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The Neo-Comintern 172
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t h e n e o - c o m i n t e r n e l e c t r o n i c m a g z i n e
I n s t a l l m e n t N u m b e r 1 7 2
We Are the New International
October 7th, 2001
Editor: BMC
Writers:
Gnarly Wayne
BMC
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;P Featured in this installment .b
$ $
$ P-Noid Like Some Guy Freud - Gnarly Wayne $
$ Skin Space for Rent - BMC $
`q p'
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EDITOR'S NOTE
(please do not read the following)
An appropriate question to kick off this issue might be "So who wants to
have some fun?"
The answer would be "Me!"
I hope you'd be the one giving that answer, but I'll understand if such
is not the case. If you want to have some non-fun, I suggest that you
print out a copy of this issue and save it for another time, for this
fun will wait for you, unlike things that exists for finite periods of
time. This issue will be around forever, as long as you keep it with
you. Who knows? It might be worth it someday! So in many years from
now, when you are old and lonely and bored (assuming you don't die
sometime earlier, like tomorrow afternoon), read this copy which you have
just printed out and relive your youth in ways which were never possible
while this was a fragile file floating off the internet. (Note: if you
are old and lonely and reading this off the internet, I apologize. I was
not trying to exclude you from the fun. In fact, I would like to extend
my greatest wishes that you enjoy this issue all the more.
And on that note, we shall commence forthwith with the fun.
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;P P-NOID LIKE SOME GUY FREUD .b
`q by Gnarly Wayne p'
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I sat alone in my five-cornered room. I liked the silence. I liked
the darkness. I liked the...
<knock><knock>
I heard the dull thumps echo throughout the hallway, begging me to come
near.
"No," I said in a low voice, trailing off at the end.
<knock><knock>
"Hey, come on, man, let me in!" I heard muffled from the other side.
I clung onto the stairway banister, shaking overcoming my body. I made
my way slowly to the door, not knowing what lay on the other side.
Perhaps it was Death, coming to take me away into that eternal bliss that
is everlasting sleep. Perhaps it was just my friend Jimmy, coming to
play.
Or coming to kill me.
The thought slowly creeped through my brain like an oil leak. The more I
thought about it, the more it made sense. Jimmy was Death. I vowed not
to give up without a fight.
I opened the door.
"Hey dude," I said.
"Hey, loser," Timmy smiled at me, "What took you so long?"
"Oh nothing, just preparing some supper," I said.
Yeah, just preparing to defend myself again the cold, cold steel of your
blade, Timmy.
"So, what's new?" he innocently asked.
"Aww.. not much. Same ole isht," I bantered.
Timmy sauntered into my house and made himself at home. Hmmm... is that
why he wanted me dead? For my house. Perhaps, but I wasn't that well
off. Timmy walked over to my gold-plated, sapphire encrusted edition of
N64 and said, "Hey, let's play."
"What? So you can kill me in a video game?" I said.
So you can kill me in real life, Timmy? Yeah, that's what'd you like,
isn't it? I could see Timmy was a crafty one. I'd have to keep my eye
on him.
"Oh, alright. Hey, anything good on TV?" Timmy said.
"Beats me," I replied.
Of course there was something good on TV. There is always something good
on TV. I had all 5,200 channels available in the world, and even a few
extra-planar channels as well.
"Want something to eat?" I asked.
"Sure, I'm hungry, I guess," he answered.
You won't fool me into thinking you a dummy, clever Timmy. Of course he
knew if he was hungry or not. Who doesn't?
I crept into the kitchen and withdrew a large butcher's knife from the
drawer. It was extra sharp because I had just sharpened it for the 14th
time this morning. The only way for me to live was to get the drop on
Timmy. I saw my reflection on the smooth, shiny surface of the knife.
I was such a dashing young man. I could hear Timmy talking on his cell
in the next room. I wagered that he was talking his master, Satan,
informing him the deed was almost done. Not if I could help it.
I slowly slid around to the other entrence to the living room. It
wouldn't be a living room much longer. One of us was to die here
tonight, their blood slowly soaking into the fine, plush interior. I
could see the back of Timmy's head as I sneaked up behind him. I licked
the butcher's blade and tasted blood. Soon, my pet... soon. Soon.
Just as I was about to raise the knife for the killing blow, Timmy stood
up and faced me. I quickly hid the knife.
"Hey, jackass. My mom wants me to go home, so I guess I'll see you
later," he said as he put on his shoes and went outside to his car.
Damn you, Timmy! You probably never intended to kill me today. No!
Instead, you want me to writhe in fear and agony, just waiting for the
right moment when my guard is down to plunge your dark, unholy spear
right through my body! How could I survive? At some point, I'd have to
sleep. That would be the time when Timmy would pounce. But how could I
avoid sleep? How?
How?
How?
How?
How?
How?
How?
How?
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;P SKIN SPACE FOR RENT .b
`q by BMC p'
`nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'
I've got nothing wrong with tattoos - except that they are
advertisements. and I've got nothing wrong with advertisements - except
that they promote capitalism. There's no problem with capitalism either -
except that it is synonymous with the domination and exploitation of the
working class by the ruling class.
Wait a millisecond - maybe there IS something wrong with tattoos!
So let me recap: it is fact that advertisements promote capitalism and
that capitalism promotes domination and exploitation of the working
class - therefore advertisements promote domination and exploitation of
the working class. So if tattoos are, in fact, advertisements, then it
is fact that tattoos promote domination and exploitation of the working
class!
Well let's see... when someone gets a tattoo of a logo, that is
undoubtedly an advertisement. I have seen people with tattoos of clothing
brand-name symbols, national flags of various kinds, cartoon characters,
religious symbols, and several other things. All of these tattoos give
me a message - "the logo, nation, cartoon/movie, religion that I have had
etched into my skin is superior and I would recommend for anyone to
support it." I hate that. I hate being told what to support.
Furthermore, these people are extremely naive, as they are not receiving
any sort of payment for getting these advertisements tattooed onto them.
Money-making organizations are supposed to pay for advertising, and one
would think this would be especially applicable for advertisements where
people have needles stuck into their flesh and ink inserted under their
skin that will taint the appearance of their body permanently. You'd
think that human life would be pretty expensive to buy - but no! People
don't get paid anything for it - and to make it all the more ridiculous,
they PAY money to have it done to them.
Now I have already spoken about the tattoos that are blatant
advertisements, but what about the ones that are not? Well what about a
dolphin for example? Or a Celtic knot - lots of people get those. Well,
as far as the Celtic knot goes, I would assume that anyone who is
tattooed with one is fully aware of all the implications of supporting
the Celtic culture, and fully believe in and agree with all of the
practices and policies of the Celts. If such is not the case, the tattoo
wearer is just another lackey who does not understand the implications of
what they are doing. Now as for the dolphin - that's just ridiculous.
Am I to believe that the dolphin is a superior animal to any other? I
think not. You're preaching to the converted, my tattooed friend, and
you're just alienating yourself from the rest of us by pissing us all off
completely. So basically, fuck your dolphins, you stupid sappy
unconscious dolphin drone. Dedicate your virgin skin to the dolphins,
and they will have the last laugh. I've yet to see a dolphin who is
stupid enough to get a tattoo advertising humans.
Then there is the "but it's part of my personality" tattoo. For example,
every guitarist I have ever met has had a tattoo of a flaming guitar.
It's not an ad - well it is, but it's just self-promotion. That's not as
bad - in fact, I have no problem with it - in theory. Now look at the
flaming guitar. What shape is it? AHA! That shape promotes a style of
guitar, a brand of guitar. It is an advertisement like any other. If it
is a colour tattoo it even advertises what colour of guitar is superior.
Plus, the whole thing is an advertisement supporting the superiority of
the guitar over other instruments! How can I be happy about that? Well
I guess that would be like if I...
OK, what if I was going to get an "I'm a writer, it's part of my
personality" tattoo? A flaming pen perhaps? Well would it be a bic pen?
A fountain pen? What colour would the ink be? Or would it be a pencil?
Would it be mechanical? .5mm or .7mm leads? Hey wait a second, I don't
even use a pen or pencil! So I would need to get a tattoo of a flaming
keyboard! Would it be an IBM keyboard, an apple keyboard, a palm pilot
keyboard, or one of those so-called "natural" keyboards that I can't type
worth a shit on anyway? Well it probably wouldn't be the last one, but
other than that, my options are endless and each one promotes a different
product. I think the responsible thing for me to do would be to get none
of the above. I'm opting out.
Now I'm still of the opinion that self-promotion is not an evil thing.
If you want to promote yourself by word of mouth or in some other way,
that is ok with me. Be careful, though, because if you speak in English
you may be in danger of promotion the English language beyond what is
ethical.
I've got only one solution, one way to leave my world untainted by
tattoos (therefore advertisements, therefore capitalism, therefore
domination and exploitation). It is to get a full body tattoo of myself,
so that when people look at me, they say, "Hey, you look like you!" I
will look like me. I'll get the nose tattooed over my nose, arm tattooed
over my arm, etc. I will be tattooed but still be natural-looking.
or
I can promote myself, my own freedom, my own natural state of being by
NOT getting a tattoo. Every square centimetre of skin will bear my
flesh, a smooth-running and beautiful advertisement for my own untouched
self.
And now I will be pure, allowing myself neither to be affected or to
affect others with promotion of capitalism. I will think clearly, seeing
past the propaganda and living in this world without adding to society's
problems in any way that I can conceptualize. And I will keep trying to
make the world better. And I will scream until I die this sunny Spring
weekend, as I lay with my girlfriend in the country grass, removing her
sweater to see, in big red letters, the words "Coca-Cola" carved across
her breast.
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___________________________________________________
|THE COMINTERN IS AVAILIABLE ON THE FOLLOWING BBS'S |
|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|
| TWILIGHT ZONE (905) 432-7667 |
| BRING ON THE NIGHT (306) 373-4218 |
| CLUB PARADISE (306) 978-2542 |
| THE GATEWAY THROUGH TIME (306) 373-9778 |
|___________________________________________________|
| Website at: http://members.home.com/comintern |
| Questions? Comments? Submissions? |
| Email BMC at: thebmc@home.com |
|___________________________________________________|
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Copyright 2001 by The Neo-Comintern #172-10/07/01
All content is property of The Neo-Comintern.
You may redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and the
content must not be altered or modified in any way. Unauthorized use of any
part of this document is prohibited. All rights reserved. Made in Canada.
