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Evolution Issue 01
+ evolution +
+ issue one +
December 10, 1996
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Bonjour. This is the first issue of +evolution+. Well, I've
tried to do this as a web zine for a while, and I didn't like it,
so I'm going with text this time. No cheesy graphics, just
content. Yeah.
So that's my gig, my explanation, my deep words of wisdom for
the launch of this zine. Oh well. but it's going to be mad phat
and stuff! Everyone in the free world will love this zine! Then,
after that, I will brainwash all of you and suck you into a pit of
world depression and famine, and rule with an iron fist! And
deprive you all of air and water and clothing and shelter!
Everyone will be at my feet begging for mercy, which I will not
give, simply because it's more fun that way!
Or not.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Now that I've babbled about a bunch of bullshit you don't care
about, here's some more bullshit you don't care about: The people
I want to thank.
MAD PROPZ DUE TO THE FOLLOWING:
+ Bryan and Aidan, my partners in slime, without whom I might well
not be alive right now.
+ Teresa, Meghan, and Josephine, for general support and love.
+ Leah, for being there when I most needed it.
+ Cara and Abby, for helping me from afar.
+ #couzin-ed, for being FREAKS!!!@
+ TMoK, for being even more freakish than #couzin-ed.
+ Colette, for creating the most beautiful zine in existance.
+ Cheesewheel, for many years of keeping the sad Cape Cod music
scene alive... sort of.
+ Patrick (The Fleece), for making me cry.
+ Matt, for keeping me sane in the pit of hell that is Lowell.
+ and finally...Meghan, my first and only love, for being my
inspiration to do basically everything I've done for the past
five months or so. I still love you, I will always love you.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
I'll bet y're still wondering who the hell I am. Well then, I
suppose I'll introduce myself. I am Duct Tape Boy. Furthermore
known as DTB. Furthermore known as Mafyoo.
I'm a recently-turned-19-year-old (hyphens, yay!) college
"sophomore" (I'm in my second year, though I'm by no means a
sophomore). My interests, like you really care about me, include:
music (playing, listening, and composing), literature (writing and
reading), and performing chemical experiments on primates of
various types. You may think I'm joking... I'm not going to
confirm or deny this.
I think that's enough cheesy background info for the moment.
You can suffer and learn about me from reading this. Like you
have anything better to do anyway. Why else would you be reading
this pointless waste of bandwidth anyway? Certainly not because
it's gripping material.
"Enough! Let's see some content!" you say. FINE! Have some
god damn content already. Geez.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
CONFORM \ken-fo(e)rm\ 1: to be similar or identical 2: to be
obiedient or compliant; esp: to adapt oneself to prevailing
standards or customs.
Are you a "non-conformist"? I'll bet you think you are. You
probably condemn popular culture and corporate commercialism. Your
friends no doubt dress just like you. In other words, you
_conform_ to a "non-conformist" subculture.
Are you really different? Or do you just claim to be because
its' "cool" or "hip"? Ask yourself this.
The average American schmuck is unconscious of his or her
status. They are simply themselves. They don't try to fit in to
any specific culture, they just live life as they see fit, in the
best way they know. Punks, Beats, Hippies, they all consciously
subscribed and conformed to these "underground" subcultures.
Being yourself doesn't necessarily make you non-conformist. In
fact, "yourself" may be a combination of various conformist
thoughts, patterns, ideals, and traits.
Where am I going with this? Good question. I had an idea when
I started to write this, and then it kind of got lost somewhere.
Oh well. I guess what I'm saying is, even people who claim to be
different, they're really just the same as everyone else.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Mayflower/Tub-Tug. sQuinky. Kobek Number Nine. Jarett Kobek.
The machine, the myth, the end of civilization.
So, why do I love this man? Good question. He's a rude,
arrogant, egotistical fuckwad. Maybe that's why I like him. Of
course, this is only his online personality; I've never met him in
person. Rumor has it that he's the same in person as on a computer
screen, but I won't try to confirm this for myself until I've seen
the man in action.
What else can I say? I don't know. I want to fill up more
space here, because he wanted me to write "a whole page on why you
love me", but I really don't know exactly why. If you'd like to
experience him yourself, he has a web page you can look at, if you
feel brave enough. Granted, it used to be a lot worse, but
it's still the web page most likely to offend even the
unoffendable. http://www.tmok.com/~squinky - not for the elderly,
pregnant, or those with heart problems.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
To me, the best part of sex is walking home, holding hands,
after swimming in the lake. To me, the best part of love is
when you say you'll be my friend.
- Beat Happening, "Fourteen"
RAPE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH SEX.
Lately, I've found myself discovering this whole "love" thing.
I've never been in love before. I never had a girlfriend, or
kissed, or held hands, or really even had any kind of feelings for
a member of the opposite sex. Granted, there were girls that I had
little crushes on or whatever, but nothing that meant anything at
all. And then, she appeared.
It was a summer evening, a little party, half in a house, half
on the beach. I was in the basement with a couple of my friends,
talking about nothing in particular, when I glanced over towards
the chair over by the television. She was there, sitting on the
arm of the chair. Her arms clutched her legs close to her body.
There was an aura of sadness, lonliness about her. She just sat
there, talking to no one, shy, quiet. It was the most beautiful
thing I've ever seen in my life. I heard a voice in my head, but
it wasn't a voice, really. It was more of an inate feeling,
knowledge, a mystical connection from me to some deity in some
distant, unknown plane. At that point, I knew what love was, and
that I loved her.
Those few weeks were the most beautiful of my entire life.
There was something when we were together, I saw the cord, the
connection between us grow stronger. I felt, I feel like it was
meant, destined in the stars. I would comfort her when she was
sick. We talked about nothing, and it felt right, perfect. And
she never did stop curling up, sitting with her legs held close to
her body, the way I first noticed her that summer evening in Truro.
I still love her. It may be over for the time being, but I
truly believe that someday we will be able to make it work, without
being secret and hidden. "True love will never die."
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
True hardcore is hard to find,
it takes the peaceful selfish kind.
- Sebadoh, "True Hardcore"
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Well, I've run out of truly interesting things to talk about
here, and it's getting really late. I have to work in the morning,
so maybe this is a good time to close up shop. I leave you with
this:
I can be worthy of pain
I can be worthy of life
- King of Birds, "Flounder" (as quoted from
Looks Yellow, Tastes Red issue #1)
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Coming in Issue Two:
+ music reviews
+ poetry
+ maybe a quiz!
+ more random thoughts
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
In the mood for a really good paper zine? Try "Looks Yellow,
Tastes Red" today! Seriously, this is the best thing I've ever
seen in print. Send a letter to:
Colette/LYTR
P.O. Box 1275
Wellfleet, MA, 02667
Cost is $1 (U.S.) plus a stamp for one issue, or $3 for four
issues. A great bargain! Can't beat that with a stick. Tell her
Duct Tape Boy sent you.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
+ evolution +
zaphod@sidehack.gweep.net
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