textfiles/magazines/MINDFLOW/mf002.txt

mindflow #2 ascii version
06.20.94
concept/editor: joshua ruihley
    programmer:  keith shapiro

mindflow is the an attempt at getting different thoughts from people acrossed
the country and putting them together in a nice little file.  these thoughts
can be in the form of a poem, short story, brainstorm or any other kind of
self expression that can be put on a computer.  the purpose is to create a
nice mind trip that people can take once a month.  it features different views
from different people on different subjects.  all that is needed to take these
trips is an open mind, so open up your mind, and enjoy. if you would like to
submit something to be printed in future versions of mindflow, please either
mail or email us.  mindflow will not work if it isn't for 'thought donations',
so if you have something that you would like to be put in here, please,
donate your thoughts and make mindflow a trip worth taking.

all versions of mindflow can be downloaded for free from:
rip curl bbs           (versailles, ky)  : 1.606.873.6637


Untitled           Sarah Lynn Collins-----------------------------------------

     It happened again; she had left the cap off the toothpaste.  This
relationship had to end.  Her life, too.  Bob had planned this moment over and
over for the past three years, but it had always been a fantasy.  He had
always wanted to put a bullet through Annie's precious little head.  Then, as
always, he would come back to the real world and he would love her just as
much.  Or so Annie thought.  Deep down inside, he was jealous of the clothes
that she wore and the friends that she had.  On occasion, Annie would come
home and find Bob wearing her clothes in an imitations of her and playing tea
with his imaginary friends.  She was worried, but she got over it with time.
She thought she was in love.  She was in Hell.
     Tonight when Annie came home from her job at the library, Bob was in the
midst of another murder plan.  He'd do it tonight.  It had to be tonight.
Tonight.  He had the table set as always and dinner in the oven.  She went to
shower and Bob slipped back into his morbid dream.  She'd come out of the
shower, he thought, and he hug her as always, then he'd stab her in the back
with the butcher knife.  Yeah, that's what he would do.  He sneered and went
to find his weapon.  With slow, ponderous steps, he walked to the bathroom
door.  He'd do it tonight.  It had to be tonight.  Tonight. Annie walked out
of the bathroom to see Bob holding a carrot. "You know, I think I'd like
carrots for dinner, too, Darling."  Annie said before she slipped into the
bedroom.
     She made Bob sick sometimes.  She could look at him so innocently, but he
knew about her.  Her knew of her sins.  The toothpaste would be the end of
her.  He plotted other ways while she dressed.  He checked all the equipment
that he would use.  He had to do it tonight.  "Honey, would you open a bottle
of wine tonight.  I feel a little like relaxing tonight," Annie's voice
grated through the apartment.  He got a bottle of Burgundy and the cork-screw.
He could imagine the tip penetrating her head and hearing her screams.  He
grinned; he night was looking up again.  He waited and concocted his next
plan.  He glanced around the kitchen.  The blender.  He'd hit her over the
head with the blender.  No, he'd torture her first.  Her fingers and then her
hands would be removed with the blender.--He grabbed her hand and cut off her
fingers.  She screamed.  The blood splattered on his face.  He'd do it
tonight.  It had to be tonight.  Tonight.  He turned on the blender and her
screams mingled with the machine's.  He put her fingers in and watched them...
     "Bob?"  He shuddered from his dream and looked up.  There was Annie and
  her fingers still intact.
     "Bob, why did you puree the bread sticks?" she asked staring at the
blender.
     "What?!"  He snapped at her.  It was just another miserable dream, he
thought.
     "The bread sticks?"
     "Oh, that.  It's a new recipe for tomorrow's dinner."  He grumbled.
     "How lovely, Darling."  she said giving him a peck on the cheek.
     They sat down to dinner and she babbled continually about the library and
the people.  Bob dreamed:
     It was tragic.  The fire swept through the apartment and swallowed
everything in it's path.  Annie was in it's path.  She screamed his name but
he just laughed.  He wouldn't help her; this is what he wanted.  The fire was
all around her.  He heard the beams fall...
     "Bob," Annie's voice grated again, "Have you been listening to a word
I've said?  You've just been staring at the candles.  Is something wrong?"
     "No dammit!"  He pushed away from the table and slammed into the bedroom.  He'd sleep. He'd do it tonight.
It had to be tonight, dammit.  Tonight.
     Some time later, he awoke.  She was beside him on her side of the bed.
The pillow:  He'd smother her with the pillow and that would be the end  of
her.  No screams.  He grabbed his pillow and jumped on her.  He pressed the
pillow over her head.  No struggling.  No sound.  He pulled the pillow away
and it was just her pillow.  She wasn't there.
     He woke up in a cold sweat.  She was gone.  The light in the room proved
it to be morning.  He got up and made his way to the bathroom.  He splashed
his face with cold water.  She was at the library by now, he thought.  He
glanced over at the toothpaste.  It happened again.


Untitled           David Asher Brown------------------------------------------

"Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling, down down down..."
Words
Can not describe what is...
A hand reaches out to take you,
And around the sun the world spins
Around the the emptiness the universe spins...
A hand reached out and stayed, extended there;

Touches fell down
An imprint was left by the hand...
And the seas parted
The flock took to flight..
Still I stood there,
Watching vacantly...
Two people rose from the ground
And up to the clouds, the sky, the sea...
I watch...I watch, but I don't wait...

People are missing
Love, beauty, all gone, never here...

Beauty, how is it you were never here?
You left behind that piece of feeling,

"Look my way"

Now I feel the loneliness...

"Don't ever love me..."

A hand began to reach farther and farther out
I look at the hand and felt inside:do not wait, only be...
The hand flies past and grasps the person next to me...
I never understood, why the hand is most beautiful...
I could never percieve inside me why the palm, the finger tip
Helped someone to feel...
Then I looked at the soft skin...

I held a stren face, and shed not a tear
Yet still I felt empty, not within myself
But in my world...
Emptiness is a terriable metaphor...

"The suspense is terriable, I hope it will never end."

So I lay in the corner of my room
Where my bed sits next to the window
And all around me is silence
And all inside me is that fear
Of becoming a human...
I want my mind back, you bastards...

I will never have that which I seek...
I won't have my beauty...
I only have my love, yet it is not wrapped in someone else's...

So I sing...
"`Don't you...forget about me...'"


So It Is           Justin Cutway----------------------------------------------

                               when as so often
                               the slighted eye is
                               deceived THERE
                               is (           )

                               now stop to look
                               the line is
                               as is the BREATH

                               when all IS (           )
                               earn it and it
                               will (         )


Untitled           Jennifer Ray-----------------------------------------------

Sweat drenched dreams etched in the human memory
    taunting the human face.
       Horror stricken screams ricochet
         from every shadowed room.
             Shimmering tears spill form the
                shallow wells of society's eyes.
                   Hearts are open and bloody in this
                       the moment of human need.

Orbittin in the blackness of space
    is a swirling mass of predator and prey.
         Slowly eaten by the expanding rift,
              swelling beneath our meticulously clean
                   toes, that must never touch bottom.
                        It seperates mother and daughter,
                             and brothers and sisters.
                                  Hate is its weapon and its victory.

Just past midnight, we are vulnerable to
    this crack.  The quell of demons buried deep
         beneath a wall of earthen fragments.
              Inch by inch broken earth seemingly
                   heals itself.  Souls of the poet labour ardously
                        spinning their yarns and telling
                             their tales for the fate of their home,
                                  and saving our lives.


The Attic          (c) 1994 James Kight---------------------------------------

This lonely room in which I sit, keeps reality at bay
Silent years have come and gone and this existence bears no gold
Yet my despair has found no home much like a dog without his day
And empty hatred bears no grudge but keeps this soul from growing cold.

The ray of sun that visits as I ponder makes my skin so pale
But I am grateful for the light that drapes me with its dusty trail.

A frame that shows us life stagnates is nailed upon the facing wall.
Decomposition sets in slow and drives the strength from deep within.
If loving helps the lonely sinner, lifting up the heavy shawl,
Pity burns the open wound and makes of it a mortal sin.

The birds of spring have come again, and sorrow follows close behind.
Sing to me your song of life that drifts its way towards its kind.

Bittersweet the strong desire that blows away like shifting sand
And leaves the weary coarse and dreary, grasping for the empty air.
The tears come softly uninvited, resting on my withered hand
That moves no further than its home upon the metal, cold and bare.

When will life give up on me like warmth beneath the falling snow...
Who will say they knew the man that they abandoned long ago...


Education          Apryl Schilling--------------------------------------------

Angry young man
battling emotions untried
uselessly fighting chao's reign
stubbornly standing against the mass
euphoricaly dead now.
Frightened souls dance from
right to left
outwardly calm, inwardly shivering
mind reeling in shock.
Convulsing nerves twine around the
hate, an all consuming urges
fated, unfortunate wretch
linking soul to soul
doing battle to survive
helpless, screaming unanswered prayers
ominipotent creatures prowling
on to the last breath death.


Grade Point 2      (c)1994 Micheal C. Dasit-----------------------------------

paper piles in the floor
on the desk
disks and books
(no, "texts")
and monitors
reflect in a
dusty mirror
cigarettes, ashtray
evening dusk through
slatted windows
smoke boiling
roiling to the ceiling
yellowed florescents
flicker sometime
off the fan with
no guard in the corner
and the man with
no hope at
the keyboard


my love            matt libs--------------------------------------------------

my precious love
of darque and sweet domain
of which the sun never shines
and falls a constant rain

such beauty i've never beheld
within my mortal life
your presence remains with me
throughout my pain and strife

though i may curse you
and defile your fragile mind
my devotion to you will always be
throughout all eternal time

and even when my life is over
and Death has come for me
i'll remember you, my love
and whatever will be shall be


Smudges            Kelli Lee--------------------------------------------------

Don't dull your sharp tongue on my account.
My halo tilted years ago
when the little boys on the playground
ran around yanking up my plaid skirt
to take a peek at my JC Penney underpants.
The words you speak, I've seen countless times
scrawled in bathroom stalls,
graffitied on abandoned buildings,
carved into desks in detention,
and I've even said a few myself.
When I look into your eyes
not only am I blinded by the light of
intense tractor-beams that pull me
closer and closer and closer,
each word you speak is a calling.
A mystical sound that surpasses
audible words like the
blowing of a conch shell
or the lingering hum of a gong.
In it's own way
a religion.
So, don't let your mommy
or any other woman
spit-wipe your mouth.
Keep it dirty, and kiss me.


faces of reality   Sarah Levien-----------------------------------------------

I wear many faces.
Though some may believe
I am what I say,
I am not.

For never do I show
my true self to another.
And never will I throw open the curtains
to let them weep for the tragedy they see before them.

Though my lips
may turn upward at the corners,
to reveal maybe a smile,
the eyes tell another story.

The story begins
with the tears that I shed
and ends
somewhere in the midst of infinity.

Never!
can I be happy.
For what if tomorrow
I am sad?

But to them
I am happy.
Free and careless
like the wind!

Oh, they think they know me.
They do,
but it is not me they know.
They know my facade.

Look!
My mask is stained.
Quickly,
I must put on another.

I must hurry
and paint the smile
upon the frown,
before they see.

For if they saw,
they'd laugh.
But is that so bad?
No, the prospect does not daunt me.

But still I fear.
I fear them seeing me, the true me.
For if they did,
I'd no longer have me to myself.


The Night Noise    Mark LaPolt------------------------------------------------

My head starts up from fitful doze
I search the empty room.
For some small sign of what I heard
I peer into the gloom.
A noise, a howl? Some beast of night?
I wonder what it was.
That rose me from unpleasent dreams
Whithout revealing cause.
Unsatified, I don my coat
And lightly step outside,
Perhaps the sound repeats itself,
And thereby makes me wise.
The cool night air soothes my soul
and I wonder, 'Could it be?
That in my restless dreaming state
The sound could come from me?
As I ponder this in silence
My ears become aware
Of all those precious little sounds
That waft on night's thin air.
The crickets chirp, the owls cry
Somewhere a night bird sings
And my noise? My phantom noise?
Could it be of these things?
Settled in soul I turn once more
To leave this realm of night.
When once again I hear the sound
That gave me such a fright.
A haunting howl, more piteous
Than any sad refrain,
The noise that woke me from my sleep
From dreams of doubt and pain,
Was nothing more dark and fearful
Than the whistle of the northbound train.


RUSH               H D Suckow-------------------------------------------------

The Lemmings
     they say ---
RUSH
to throw themselves
in some suicide
act off
cliffs --- in throngs
too many to count.
But - once and late at
night -
in the blue light of
early morning
tv -
I awoke uncomfortably -
laying on a couch too small
and too hard to sleep upon -
to see
footage of Lemmings
RUSHing
in so many large numbers ---
but --- not
to throw themselves ---

you could see the fear
on furry rodent faces - as
reality showed so clearly
that they were about to plunge unintended---
and they tried - desperately -
to stop -
to turn back -
but they could not turn back -
and in large numbers - they were
pushed off the cliff -
pushed by those who were behind
and were as yet unaware
of
  their journey's
           unintended

                     end.


The Divine Tragedy     Cy Routh-----------------------------------------------

     Eyes closed....backwards....fade to WHITE........A body hovers, floating
on a cushion of air, life plasma flowing by leaving a soft, tingling
sensation on the skin that teases each hair, an anxious half-hungry pressure
swirling about just behind the ribs, the lungs short of breath, unique to
love, in an immense whiteness, shadowlessly extending beyond reason, pure,
unconfined by mortal thought, that surpasses in its brilliance any religion,
any philosophy, all the gods for the conscious viewer, vision of the mind.  A
white so resplendent, scintillating, angelic, only to be viewed through
closed eyes, the image is forever etched, beyond the optic, encompassing the
spirit, directly into the instinct, only interrupted by diminutive voids of
light emitted by distant, supernal orbs, strewn chaotically in a familiar
pattern, intermingled shimmer of emeralds and sapphires abort impending
suicide.
     Approach shadow....plummet........The ivory beast, long, graceful neck
curved forward in introspection meets the gnarled mane in the cylindrical
head, three efficacious, magnifying eye-stalks, spiraling a dying sphere,
iridescence raped by the corruption of the star, is grasping with gaunt,
glimmering arms at the abscessed growth upon her broad, rectilineal breast as
the serene visionary, drawn by the mass of the orb, tumbling toward the
titanic creature, eclipsing the darkness, is swallowed by the arched glass
atop her head.
     Paradise lost....exit garden........Light, white, cloud, cream, grey,
storm, black, dark, nothing...but the hiss of air, now frail frame falls from
glory towards the smoke-marbled drab ball, the color of slate infused with
the dying of vegetation, that encompasses ears, flesh with burning, ambrosia
gives way to sulfur, melting hair, lungs that once breathed love now breathe
fire, charred skin flakes away leaving bare nerves to ward off the searing
heat.  Innocence is stripped away as the blackened bones shatter upon the
rocks.

     I look through the dark pine boughs, only illuminated by the dying
embers, into the even darker night sky, filled with brilliant specks of
white...and I know.  Therefore it is I who will suffer while those who are
ignorant go on mocking bliss.  But I have the hope, the vision, to soothe the
pain.  They unknowingly pity me. I wish I could pity them.


the other side     keith shapiro----------------------------------------------

the last time i talked to you
i tried to tell you how i feel
but life as usual interrupted
and now you are gone away

to the other side of the country
to the other side of the world
my heart tells me that you will come back
and so i wait for you
on the other side of tomorrow

why is it that the road is paved
with left over good intentions
you ran away before i could
the courage in my soul evaporate

but two lines not parallel
will eventually intersect
my soul knows you will return to me
and so i wait for you
on the other side of tomorrow

you are the only person who
makes me feel and makes me want to go on
but to you there has to be some other
who you want to carry on
and not me

but i believe eventually
the world will stand still
and everyone else will go away
and so i wait for you
on the other side of tomorrow


------------------------------------------------------------------------------
thank you for your time
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

if you would like to submit a poem, short story, brainstorm, or anything else
that you think belongs in mindflow, please mail me at my home or email me
through the internet or on the ripcurl bbs.  this is the official home of
mindflow.  all versions of mindflow will be here and available to download
for free.

josh ruihley                        keith shapiro
418 wells lane                      199 woodlark road
versailles, ky   40383-1545         versailles, ky  40383-9190
internet : ebbheadky@aol.com        internet : shapiro@ukpr.uky.edu

all versions of mindflow can be downloaded for free from:
rip curl bbs           (versailles, ky)  : 1.606.873.6637
.