of a cop, actually. fat face,
shaky voice, slave to alcohol. he goes "why do you always have to cause a
ruckus? you know our time doesn't have to be wasted like this. it's just
your stupid ideas that you cannot stay quiet in class and do your job." i
interrupted, "what is my job? this isn't my job. this is a place, where
under penalty of law i am forcibly sent for seven hours a day without any
personal choice, that has never performed its functions as a 'school', just
a day care center for teenagers. teachers make us perform forced silence
and interrogate us without any precedent to all the time. does that sound
like a gulag to you? because it sure as fuck does to me".
imagine the conclusion to this story as you feel fit.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ dto spotlight on - lobo
lobo; writer - lobo hails from lubbock, texas, home of one guy from italy
pizza. when he's not doing homework or watching his friends get
drunk/stoned, he tries to put a little time into a neat little 'zine
called gwd. however, he does his share of piratin' as well, and we
don't mean he's a warez d00d. rape and pillage, that's the motto of
this guy. lobo plans to one day control a media conglomerate and
produce the records of his band. or not. no one really knows lobo,
not even himself. but, uh, he's a really nice guy!@
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ potato soup
+ submitted by - lobo
this is a work of fiction. none of it really happened. none of the
people are real. it's all part of an elaborate scheme. well, that should
cover my butt.
+-- dto --+
there was nothing. nothing but life. does life count as something?
anyway, i had grown rather bored of it in the last few months, so i decided
to do many new and interesting things. first off, myself and a few friends
(one of whom is a telecom legend whose name is entirely unnecessary in this
anecdote) set to out to have a little fun. two of my friends made a molotov
cocktail out of gasoline and styrofoam in an apple juice bottle. we headed
to a ranch outside of town to avoid unnecessary danger in our pyrotechnic
escapades. anyway, we finally got the bottle to break, after cleverly
positioning a piece of aluminum siding and a few large rocks in its path.
anyway, one of the fellows who was with me knew the layout of the ranch (it
was his uncle's, that's why we chose it), and he quickly scrounged up some
paint thinner to add to the blaze. after dancing in the flames for about
twenty minutes, we pissed it out. (neat little anecdote, huh?) a few
months later we set out to go against the norm again by playing in the
maintenance tunnels under the city (separate from the sewers). that was not
all i had expected, and i got stuck coming out from the tunnels (that's
another story). i defied the law by setting off fireworks within the city
limits. i went into some abandoned buildings and snooped around. that was
fun until i was chased by a man with a shotgun rack in his truck at a scout
camp. i drank for a little while, but lost interest as i never did see the
appeal of feeling good for a few hours and then feeling like crap for a
whole day afterward. i stopped hanging out with the same friends. i cut
class and let my grades slip. but, i kept going on. until now.
nothing is fun anymore. none of it made me happy. nothing makes me
happy. why do i go on anyway? the only girlfriend i ever had dumped me.
what reason do i have to go on? why is it all here? is it to buy the new
dj 300 meter buddha album (or whatever happens to be cool at the time)? i
hope not. maybe it's all here to serve the galactic highlord, overfiend
xandar? that would suck. maybe i should just end it all now. yes. that's
it.
*blam!@*
<eolyss> (end of lame yet shocking story)
in case you were wondering, i just did that for shock value. why do
people do stuff just for shock value? you got me. i know people with
tattoos and piercings who got them just to make people say, "gosh, that's
weird." it's all pointless. dying your hair a new fluorescent color every
week is just makes people think you're weird. why do it? why go out of
your way to make others know that you are different? blue hair does not
make you more "punk" than someone else. it does not even make you more of
an individual than someone else. all it does is make people judge you
before they ever even get to know you. who wants that. the people i know
with piercings (ie. more than ears, which, btw, i have nothing against, i
just don't see the point) often complain that they can't get jobs. in an
ideal world, people would not "judge books by their covers." it is not an
idealistic world. to use the cliche, life is not fair. everyone is
different. but, if the only way you can be different is to do something
that has been done before, it's not different. you're just setting yourself
up to be labelled. labels are bad.
you may be wondering why this rant has nothing to do with potato
soup. well, if you must know, it's because as of late, i like to write
things with totally unrelated titles. recently, i wrote a song about some
teachers at my school called "cottage cheese and pimento loaf" for my band,
the keyblurr elvz. it's a vivacious cycle. subject-based titles are for the
weak. we do not train to be merciful here. if a man confronts you, he is
the enemy. the enemy deserves no mercy. therefore, through my own twisted
logic, subject-based titles are the enemy. sort of like carbon-based
lifeforms. wait. only some of them.
(lobo is the editor of the files published by the greeny world
domination task force, incorporated [gwd]. you should check gwd
out right now. send a sase and one american dollar in cash for a catalog
of gwd propaganda to:
gwd inc
p.o. box 53143
lubbock, tx 79453
praise grene! praise grene! praise grene!
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ he gave it all away
+ jam lyrics by william corgan
+ submitted by - fake scorpion
__ disarm you with a smile, to cut you like you want me to __
i remember standing in a crowd full of people, who i would admit to
hating at the time, and getting a warm sensation as billy corgan screamed
out this line. i thought i was the only one who "got" it, but obviously
others did too, why else would they be singing and crying under their
breath, just as i was?
for years after this event, i thought back to it, because it reminded
me that everyone is _the same_ in one way or another. hell, it _taught_ me
that for even _one_ moment, everyone can be in agreement. i'm still not
sure what we were all agreeing on, but i sure as hell know that we were
agreeing on something.
__ i used to be a little boy, so old in my shoes __
well, fuck it man. i think i've forgotten that lesson. i can look
back and say, shiet, it happened, but do i think it'll happen again? no
way. i've alienated myself from _everything_ but music. mention me to my
parents, and see what they'll say. "oh, that hermit?" mention me to my
friends, and they'll say, "that guy didn't give a shit about _any_ of us".
is it true? am i that screwed that i've reached the point of no
return?
nope. i've seen tons of other people who found themselves in the
same predicament as me. what'd they do?
i'm not sure on that one. i know a couple of them have erased
themselves (suicide), and i know one is currently residing in a government
funded palace (the white walls are squeaky clean).
__ what's a boy supposed to do? __
you know, i'm lying. i'm not like that. i'm just pulling what
everyone else does. they cry about their small problems to get sympathy.
the world _thrives_ (throb-throb) on sympathy. we're all just pissing
around because there really isn't anything else to do.
"wanna go to the mall?"
"sure, but weren't we there yesterday?"
"yeah. what else then?"
"the other mall"
"whatcha want to buy?"
"nothing"
it's all so boring. eat, sleep, eat, sleep, shit, shave, school.
creative elements have left, and now we're playing with ourselves.
"the world is what you make of it."
whoever came up with this cliche needs to be shot. what if all the
playdoh has hardened up and there's nothing to mold? what then?
i'll tell you. this.
__ words can't define what i feel inside __
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ fuck me, if you dare
+ submitted by - kaia
why are some people so absorbed in hedonistic cravings like an
unrelenting urge for sex?
i'm sure you know a man who worships his dick and wants you to, too!
for example, he might be like my ex, james:
"come, come, deanna, my sweet epicurean maiden!" he'd beacon with
sugary lips and glossy eyes, "let's make lord bulky purr, shall we?"
<eyebrow wigglewiggle>
or he might be like andy, who would attempt to swoon me with
butterysmooth words, like:
"i worship you, honeybuns! (even greater than my dick) i would
crumple at your feet, deanna, to be with you forever! but while we lie
silently, beautiful martyrs bound with chains of mortal demise, together let
an expression our pure and blissful love spiral gracefully towards the
heavens."
oh, the divinity! hah!
they were words i wouldn't believe even if holy mary leapt from a
cloud and swore on their fucking truth. they were words that *andy* knew i
wouldn't believe, and that *i* knew andy knew i wouldn't believe, and that
*andy* knew i knew he knew i wouldn't believe, and that both of us didn't
care one bit about, because we both knew he didn't mean them anyway. yes,
andy reveled in excessive pedanticism! but in addition, he was a bright,
thoughtful lad, and understood that most "love" is really infatuation, and
that infatuation is just a selfish little ogre vying to deliver the perfect
romance.
but then again, the man you have in mind might be like my ex, chris:
"me: horny. you: cunt. fuck. now."
or like kevin, who would grab any opportunity (and grab you, too!) to
do the ol' in-out in-out, even if you were busy balancing your checkbook,
making your favorite oddball sandwich, or solemnly explaining to him about
your bleeding spells and unusual sores-that-won't-heal.
andy, however, was different. indeed, he was caught up in
auto-phallic worship; he even built a shrine in his mother's garden, under
the peonies, to acknowledge that the flowers were only two vowels above his
penis. "and two vowels only, because my penis rules!" well, i thought so,
too.
perhaps since andy would show me that he, unlike most other men,
enjoyed the greater things in life.
<<huh? what could be any greater than sex?>> you might ask.
silly you!
<<yeah!!! silly me!!!...but deanna, umm... uh, "what *could* be any
greater than sex?">>
listen up! first of all, since i'm not a social clod and since i
grew up on the streets of new york city, i've been approached about (and
for) sex enough times from friends, lovers, and complete strangers that i've
learned which propositions to accept and which to politely decline, as well
as which to roll my head back and belly-laugh over until i cry. which i
have really done!
coital denial, i once read, is often taken as his ultimate masculine
rejection. or at least, as one that delivers a stinging blow to his ego. i
wonder if this is true. because, hey! the men who deserve my guffaws are
those whose egos just beg like a doggie to be pruned to a humble... to a
humble and sumptuous sensuality.
which brings me to my next point. sensuality is an attitude that
projects inner confidence and a controlled desire for emotional expression
through tactile communication. "it's my sheer pleasure to show you how
much i like you," is conveyed through lingering smiles and touches, and
through noticeable verbal openness.
sensuality is not sexuality, and being sensual does not necessarily
mean having sex. i once knew a young woman who had been with three men by
age eighteen, just like i once knew a young man who had been with a hundred
nongenderspecific lovers by age twenty. but this young woman was special.
as her first true love had said, he adored how she always made love with her
*whole* body and his *whole* body. she was so tenderly aggressive that they
both felt consumed and fulfilled, even without sex.
i would rather make love like this than fuck someone, anyday.
fucks are everywhere. the world is swarming with them, though nobody
gives a flying fuck since they are just too damned rare. but otherwise, no
matter how you look at it, a fuck is a fuck, and all of them come, just like
you, no pun intended, with benefits and drawbacks.
while both fucking and making love involve the pleasure of entrusting
someone with a most secret and vulnerable part of yourself, fucking does
this too soon and has a purpose, while making love does this when the time
is right and is an expression.
this "most secret and vulnerable part of yourself" might be a
personal dream, experience, or philosophy (as in the mental fuck), a body
part (as in the physical fuck), or a surge of infatuation (as in the
emotional fuck).
sure, it feels good; after all, self-gratification is the main
purpose of the fuck. unless you're dense, you get what i mean. another
objective is to become intimate very quickly -- *before* the painful reality
of imperfection creeps in -- because sharing intimacy with someone who
reciprocates feels simply awesome! but imagine the embarrassment of
gradually discovering that you revealed so much about yourself to a person
you had thought was someone different. i have done this before. it sucks.
intimacy resulting from fucking is tragically illusive; to avoid this
realization by sustaining the high would require even *more* fucking. so
go. fuck yourself to death.
and make love to me, if you dare.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ i must suck, for i am not beaten down by the man
+ submitted by murmur
ladies and gentlemen, do you know what this is? this is the
nineties. the nineties hold a lot of random meaning for us simpletons.
it's the first decade ever where homosexuality, far, far, from being taboo
anymore, is now considered fashionable. it's the decade that will have
brought us the mighty morphin power rangers and nypd blue. it's the decade
of green day. it's the decade of angst. and perhaps most obliquely; the
nineties is that decade where if your life wasn't fucked up you must be
inferior.
what? what the hell am i talking about? it's quite simple really.
were you molested as a child? didn't think so. so your opinion is
meaningless, when you're talking to someone who was. raped? homosexual?
black? a dwarf? if you answered no to all of these questions, shut the
hell up, your opinion must be second rate.
are you a punk? you better be. you better be a true punk. and you
can't be a true punk unless the man has put you down for being a punk. and
once the man puts you down for being a punk, you're important. the values
of others hold far less meaning, because YOU have been BEATEN DOWN by the
MAN. him in the corner, he's a fuckhead, HE hasn't been BEATEN DOWN by the
MAN.
this is the modern age, where the survivors are the only ones that
can freely think. look around you. who's the angriest? why are they
angry? isn't it typical that mister angry punk is also mister most
opinionated? isn't it because his opinions are based on how he's been
oppressed, and that's why he's angry? if you're not oppressed, you won't be
angry, and you can't formulate opinions.
this isn't a random rant off into left field. this is specifically
directed at YOU. YOU, as in the one reading this text file. YOU, the one
who so valiantly bitches and moans about how fucked up things are. YOU, who
singly degrade the opinions and values of others the most, because YOU have
had your opinions rejected by society.
look at some examples. how about: the computer underground?
doesn't it piss the fuck out of you that your underground has been sabotaged
by brainless asshole warez kiddies? sure it does. why were you in the
underground in the first place? because the MAN was out there OPPRESSING
you. he still is. you have to hide. and now they think it's cool. they
think what you stand for is important, so you FLATTEN them. now, sure, they
don't know what the fuck is going on. but let's consider for a moment..
ANARCHY. what the FUCK is anarchy?
anarchy -- n. 1. a. absence of government. b. a state of lawlessness or
political disorder due to to the absence of governmental
authority. c. a utopian society of individuals who enjoy
complete freedom without government. 2. absence of order.
i'm not talking about people who say '4n4rCHy d00d$!#@#@' i'm
talking about the true anarchists in modern day society. i'm talking about
the people who want the abolition of government. and what is their
definition of anarchy? is it 1a? is it 1b? 1c? 2?
the fundamental notion of an anarchist society is 1c. definitions
1a, 1b, and 2 more roughly equate to the notion of a 'state of anarchy',
not an 'anarchist state.' a 'utopian society'. everyone's happy.
how the fuck can someone call themselves an anarchist who talks
about bombs? how do bombs make people happy? dementia doesn't count.
think about yourself. are you pissed off that things haven't gone
your way? you're into the punk ethos and your bitchy parents want to take
you to the synagogue/church/temple? you like wearing your green hair and
listening to your sex pistols? you tired of the poseurs? that's all fine
and dandy.
what if i don't fancy myself a punk? what if i just don't agree
with you? then what? we should be even, right? wrong. because you're a
hypocrite. because if someone disagrees with you, they're out to get you.
they think you're ignorant, they think you're weird, they think you're
strange. they could listen to roland kirk for twenty hours a day and eat
only spaghetti-o's but because they're not the same, and because they don't
think the same way, all they are to you is different, and a problem.
that's what's wrong with this bastardization of the modern punk
ethos. we can even blame johnny rotton for it. why is 'anarchy' going
around and smashing things are being an all-out nuisance? you don't like
the way things are going, so you're going to fight the man, and you're going
to fight the man by being an anarchist.
and even those of you out there who scold the anarchists, you're
even worse half the time! you're the most selfish bastards out there. you
bitch and moan about how people are stupid but when people merely disagree
with you you lash out at them. people have different interests you find
boring/cliched/sold out and they're villified. who the fuck are you?
don't knock me for not thinking the same way as you. don't knock me
for standing up and telling you what i think. applaud me. applaud me, you
son of a bitch, for exemplifying that attitude that you fancy to hold so
true to your heart, applaud me for being myself. get down on your lazy
anti-social slacker knees and kiss my dirty feet for exhibiting the TRUE
punk ethos. then you tell me what you really think, and you stop talking
about your fucking attitudes, and i'll do the same to you.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ dto spotlight on - vanir
vanir; writer - being a dto writer, musician, and part time viking is hard
work! fortunately, vanir has learned to like the simple things in
life. when he's not out looting and pillaging small scandinavian
villages, vanir can be found teaching karate to small children just
in case the putties attack again. currently an education major at
illinois central college, he hopes one day to make lots of red marks
on five-paragraph themes because, damn it - it's fun.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ please excuse me; i'm feeling nauseous
+ submitted by - vanir
my eyes opened slowly, my tired mind realizing it was once again
7:15. my big brother was shaking me, trying to wake me. time to ride the
bus to school again to learn some more. i always liked history the best.
without that class, how could i have learned how our government has always
fought for us and kept us protected? without our government we'd all be
degenerates, wallowing in our own sins. i just couldn't live like that.
just imagine a world where perverts roamed free, spreading their filth.
gives me chills. yeah, i'm glad the government helped us out.
i open the door, out into the world, out of the confines of the
house. it's good to be outside, you feel so unrestricted... i get on the
bus, and as it pulls away, i notice a friend of mine being stopped by a
patrol car. looks like he was caught using profanity again. some friend he
is. what a neanderthal. people shouldn't use words like that, anybody can
think of another way to say the same thing more constructively. the
government just makes sure everyone uses their head. they're always
thinking about us, that's what i like about living in the us.
the bus pulls into the parking lot of the school, and i get out and
walk in the front door. i see a few slimes in the corner of one of the
halls looking at dirty pictures (swimsuits... eccchhh), taking turns as
lookout. i make a mental note to tell someone important. maybe my big
brother. someone has to show them the error of their ways. why can't
everyone measure up to societal moral standards? after all, they are called
"standards", aren't they?
finally! it's time for history! my favorite. today's discussion is
about a supreme court case a few years back regarding the censorship of
school papers. it's certainly a good thing they gave the power of
censorship to the schools. the schools are meant to shape young minds, are
they not? anything that disrupts the learning process shouldn't be allowed
to exist.
another class i enjoy is ethics. they started teaching this at all
grade levels when i was little, and it's done this country an incredible
amount of good. i'm told that before this, young people didn't know right
from wrong, and made all kinds of bad life decisions. now, we are guided
every step of the way by positive role models who have made something of
themselves. if you're confused, they know what to do. just ask them! but,
as we all know, they're not always going to be around, so they prepare us
for the future! we are instructed in the right thing to do for almost any
situation, and they tailor make each set of situations to the grade level.
it's ingenious!
as much as i like school, i'm glad when 3:00 rolls around. i ride
home and plop down in front of my computer to talk to my friends. i logon
to the microsoft network, join #happy, and engage in a pleasant conversation
with someone calling themselves bunny. that's such a cute nickname. not
like it used to be, i'll tell you. from what i've learned in history, the
information superhighway had some serious bumps in the road, even a few deep
potholes before the government repaved it. what a smooth ride it is now! i
don't have to worry anymore that the person i'm talking to is a child
molester, or that i'll suffer psychological trauma from seeing or reading
something horrible. it's a good feeling to have.
and speaking of good feelings, it's time to retire. i snuggle up in
my warm covers knowing that my big brother is watching over me, keeping me
safe. sleep well!
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ worcestershire sauce - condiments; chapter 7
+ submitted by - murmur
kim and chris were putting on their best clothes; he his cashmere
sweater, she her best dress. he was going to bring the main course, she the
dessert and honey. they met at the gazebo for a picnic feast: southern
fried chicken, potato salad, jello, and bread and honey, plus her special
dessert, lemon meringue pie. kim slowly and deliberately ate, stopping
every so often to kiss chris on the cheek. chris returned the favor often,
while sipping an orange soda. they slowly pecked at the chicken and potato
salad until it was gone. they slowly shared their jello by feeding each
other. chris spread the honey over the bread and slowly tore pieces off to
hand-feed kim. she checked the bread to find it gone, but he found plenty
of honey left. they retreated to the bushes with blanket and honey. he
slowly undressed her, as she did he. he took the honey and smoothly poured
it over her stomach. he then rubbed the honey all along her body until her
skin was sheathed by the sweet work of bees. kim then rubbed up against
chris, and he was covered with honey as well. they were just laying there
when the followers of great salmon arrived. chris and kim interlocked with
each other in fluent motions, still covered with honey. the great salmon's
followers were advancing, however. the first cadet reached her extremity
and started advancing along her large left big toe. soon his friends caught
up to him and advanced slowly along her legs. she noticed not, though, for
she was covered with honey. he had his hands around her wonderous, gorgeous
ass, and he noticed not, neither, the ants from the colony of great salmon
advancing.
suddenly he felt a thumping across his finger tips. he disengaged
liplock and looked up to see the ants quickly scooting up her yellow,
glowing back side. he shreiked, she shreiked, chris shreiked, kim shreiked,
and they shreiked together. He got up quickly, and she scampered up,
covered with salmon's cadets. chris raced frantically to the lagoon and
following suit was kim. they jumped in and knocked all the ants off of her
honey-covered extremity. in their franticness the honey washed off as well,
and when all was said and done they found themselves naked in a foot and a
half of water. they started recommencing their actions, this time in a cold,
wet sheath. but the allen wrench crayfish were advancing...
moral: don't fuck in the bushes when you're covered with honey.
slurpee!
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ toilet
+ submitted by - fake scorpion
oh toilet you make me feel well
you take away the pain.
you withstand my golden rain.
i love you toilet.
i can be alone,
or perhaps on the phone,
but oh toilet, you always comfort me.
women nor parents will ever take you away from me.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
doomed to obscurity issue three has been brought to you by the letters
f, u, and the number nine.
all correspondence should be directed towards - dto@prism.net
d2o three / all rights reserved - 1995 - doomed to obscurity press
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
