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Integral Functions 03
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INTEGRAL.FUNCTIONS.003
dd/mm/yy = 14/02/96
file_siz = 021k
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Integral Functions is an electronic 'zine that covers a broad range of
obscure and experimental topics. Material within the magazine includes:
poetry, short stories, essays, rants, reviews (books, movies and music),
experimental literature (computer generated poetry, etc.), personal
philosophies, chat logs, e-mail, and ASCII artwork. Topics within each
issue are diverse and will change from one issue to the next.
{get NET_SITE.NFO}
Integral Functions is available through Internet FTP service. Issues
will be available on the site approximately one month after their release.
Read the instructions on the site to be sure that you download and
uncompress the files correctly.
Site: ftp.etext.org /pub/Zines/IntegralFunctions
If you are having trouble connecting, this site also has two alternate FTP
addresses: etext.archive.umich.edu OR locust.cic.net
Gopher: gopher.etext.org Zines/IntegralFunctions
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Table_Of_Contents (in order of appearance - not impertinence):
1. taxi_junk+cityscape
2. Leo(x)'s Cooking Corner
3. Conclusion of an Experiment: Re-initialization Deluxe
4. 150 Beats Per Minute
5. THE SHRINK MACHINE
6. Childhood Memories #1
7. like, gododmanedde shit.
8. ME
9. Juxtaposition of Dreams
0. News/Copyright/Submission Information
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taxi_junk+cityscape
the city seemed unusually quiet. the noise, stink, and movement had
finally numbed isaac's senses after three long, blurred weeks in this
automated shithole.
re-arrange those words so it sounds better. make it a little easier to
read.
the city seemed unusually quiet. after three long and somewhat
blurred weeks in this automated shithole, isaac's senses had finally gone
numb to the noise, stink and movement around him.
isaac, who had just turned fourteen, sat in the back seat of the taxi
with andrew - his guardian and lover. andrew was either twenty-three or
twenty-four - he himself was not sure. this was because andrew was what
was known as a 'zero': the government had no record of him whatsoever.
isaac wasn't sure how andrew had accomplished this, since he will not
reveal how it was done. isaac assumes he had paid some punchers to go in
and do a little hack 'n slash over the wire. since andrew did not
legally exist, he had a few problems negotiating between the cones of the
firmament, but he managed to find his way through with the help of his
link-up with the subterrain.
'where?', the october cabbie asked.
'the corner of church and winston,' andrew told him. andrew knew his
way around the city real groovy.
as the taxi glided around corners and through stopways, andrew began
his ritual of 'changing his pads'. he rolled up his sleeves, and peeled
a long, rectangular strip of tightly-woven mesh from each of his
forearms. out the open window they went, the second one sticking to the
windshield of an oncoming car in the next lane, without being noticed by
either andrew, or the cabbie. isaac watched with a detached disgust.
from his jacket pocket, andrew removed two more fresh sheets of his
personalized disease, peeled them from their backings, and placed them on
his raw forearms, where the old ones had been. 'that shit is going to
fuck you up,' isaac said to him.
'if you want something done right, you have to do it yerself,' andrew
replied, failing to be distracted from his ritual. isaac wasn't sure
what this meant, and fell silent, thinking.
andrew had finished, rolled down his sleeves, zipped up his jacket,
and clutched the seat rather tightly, his fist in his mouth. isaac took
his hand, rubbing it. andrew's body temperature had already began to
drop. isaac felt no pity for him, but nevertheless comforted him in his
stupidity.
no. i don't like that sentence where andrew is rolling down his
sleeves. it feels awkward to read. change it.
last paragraph: andrew had finished, and was rolling down his sleeves,
waiting for the junk to infect him. his fingers clutched the seat, and
his eyes rolled back. he began to shiver. issac took his hand, rubbing it
gently. andrew's body temperature had already begun to drop. issac felt
not pity for him, but nevertheless comforted him in his stupidity.
is that better? it still doesn't sound right.
end.
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Leo(x)'s Cooking Corner
-----------------------
"MAKING SENSE" - basic beginner recipe
(recommendation: study each [individual] processal component in further
detail to achieve a higher level of sense-sess)
preparation : (approx.) 30 sec per 1 think-drep
solidification : (approx.) 1.5 min per 1 think-drep
makes (approx.) 3 servings per 1 think-snyr
ingredients/materials:
----------------------
1. all-natural(ly pure), reality-grown: thought (plant) ooze
2. solid, un-leaking morpheme languistic word mould(ing[s])
(any phonemic material meeting the requirements)
quantity is optional (communication-objective should be considered, and
mould[ing(s)] should be (just) enough to (achieve/)create(/contain) it)
creation process:
-----------------
- create or aquire ingredient #1 (thought)
- create or aquire material #2 (mould)
(criteria: comprehensibility, grammar, semantics)
- (optional: ) add beauty sprinkles (for intake-enjoyment)
- heat until boiling (germ-purge, purification)
- pour think ooze into linguistic word mould(ing[z]) and continue stirring
until clarity and desired level of simplicity reached
- jellification (thought becomes some-what solid, transmitt-able form)
- (optional: ) sample your creation (being time-conscientous if necessary)
SERVE!
{=========================================================================}
"Conclusion of an Experiment: Re-initialization Deluxe"
(by Gideon Hartwell)
In my previous essay (issue #002), I said that I would like to conduct
an experiment where a human-generated poem is fed into a computer
program, edited, and completed. I have briefly experimented with
different programs in order to accomplish this, but none of them have
turned out to be satisfactory. I am not willing to spend a large amount
of time coding a program that would produce the results I am looking
for. Perhaps it is an unconscious lack of will power that keeps me from
doing this. Perhaps not.
I feel that I have made my point, and I need not continue creating such
programs any longer. I have not come to any conclusions from conducting
these experiments, but perhaps someone who has read these short essays
will. I feel more confused than ever. I need to move on.
However, I will continue to enjoy the random simplicity of the poetry
and prose that my machine creates for me. The poetic images that it
creates are surreal and inspiring. I look forward to the day that
computers publish their own books, paint their own pictures, and write
their own stories - not because they are COMMANDED to do so, but
because they WANT to, because they have an urge to express themselves.
Does the thought of machines being more human-like (than they already
are) scare you? Should it? Man seems to be fascinated and afraid of
the future at the same time. I'm not sure what I am trying to say, if
anything at all. I don't know what is currently happening in the field
of Artificial Intelligence research, and I don't claim to be educated
in this area.
Yes, I'm a dilettante.
I'll leave you with four final computer-generated poems. If readers of
this 'zine request it, I will submit more in the future.
#1:
'random address'
she pitied the swelling of
myself to the point of disappointment.
returned in bell: a foreign doctor.
an existence trusted, deafened,
eccentric. at the destination,
she quenched and pricked.
#2:
'headache'
from cunt to newspaper the feces
settled, i fidgeted
the tasteless for tribal (muttered and
cleared congenial and the appalling
square) fibrous mad galloped finger and
the annoyed pinched and the neighbourhood
disaster. "hopeless to and warranted,"
the i said, interesting frilled.
murmured to wandering of assisted
the sobbed.
#3:
'not underwear'
the remained to for he recalled impatient
tall the frazzled at and leg scraped.
they and brisk for the she determined; loaded
created the failed exciting, nervous, ugly.
mirror attitude!
#4:
'for he for and he the at it and for'
alarm to the professional unused! and
the heat toasted and he straight for the
interested trembling meat people
cackled at saliva for smile abrasive and at the?
for she lingering disturbing the
soft chessboard and at they unacceptable
fucked and the i entangled the impossible
skinny interface and the public proved.
{=========================================================================}
"150 Beats Per Minute"
(by Astrix Beauton)
washing glitter from her cheeks, her
neck, her arms. removing elastics from
her hair; letting ponytails untwine.
six a.m.: feeling numb, as if encased
in latex.
an onanist alone in bed. asleep,
dreaming about marylin monroe in drag,
making love on the golden gate bridge.
a sub-routine awakes her.
by day, she wears a suit and carries
a briefcase. to her, a song is love:
something loud and fast, lasting for
approximatly 3.5 minutes.
sometimes a song will get stuck in her
head, which is really, really annoying.
{=========================================================================}
"THE SHRINK MACHINE"
(By Toban Black)
I just came out of the shrink machine.
I am about the size of a pencil.
I have a big problem eating.
I cannot fit a hamburger or a hot dog in my tiny mouth.
The only thing I can eat is a raisin and it will fill my tummy.
It is fun being small.
I like it because nobody can see me.
Oh no!
The shrink ray is wearing off.
I am growing bigger and bigger.
Bye, bye.
See you later!
{=========================================================================}
Childhood Memories #1
(anonymous)
The following list of childhood memories was found in my old sketchbook,
and they are NOT in chronological order. I will try to date the ones
that I can remember clearly (I was born in 1977).
- Jumping off of a staircase and landing in a bean bag chair, seeing
how many steps high I can jump from before 'chickening-out'.
(1983-85?)
- Waiting alongside an anthole on the pavement for the next ant to
creep out and deposit a piece of earth outside its doorway, only
do find death (squish!).
(1981-84)
- My bedroom had plaid wallpaper - but it wasn't ordinary red or green
plaid, it was rainbow-multi-coloured. When you looked at it and
squinted, all the colours would blend together.
(1980-85?)
- Using swear words before I knew what they meant.
(1982-)
- The school bus seats had the "Tonka" logo on the back of them. At
the time, I only knew that the Tonka company built small toy trucks,
so during the ride home, my friend and I would pretend that the bus
was a toy that was built for a 50 foot tall child, and we were
little Fisher-Price figurines.
(1982-83?)
- Hiding in the kitchen cupboard, eating Honey-Nut-Cheerios, wondering
if I had been forgotten, and I will be the only person left on earth
when I emerge someday.
(1982)
- Trying to outrun a tennis ball.
- Once, I didn't have a bathing suit at my friends house, and I was
invited to go for a swim in her pool. She said, "Just wear your
underwear!" No way.
(1984-85?)
- Eating cereals like Count Chocula, Golden Grahams, and Fruit-Loops.
(Now I eat oatmeal and Muslix.)
- Going to see the movie "Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure" twice
with my friends. Dude!
(Grade 6)
- Having rug burns on my knees after zooming tiny Hot-Wheels cars
around the house for an hour.
(1983-85)
- Seeing "Star Wars" at the movies with my family, in the days when
you had to stand up and listen to the national anthem ("O Canada")
before the movie started. Most of the people sang along.
(1982)
- Collecting "MAD" magazine.
(1982-1989)
- The smell of other peoples houses.
- Pretending to be small enough to ride on a piece of dust and float
around my house.
(1984?)
{=========================================================================}
"like, gododmanedde shit."
(anonymous)
hey hunny_bunny: like, yeah ++somthing
thats rilly rilly fukin stoopid is like, the
bathroom(piss piss shit) window in my
godddanndmdnd howse faces the strreet, so,
like, uh, wheennver i'm like, takin a piss,
i have this funny-fukin'-feelin' that sum
asshole outsidde is like, watching me or
sumthingg..i get the sam feelin when i'mlike
taking# my clotz off and gettin' in the
shower or somethingggg. but like, to solv
this prob, like, like, i just pull down(dn)
the goddnamed windowshade_thingy. enoff ov
thisshit..whatthfuk? ya,iwatch that show..
doyu hava fuckin' problm with that? didn't
fukinthink so. asshold! whoareu to crititi-
size whichfukin' beer i drink? ikan drink
whatver fukin'goddandnmed beeriwantoo.
{=========================================================================}
"ME"
(By Meggan)
Hi.
My name is Meggan.
I have brown eyes.
I like pink and purple and red and yellow too.
I am seven.
My birthday is August the eight.
I like apples and oranges.
I have a dog. Her names is Fluffy. She is cute.
I have two sisters and a brother and a mom and a dad.
My friend is Alana.
_____________
/ \
| Hi I am me! |
\_ _________/
| /
__ |/
'\ ______/ V`-,
} /~~
/_)^ --,r'
|b |b
{I couldn't find a dog that looked like a monkey! <G>}
{=========================================================================}
Juxtaposition of Dreams
(by Tamiko Smith)
Something like, "Oh my God..I am carrying two glasses of milk!" We walk by
a movie store, and they have monitors outside the store that play movies,
so the people that walk by can watch movies (and eventuallly get drawn into
the store). The monitor is playing the first Superman movie, and Superman
(Christopher Reeves) is hunched in front of the moniter, holding it, and
looking at Lois Lane on the movie..he is wearing the Superman costume and
everything, and as I walk by him I say, "Cool movie.", when i say this, i
am teasing superman somehow, I am being sarcastic or something...Dave
nudges me with his elbow, showing me that what I just did was sort of mean,
and I feel a little bad, but we continue on, and I am standing in a
junkyard, at the edge of a fast flowing river of mud (shit?). I am
standing on a board, and I am taking the place of the character. He is a
news reporter. Another man asks me why I think he selected me to go on the
dangerous trip down the river of mud (shit?), and I say that I think he
wanted a proper balance in the crew members. I know that we are going down
the river in a crappy canoe that will fall I am sitting on a bench or chair
in an old abandoned mall. Four old men are remembering their childhood on
the farm where they would take really old movie equipment and make films,
using multiple cameras and really complex techniques. They sounded as if
they had discovered new ways of i had a dream (nightmare) that an altered
version of Alice's Adventure's In Wonderland was being performed in my
home. I was being kidnapped by the white rabbit (it i escaped away from
the white rabbit by myself before he ever got a chance to take me into the
portal, and upstairs was the space ship so the mechanincal white rabbit
chased a very deep and philisophical discussion about names. that is how
the dream ended. where I have not had (or couldn't recall) a dream. This
morning I woke up at 5am (nature called), and remembered the dream, but I
was WAY to zonked to write it down, so I told myself to remember it...so I
woke up at 8am later, and only remembered part of it... But in the time
between 5am and 8am while I was hair and everything), and we looked at each
other - we decided to beat the shit out of the clown with our wet towels.
The clown walked off the porch and was carrying a plate with a stack of
peanut butter sandwiches to the garden where his/her house was, and you ran
up behind him/her and slapped the plate of i am sitting on a green bench,
waiting for the bus - the thing is, this green bench is at the edge of a
farmers field, and there is no road. to the left and upper left of me, is a
barn, and a farmhouse, and i have no pants on...i THINK that i am all
alone, but then there is a family that lives on the farm, and they begin to
go out and feed the pigs and stuff and i am all embarrrassed because i have
no pants, but they don't notice me...because there are a few pine trees
around me...i think the bus dropped me off here earlier, the oncoming
clouds, which are rolling towards us...it is very windy. the frame house
is blowing in the wind, but i am not scared of it plane...sort of a wright
brothers plane that is doing a loop, and then the cloud of wolves hits it,
and i hear the fammiliar...Zrrrrrnmmm...the sound of a plane diving from
the sky...and the plane is torn apart. ok ok...so farmer guy and i are in
the frame, and he is yelling at the clouds..i am scared, and suddenly the
cloud is upon us, and the house collapses, and i am being devoured by a
wolf...i see my own flesh in between the teeth of a wolf... lots of blood..
i wonder how i can contain so much blood....its really amazing...but now i
am dead, so what good is it going to do me...? i wasn't scared...i was
devoured to feed another creature...so it wasnt all too bad i guess. was
on a huge island build of steel an brick, and it was floating in a huge
ocean - it was a floating city. i was being hunted by the there is a girl
at the exit of the store, (i am holding an envelope of cash) who says, "is
that what you call, 'losing it'?". i guess she was french, and i was in
paris (i guess that explains the very beautiful city. when she mentioned
"losing it" i thought she meant virginity, and maybe she wasn't very good
at english, but then i thought she meant losing my mind, which sounded
better, because i did looked like voodoo things or occult something.. i
didn't like it there, and i wanted to free all the prisoners....different
frames. I was on the floor, and a pretty spanish woman turns around from
the stool where she was trying on glasses, and asks me a question in french
it took me a few times for her to say it for me to understand - first, i
thought she said, "do you run this there were a bunch of different
sections. in one part, i was at some sort of auction, where people bought
things using tickets, and i had a large strip of tickets, and i was at the
front, buying everything. i was buying living art. one of the peices was a
little girl who was possessed by a demon or something. i could look into
her eyes and go into her mind and see her struggle with the demon. it was
all dark inside her head, and she was hanging, crucified on a cross, either
dead or sleeping, and a blue light was shining down on her, making her look
angelic. the demon was behind her, also hanging on a cross, and laughing
at her, trying to wake her up...she woke up, and seemed a pencil to write a
word on my white t-shirt, so it would look cool. i wrote "machine", and
then i thought that i wanted to write "organic machine", but i had to hurry
and didn't have time.
{=========================================================================}
{get NEWS003.TXT}
Features in next issue include: <file_not_found!>
{get COPYNOTE.TXT}
Reproduction of this 'zine (in any form) is permitted as long as it is not
sold and the entire text of the issue remains intact. Material within
this volume is copyright (maybe) by their respective authors.
{get SUBMIT.NFO}
There are no specific guidelines for submitting material to Integral
Functions. 25 - 2500 words is acceptable. Do not hesitate to send
something in because it might be too weird or extreme. You do not require
previous writing experience...just write what's on your mind. Please
specify if you wish your contribution to be anonymous.
Send your ASCII text to: <address to be announced>
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INTEGRAL.FUNCTIONS.003
dd/mm/yy = 14/02/96
file_siz = 021k
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