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Spilled Ink 03
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ÀÄ ÄÙ
Ä electronic literary 'zine Ä
*ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ*
ù ÄÄ´ volume three ÃÄÄ ù
*ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ*
stop plagiarism - let out your soul
Copyright 1995
ú úùcompiled & edited by Twilightùú ú
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
þ Table of Contents þ
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
1. Al - Drucilla B. Blood
2. Betrayed - Twilight
3. Breathe - David B. Gould
4. Class Song - Twilight
5. Close To Christmas, After All - Jay Dougherty
6. Crying In The Rain - Amoeba
7. Dulce Et Decorum Est - Wilfred Owen
8. Fade To Black - James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich, Cliff Burton, Kirk Hammett
9. Fish - Stephen Lush
10. Grief - Mrchrist@presby.edu
11. I Want Too Much From You - C.C. Russell
12. Infernal Eternal - Jamsbeta@ix.netcom.com
13. Inspiration - Lady Red
14. Letter From Spudly - Drucilla B. Blood
15. Lightning Crashes - Edward Kowalczyk
16. Neglected - Twilight
17. No Escape - Twilight
18. Nothingman - Eddie Vedder
19. Ode To Line Noise - Blade
20. Oh, It's A Laughing Riot! - Twilight
21. Open Relationship? - Michelle@nohost.com
22. Perfection - Jon Gilbert, aka Dark Goob
23. Pleasant Nightmares - Leah Crochet
24. Poem: 01/31/95 I. - Bob.ezergailis@canrem.com
25. Poem: 01/31/95 II. - Bob.ezergailis@canrem.com
26. Riverwalk - Cat-a-lyst
27. Scrambled Thoughts - Twilight
28. Summer Reading - Erin@acpub.duke.edu
29. Sweet Violation - Chance
30. That Gal - Tofupup
31. The Assassin - Alton Naerth
32. The End - Cathleen - CrappyB@ix.netcom.com
33. The Ice Monster Of Emptiness - Antony@nohost.com
34. The Self - Kim Clemente
35. To David Lee - Twilight
36. Untitled - Rafael Rentena
37. Untitled - Silent Scream
38. Untitled - Silent Scream
39. Weather - Amy
40. When I Close My Eyes, I See Pictures - Drucilla B. Blood
þ Including Quotes From:
Gina Arnold, Jim Connelly, Rene Crist, Gavin Edwards, Kim France,
Steven Hawkins, Horace, Alyssa Katz, John Lennon, Stephen Lush,
Ray Manzarek, Anne Marlowe, Alton Naerth, Anne Rice, Shelley, Socrates,
Twilight, and Jim Walsh
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
Al
þ Drucilla B. Blood
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
I think that there is a time in everyone's life where one has to taste a bit
of normalcy. I met this beautiful man who calls himself Frank Phantom when
actually his real name is really Al. Albert Melvin Frank the Third. I think
he is the first and maybe even only person who I will ever call a boyfriend
and not feel cheated or used, as he is very kind and patient.
Al scares me sometimes. I remember when I very first met him. I was at work
and he called me a skinbird because I had a shaved head. We spent the next
hour being all smart-alecky with each other, and then he showed me his comic
book that he was copying. I remember I thought that it was very honest and
seemed to be about all these different women who were mean to him. It's
difficult to say that you "enjoy" something like that. Like, for instance, if
a person would get stabbed, but then paint a picture about the incident with
the blood. It was very easy for me to read then. Not knowing. Not
understanding his pain or what it had formed within him.
Al has scars. Some of them are tattoos. But there is also a different kind
of scar. Al has a scar - an "X" carved in the skin that covers the bone which
protects his heart. I think that Al is very beautiful. And no matter what I
do in my life, I would want for him to always be happy. Gentle people are the
most difficult to love because you have to be so careful; they are like tiny
babies. They are so rare that it would almost seem safer to wrap them up and
give them away to someone else, maybe as a gift than to try to hold them. I
hope I get the chance to teach Al all that I understand to be him. He has
taught me so much about myself already.
"I would find myself seeing hallucinatory images of my face changing and
becoming cosmic and complete. It caused me to always be a rebel. This
thing gave me a chip on the shoulder; but, on the other hand, I wanted to
be loved and accepted. Part of me would like to be accepted by all facets
of society and not be this loudmouthed lunatic musician. But I cannot be
what I am not." Ä John Lennon
Betrayed
þ Twilight
ùúùúùúùúùú
Betrayed,
I will never trust again.
To put my life, my force into
An entity that won't give back
A hidden lie, a broken dream;
Lies dying in the grass
I fool myself into my own bliss,
Only to be fooled again
As soon as warmth enshrouds my presence,
I'm plunged down deep into an abyss.
Laughed in the face,
Making mistakes only children commit
So nave of heart and so tender of mind,
Dealt by the master of cards
I am but a blade of misery -
Not permanently sharp nor always dull,
But sharpened and used...
Over and over again.
"That's the trouble with being truthful. You try to apply truth talk,
although you have to be false sometimes, because the whole thing is false in
a way, like a game. But you hope sometime that if you're truthful with
somebody, they'll stop all the plastic reaction and be truthful back, and
it'll be worth it. Yet everybody is playing the game, and sometimes I'm left
naked and truthful with everybody biting me. It's disappointing."
Ä John Lennon
Breathe
þ David B. Gould
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
With the increasing insistence of an unexhaled breath,
moments pass, I suppose, for some.
I had a child's store of time, I thought, until I saw all the children
and they were all smaller than me.
A few years thereafter,
when I had around twenty years worth of breaths
behind me,
I decided to be a teenager. To be young and make plans as the
opportunities for the same crept like quiet nighttime past my door.
It was on my thirty-second birthday that I realized I had become a man.
So I did man things.
I looked for a wife. I found one at fifty-one.
I wanted a child. I had one at sixty-three.
I wanted to succeed in my career. Attained at seventy-seven.
I wanted security. It was mine at eighty-nine.
I wanted to sit back and relax and enjoy my life. I did so,
one breath before death.
So I'm holding my breath, now. The moment I exhale I stop.
I just need a while to enjoy my life now that I have to look backwards
instead.
"Old age and death await us all. And we cannot face that simple truth, so we
look for endless distractions." Ä 'Elliot Savarell, Earl of Rutherford',
_The Mummy Or, Ramses the Damned_ Ä Anne Rice
Class Song
þ Twilight
ùúùúùúùúùú
As each virgin note twinkles by...
I'm forced to pause -
freeze my actions,
and listen.
That song...
But I shrug it off,
it never meant a thing to me...
Never...meant...a...
A new note...
gripping me like death's grasp
Drifting notes from blacks and whites...
A spark of surprise as a tear falls...
And another... and another...
Back to life in an institution -
an institution, I oh-so-fondly named it
But now...
All bad memories have vanished,
and only the good remain.
But closing my heart, my mind,
I make another attempt -
another attempt to just continue on...
only to be firmly grasped again
Shoving my head to the side,
I am forced to listen... to remember...
Eyes focus on the far wall -
scribblings of him... and of me...
Forced to think of
moonwalks and mazes,
Then of sparkling colors
gently playing on our shoulders
as each notes takes form
within our entwined souls...
And then -
the red gown hanging up there
fills itself...
And I'm whisked forcefully back onstage,
on the verge of tears -
in front of smiling faces
and children's yawns.
Sharing moments with friends -
Smiling, laughing... something so rare
in my life.
Black fabric riding the still air,
swirling in circles.
Times when I actually
did not sit, alone,
in my self-made despair...
and darkness.
Real, true happiness -
So close...
but now, beyond my grasp.
The song slows to a close -
after breaking down yet again
and lost, I return to the present
Wiping the sleet away,
sitting up straight,
shaking off the memories, the illusions,
The painful nostalgia...
I refocus.
And now...
And now, it's time to move on...
"The good thing about rock and roll - good rock and roll - is that it's real,
and realism gets through to you despite yourself." Ä John Lennon
Close To Christmas, After All
þ Jay Dougherty
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
I sat up and read the alarm clock dial from the bed. 10 a.m. It was too
late. I should have been at work three hours ago. I would be fired. It was
the first day that I would have ever been late at this job, but I would be
fired anyway. The boss had made that clear to us new taxi drivers. "The
first day you show up late is the last day you show up at all," he had said.
I picked up the telephone and dialed the number of the taxi service. "Ready
Cab, can I help you?" Waltrut said.
"Hi Waltrut, this is Jim."
"Oh, hi, Jim."
"Waltrut, could you send me my last check as soon as it comes out, please?"
"Sure, Jim. I talked to the boss. He said--"
"Never mind," I said. "Thanks, Waltrut."
"Good luck, Jim."
"Thanks."
The job had lasted three weeks, which meant that I had some food in the
refrigerator: eggs, bread, milk, even bacon. I fixed a good breakfast and
then heated some water to make coffee with. It took me a long while to make
the breakfast and to eat it. It was nice. I had made two eggs, very soft,
and I used the bread to sop up the egg yolk. I did this for as long as the
egg yolk remained warm on the plate. I rolled the toast around in the egg
yolk and wiped the egg yolk from the edges of the plate. I ate the bacon in
small bites, between bites of egg yolk and bread. It felt good. I drank the
coffee slowly.
After breakfast I put on my coat and walked outside. It was a grey day in
West Berlin. Most of the days in the winter were grey days.
I was glad that I could speak a little German. I had learned some German from
my German wife, who would not return. I had learned more German by driving
the taxi. I had been in the city a year and had learned more German by
driving the taxi than by all my other German experiences combined. I had been
unemployed before, but this time being unemployed would be different, easier,
because I knew more German.
I got on the bus, got off at the first hot dog stand, and ordered a hot dog
and a cup of coffee in German without making any mistakes. The woman running
the hot dog stand smiled and said "thank you" in German, and I said "thank
you" in German. Then I ate my hot dog, drank the coffee, and watched people
walking up and down the city street.
I didn't know anyone in the city but I liked it that way. My little one room,
furnished, coal-heated apartment was cheap, and I could pay rent by working
just a few days out of the month, or even by selling blood. Sometimes I sold
my blood.
I said "thank you" in German once more to the hot dog stand lady and walked
down the street toward the shopping district. There were always lots of
people in the shopping district: musicians, speakers, sellers, beggars.
I hadn't been to the shopping district in three weeks, since I started working
for Ready Cab, and I was glad to be able to go back now. I arrived in not too
much time, and all the people were there. I wondered a while how they managed
to be there in the middle of the day. Once when I was there, I heard a German
woman talking to another German woman, and she said "Why aren't all these
people working? What are they doing here in the middle of the day?" I
wondered what they were doing, too, but I wasn't critical. I was glad they
were here. They weren't all unemployed as I was, but I didn't care. That
made it nicer. For me, it was a good city to be unemployed in. I could go to
the shopping district, and there would always be people there. I didn't mind
that they were not all unemployed.
I watched the people walking back and forth in the shopping district. I stayed
there for a long time, until it began to get dark. Then I started walking
slowly toward my little apartment. This too was a nice experience because all
the lights made the city new again. It was a different experience. I
remember thinking that I could probably do this for another week or so without
getting tired of it. And then I would start looking for a job. Or perhaps I
would sell some blood.
Yes, I would sell some blood. It was getting close to Christmas, after all.
"What were you thinking of 10 minutes ago?"
Crying In The Rain
þ Amoeba
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
I'm sitting and I'm crouching down in front of the curb...
I'm crying into the storm...the tears are disappearing...
they're running down my cheeks, drowning in the raindrops
and only to hear my whimpers is anyone the wiser...
every car driving by looks like yours...every person inside is you
I'm crying into the rain and you're miles away...
"get out of my car," you say, "I don't think I know you any more," you cry
and onto the cold street I fall...
the muddy puddles are your eyes...
and as I beg for the pain to stop, the rain pours...
our love becomes a painful pool of lost dreams...and I'm drowning...
I'm opening my mouth and crying into the rain...and holding my breath...
wishing for death...and drowning in the water, or is it the tears?
all the same when I'm crying in the rain...
"Without Yoko I couldn't cope with life. I really need her and could not
survive without her. She is the answer to everything. Being with her makes
me whole. I don't want to be without her ... People couldn't understand our
relationship. They said she was a Japanese witch who had made me crazy.
We're both sensitive people and we were hurt by all the criticism of Yoko.
I couldn't understand why poeple wanted to throw rocks at her or punish me
for being in love with her. As far as I was concerned, I was with the
person who was my goddess of love and the fulfillment of my whole life.
Because of all the hostility, there were a few times when we really went
under, but our love helped us survive." Ä John Lennon
Dulce Et Decorum Est
þ Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
'Til on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue, deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time.
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. -
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, -
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
("It is sweet and becoming to die for one's country.")
Ä Horace, Roman poet
Fade To Black
þ James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich, Cliff Burton, Kirk Hammett
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
Life it seems, will fade away
Drifting further every day
Getting lost within myself
Nothing matters, no one else
I have lost the will to live
Simply nothing more to give
There is nothing more for me
Need the end to set me free
Things not what they used to be
Missing one inside of me
Deathly lost, this can't be real
Cannot stand this hell I feel
Emptiness is filling me
To the point of agony
Growing darkness taking dawn
I was me, but now he's gone
No one but me can save myself, but it's too late
Now I can't think, think why I should even try
Yesterday seems as though it never existed
Death greets me warm, now I will just say goodbye
"Death is the state of being where darkness engulfs you while maggots consume
your flesh. It is where you float the Void, seeing nothing, being nothing.
The only thing you really leave behind is your corpse and memories left in
others; however, corpses rot and memories fade into the nothingness of which
the Void is made. Everyone meets Death, some sooner than others, some more
willing than others. Money, Power, Popularity mean NOTHING; you will still
meet Death. Charity, Religion, Morality won't keep you from it. Try to do
what you believe you should do, for Death doesn't care; it doesn't weigh you
on your or anyone else's morals. Death is the only true arbitrary power..."
Ä Alton Naerth
Fish
þ Stephen Lush
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
glittering diamond dunes
diving through and feeling the grains
underneath stars and night
lakes give off their dark glow
knowing there's fish sleeping down below
feeling the fish that know what we don't know
lush green fields reflecting the moonlight
walking and touching with the solace of the night
being what we need to be and knowing what is right
in the beauty of the night
the beauty of the night
remembering the lighted streets with music swelling
it is in my heart I am dwelling
even as I am closest to others
my distance in feeling is a billion miles
jump right in, force a grin
in the beauty of the night
what to do, just me and you
in the beauty of the night
"Surrealism had a great effect on me, because then I realized that my
imagery and my mind wasn't insanity; that if it was insane, I belong in an
exclusive club that sees the world in those terms. Surrealism to me is
reality." Ä John Lennon
Grief
þ Mrchrist@presby.edu
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
tonight i grieved.
remembering...
good times
bad times
all the time spent
together.
thought it was forever.
guess not.
tonight i grieved.
let the sorrow flow out
onto the floor.
listening to the words
that meant her
spilling out of the speakers
and into my ears...
in your eyes...
tonight i grieved.
not the first time
not the last.
anger
pain
guilt
regrets
remembering...
her.
her laugh
her understanding
her body
her smile
her life
her love
tonight i grieved.
for her.
for her.
god, i miss her.
"It's a big, wide, wonderful world out there, and Yoko and I are going to
explore it until we die. I just have one hope: that I die before she does,
because we have become so much of an equation together that I don't think I
would have the strength to go on without her. Oh, I don't mean I would
commit suicide; I just mean life would be so empty." Ä John Lennon
I Want Too Much From You
þ C.C. Russell
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
The way I like the shower
water pressure
almost so hard
it hurts
"To love and to hate so fiercely...the essence of life itself." Ä Anne Rice
Infernal Eternal
þ Jamsbeta@ix.netcom.com
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
My mouth is full of prickly cactus
My heart is full of stickly briars
My mind is full of festered cankers
My soul is full of deathly pyres.
Every breath is full of pain
Every beat is full of woe
Every thought is full of sorrow
Every prayer falls so low.
Are these the gifts of a joyous claim?
Are these the gifts of a life so right?
Are these the gifts of the grandest vision?
Are these the hopes of a spirit of light?
Indeed it seems that the reward is just
Indeed it seems that the reward is true
Indeed it seems that the reward is balance
Indeed it seems that I am this... for you.
"I cannot teach anybody anything, I can only make them think." Ä Socrates
Inspiration
þ Lady Red
ùúùúùúùúùúù
I am a writer with dreams of vision.
And I wonder if a blind man sees pictures in a poet's words
I hear the rush of a waterfall of words
I see life's mysteries unfolding before me
And I want to share them with the world
I am a writer with dreams of vision.
I pretend my words have reached society's core
And I feel the need to touch men's hearts.
I touched his heart, and didn't even understand it.
I'm worried that my unconscious touches bruised,
Or were so light he's already forgotten them.
I cry for the words I'll never share with him.
I understand the inadequacy of my own inked out thoughts,
And I say what I think I want to say
Only to find out the pen has twisted it.
I dream of him silently inspiring me
To say what I really mean.
I try to thank him, but sometimes
I think he doesn't even know what's he done.
I hope he'll understand this message,
Written in ink tapped from my soul,
For, I am a writer with dreams of vision
And 'twas he who gave me such dreams...
"Poets don't speak for their generations; they speak for themselves."
Ä Ray Manzarek, ex-Doors keyboardist
Letter From Spudly
þ Drucilla B. Blood
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
How cruel has time been
Wrenching me from home hearts
home that lives
hearts that love
Go on without me and all remain the same
But within me change
spins
A letter finds its way to my home now
new home now
new hearts now
I slice my fingers opening the
envelope
The letter containing words to slice
my life
To make me happysad
in the midst of this
Glory and revelation
Glorious revolution
I see your face
Sparkle like a memory
Hear your voice
distorted
like a dream.
"I keep many things private, and if I don't share something with someone who
I hope might understand, I will suffer." Ä Stephen Lush
Lightning Crashes
þ Edward Kowalczyk
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
Lightning Crashes, a new mother cries
her placenta falls to the floor
The angel opens her eyes
the confusion sets in
before the doctor can even close the door
Lightning Crashes, an old mother dies
her intentions fall to the floor
the angel closes her eyes
the confusion that was hers
belongs now, to the baby down the hall
Oh now feel it comin' back again
like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
forces pullin' from the center of the Earth again
I can feel it
Lightning Crashes, a new mother cries
this moment she's been waiting for
The angel opens her eyes
Pale blue colored iris, presents the circle
and puts the glory out to hide, hide
Barbara Lewis (1973-1993)
"'Live Through This' is not groundbreaking music, but the lyrics attest a
vision as fully formed, as one-sided, and as implacable as Sylvia Plath's."
Ä Ann Marlowe
Neglected
þ Twilight
ùúùúùúùúùú
The eagles soar proudly over the mountains
Colorful sailboats glide gracefully onto shore
The captive whale gives birth today
And out little Johnny's sixteen candles blew
In Cache, the circus comes to town
Mister Louganis makes a new world-record dive
The Trailblazers now have a winning streak
And a new, pretty girl moves in next door
But, what of me? Of ME?
I sit here, in neglect -
Craving for attention
Expecting too much -
Expecting what you can't give
What does it take to catch your eye
An earth-shattering news story
Why must I do something special
For you just to notice me
But I will remain here and wait
For your spotlight to shine my way
Until that time, I will continue in jealousy
As you give your precious time elsewhere
While I wither away, out of your limelight
Alone, sad, and cold
...Hey!
Isn't your favorite band playing in-concert today?
"I've never heard 'Live Through This' as an aural tombstone. It's the best
album of the year because it's the most alive, as Courtney [Love] knocks over
everything that gets in her way. In an amazing year for guitar bands, she
went one step further: she made cathartic screams seem like poetry, and vice
versa." Ä Gavin Edwards
No Escape
þ Twilight
ùúùúùúùúùú
Impending gloom...
falling down,
suddenly blanketing my shoulders.
A new cape to wear -
that brings this blackness...
this everlasting dread.
It punctures my chest,
plunges its shadowy fingers
deep down into my soul...
taking with it my hopes,
my dreams -
my will to live.
A strong pressure sucks at me,
pushing... forcing me down...
as I plummet to the earth
to be heard from no more...
Trying to cry for help -
but small, pathetic gasps
come instead.
I hurt... So badly.
And...many sprites come to play;
offerings to take my doom away,
But nothing helps -
I remain dreary...
and bleak.
I don't want to do this
I don't want to do that
I don't want to do anything...
Any more.
Even constant spontaneity in itself
is only a routine.
Thinking of what I will do,
what I have to do,
what will become of me -
I get shoved deeper and deeper...
I am disgusted.
They don't amuse me,
but only serve as attack...
Until I, empty, am robbed -
Of everything.
There is nothing left for me here.
And, against my will,
I drown...
in quicksand.
Still gasping -
until I gasp... no more.
"Courtney Love is one of those Visible Woman dolls come to life - all exposed
guts and viscera - spitting out a consuming anger that could clear forests
with its force. She lets everyone see her struggle to overcome so many
essentially female obstacles - the strong undertow that urges us to debase
ourselves with drugs or destructive relationships, the battle between self-
loathing and narcissism; the desire to be driven by our sexuality and the
horror that this desire might ultimately degrade and destroy us. While she
could give in to her urge to self-destruct, more and more, I think she'll be
the last one standing." Ä Kim France
Nothingman
þ Eddie Vedder
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
Once divided
Nothing left to subtract
Some words when spoken
Can't be taken back
Walks on his own
With thoughts he can't help thinking
Future's above
But in the past he's slow and sinking
Caught a bolt of lightning
Cursed the day he let it go
Nothingman... isn't it something? nothingman
She once believed
In every story he had to tell
One day she stiffened
Took the other side
Empty stares
From each corner of a shared prison cell
One just escapes
One is left inside the well
And he who forgets
Will be destined to remember
Nothingman... isn't it something? nothingman
She don't want him
She won't feed him
After he's flown away
Into the sun
Burn... burn... burn
Nothingman... could have been something... nothingman
"Men fear solitude as they fear silence, because both give them a glimpse of
the terror of life's nothingness."
Ode To Line Noise
þ Blade
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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NO CARRIER
The Lord's Prayer is 66 words, the Gettysburg Address is 286 words, and there
are 1,322 words in the Declaration of Independence, but government regulations
on the sale of cabbage total 26,911 words.
oh, it's a laughing riot!
þ Twilight
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
Don't mind me
I really like this knife in my back
The edge is so razor sharp
That it is tickling my insides
And is making me gasp
For breath.
Oh, I'm quite sorry
For this display of pain
It is just that the spurts
Of agony and utter dispair
Make me dance gleefully
Around the room.
Don't let me bother you
As I scrape the floor by my nose
We're playing master and servant,
I see.
Gee, I just love bowing down
Before you.
"Courtney makes a great Reigning National Widow since we lost Jackie; she
lacks the breeding, the sophistication...but she's got the balls. She binds
lots of free-floating repressions into tidy packages of manageable grief and
calls them songs." Ä Rene Crist
Open Relationship?
þ Michelle@nohost.com
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
man, I don't sing that song
I will lift my sheets to you
and you'll forget ever being born
or stared at before
so long and without one word
I will be the only hole you fit.
try as though I know men do
never not ever again will one glue you to it and
open to kiss you or welcome you home quite right.
one night and all my pretty tricks
will sweep your head
of tits & hips and
I will be the word you know.
man, the only song
Perfection
þ Jon Gilbert, aka Dark Goob
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
deep blue eyes,
that go right down to her heart
smooth slender thighs,
god's beautiful works of art
small delicate hands
careful and loving and fine
hair blonde as desert sands
silky brilliant shine
red full lips
tender and soft to kiss
round supple hips
her beauty is my bliss
passion seething
arms embracing
rapid breathing
minds racing
our love
perfection
Pleasant Nightmares
þ Leah Crochet
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
I catch your shadowed eyes with mine of pain
And quickly you discard my gentle glance.
Your eyes are now so clouded with my rain
As thunder ebbs upon this shore of chance.
The hurt, I watch consume you in this night,
(I turn my face away to hush the screams)
The same dark touch that blinded us with sight
Calls to me through piercing, haunting dreams.
You mesmerized me, drawing close my light
Casting spells with words submerged in power.
But as, when hurt, you draw away from night
You soon forget I'm strongest in this hour.
And watch, do I, our tainted web "Desire,"
Whispered how I miss that burning fire.
"Watch, my love, the games of love and foe,
"Listen to the beating heart of sin,
"For this might truly be the last thing known,"
I hear your voice from somewhere deep within.
Watching candle; taunting flame through dark.
Your inner self revealed and finally seen.
The pain I felt when shown the face of stark.
Never seeing the weakness you had sheened.
Silhouettes dancing through my numbing mind;
Perhaps the empty ones you held so dear,
Haunting, singing songs of left behind
While consuming, thriving on my fear.
Clawing through this empty shell of lies
I crumple at the thought of your despise...
Lost am I within this midnight sky
That holds me in its truly dark embrace
How I long the beauty of the lie,
For there I'm sheltered, lying in my waste.
Watching your decline; diminish of power
I didn't want to hurt you, as I warned you so
I whispered "You I surely will devour"
"My darling please, I beg you, do not go!"
The emotions fall like rain, light as steps at first
Though I know in time the deluge will begin.
Give me love to quench my tired thirst!
But I wonder, could this be so simple? Or at end?
Sing, wicked laughter! Sing your shadowed song!
For perhaps that was what I was in love with all along...
Poem: 01/31/95 I.
þ Bob.ezergailis@canrem.com
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
Religion
is a heap
of rotting
fish heads.
Preachers'
sermons -
the stench.
"Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn't argue about
that. I'm right and I will be proved right. We're more popular than Jesus
now. I don't know which will go first - rock 'n' roll or Christianity.
Jesus was all right, but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It's them
twisting it that ruins it for me." Ä John Lennon
Poem: 01/31/95 II.
þ Bob.ezergailis@canrem.com
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
is this
the given
what remains
of intimacy,
when she speaks
she does not reply,
when she is there
suddenly
she is there
only as a tease,
of the presence
of her absence,
her warmest phrase
a knife of ice
withdrawn
with a twist
from soft underbelly
bowels
of insignificance.
"'Live Through This' was like listening to a black box cockpit tape recovered
from a very messy plane crash." Ä Jim Walsh
Riverwalk
þ Cat-a-lyst
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
Cold stone on the riverwalk
Made sounds louder
Than would seem possible
On that night.
Cold steel around heart
Surmounted petty fears
Of loneliness and danger.
And of silence.
The hand that reached out
Found that it clutched at
An unexpected gift.
Mortality.
What a shock it is to stare
Into the eyes of the dying man
And to see yourself
Staring back at you.
"It's fear of the unknown. The unknown is what it is. And to be frightened
of it is what sends everybody scurrying around chasing dreams, illusions,
wars, peace, love, hate, all that - it's all illusion. Unknown is what it
is. Accept that it's unknown and it's plain sailing. Everything is
unknown - then you're ahead of the game." Ä John Lennon
Scrambed Thoughts
þ Twilight
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
I smile once again.
Ominous clouds part
as sunlight shines upon my cheeks;
Warmth somehow pushes its way
into my twisted, wrenched heart -
so cold...and so ripped...
which stitches -seem- to mend.
Yet...time and time again,
a brief chill creeps in -
Spiraling me down for a second,
forcing me to take small breaths.
For past glimpses return
...and damning guilt invades...
"damn you" echoes repetitively
in my brain...
Confusion sets in;
I don't know how to feel.
Helping one, I hurt another...
as I also hurt myself
There is no answer
but only the present
(which nostalgia wants to thwart)
If I could...
I would help all who writhe
...in agony.
But my help only leaves
empty shells...
shells, where once dwelled feeling.
For -once-, maybe -
Maybe I should only think
of Myself...and no one else,
And choose the lesser pain -
the one with warm rays of sun...
But I'll just ride the wave,
unknowing.
Letting myself be swept and swayed
by the tide of fate.
Greeting each new morning
with an open mind and heart,
freely awaiting...
anything set out for me.
Only looking -
where I am heading -
while strongly resisting that urge
to painfully look back.
Riding into the sunset,
clearing my mind of the past,
openly basking in the warmth
...and leaving the cold night
behind the stern,
in my wake.
"Ye shall seek the truth, and the truth shall make you free."
Summer Reading
þ Erin@acpub.duke.edu
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
It was the summer joe maxwell
started blushing when he talked to you
and construction workers
called to us in our cut-offs
and bikini tops
which hadn't even
rippled
pool water before.
We lived in the library
because it had air
conditioning unlike the dogday
durham tobacco swamp outside
and it was still too hot to swim.
We gathered the books
we had seen giggled over
on the bus, and pried them open
like blossoms, licking the juice
from our hands.
The entire canon of judy bloom
sticky secret girls clubs
boys alone with telescopes
in the dark,
the way growing hurt
like tulips hurt the soil
pushing free to such brief glory.
Other books too
we found by accident.
they made our cheeks hot,
so many torn clothes
and words to suck on
and guess at
all the well bent pages
your shining hair
skimming the light out of the room.
In later summers
I stayed around the pool
flirting with water balloons
and stolen cigarettes,
while your long folding legs
promised early
that back library room
where you would
lend your fifteen year-old
body to the real thing.
ready to get to the bottom
you said, get to the bottom
of this. Shakespeare's Golden Age
was right by your head
and The Metaphors of Huck Finn
left open on the cold floor
and him rolling on a condom
not touching you
pushing, chafed and pushing
while you cried.
"Never in a million words could Kurt have written those lyrics. His trick was
to pile on a heart-shaped maze of nonlinear phrases that ended up creating a
powerful image. Courtney went straight for the nuts." Ä Jim Connelly
Sweet Violation
þ Chance
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
A thought; the cool air warms
A glance; my heart races
A brush of the hand; my palms grow moist
A gentle touch; my body trembles
A whisper; my breath comes quick
A lingering caress; my voice falters
A kiss; my passion swells
A sweet violation; my voice is strong
A euphoric release; my sex shudders
I am breathless.
"Why were you thinking that?"
That Gal
þ Tofupup
ùúùúùúùúù
Matt, Jeremy, and I were sitting in Dobie. They had never told me why
the hell we were there, and frankly, I didn't give a shit. I was having a
boffo time, and had the scowl on my face to prove it. I hadn't looked at
Jeremy or Matt for the past fifteen minutes or so, and they could've been
going down on each other for all I knew.
A lady was walking past, walking that walk that women walk when they want
you to know that their destination is an erotic one. I pulled out my
microcassette recorder, didn't press any buttons, and spoke into it. "A lady
was walking past, walking that walk that women walk when they want you to know
that their destination is an erotic one."
She stopped, turned to me, and said, "Fuck it. Fuck you." She lithely
sat down and smoothed her dress. "You weren't even recording, you fucker."
"You noticed."
"That's right, shit. Was that for my benefit or something?"
"You're HERE, aren't you?"
She scratched her head, not in the way that makes you think someone is
confused, but in the way that lets you know someone is taking one's time to
annoy you.
"Do you snag a lot of girls like that?"
"Counting you?"
She gave me a look. I'm not sure what it meant. It looked like a
quasi-scornful, semi-you-suck look.
"Well, actually, I wasn't trying to pick anyone up," I said as I
shrugged.
"So what was the point?"
I pointed to the drunk guy on the bench across from us. I pointed at the
people in Burger King. I pointed, without looking, to over where Matt and
Jeremy were.
"So it was a gift. A gift to no one in particular?" she asked.
"No. A gift to everyone in particular."
I could have sworn that some people from Burger King were looking in my
direction, and my newfound companion saw it, too.
"It's the hat, you know," she said.
"What is?" I reached up and fondled one of Bruce's loose teeth.
"Those people," she nodded at the Burger King. "It's not because of your
gift."
"Yeah," I replied, "it never is."
We paused for a moment, and she reached over and gently removed the
cassette record from my hands. She pressed the "play" and "record" buttons
and spoke into it. "A trucker walked past, walking that walk men walk when
they have to take a dump."
"You're good," I said.
"You think so?"
"Oh yeah. Could be--"
"Could be what? Could be better? You think you can do better?"
"Well, yes, actually, but that isn't what I was go--"
"Prove it. If you do better, I'll give you a kiss."
"And if I lose?"
"No confidence in yourself?"
I took the recorder and pressed the "play" and "record" buttons.
"A trucker walked past, walking that walk men walk when they want you to know
they have to take a dump."
She looked at me, leaned over, and kissed my cheek. Then, she stood and
began walking away. She paused, turned back and said, "You were right, you
know..."
I gave her an inquisitive look.
"About my destination."
She turned and walked away.
"I don't go along with organized religion and the way it has come about. I
believe in God, but not as one thing, not as an old man in the sky. I
believe that what people call God is something in all of us. I believe that
what Jesus and Mohammed and Buddha and all the rest said was right. It's
just that the translations have gone wrong." Ä John Lennon
The Assassin
þ Alton Naerth
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
The man slips out into the night...
The night envelopes him,
He makes no sound.
Covered in black from head to toe,
Only his deep blue eyes gleam free of black.
It is the dress of his profession.
He steals silently up to the house...
And into the room of his victim,
Who sleeps soundly the sleep of innocence.
He produces the tool of his trade...
It also gleams, but only for a moment,
With blinding speed his victim is bleeding,
Still sleeping, only it's the sleep of death.
The man slips out into the night...
The night engulfs him,
He makes not a sound.
He emerges at his home...
And he changes clothes,
The memories of the night flying away.
All this, did not disturb me...
Until I looked into the mirror,
And saw those blue eyes looking back at me,
Looking into my soul.
That man was me...
But what made me lament,
Lament for the forseeable death of my happiness,
Was when I saw all the pain behind those eyes,
And I did not care...
I slip out into the night...
For it is my home, my sanctuary,
I make not a sound,
Except the tortured screams of my soul...
"My mind is most definitely my worst enemy." Ä Twilight
The End
þ Cathleen - CrappyB@ix.netcom.com
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
Suicide no simple thought
A multi-complex plot
Coming in so many forms
Embellished and adorned
From easy thoughtless cutting
To combinations fraught with cunning
I wrap my head in layers of plasic
Choke my air with tight elastic
Thick around my throat
Drugs in pockets of my coat
A backup plan to failure
Of firm intent I am sure
Methods abound in plenty
Outlets to insanity
A blistered, fevered heart
Incurable in part
The balance a dull ache
And despair I cannot shake
Fueled by a twisted mind
Reactions in kind
To stimuli from shattered past
Relationships not meant to last
Coloring all that's present
With feelings of resent
Towards my hapless helpers
Often treated like a leper
My brain a constant threat
Thoughts engorged with fret
To do myself harm
Holds constant charm
Surcease from sorrow
I'll die tomorrow
My friend
The end.
"Now I may be very positive - yes, yes - but I also go through deep
depressions where I would like to jump out the window, you know. It
becomes easier to deal with as I get older; I don't know whether you learn
control or, when you grow up, you calm down a little." Ä John Lennon
The Ice Monster Of Emptiness
þ Antony@nohost.com
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
The page grins at me
with supine smugness.
It holds a power over me
and binds me to its spell.
It knows I cannot resist,
cannot help but travel once more
across the tundra,
leaving a footprint scrawl
spelling out mental wanderings.
Yet at the start,
always at the start
I feel a moment of fear.
A gnawing dread bites
at my stomach
and, daunted, I hesitate to step
upon the snowy crispness,
believing for a single moment
of speckled, frozen time
that I will stumble and fall.
But 'tis only for a second,
until the emotional cavalier,
clad in the armour of words,
mounts his equine pen
and, with a firm grip
around his lancing wit,
sets out
onto an untouched page
"Walk up the street and you can see the shiny, pale skyline from a grassy
park. My mom works in one of those buildings; I went to her office once.
From the forty-third floor, it looked so great and different. The twisted
mess of highways with any large city, and the crisscross of small streets,
but there is something I haven't seen. There's so much forest and green,
with little commercial builts popping out in random places. It made me
think of what I thought the future should be. Like a highway at night or
a new sound coming out of a hazy bar." Ä Stephen Lush
The Self
þ Kim Clemente
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
My divine inspiration has survived
Years of uncertainty.
I have tasted the sweet breath of life
With obscene depth and intensity.
With me, there is no equality of emotion,
No middle ground.
I talk of the loss of self, the frustration
Of self-deception and reflection
While the pleasures of the flesh ignore me.
I destroy myself with sarcastic logic,
Chaining my soul, an eternally tragic flaw.
Once again, my search for inner truth
Has led to the same scene.
The inconsistencies, the impurities, the insecurities
Are an age old trap to stumble through.
They provide a distraction from the
Significance of this life.
The only way to see it through is to close your eyes,
Find what lies inside, and chase down
In a maddened fury, the love that keeps us alive.
"We dance in a ring and suppose; the secret sits in the middle and knows."
To David Lee
þ Twilight
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
Crying sessions
Teardrops fall
Curled up like fetuses
Turned, facing the wall.
Misunderstanding everything
Gaping holes inside
Feelings of being unwanted
Truths transform into lies.
Forgetting about true love
Forgetting about the care
Our hearts burn in agony
Further, into despair.
The biggest mistake
Bottling up our thoughts
Our feelings, our pains
So that inside of us, they rot.
The ever-present doom
Overpowering self-hatred
The continuing cycle of anguish
The desires to be dead.
Exhaustion, at last
Brings sleep to our eyes
Unpleasant dreams invade
Fears that our love will die.
After such a crisis
Being so far apart
For the longest time ever
Will nearly break my heart.
But we may stumble upon obstacles
And we may fall upon wars
But no matter how bloody the battle
And no matter how massive the rock
Darling, I will continue to love you
More than you will ever know...
And believe you me,
There is no way in hell
That I am ever letting you go...
"Love is about sacrifice and equality of sacrifice. Love is about
appreciation for achievement and support for failure. It is about respect
for the emotions of the one you love, and the expectation that you will have
that respect from her as well. It's about coming to the realization that you
could, if necessary, live without the person you love... But you could never
forget her. Love is an emotion that is at once the most rewarding and the
most unforgiving of all. It allows for personal failure and personal
mistakes, but it does not allow for deceit or unfaithfulness. It allows
inherent trust, but frowns upon bitterness. It allows forgiveness, but not
the ability to forget. But love, despite its apparent restrictions, also
allows the most incredible rewards. They include the realization that there
is a person in the world who cares for you more than anyone else, a person
who is your best friend and most consistent cheerleader, who would do almost
anything to keep that emotional bond between herself and you. Even when
things are darkest, true love is a perpetual beacon eternally guiding the
way ahead. Eventually, there is a feeling of fulfillment at the end; after
a lifetime of living and loving, the realization that you have sustained love
and made it stronger is quite a feeling. But most of all, love is an emotion
that aks for more than a day of attention. Valentine's Day is well and good
for Hallmark, but true love asks for a lifetime's worth of Valentine's Days."
Ä Steven Hawkins, _The Daily Texan_, 14 Feb 95
Untitled
þ Rafael Rentena
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
I'm looking for the woman
from the end of the limb
I'm looking for the woman
from the heart of the abyss
She has a gun on her bookshelf
a sword on her hip
a pen in her hand
paint in her hair
magic in her wand
a dollar in her pocket
her head on her shoulders
her sex between her legs
milk in her breasts
moist earth beneath her feet
a laugh in her throat
a purr in her chest
a glow in her belly
a child in her eyes
a home in her heart
and me on her mind.
Untitled
þ Silent Scream
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
i suppose i'll stop...
fishing for sympathy
when all i come up with
is ignorance and apathy
i suppose i'll stop...
dwelling on the past
wondering
if i've done something wrong
i suppose i'll stop...
living one day at a time
and focus on a point
that lies a second ahead
i suppose i'll stop...
the neverending pain
with a permanent solution
to a permanent problem.
i suppose i'll stop
listening to my friends
who want me to dodge the problem at hand
i suppose i'll stop...
the neverending pain
i suppose i'll stop...
the dependence
i suppose...
i suppose i will
stop.
"He has outsoared the shadow of our night;
Envy and calumny and hate and pain
And that unrest which men miscall delight,
Can touch him not and torture not again;
From the contagion of the world's slow stain
He is secure..." Ä Gina Arnold, quoting Shelley, regarding Kurt Cobain
Untitled
þ Silent Scream
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
that's the last time i bash my head on my keyboard
that's the last time i don't `confirm hangup`
i need a shoulder to cry on
this desk is so cold and hard.
unyielding
and you're probably mad at me,
doing something else,
in effect a sort of `fuck him, if he is going to be like that`
and frankly i don't blame you
it's a miracle that you've stuck around with me this long
but i didn't wait long for the call that never came
before i called back...
because i miss you
and being here or on the phone,
which has been denied,
is the only way i can get close to you...
and i can only really get close when we're together...
and hearing you say what you say,
seeing you write what you write is at times unbearable
given the time it was written at...
after the talk, and today..
today sucked.
and i think she isn't there...
she is where i thought she was,
in her room assuming i was off to kill myself
and content to think so...
assuming this is zimmerly or schneider or lush or benson on here now
and not another person who now thinks
she is staring at the screen, coldly.
not about to help things
so i suppose i'll wait for another half an hour for her to call again
do you know what sennifer
my fan is on
my computer is on
my lights are off except for my bathroom light
and i love you.
i fear life a lot
i love you.
"CMLC - that's Courtney Michelle Love Cobain in AOL mode - turned out to be a
true innovator, the first writer to be read both extensively online. Love's
cuttingly funny stream-of-consciousness essays were distributed throughout
the Internet by sycophants who slavishly imitated her rants in their own
discombobulated postings. Love took on everyone from "fishdick" Steve Albini
to attention-starved suicidal kids with prose like 'CALL THE FUCKING HOTLINE
OR WRITE TO VEDDER - I'M ROOF BORNE MYSELF STOP IT YOU LITTLE ATERNATEEN
BRATS!!!' More than any hypster you'll read in a tree-killer medium, Love
understands what online America is all about. Ill communication, indeed."
Ä Alyssa Katz
Weather
þ Amy
ùúùúùúù
sun
beaming
scorching
melting my steering wheel
rain
pouring
falling
uh.. raining
hail
crashing
falling
denting the FUCK outta my car, and that's the part that really pisses me off,
'cause all i have is liability insurance, and so i hafta live with these dents
for the remainder of my existence.
"How come I never get used to passing a stranger on a sidewalk?"
Ä Stephen Lush
When I Close My Eyes, I See Pictures
þ Drucilla B. Blood
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
I remember when
I used to watch you sleep
The room was very dark
And I would stand at the
other side
And slowly inch forward
Shadows played all over your
face
And there were three silver
angels who beckoned
you into their dream
I'm at the foot of the bed
and drawing nearer when
my soul goes out
But I was so afraid to
touch you then
Your eyes were closed
I could see your face
straining to follow
those angels
I held my breath until I felt numb
smaller and smaller
until maybe I might not
have been there at all
Wanted so badly to lay
beside you
Press my head so near to
yours
And let the angels
swallow us up
Together.
"What are you thinking now?"
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Üß ßÜÜß Üß Ü ßßÜßÝßÜß ÜÜ ßÜßßÜ ß
Üß ÜßßÜÜß ÜßßÜ ßÝß ÜßÜ ßÜßßÜ ß
Üß ÜßßßÝÜß ÜÜßÜÞÜßÜß ÛÞßßÜ ß
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Legalize.
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
Submit your original literary works for Spilled Ink, [volume four], to
Twilight.
Actual Reality: (512) 873-1900 (to Green Hell)
After Ours: (512) 320-1650 (to Twilight)
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Liberty: (800) 474-1818 (to Alaskan Twilight)
telnet liberty.com
Or by Internet e-mail:
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