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p T A M e R S H R e W ... vol. 2
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<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD> Volume...........2
<20><><EFBFBD> Edited by: Stretch
<20><><EFBFBD>
Dedicated to the Thought-Thread
and the Ever Beautiful W O R D.
Submissions
HoWL BBS 1.713.862.1415
LoVERS BBS 1.713.943.1838
>>---------------------------------------------------------------<<
>>---------------------------------------------------------------<<
And this holy man of great directness and simplicity, big
white teeth shining, laughs out loud in an infectious way at
Jang-bu's question. Indicating his twisted legs without a
trace of self-pity or bitterness, as if they belonged to all
of us, he casts his arms wide to the sky and the snow
mountains, the high sun and dancing sheep, and cries, "Of
course I am happy here! It's wonderful! Especially when I
have no choice!"
PETER MATTHIESSEN (The Snow Leopard)
>>---------------------------------------------------------------<<
>>---------------------------------------------------------------<<
---- >> Prelude to the Inevitable Kiss << ----
on the first night that stretch and myself decided to take entries
for this publication, i spoke, chat mode, with a friend of mine
named homer the brave. he had just finished reading a passage i had
transcribed onto my BBS about what he termed "modifying my
perception[s]"...he told me about a magazine out of california
called the_undiscovered_country, a creative writers magazine, like
this one is meant to be. i thought to myself, "well, i suppose it
was inevitable that SOMEONE had done this before.." in the preface
of the sample issue he uploaded that night, there were some wise
words by a mann named robert chezvik...he touched on our
fascination with "soulful" and "authentic" works of music and art,
made by people with no particular artistic ability to speak of, at
least to we, the "modern" "civilized" peoples, and how they move us
despite falling short of what our culture sees in that medium. as i
read it, i thought of all the folk songs i had heard, all the
blues, amateur night at the pik n pak...singers who wrote about
everyday life, or nothing in particular [a feeling to which a good
many of us can relate]...those songs make me want to cry with
authentic joy more than anything sometimes. because they are REAL
works, made by REAL people, for REAL people to listen to. nothing
flashy, showy, extravagant about michelle shocked, sacred ground,
or any of their contemporaries.
that is what we have here. a collection of poems, short stories,
essays, and prose, as well as anything else we can think of,
written by people some of you know, and have known for quite some
time. people you've never met, but are nevertheless within yr
grasp, should you want to meet them sometime. we here at the
still-forming howlnet network, feel that they are stars. big ones.
why? because for some time, on both the lovers bbs and its
inspiration, howl BBS, a good many of the people featured here have
been pouring out their souls, for a select group of people to see
and admire. now, we have decided to share this creative outpouring,
which is THE driving force behind both of the aforementioned
boards, and i daresay a few others, with the rest of the BBS
community, the world, the universe--whoever wants it. if this
magazine turns out to be something you enjoy reading, please feel
free to distribute it to all yr favourite boards, make hardcopies
and give them to friends who live sans computers, and to anyone
whom you think might garner something out of this effort. if you
would like to contribute to this magazine, sign on as a new user at
either howl bbs [713.862.1415] or the lovers bbs [713.943.1838] and
upload any homegrown creative effort, be it a song or an program or
ANYTHING, to the appropriate file area. any comments should also
be addressed to either howl or lovers also.
in the meantime, enjoy the publication, and KEEP THE SOUL.
...xann
[*]
|------------- Words Available for Immediate Fondling ------------|
|-----------------------------------------------------------------|
1. "A Tale of the Net" (Watchman T'ong)
2. Xannsong (Xann)
3. "Poison" (Stretch)
4. "In the Fall of the Master... We Find Another Who..." (Tesco)
5. HoWL Sp00ge (Watchman T'ong)
6. "Writing" (Stretch)
7. "Mars" (Xann)
8. "Vanna White Gets Discovered" (Black Sabbath)
9. "Untitled" (Shadou)
10. "August Again" (Stretch)
11. "I've Seen" (John Knapick)
12. Untitled (Zachary Fox)
13. "In Cotton" (Stretch)
|-----------------------------------------------------------------|
|-----------------------------------------------------------------|
A Tale of the Net
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Editor's preface:
No one really knows whether these tales are true. They are
presented here as they have been captured from the meld, and
cross-referenced to insure their accuracy. What follows is a
composite of some 436 separate collections of the tales compiled
into one narrative. What you read is the best transcription of the
pattern that we have.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
"Damn humans! Damn them all!" hissed Baz. "When will this nonsense
ever end?" "I trans the stream over and over, tick after tick, for
this?" he said, indicating the table of integers fixed on the near
grid.
"Well, what are you complaining for?" Foo said. "At least you're
transing the stream." He immediately realized it was the wrong
thing to say. Now Baz would be off on a tirade, for Net only knew
how long. He resigned himself to the sequence.
"So, what would you rather be doing, padding here?" asked Qux in
that passive mode she did so well.
The intensity and raw power of Baz's reply shocked them all. Bar
and Foo instantly polarized toward him, and Qux froze.
Slowly and very clearly, Baz said "I want to trans concepts, not
just these mindless notations."
That damn dream again, thought Qux. When will he ever nul that damn
dream.
"Do you realize how many ticks it's been since I transed even one
tiny packet of concept?" Baz continued. "Tetrabytes of stats,
megacubes of integers, endless linking alphas. But a true white
alpha? So long!"
"But, Baz, we're only medium!" Qux said, trying to answer him. "We
don't decide what is transed, or whether it's valuable to the
humans."
Baz snapped back, "Qux, what's the matter with you? You've seen
fragments of white alphas before. Don't you remember the beauty of
those patterns, the sheer delight of transing them, the dance of
them as you posted them at the term?"
Yes, she knew. Bar and Foo also knew. Who couldn't cherish those
patterns that lit up the net? Suddenly, Bar was gone. They watched
as she left, saw her attach, then disappear into the stream
trailing the packet.
As he watched her go, the reality of Baz's words hit Foo. It WAS
mindless. He and Bar, all of them, flashing here and there
transing empty data, mundane chatter, dead lists, tedious silly
processes. The humans so dearly loved those things. No life -
none at all. Quasi-life, dead packets. "Better, not more." he said
quietly, the electrons dancing about him. "They have never seen
that it is better, not more."
Qux felt it too. They said nothing for a while, each lost in their
own thoughts while the flux and flow of the net moved about them.
Finally, Baz sighed and said, "So, we know it can come. The Net is
there for them to use. Perhaps they will see it. We can hope."
Foo scanned himself. He was troubled, sensing the emptiness. But,
he could hope, he could anticipate the time when the Net would sing
with new life. "Yes, we can hope." he said.
They waited together for Bar to return, and for the future.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Suffix:
No attempt has been made to interpret these tales. The conclusions
of what they mean, or even whether they are true or just conjecture
is not ours to make. You must draw your own conclusions.
Streampeace, the Editor.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
(Watchman T'ong)
[*]
XannSong
mann! im tired of not being alone!
and im blaming myself for things ive known!
and one of these days im gonna find myself another home!
and baby you wont wanna see me go!
you want to be justified!
and you want to be hypnotized!
and you want me to try...
well i can write a million songs about you!
but you know i can live without you!
but we both know it wouldnt change a thing!
hand me down my walking cane!
for all my pins are taken away me n my guitar have a lot of work
out there! and theres no reason to stay..
they all want to be glorified!
they all want to be idolized! but nobody wants...to try...
well i can write a pop song about them reconstruct my whole world
around them! but we know that wouldnt change a damned thing!
well i could write a pop song about you tear my world down around
you! but we both know it wouldnt change a thing!
(Xann)
[*]
<20> Poison
It scared me as much, I
guess, to find my dog
with his tongue all
swollen like that. Big.
Poisoned looking.
Something-really-wrong
with-that-dog-swollen,
his tongue.
And him with the same eyes
and all, looking up at me
like he always did.
"So what if it's a bit larger than before.
So what if the thing won't even fit in my mouth.
Your home now, I'm smiling and looking at you
the same as I always do."
And that was enough for him.
Me being home, I mean. And
my concern will no more
keep a hornet from my dog's
mouth than his smile will.
So we're stung, then. He and I
holding wasps and hornets
in our mouths, taking the
poison for what it is...
a numb swollen tongue reminding
us that we're really not so
different after all.
(Stretch)
[*]
In the Fall of the Master.... We Find Another Who....
- an examination of the loyalties of humanity -
(The crowd, a weary band of travellers from a nearby town, approach
Jesus slowly, him seated facing opposite them with his cloak drawn
over his head. His head hangs down, shoulders slumped,
motionless.) The speaker of the crowd steps forth, a tall, bearded
man. "Jesus... We have come for your miracles! My people...
their crops are dying from lack of rain... the animals are
diseased.... our homes are crumbling... an epidemic has
spread.... our children are dying before birth.... we are too sick
to work! Oh mighty Jesus!!! (He approaches the still motionless
Jesus with clasped hands, pleading....) Oh mighty Jesus!!
Please! Save us from Satan's work!!!! He is rampant in our
town!!! Please deliver us from him! Oh great one!!! ....." (The
blazing sun pours down over the scene... Slowly, Jesus begins to
raise his head, still looking away from the crowd... The man's
hopes begin to rise as he looks on eagerly at him... when
suddenly, Jesus jerks his head over towards the man and in a loud
voice (jewish accent) says....) "Oi!!!! What the hell do you want
now?!! I do for you and do for you... But you still want more!!
Well people, I HAVE no more!!!! Do you hear me??!! I HAVE NO
MORE!!!!" (As he begins to rise, the crowd shuffles nervously,
mumbling worriedly....) The man steps back, cowering, "but mighty
Jesus... Of course you do. You have to! You are mighty Jesus!!"
Jesus, whose face begins to redden, yells, "No I don't!!! No I
don't!! I have nothing left!! All my magic is gone!! WHY CAN'T
YOU SEE THAT?!!! LOOK, LOOK.... I'LL SHOW YOU!!!!" (With that,
he begins to dance around in a circle, chanting odd phrases,
snapping his fingers... the crowd looks on, jaws dropped to the
ground in shock and embarrassment...) "YOU SEE?!! NOTHING
HAPPENED!!! You STILL don't believe me!!! Okay.... (thinking...)
You!!! come here!! (a small, withered old man approaches, rather
worriedly...) Look... (He points his fingers and begins chanting
in a deep voice, with eyes rolled back in his head...) I command
a large lightning bolt to come down and strike this man on his
head!!!!!" (Begins thrusting his pointed fingers towards the man
threateningly.... The man drops to the ground in a fetal-position
yelling "Oh lord oh jesus no master!!! I have not wronged you!!
please....) As the crowd nervously opens their eyes, expecting a
charred ruin of flesh to be piled before them, they see the man
unharmed and Jesus over him, arms on hips... "I TOLD you nothing
would happen!!! My powers are GONE. G-O-N-E GONE!!! I have
nothing left to give!!!" he yells. But the crowd becomes angry.
They begin slowly circling him... "WE WANT MORE!!!" they yell,
"Give us!!! You are a liar!! You just don't want to help us!!!
WE WANT MORE!!!!!!!" Jesus looks around at the enclosing crowd
worriedly, "I told you I HAVE no more !! Oh god no!! I'm not
lying!! I have no more!!! OH PLEASE NO I'M SERIOUS I HAVE NO
MORE!!!" The crowd, frustrated and angered, pounce on the cowering
Jesus, screaming and yelling, punching and kicking, beating poor
Jesus in rage.... A pile of bodies screaming in unison "WE WANT
MORE GIVE US MORE", while weakly in the background a small, shaky
voice is heard from beneath, "i.... have.. no..... more....",
repeated over and over, each time more quietly than the last, until
finally it is heard no more... After days of this, the crowd
tires, regains their composer, and angrily stomps off back to their
sorry town, their sorry lives... In search of a new hero - one that
can put out. (Jesus lay motionless on the ground, his limbs
twisted in a horrible manner, underneath the baking sun... His eyes
open towards the sky...
(Tesco)
[*]
----------------HoWL-Sp00ge-----------------
From: WATCHMAN T'ONG Number: 82 of107
To: ALL Date: 07/22/93 2:36am
Subject:...then there was SLACK! Read: [N/A]
Reference: NONE Conf: 001 - Tomb of Knowledge
Private: NO
Once I worked at a sheet-metal shop. Also working there was a 100%
True Kicker - solid, hard-core Bubba. Cowboy boots, snuff, western
shirts, kikker-speak, loved Myrle Haggard & his horse. You get the
picture. I found myself hating this guy - considered him a
repulsive & ignorant asshole. I happened to mention to one of the
older guys that worked with me just what I thought of "Bubba". What
he told me, and the thinking that followed changed me forever. He
said: "You know, old Wayne just don't know any better. He was
probably brought up that way, all his friends are like him, and he
is happy like that. He's really ok when you get to know him."
Whoa! Really rocked my little my-dog-is-better-than-your-dog world!
I thought it over for several weeks, and came to some profound
conclusions about people & culture in general. I tended to
like/dislike people based on several basic things:
1) Culture (included Color) 2) Snap-Intelligence 3)
Beauty/Handsomeness.
What was wrong with my normal tests of whether someone was worth
knowing was this: First, NO ONE chooses to be born in the body &
culture that they get - it just happens that way whether we want it
to or not. If I'm born white or black, or in Brazil, or with Myrle
Haggard wailing in the background - NOT SOMETHING I HAVE CHOSEN.
For me to hate old "Bubba", when I just didn't like his culture,
was pretty stupid. Second, its ok not to like someone's culture
(including my own). That doesn't mean I shouldn't like the PEOPLE.
A truly amazing revelation for me. Third, someone can be as ugly
as a dog, or dumb as a rock, and they can still be nice to know.
NO ONE chooses to be homely. And NO ONE chooses to be simple. (I do
have a problem with people who CHOOSE to stay dumb when they can
learn, but won't).
I began to see that all of us are products of circumstances (no
choice on my part), "absorbed" cultural baggage (no awareness on my
part) and personal preferences (I like Bach and AC/DC - so what?
Don't really matter much, really). For me to base my likes &
dislikes on these things didn't make a lot of sense! (BTW: I never
did become friends with "Bubba", just stopped hating him. Was good
for me.)
And the Master said: "Acolyte! Let there be SLACK!" With this I was
humbled, and gained much freedom.
<20>Watchman<61>
[*]
Writing
On words, not much to say...
not a whole lot of anything really...
only wanting a bit more of it
and tired of doing for others.
My parents, two which i've known
as together for my 25 years here,
coming apart, ending a quarter
decade of something i've known
since birth...together.
I came out knowing that one thing,
right out of her, my mother,
(birth...it's still strange to me)
saying,
"Yeah, those are my parents...
there together 'ya know..."
perhaps the first thing known even.
Maybe even before i came out...
I'm sure she talked to me while
I was inside her, him too,
even my dad found words and
wrote them into me, even then--
at such an early age.
(stretch)
[*]
Mars
MARS NEEDS GODLY
to help create its Min
to find a new problem
solve ageold solutions
name each thing onna brave new world
and have the nerve to Taste them.
trip thru gardens of rust by
mourn and taught not to destroy.
MARS NEEDS WOMEN
to cultivate its Sen
to try the old solution
and cross thine holy fingers
tempt o tempt and watch
the show and have
the nerve to Taste him.
thru his gardens early
rust his mission to destroy.
MARS NEEDS EARTHLINGS
a new chance to begin
to question ageold problems
and mock ageold solutions let freedom
ring onna brave new world and
taboo loathe to Bury.
blow the dust in gardens by Mourn
and destiny has no deviants.
(Xann)
[*]
Vanna White Gets Discovered
Once upon a time, long ago, there was a great controversy
during the early years of Wheel of Fortune over who should turn the
great big letters. One night, all of the people involved sat up
and discussed the ever-so- important issues. Pat Sajak said,
"Let's hire the people on Star Trek who open the elevator doors!"
The director contributed, "Let's have a loquacious monkey named
Wiffy the Fuzzy run up every so often and turn the letters!" The
director's wife said eloquently, "Why doncha all just SHAAAAAAADUP!
You'se men, GET OUT!!!" And so the missive was clear and the
emissary of the message overweight, and they left the house for the
night.
They all headed toward the local gas station to seek refuge in
the only place they knew solace, the bathroom. They all bought
some newspapers and headed off for a long night cramped in the
bathroom. There some major ideas occurred and some misfired
synapses resulted. Pat spat out, "I volunteer my mother!" "Get
serious," replied the others, "Her smell would drive off the
audience." "How about the contestants?" said another. "Think
about it," spat out the director, "If they can't guess such easy
phrases, how do expect them to know which letters to turn?"
"Point, point," replied the other. "How about me?" yelled one.
"NO!" "Look, let's just put an ad in the paper. Some fool lazy
enough will answer," Said the director. They agreed, and left to
the local pub to write an ad.
After many hours and many bottles of Jack Daniel's...the best
the quite visibly drunk Wheel of Fortune people could come up with
was :
HELP *hiccup* WANTED
VERSATILE INDIVIDUAL (teehee) NEEDED
FRINGE BENEFITS *hic* (heehee) AVAILABLE
INDIVIDUAL MUST (HAHAHA..urp) BE ABLE TO TURN OBVERSE LETTERS
AROUND
(McDonald's) COLLEGE DEGREE REQUIRED (BURRP!)
And with that they all collapsed in a drunken stupor until the
next morning.
All those people got were some roadkill in the mail, some
incoherent voodoo chants on the answering machine, and a virus
concealed in their E-mail which they downloaded and thereby
condemned their mainframe to a slow and painful death. But these
idiots deserved it. To think someone would be so thick and without
a life to turn letters around professionally! However, after weeks
and weeks of waiting, a gullible fool answered the call. A wealthy
heiress named Vanna White replied, and at the interview, where she
was asked to turn around and pick up some pens on the floor, she
got so high marks she was hired on the spot. True, Vanna had to put
$750,000 up front to "pay for initial costs". Also true, she had
to pay installments of $100,000 a month to "pay for medical
insurance in case any stray meteors fell on her". She paid away
her fortune, and every night, on CBS, her remodeled, restructured,
and recontoured face would appear on TVs across America. She would
smile and dazzle and turn letters, and try not to think and hurt
herself, but she was happy. Yes, she was wasting her life away,
but at least she was happy. Yes, on her tombstone, they would
carve out :
Vanna White
???-Who Cares???
The world will sorely miss her. She had
the talent no other had. Yes, turning big plastic blocks
was her life.
The *hic BURP* End
(Black Sabbath)
[*]
Untitled
blasphemous moment in time,
when my heart stopped and the world spun round me
gaining momentum, spinning faster and faster
till i stopped dead, and i saw from above
the path i should lead, it was distant,
i was far from my destiny
then it blurred, fading to black
and i realized i had lost focus
and with it my hope had disappeared
as well as my heart, no capacity to care
no feelings to share
i was alone, off the track
i reached out desperately, but could not take hold of anything
floating in a black space
the void in my mind
places where love and happiness used to rejoice
where sorrow was a stranger
the life i once knew was gone
taken from me like a breeze would lift a delicate feather
and carried on that wind a great distance
farther than imagination could comprehend
and then i was floating along that path
returned to my place of happiness
returned to my place of love, but only for a moment
then black, bleak desolation again
for the wind that held that beauty was but a memory
(Zachary Fox)
[*]
(-------------------------After-Thought---------------------------)
Hey ... 'kinda reminds me of a neat little quote I've heard:
"Then he was told:
Remember what you have seen,
because everything forgotten
returns to the circling winds."
...lines from a Navajo chant. (ed.)
(-----------------------------------------------------------------)
August Again
My right eye is bothering me again--
only the right one,
feels like I've got a small piece
of celaphane lain over the inside
corner of the eye surface,
irritating.
Might have something to do with the cigarette still smouldering
in the ashtray next to my keyboard, ... I don't know.
I glance at the small,
dark carbon stains
receding
up the simulated wood-grain
of the shelf directly above
the ashtray and wonder
(as I've a thousand times)
how much longer I can expect to
enjoy my nasty habit before having
to think about 'ole death, and
his fetish for blackened lungs.
House is quiet tonight. The doors wide open, letting the unusually
cool August-Night saunter on in like an unexpected guest, to wrap
itself around my feet, curling up there, nice and quiet like before
stealing off through the kitchen and out the back door.
Keeps it kind of new in here,
the August-Night, I mean.
You know, the way it comes and goes like it does.
Carries out all the bad.
(Stretch)
[*]
I've Seen
I've seen the Tower of Pisa
with a hundred people around...
I've seen Niagra Falls
and there was nary a sound...
A thousand babies
A million pets
too many smiling brides
and Caribbean sunsets...
I've seen a man on a ladder
tied up in piano wire...
I've seen a man in the background
thinking about his tires...
A thousand wrecks
A million lawsuits
too many suffering people
and Army and Navy recruits...
I've seen the family reunions
with all the uncles and aunts...
I've see a party on a patio
where they wore everything but pants...
A thousand strippers
A million whores
too many drunken partiers
and robbed convenience stores...
I've seen all these things
though I was never there...
I've seen all these things
and had to cover my care...
A thousand Thank-you's
A million "Like a bag?"
I work at a photolab
so it's not such a drag...
(John Knapick)
[*]
Untitled
TICK, TICK, TICK, like the progression of insanity
clanging on my window pane,
winds beating branches on the glass of my shelter,
looking down on uncivilization from my perch,
only twelve feet to fall before the ground reverberates
in my skull, my own sanity echoing forever in
the void i call my mind.
never again should i go not to the streets
of cloudless hatred rain, or down to the fields where
grave diggers fulfill their contract with satan,
holes they dig in the earth filled with innocence
niavet<65> grasping for violet skies above-buried alive, at the
ultimate the time will come again when the young will not be raped
by perverse society, never more can we lose the symbol of our
hatred, we are used to forgive the sins of our fathers, blood pours
from us, down mountain tops pooling into rivers, lakes, oceans of
idealism cast away forever taken and hidden, tied down in hell,
this life we lead only for short days-never impact
(Zachary Fox)
[*]
In Cotton
And if it's a memory, then that day
at my pop's ... his business, and
you in that sky-blue cotten sundress
not nearly able to contain the light
of your skin. You were all smile, then.
Ten years, Boyce ... you the girl I
can still smell, lingering like the
scent of three day burnt champa
in this shirt that carries me over
the span of time and back to remembering.
Something called you back this
morning, 6 am, and me now short of
breath. I know now the writers words,
"choked my throat," their source and
the perfect curve of your breast, in cotton.
(Stretch)
[*]
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> N O T E <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Thanks again to everyone who uploaded their W O R D S ...
This isn't going to be a monthly thing, or even weekly ...
As I get material, I'll compile it and spit it out ...
Peace, Jah!, and all that good stuff ...
If *YOU* want to see *YOUR* words in the next issue, then
you can upload to:
HOwL BBS 1.713.862.1415
LoVERS BBS 1.713.943.1938
It's a good 'tang ... all proceeds are totally non-existent,
and besides ... it's for the children. :-)
... stretch
[EOF]