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-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Volume 2, Issue 1
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et Cetera: the zine of everything and nothing
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January 1995
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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WHAT THERE IS IN THIS ISSUE
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---------------------------
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THE DIRTY FOGGY WINDOW
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Proposition 187
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New Year's Resolutions
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Dull Lives
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Good Books
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INTROSPECTIVE-EXTROSPECTIVE?
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A Transaction................................................Richard Cumyn
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Let's Play....................................................Maree Jaeger
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Invitation....................................................Maree Jaeger
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me...........................................................William Shard
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HOW ONE DARK AND STORMY NIGHT MR. J. ALFRED PRUFROCK
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FOUND HIMSELF IN A HOUSTON SUBURB........Brett Allen Holloway-Reeves
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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et Cetera is exactly what it says.. "and other things" if i'm not mistaken.
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it will conduct interviews on random topics (we'll try to cover EVERYTHING at
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least once!) have alot of feedback and have some creative writing in the
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second section of the zine with little nibblets about the artists... it's fun
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and serious, mundane and inspired, pointless and focused.. all in one. we'll
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do everything about nothing and nothing about everything. it is published and
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distributed electronically as often as i can (which may not be very often).
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Copyright 1994 by Steve Lee. All works are Copyright 1994 of their respective
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authors. et Cetera may be downloaded and distributed free of charge for non-
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profit use as long as it is cited. All authors hold presumptive copyrights to
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their works and should be contacted before their works are reproduced
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separately. The views presented here are (probably) not the views of the
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editor. It is available via ftp at etext.archive.umich.edu, gopher at
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ftp.etext.org, and WWW at http://www.cs.andrews.edu/~adap/etcetera.html.
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It is the responsibility of the contributors to make sure they are not
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infringing on some other copyright. In other words, if there is some illegal
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reproduction here - it's not my fault!
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Please send submissions and comments (both are VERY appreciated!) to
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lees@andrews.edu.
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send everything.... poems on post-modernity
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essays on the soul of social consciousness
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stories about your pet piglet..
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NOW BACK TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING...
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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EDITOR'S NOTES
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(mindless ramblings to follow)
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last week (ok, it was longer than that.. but i wrote this a week after i
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went there), i went to Haight-Ashbury, California - the first time i've been to
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a place of such blatant irony. its sheer brashness only made it more obscure
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and i felt it was hiding behind every wall and curtain. there were sterile
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coffee shops next to S&M shops, McDonald's (which, incidentally, seemed to have
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only restroom for miles around) and Wasteland, a bizzare second hand clothing
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store with strategically placed (or so it seemed) statues of Mephistepholes and
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hanging angelic figures teeming with people in eccentric outfits that
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surrounded me. it was all so macabre and i felt as if i was an distant
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participant, awed by the subtle explicitness, in Poe's The Masque of the Red
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Death. i wondered how all the people kept themselves from falling into dispair
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and depression in such a gloomy place... odd. some of the happiest people i
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saw there were the homeless, friendly and jovial. i often wonder why. why?
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in fact, i was wondering why the whole time i was there. why? why? why? the
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more and more i looked, the less and less things made sense. where were the
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studios, the art galleries, the quiet muse asleep on its stark flat? where
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were the icons of cultural redemption? the longer i stayed there, i felt this
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grungy darkness beginning to pervade the place (perhaps it was because the sun
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was setting but, then again, perhaps it wasn't). and just when i was about to
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dismiss it, i found a grocery store. it was bright and lucid. good fruit and
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fresh vegetables. there are few things like bright like on fresh produce.
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just imagine it. it was then that i was forced to recant, for Haight is not
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unlike Calvino's invisible Irene - as all places are. always drawing the mind
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to it's ever changing soul. not to say that i am less confused. i'm not. i
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am more puzzled now than when i started writing this... but it's an editorial,
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i'm supposed to blabber senselessly... this, i must guess, is a cry for help.
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i am perplexed and i wish to know. if there is a reader who lives or
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understands the culture of places like Haight, please help me!
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but perplexity saves everyone from complacency. and complacency is what
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i fear while awaiting the decision by others of my corporeal future these
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coming days. it comes so easily and naturally to so many but not for some i
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guess... at times, in fact, almost all the time, it feels like parts of life
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are the biggest waste of time. but as essie tells me, it's good for people to
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herd sheep for a few years - it gives a person perspective. at least my tour
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of duty isn't the 40 years that Moses had to endure; poor guy, i truly
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empathize with him. in truth, perpective IS one of the few things gained this
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year. and that can't be all bad.
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i hope you'll enjoy the first issue of 1995 and that all of you are doing
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better things with your life than i am.
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???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
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THE DIRTY FOGGY WINDOW
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???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
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unfortunately (for you, the devoted readers), i haven't found anyone to
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help me out with this...yet. unfortunately because you have to wade through my
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banal writing for both the editorial and the window. so if anyone wants to
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volunteer, my email address is conveniently located above. luckily, we once
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again have procured a list of omniscient experts to discuss current events. in
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|
the interest of good taste, i have meticulously avoided the subject of O.J.
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Simpson (yikes, i said it, but i'll never say it again!). you may all
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collectively breathe a sigh of relief now. thank you. of course one of the
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looming social/political issues today is proposition 187, passed by the state
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of california late last year. it denies, among other things, basic health care
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and education to illegal immigrants. this drastic measure has been prompted by
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the incredible financial burden that providing social services has placed on
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the state of california. other states that are also affected by large numbers
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of illegal immigrants seem ready to follow suit. so i asked our panel of world
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renown social scientists about their feelings on proposition 187.
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"I was rather shocked when 187 was passed. Who am I to play God and
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allow or deny a group of people of education health and care because
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of their status? The founding fathers of this nation were all illegal
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immigrants, and many of the Asian populace in America came here
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illegally. Why weren't they deniededucation and health care? In
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fact, the only group of people who care here legally were the
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African-Americans, and THEY were denied education and health care at
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first. But about thirty years ago, that was found to be
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unconsitutional.
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Getting back to illegal immigrants...
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A doctor takes a Hypocratic Oath, stating that he will do his best to
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preserve ALL life. Illegal immigrants are human beings too.
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Education is a right, not a privilege. I think this was established
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in Brown vs. Topeka.
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So what right do Americans, the people living in the land of
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opportunity, have in taking away this right from another group of
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human beings? Selfishly speaking, I'm scared. My skin color
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categorizes me as a minority. How will I be distinguished from an
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illegal immigrant? They say id cards will be given to the
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legal-status minority. What if I happenned to have misplaced my id
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card, and I get into an accident requiring immediate surgery. Will I
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be denied life because I did not carry the piece of paper that makes
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me legal? Will they know that I'm an American citizen by birth?
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Maybe the colored people will have to start wearing labels as the
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Jews wore their stars during Hitler's reign.
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I'm fortunate not to have an accent in my English. What about the
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legal immigrants who do have heavy accents - their legal rights could
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only be attained by the presentation of a piece of paper. What kind
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of life is that? What would you call that form of racism?"
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-SL
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"I think that Prop 187 has its good and bad points--as most
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propositions go. Furthermore, I don't believe it will ever be fully
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put into effect. There are huge problems about it that haven't been
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addressed and those are what's stopping it from going into effect. I
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was personally shocked that it passed by such a large margin! Doesn't
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it seem that Californians are so frustrated with the economy they're
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willing to do anything? This law does not cover the dangers of
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|
denying health care to illegals (epidemics! increased # of
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emergencies, etc), the unconstitutionality of denying education to
|
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children of illegals, who will replace the illegal workers who work
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for minimum wage or the lack of border patrol. This is such a complex
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problem and it will not be solved by one proposition--especially one
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that won't be of *any* use for a LONG time!"
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-RS
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"Undecided on how I feel about proposition 187. But I lean more
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towards it. I assess that California is in a desperate situation and
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they need to do something about their incredible population of illegal
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immigrants. Maybe denying health care, public education, etc. isn't
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the "morally right" or "humane" thing to do, but until someone comes
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up with a better suggestion, I think this has to be done. And for
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those who say the state of California is doing this as an indirect way
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to keep Hispanics or minorities in general out of their state, I
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say--maybe, but it sounds like bull shit to me. They aren't trying to
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"get rid of" minorities--they are merely trying to do something that
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will help their economy and in the long-run, the common good. What
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ever happened to that familiar belief of the "common good" anyway?"
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-HT
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"This is a federal issue. The US government needs to shoulder more of
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the burden rather than expecting CA, TX, FL, etc... to deal with all
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of the illegal immigants themselves."
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-AR
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"The state of California has every right to pass that bill. But
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because they can does not equate to they should. The tax money should
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be used to help those who pay the taxes first then it should reach out
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to others. However, looking at the federal government, that is seldom
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the case. The U.S. government still spends billions of dollars in
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foreign aid and for various reasons it is necessary for the U.S.
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government to do so. The federal government is acting responsible by
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spending so much in Israel, the former Soviet, Japan, and various UN
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projects. But shouldn't the U.S. government first serve the needs of
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the Americans first? And in the same manner, shouldn't the state of
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California first meet the needs of the Californians first? Sure it's
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not quite humanitarian but when a government tries to please everyone
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in the state and then also the illegal immigrants, the government is
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|
bound to fail and then even the legal residents will not be able to
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receive any benefits. With the exception of health care (because
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denying them health care and letting them die is extremely
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irresponsible) the rest of the proposition is sound and only proper."
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-JN
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"Currently, prop. 187 is a beautiful example of theoretical social
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darwinism. If it passes, it will become one more example of the
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inability of social darwinism to function in the real world. Pure
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darwinism would suggest that the citizens should put their rights
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above those of non conspecifics. This would seem to imply that they
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ought to vote infavor of proposition 187.
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Theories based on natural selection never work well with humanity,
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though. [Red Herring: perhaps this is because we are too divorced
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from nature in our concerns.] The same sorts of arguements (we cant
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handle the horrible burden that this places on us...... were used to
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cause the passage of prop 13. Now there is a shortage of teachers in
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CA due to a lack of $$$ for schools. I definitely am against prop
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187 in its current form. Lowering the educational levels of the
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populace will only increase the crime rate."
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-JM
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Which of course brings us to the unavoidable topic of New Year's resolutions.
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"Eat breakfast, have quiet time, get the BIG PICTURE."
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-RC
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"1. Meet all deadlines on time. No more extension requests!
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2. Take piano lessons."
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-SL
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"one marathon in the next five years"
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-AR
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and after all these noble resolutions - actually, i found them rather
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uninspired... come on people can't at least resolve to do great things even if
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we don't have a clue how to do it? how about "join the olympic volleyball
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team" or "win the nobel peace prize" or "publish a bestseller" or "best new
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|
artist award" just some ideas - here is julian's thoughts on new year's
|
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resolutions.
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"Was anyone stupid enough to make a resolution this year? What
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exactly is a resolution anyway? To break up the word, it's a
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re-solution. A solution again, or a new solution. What makes you
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think that this solution that didn't work all year last year will
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suddenly work this year? What, is January 1 some magical date or
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something? Hello! Wake up Mr. Room Temperature IQ! If it didn't
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work last year, it's not going to work this year so forget it.
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Besides, why are so many people trying to do something new anyway?
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Why are people trying to lose weight, trying to become a vegetarian,
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trying to give up smoking or drinking, trying to get fewer speeding
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tickets, etc. Like someone once said, Everyone's either a smoker or a
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non-smoker. Decide which one you are and be that. There's no such
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thing as "I'm trying to quit smoking." And that goes for meat eating
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or being thin/normal/fat. Decide who you are and be that. People
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have such hard time deciding who they are, especially among the youth
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or women. Really they have such a hard time making up their minds.
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Ladies, don't even try to defend yourself. It's true (Deborah Tanner,
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one of the leading psychologists who studied the differences between
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men and women, told me this). When four women get together to do
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something, it'll take more than fifteen minutes just to decide where
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to eat. Why? Okay, so the reason goes deeper than just their
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inability to decide but to discuss that is way off the new year's
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resolution topic. So save yourself the trouble. If you're fat, be
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fat. If you smoke, just keep on puffing. If you think you got a big
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butt, it's okay. Most people feel the need to change because of their
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peers or the society. You don't need to please them. If you really
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want to change, don't start at the beginning of a calendar year
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because new year's resolutions are meant to be broken and it won't
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work and you'll feel bad that another new year's resolution didn't
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work and you'll just give up trying for the whole year until next year
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when you'll try again at January 1. Instead, try a new month's
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resolution or a Sunday's resolution. This way, if the solution
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doesn't work, then you can try something different every month or week
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instead of year."
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wow, from now on, it's new month's resolutions for me. of course, one month
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isn't a whole lot of time to win the nobel prize...
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anyway, there is something i've come to realize this year. i have no
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passion for life. and i've come to realize that almost no one does either. oh
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sure, we want to do alot of things. we want to succeed. we want to accomplish
|
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this and that. but i can't help but think that we don't want as much as the
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people we've read about. about people who dedicate their lives to one thing as
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if it means everything to them, because it does. we're so caught up in success
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that we have no idea what success is. it's just the idea that we chase after.
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maybe i'm just talking for myself. so i asked some people if there was
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anything they REALLY REALLY were dying to do.
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"Dying to do: SKI!!!! But there's no snow here!!!"
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"Go to Australia, learn another language, bike through France, build
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something, paint something, learn acupuncture, "push back the
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boundaries of ignorance" in medicine."
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"What are my goals in life?"
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"I REALLY REALLY want to save the world from the global environmental
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crisis, but realistically, I don't have the power nor the knowledge to
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do so."
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"Well I'd like to get some studying done and actually do halfway
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decent in my classes for once."
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"Dive the Great Barrier Reef"
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no one's proven otherwise to me. it's like, my goal in life is to lie on a
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beach in the bahamas and drink margaritas. maybe helena was on the right track
|
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with the environment... but i know i'm more guilty than anyone else. it's a
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sad world.
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but on a lighter note, here is the list of the best books to read.
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Couplehood by Paul Reiser got two votes
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Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan (tried to read it but couldn't really get into
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it)
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The Kitchen God's Wife by Amy Tan (what's this fixation with Amy Tan)
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The Cost of Discipleship by D. Bonhoeffer got two votes (and i've never
|
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heard of it - ok, i
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feel dumb)
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Waiting For Godot by Samuel Beckett
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The New Turing Omnibus by A.K. Dewdney
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A Severe Mercy by Vanauken
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Short stories by Richard Wright
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Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand (book is far too thick to think seriously of
|
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reading)
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happy reading... and on to the heart of the matter.
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*******************************************************************************
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|
|
INTROSPECTIVE-EXTROSPECTIVE?
|
|
|
|
*******************************************************************************
|
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|
|
|
|
|
|
Richard Cumyn
|
|
|
|
|
|
A Transaction
|
|
-------------
|
|
|
|
|
|
Heather glanced up from drying the dishes and said, "I remember when I was a
|
|
little girl, it was so nice when I was sick because my mother would hold my
|
|
hair out of the toilet."
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|
The dishes were dry already because Dixon had washed them an hour previously
|
|
and had left them in the rack while his wife shopped for groceries. She was
|
|
still wearing her overcoat. She refused to unpack the groceries until there was
|
|
nothing else on the counter beside the sink. When Dixon unpacked he took the
|
|
packages right from the paper bags on the floor to the fridge or cupboards, but
|
|
Heather liked to have all the items spread out on the counter before her. She
|
|
had to see the whole week's food laid out as if spilling from a cornucopia.
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|
Dixon leaned on the stove as he watched her clear space for the food. She liked
|
|
to do it all herself. Besides, there was his back to consider.
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"Leave the bananas out," he said.
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"What?"
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"The bananas. Don't put them in the fridge. They go all brown and mushy."
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"I can't concentrate with you hovering around me."
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"Sorry."
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"I drove right by the house on the way back from the store. I've never done
|
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that before."
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"People are not avoiding us."
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"Then, what? When was the last time my brother came over? He lives ten minutes
|
|
away."
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"He has a life. They all have busy lives. You make it sound as if they all sit
|
|
around their kitchen tables plotting how they can best avoid running into us."
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"You don't understand."
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"I do. I understand."
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"No. You don't." She hesitated before continuing, not deliberately but as if
|
|
she
|
|
really were confused now. "I've forgotten what I was going to say."
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"Why don't you take your coat off?"
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"Don't the groceries look nice all spread out like that? If there was a really
|
|
bad storm and we were stranded in this house for a week, we'd be safe and warm
|
|
and have enough to eat."
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|
Dixon helped her out of her coat. Heather was a trim woman who wore petite
|
|
sizes. She was still pretty with a youthful face. Even when she was in her
|
|
mid-twenties, clerks in liquor stores had asked her for proof of age. The only
|
|
difference he could see between then and now were the two deep vertical
|
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wrinkles beside the edges of her mouth.
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He said, "What were you saying about your mother?" but she just shook her head
|
|
at him.
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|
* * *
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|
He thought, I should be walking a dog at this time of the day.
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|
The stars before dawn were clustered in the north-east. He recognized the line
|
|
of Orion's belt and Ursa Minor and decided that one fuzzy concentration of
|
|
light in a cluster was a nebula. It was the cold, hard sky of a late summer
|
|
morning before sunrise. It was different from the light at sunset the night
|
|
before, which had left the sky not yet black but no longer blue with the sickle
|
|
of the new moon suspended just above the glow. He resented the street lights
|
|
for the way they diluted the precision of the night.
|
|
|
|
He passed a used furniture store with its awning rolled up. The transom window
|
|
above the entrance was smashed. The street light above him dimmed and
|
|
brightened, then shut off completely. Perhaps, he thought, a power surge had
|
|
blown the bulb. What really went on at night while the city slept? He imagined
|
|
a million sleeping hearts skipping a beat to accommodate the power surge that
|
|
God or a nuclear power plant might perpetrate. The offence was perpetrated for
|
|
the good of all by an unknown assailant, to whom many pray, at approximately
|
|
5:35 AM E.S.T. An eye-witness said that he was just rolling down the awning on
|
|
his store front when it happened.
|
|
|
|
Nothing inside the store was dusted. Items sat in no particular arrangement,
|
|
just where they had been deposited. The room into which he was peering was an
|
|
annex where no one worked, although adventurous customers could pass into it
|
|
from the main display room if they wished. There was no guarantee that what
|
|
they wanted would be available. "I mean," Dixon could hear the owner say, "the
|
|
item you want may well be there; I just can't guarantee that I can get to it."
|
|
At which point you might look suspiciously at the store-owner/awning-roller/
|
|
eye-witness, one eyebrow raised. He might take this to mean that you do not
|
|
believe him, and he thinks you think he wants it all to himself. That is why he
|
|
is being not very helpful. That is why he is not being very helpful. The
|
|
difference is one of shadow and light. The man thinks, "I want it for myself.
|
|
That's why I am being not/not being very helpful."
|
|
|
|
One item, a Coca-Cola tray from the 1950's, looked exactly like the one on
|
|
which Dixon's mother used to serve Kool-Aid to him and his friends in the
|
|
summertime. It lay flat on the top of an armoir whose finish was cracked in
|
|
spidery cells that appeared to follow the molecular structure of the wood. The
|
|
tray, which could probably be seen only from the street and not from inside the
|
|
cluttered room, there being roughly two meters of rubble between it and the
|
|
entrance of the annex, showed a girl lying in her bathing suit on a blanket in
|
|
the sand. In the girl's hand was a bottle of one of the first Coca-Colas, the
|
|
one now referred to with the same word used to describe ancient languages or
|
|
works of literature that had passed the test of time. Her bathing suit,
|
|
originally yellow, had yellowed (if that is conceivable) along with the rest of
|
|
the tray over time. She had a heavy voluptuousness, that Marilyn Monroe pillowy
|
|
bulk. Rather than a thong or a second skin, her bathing suit, by present
|
|
standards, was a modest piece of substantial clothing. If you were to undress
|
|
her, you would know that she no longer wore anything. You would have disrobed
|
|
her. She would not have been peeled like a tomato but uncovered, revealed,
|
|
presented.
|
|
|
|
The store-owner would say that he didn't know anything about any of that. He
|
|
had a store to run and there were customers he must attend to, he would say, as
|
|
if people who have driven in from the suburbs on a Sunday are going to insist
|
|
that a transaction (a sale, a consideration, a transfusion) occur immediately.
|
|
|
|
So far nothing was settled in Dixon's mind about the fact that this man was the
|
|
sole eye-witness to the surge of power that had made the whole city, all the
|
|
people, all the people's hearts, dim for an instant. Not go out exactly, but
|
|
just do what electric lights do occasionally when the power grid becomes
|
|
overloaded. Flicker. It was also not yet established whether this was an act of
|
|
a god or a nuclear power plant manager. For the purposes of the transaction,
|
|
Dixon accepted that they could be the same.
|
|
|
|
* * *
|
|
|
|
At breakfast Dixon offered to take Andrew up to the lake for a couple of days.
|
|
Heather said it would probably be a good idea.
|
|
|
|
All along the highway north were posted signs warning against speeding. For
|
|
every ten kilometers per hour over the speed limit, the fine increased by
|
|
fifty-three dollars. Dixon kept the car steady at three kilometers per hour
|
|
under the maximum and let other cars pass him whenever the highway widened into
|
|
four lanes. By the time he got off onto the secondary roads, his back had
|
|
tightened into a knotted cord.
|
|
|
|
Of course, at the lake his sister and her husband wanted to know how he was
|
|
holding up. He told them that the store kept him busy.
|
|
|
|
He saw that a sailboat had capsized out on the lake in relatively calm water
|
|
and wondered if anyone else had noticed. Andrew pulled him outside, demanding
|
|
to be shown where his sister had put her initials in the mortar of the stone
|
|
wall she had helped to build. As they walked down the slope to the beach, the
|
|
sand shifted under their feet, making them slide part way.
|
|
|
|
Lately Dixon had been having vivid daydreams about Heather and himself
|
|
together. In one, along that same ravine path they took to try to get away from
|
|
the lights of the city, he imagined that a squirrel had spring-boarded off her
|
|
shoulder and she had just turned around and walked back the way they had come
|
|
without saying a word. In another, he imagined that twisted tree branches were
|
|
actually snakes frozen in mid-air and that as soon as they walked past, the
|
|
snakes would resume their twining.
|
|
|
|
Andrew played all day with his cousins in the sleeping cabin. The children put
|
|
on a puppet show about the evils of smoking. Dixon's sister laughed uneasily,
|
|
butting out her Pall Mall.
|
|
|
|
Down the beach an old-fashioned dinner bell sounded. Dixon had brought a
|
|
casserole of macaroni and cheese that Heather had mixed and frozen for him. He
|
|
did not like to come empty-handed. Politely, they dished it out alongside the
|
|
pork chops and apple sauce. Dixon ate quietly, responding to the occasional
|
|
question or safe remark, keeping an eye on Andrew at the kids' table. A dog was
|
|
swimming in circles not far out in the lake and was snapping at bits of sun. A
|
|
motorboat towed a naked sailboat back to shore. Gulls circled above the vessels
|
|
and rain clouds gathered in the sky.
|
|
|
|
Meal time was informal, as it must be all along the beach, Dixon figured, as it
|
|
must be everywhere at cottages where old fir trees shaded golden sands. At
|
|
home, Dixon had insisted from the very beginning that meals be regular and
|
|
orderly, uninterrupted by television or radio, a place where the family talked.
|
|
A place where children told their parents what they had done in school that
|
|
day, what they had learned.
|
|
|
|
He and Andrew got their own breakfasts, for lunch whipping up peanut butter and
|
|
strawberry jam sandwiches, and so had just the one sit-down meal a day with the
|
|
others at the cottage. The floor under Dixon's chair was sandy. He lifted the
|
|
soles of his sandals slightly and passed them over the granular surface while
|
|
the others talked. His beard began to tingle, each strand it seemed demanding
|
|
to be felt. The adults drank three bottles of wine, though Dixon noticed that
|
|
his sister and brother-in-law had drunk only four glasses between them. Before
|
|
the last of the wine, he felt like arguing about something. The sun hung above
|
|
the water like a molten ingot ready to be dipped in its cooling bath. His anger
|
|
simmered, sinking like the light.
|
|
|
|
He found one chair he liked down on the beach. It was an old leatherette
|
|
bean-bag chair that supported his back at just the right angle. Andrew went
|
|
exploring with a boy he had met at the other end of the beach, the son of
|
|
someone Dixon used to play with. Heather had said that it would be a good idea
|
|
for them to get on up to the lake for a few days because she did not feel she
|
|
was any good to them just at that moment. He moved his bean-bag chair back into
|
|
the shade. His beer tipped over, half of it emptying into the sand before he
|
|
noticed. He looked over at the red pine he used to climb to the very peak and
|
|
at the section of sand just at the high- water mark where he used to find the
|
|
most perfect flat stones for skipping.
|
|
|
|
|
|
He saw a winter scene. Heather was walking with him along a farmer's access
|
|
road between thick hedgerows burdened with snow, along the track of a
|
|
snowmobile to a place where pines grew in impossibly straight rows where
|
|
someone had planted them sixty years before. He imagined the person who had
|
|
planted them to be an old, old man now who lived in a little hermitage back in
|
|
the woods, beyond the tree plantation. The smoke from his wood fire, like
|
|
vapour off an open cut of water, hung in the freezing air. Dixon and Heather
|
|
scooped snow with their hands all around the cabin until only the chimney
|
|
remained visible. Their breath froze the smoke into an obelisk which Heather
|
|
climbed. Dixon's head ripened, exploding milkweed seeds in silken clumps. She
|
|
lowered herself until all six meters were cold up inside her. It made her
|
|
laugh. The questioning pines stood in impossibly straight rows. She could not
|
|
explain to him why they were there, why she was laughing so wisely, why Dixon
|
|
felt all a-flurry and was spinning in curlicues around and around her perch.
|
|
|
|
Before he returned home, Dixon went blank in the middle of what he was saying,
|
|
twice, in front of everyone, once at the campfire on the last night together
|
|
and once when they were saying goodbye standing around the car the next
|
|
morning. Everyone was too polite to say anything.
|
|
|
|
* * *
|
|
|
|
Andrew begged to stay longer at the lake, and it was agreed that he would come
|
|
home with his cousins in a day or two. On the way home Dixon found it
|
|
impossible to relax behind the wheel.
|
|
|
|
At the first town he stopped at an automatic teller where he used his card to
|
|
pull an extra three hundred for gas and unexpected problems. It was a funny
|
|
grey day, a wet kind of blustery wind coming at him, hardly like summer at all.
|
|
As he passed through the downtown core on his way back to the highway, he
|
|
noticed the school sale signs and felt a fluttery dread in his stomach.
|
|
|
|
He flipped the lights on even though it was only mid-afternoon, slowed down to
|
|
the speed limit, and settled back into the seat. He had his back cushion
|
|
strapped behind him, but after only an hour his spine began to talk to him.
|
|
Shifting the seat forward so that his right leg on the accelerator was bent
|
|
helped take the strain off, and he continued like that for ten kilometers or
|
|
so. From time to time he leaned forward and rested his forearms on the wheel,
|
|
his chin at twelve o'clock, chest pressed up tight against the steering column.
|
|
It shifted the weight off the vertebrae at the bottom of the spine. He could
|
|
feel it stretching, becoming lighter, although he was not used to driving like
|
|
that and he over-compensated on a sharp curve. The right wheels ate gravel for
|
|
a stretch until he could ease back onto the pavement. Two cars that had been on
|
|
his tail for the past ten minutes took that opportunity to scoot out around to
|
|
pass. He was still on the curve. Visibility was limited and the second car
|
|
swung in ahead of him with only inches to spare before an oncoming logging
|
|
truck blasted by. Dixon swore out loud and gave the driver the finger. He was
|
|
rigid in his seat by now, and his back was out-in-the-open painful. The fuel
|
|
was still above half-full, but he decided to pull into the nearest gas station
|
|
to get out and stretch, maybe even find a flat surface to lie on. No amount of
|
|
shifting in the seat helped.
|
|
|
|
At a gas station he pulled in and asked to have it topped full. The attendant,
|
|
who looked to be about seventeen, was dressed in oil- stained overalls and a
|
|
dirty Blue Jays cap, his long dark hair falling out of style to his shoulders.
|
|
Dixon asked him to check the oil. It was down a litre, which the attendant
|
|
replaced, and while the tank was filling he set out to clean the windshield.
|
|
When the attendant announced the price for half a tank of gas, Dixon feigned a
|
|
wince up at him through the open window.
|
|
|
|
A real stab of pain shot down his left thigh as Dixon rolled out of the pump
|
|
area over to where he could park and get out to walk around. He could tell by
|
|
the way he had to hold onto the door and the back of the driver's seat when he
|
|
got out that he had thrown something out of whack. There was no use trying to
|
|
stretch when it was grabbing like that. If he were to lie flat, he would
|
|
probably never get up again, and so as smoothly as he could he walked over to
|
|
the door and stood there in the empty waiting area.
|
|
|
|
It was like a hundred thousand service stations. Cartons of cigarettes lined a
|
|
shelf behind the cash register. Keys hung attached by string to dirt-smudged
|
|
paper tags in a recessed part of the wall. An anatomically perfect Vargas girl
|
|
in a French bikini bottom proclaimed the month and the name of a tool-making
|
|
company. Vaguely alien looking pieces of metal machinery adorned the counter
|
|
top. In the corner furthest from the door, a Coke machine stood, out of order.
|
|
The smell of petroleum in all its various forms hung like a stale varnish on
|
|
the air. Through the adjoining door he could see two people, the gas jockey and
|
|
an older man, who he assumed was the chief mechanic.
|
|
|
|
Dixon asked the teenager if there was a pharmacy nearby. He consulted with the
|
|
other man who was clearly annoyed at being interrupted in the midst of his
|
|
tune-up. They pieced together directions to a nearby town not far along the
|
|
highway. Both could see by the way Dixon was standing against the counter that
|
|
he was gripped by pain. The kid asked if Dixon would like him to go pick up
|
|
something for him, but he said no. He told them about the back and instantly
|
|
the older man's face became alight. A fellow sufferer.
|
|
|
|
Dixon heard about the ten months the man had passed flat on his back in
|
|
hospital. The mechanic lifted his blue GWG workshirt to show Dixon the brace he
|
|
wore all the time now, taking it off only for bed. But the man was sensitive to
|
|
Dixon's agony and he reached in to a hidden place behind the counter, pulling
|
|
out a prescription bottle of pills, heavy-duty muscle relaxants. Dixon said he
|
|
would rather not be taking such complex chemicals, but by then the kid had
|
|
shoved a styrofoam cup of water into one hand and the mechanic shook two
|
|
capsules into the palm of the other.
|
|
|
|
"Wonder pills, friend. You should get yourself a subscription."
|
|
|
|
The pain was the only part of him making decisions now. He thanked them and
|
|
downed the horse pills which would get him to the drug store.
|
|
|
|
Once there, he bought the strongest Tylenol he could without a prescription and
|
|
swallowed two of them with a sip of Coke. Working in tandem with the muscle
|
|
relaxants, the pain killers gave him a buzz of calm. The back was a dull throb
|
|
now, miles distant. Back in the car he began to enjoy himself, as if he was in
|
|
a simulator set on Sunday Drive.
|
|
|
|
His eyes began to droop. His head snapped upright a couple of times when the
|
|
big car drifted to the right onto the shoulder, but instantly he began to fade
|
|
again. He pulled off, the car sloping at such an angle toward the ditch that he
|
|
could not get his door open, and he had to exit from the passenger side. He was
|
|
so groggy that he left the door swung open. A couple of turns around the car,
|
|
the fresh air, the unfiltered sunlight all helped to clear his head somewhat.
|
|
He was lucid enough to know that he would not be driving any further that day.
|
|
His shoes slipped in the loose gravel as he struggled to close the passenger
|
|
door. He removed the car keys through the open driver's window but did not lock
|
|
the doors. There was nothing worth stealing.
|
|
|
|
The first person to see his thumb stopped, a woman in her early twenties in a
|
|
black pickup. He climbed into the cab beside a baby strapped backwards in a
|
|
molded plastic seat.
|
|
|
|
"You're really at an angle there. Were you in an accident?"
|
|
|
|
He shook his head no, but offered no explanation except that he had to get back
|
|
into town. Usually he took pains to ensure that everyone was informed
|
|
completely. He asked her to drop him off at the nearest motel.
|
|
|
|
Sitting upright, Dixon drifted off to the happy sounds of the baby gurgling and
|
|
the well-tuned Ford engine in the background. It seemed they had been driving
|
|
only a minute when the woman shook him awake and told him that they had arrived
|
|
at the Blue Spruce Motel. He thanked her, giving her a look of gratitude that
|
|
did not hide his embarrassment. She looked amused.
|
|
|
|
"The owner's a nice guy. He'll send someboby to fetch your car for you."
|
|
|
|
Dixon thanked her again and slid out.
|
|
|
|
The woman was right about the motel. As soon as Dixon checked in and explained
|
|
his situation - it all came spilling out, garbled, unrehearsed, the back, the
|
|
pills, the fatigue - the owner and his son drove back for the car. He found he
|
|
could not relax in the motel room, though. Still groggy but agitated now like
|
|
someone roused from REM sleep, he flipped through the channels, finding nothing
|
|
but soaps and game shows. He left the TV on while he paced in a circle from the
|
|
bed to the tiny bathroom to the window.
|
|
|
|
When the car pulled up and stopped directly in front of the unit, Dixon closed
|
|
the curtain and moved quickly back into the bathroom, closing the door behind
|
|
him. He did not want them to see him just standing waiting in the room. Neither
|
|
did he want them to see him lying on the bed in the middle of the day. When the
|
|
knock came at the door, he yelled from the bathroom that it was open. The man
|
|
and his son entered carrying the suitcases and Dixon's bag of custom- made golf
|
|
clubs which they stood in one corner of the room. The owner took his thanks
|
|
with an impassive shrug.
|
|
|
|
"We got four championship courses in the vicinity."
|
|
|
|
For an instant, before they dipped their heads to leave, Dixon considered
|
|
staying there for the rest of his life, selling the car, sleeping for as long
|
|
as Rip Van Winkle, even playing some golf once he awoke.
|
|
|
|
After a shower he phoned Heather to tell her what had happened, that he would
|
|
spend overnight and try to get away early in the morning.
|
|
|
|
"Don't be a stupe," she said, "leave the car there and get on a bus. How can
|
|
you be sure you won't fall asleep at the wheel again?"
|
|
|
|
"I won't."
|
|
|
|
"Dixon, I'm worried about you."
|
|
|
|
"See you tomorrow, safe and sound," he assured her.
|
|
|
|
He tried sleeping on the bed, but when he rolled onto his left side as he did
|
|
habitually at home, something popped. He yelled his shock. Curling up into the
|
|
fetal position did not help this time. Unable to sit up, he slid, grunting and
|
|
gritting his teeth, onto the floor. He tried pressing the small of his back
|
|
into the carpeted floor. This relieved some of the pain for a while, but he was
|
|
soon clenched like a fist. He crawled on hands and knees into the bathroom
|
|
where he was able to run the bath as hot as he could stand it.
|
|
|
|
He stayed in the bath until the water began to cool off. He was able to walk
|
|
back to the bed, but the tightness returned quicker than he expected. He took
|
|
two of the Tylenol, then pressed himself flat on the floor again, pelvis
|
|
tilted, knees bent. He hugged his knees to his chest and released. As he lay,
|
|
his eyes fixed on the stucco ceiling, he had an instant sensation of seeing
|
|
himself from above. He yelled down at himself.
|
|
|
|
Someone in the unit next to him pounded on the wall.
|
|
|
|
"Hey! Cut the racket! We're trying to sleep."
|
|
|
|
A little later he heard a knock at the door.
|
|
|
|
"Everything all right in there?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes. Everything. All right. Sorry."
|
|
|
|
But he could not get himself straightened out. It was never going to be the way
|
|
it was. He knew that he would have to call Heather to come and get him.
|
|
|
|
It took him another hour to reach the telephone.
|
|
|
|
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
|
|
|
|
"A Transaction" began with a journal entry I made after walking down a farmer's
|
|
access road one winter night in Osgoode, Ontario. Off the main path, I'd
|
|
stumbled on a little shack just beyond a mature planting of pines in
|
|
unnaturally orderly rows. It was a cold night, the snow packed hard and
|
|
squeaking under foot, and I could see smoke coming from the hovel's makeshift
|
|
stovepipe. The feeling was that I was out in the cold, the interloper, while
|
|
inside, this squatter was snug and warm. How that feeling flipped and was
|
|
translated to Dixon's experience is one of those mysteries of the creative act,
|
|
I suppose, a transaction in its own right.
|
|
|
|
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Maree Jaeger
|
|
|
|
|
|
Lets Play
|
|
---------
|
|
|
|
|
|
Lets play love
|
|
we can dress it up
|
|
or down
|
|
according to the weather.
|
|
We can comb the tendrils
|
|
of its hair
|
|
one way
|
|
then another.
|
|
We can scatter it
|
|
around this space.
|
|
We can invent
|
|
dialogue and situations.
|
|
The decor, the clothes
|
|
the outdoor walks
|
|
are all co-ordinated.
|
|
We can hang the sheets
|
|
on
|
|
this
|
|
line.
|
|
Lets play love
|
|
and when we get tired
|
|
We can pack it all
|
|
under the bed
|
|
out of view.
|
|
|
|
|
|
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Maree Jaeger
|
|
|
|
Invitation
|
|
----------
|
|
|
|
|
|
Hopscotch, chalk, bruised and bleeding knees.
|
|
How nicely veneered you are.
|
|
Excuse my sickly pumpkin coloured smile.
|
|
Make yourself at home.
|
|
You fit in snugly near my manic depressant devotee
|
|
on your left lies my timeless addict,
|
|
but so composed now.
|
|
Ssssh!
|
|
He mustn't be disturbed.
|
|
Please sit down.
|
|
Ignore the sickly mimosa
|
|
Ignore the pervert in the corner.
|
|
Have a piece of chalk, take my hopscotch
|
|
take my bruised and bleeding knees.
|
|
|
|
|
|
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
William Shard
|
|
|
|
me
|
|
--
|
|
|
|
|
|
a childhood long faded into
|
|
pastel smears never forgotten
|
|
- images of swaying sunflowers
|
|
stoic stone warriors beside giant
|
|
mounds of long dead monarchs
|
|
i knew was every life's fate
|
|
but never stopped to consider
|
|
|
|
of images i teased into lucid
|
|
details impossibly later
|
|
imagined royalty i too,
|
|
might prod the inner demons...
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|
lonely daydreams on humming
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|
maryland summers broke into
|
|
the future's illusions pondered on
|
|
lying still on cool autumn nights
|
|
alive with expectation
|
|
|
|
and i believed (such words
|
|
as only i could have spoken
|
|
to myself... and the lies
|
|
most easily destroyed are
|
|
the ones we tell ourselves...
|
|
and know)
|
|
|
|
with every pounding moment,
|
|
i hoped - begging
|
|
for justice i knew could not
|
|
be just
|
|
|
|
a shattering end to things
|
|
thought so innate
|
|
|
|
hopes... (i know them well,
|
|
though perhaps
|
|
they are not my own...
|
|
who can claim anything
|
|
their own? and i could
|
|
tell you what those humming
|
|
sunlit days and crisp nights
|
|
flashed through the mind's eye
|
|
to tantalize with vague
|
|
nuances of staccatto lives
|
|
to be...
|
|
of this i am as death)
|
|
|
|
for desire itself
|
|
everything for it's own
|
|
sake...
|
|
and you are guilty too
|
|
|
|
yet how are you to know
|
|
me (though i spoke in
|
|
stuttering eloquence)
|
|
how are you to know what
|
|
i am to be
|
|
(when i could not
|
|
tell you)
|
|
?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Brett Allen Holloway-Reeves
|
|
|
|
HOW ONE DARK AND STORMY NIGHT MR. J. ALFRED PRUFROCK
|
|
FOUND HIMSELF IN A HOUSTON SUBURB
|
|
|
|
|
|
O do not say that again,
|
|
how the rain-laden wind has rocked our boat.
|
|
See the river of life ceases to murmur in the psychic background.
|
|
An aesthetic junkyard, infected by change and process, rots,
|
|
the very trashiest collection of column, pilaster,
|
|
architrave and moulding.
|
|
I, wandering the smoke-filled *chambres de bonne*, fulfill romance.
|
|
|
|
Ihab Hassan, forgive me the thrill of ordering *hors-d'oeuvres*
|
|
(outside of the meal).
|
|
I have built my house on the sand,
|
|
given up the transcendental playgroup of the bourgeoisie,
|
|
the petty bunch.
|
|
Sick, as a fungus creeps inside the human will, sneaks
|
|
by the riverside of life, laying down the burdenous riffs of
|
|
a quaint jazz impersonation BigBand lie.
|
|
|
|
Shall I call on Madonna?
|
|
Shall I tell her what I wanna know?
|
|
Can't tell Kenneth Burke from Edmund Burke
|
|
and even Elvis turns out an imposture.
|
|
All names penetrated and penetrating, the tortured Foucauldian lie.
|
|
Pity for the old guy.
|
|
Every confession a pleasing digression:
|
|
In 1973, three women and a man smoked marijuana on the White House roof.
|
|
O do not say that again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Once I dreamed of laying hands on the wind.
|
|
Now only mourning.
|
|
Mourning the death of God, we're doomed to reerect him,
|
|
lazar-like licking at his heels.
|
|
So let's be done. Let it be done.
|
|
|
|
|
|
But for what is it done?
|
|
For the potluck supper? the talk turned to television,
|
|
the rapid vision of pixel and light,
|
|
every vision a revision,
|
|
every thought already thought,
|
|
and no turning away.
|
|
|
|
And only for this?
|
|
|
|
I dream, I dream.
|
|
Even in a gaudy land of plastic pharoahs and guitar millionaires,
|
|
even in the checkerboard halls of the Eastgate mall.
|
|
I dream of original thought, decidedly live-pan.
|
|
Irony is more than the muslin of the mind, it's the deathshroud,
|
|
a one-way ticket to Turin.
|
|
But will it have been possible to give back the inspissated jargon of a Lyotard
|
|
|
|
and in exchange peel on the black bodysuit and the poet's shirt and a
|
|
blue headband with red fardels and touch our lips to the
|
|
cold
|
|
dirt the rain has nuzzled with?
|
|
Could this be enough to inspire?
|
|
Silly sensitive lovelike-
|
|
My feet stiff on the concrete, catcracker fumes dizzy the mind,
|
|
I grow old and tired.
|
|
A streetlight hums.
|
|
|
|
Marx and Mill were modernists.
|
|
And Omar Calabrese.
|
|
Said said I'm not to say this.
|
|
I will face now the fact that my own mother gave birth.
|
|
My gaze hits the side of her face.
|
|
My jaw droops to my chest.
|
|
My fat dewlap licks my neck.
|
|
*Geworfenheit*
|
|
|
|
You have never heard, never heard of him:
|
|
How in a litter of leafmould he lay down at last, and tucked the leaves
|
|
around his throat.
|
|
His mind leapt lively from classical bronze to *D.O.A.*
|
|
But of course he made it out alive.
|
|
Doomed to suffer the tumbril's bray.
|
|
Held to stumble the shopper's way.
|
|
The wind, not rain.
|
|
Body, wholly body.
|
|
|
|
Did I mention a song of hope?
|
|
|
|
|
|
Wake me Wake me Wake me up
|
|
Bridge time passed without a doubt
|
|
Shannon in a triplecabpickuptruck
|
|
Nearly paid it off but he drowned
|
|
|
|
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
|
|
|
|
|
|
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
|
|
|
|
The People
|
|
|
|
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE ARTISTS
|
|
|
|
|
|
Richard Cumyn is the author of _The Limit of Delta Y Over Delta X_, a
|
|
collection of short stories published this year by Goose Lane Editions. He
|
|
lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Maree Jaeger has had work published in books, anthologies and magazines in
|
|
Australia and overseas. She has also performed her work in public. She has a
|
|
number of University degree's and has worked as a research officer, consultant,
|
|
journalist, and computer consultant. She is also an actor and is currently in
|
|
the middle of publishing a book of her work.("With a Glass to the Wall") Loves
|
|
the moon, the ocean and Swiss chocolate.
|
|
|
|
|
|
William Shard thinks he may know what he's doing and where he's going to be
|
|
soon and sincerely hopes he is right. His works have been published in Groovy
|
|
Toothpicks, Fresh Oil-Loose Gravel, The Black Dog Review, previously in et
|
|
Cetera, and a few others that he can't remember at the moment.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Brett Holloway-Reeves a Ph.D. (in English) student at the University of Texas
|
|
at Austin, where he host a poetry show on student radio 91.7 KVRX. He grew up
|
|
on a farm in Louisiana (South La, thank you) and is just finishing a collection
|
|
of poems and short stories about that area, called %Topsy%.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE PANEL
|
|
|
|
|
|
Adam is currently doing time as a law student in Cambridge, MA (as in Harvard -
|
|
the man is just too humble - the editor). For relaxation purposes he enjoys
|
|
running and running up long distance phone bills. Originally from Florida,
|
|
Adam is looking forward to the day when he will live where the sun peeks
|
|
through for more than 3 months out of the year. All those interested in
|
|
contributing to the "Feed a hungry law student fund" campaign should make
|
|
checks payable to Adam Rose and send them to Oklahoma, c/o Steve C. Lee he WILL
|
|
make sure they get to their appropriate and worthy destination.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Julian Nam is looking forward to June when he (finally) graduates from Andrews
|
|
U. with a BA in Sociology and a minor in Chemistry, after which he will go work
|
|
for ???? company where he will earn $XXX,XXX per year.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Joey Maier is part fish, and is currently seeking a graduate school where he
|
|
will be paid to learn as much as possible without straying too far from the
|
|
water.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Helena is currently experimenting on ways to become immortal as a first-year
|
|
student at Mount Holyoke College in Massachusetts. Environmental Studies will
|
|
probably be her major and she is hoping that some day she will own a beet farm
|
|
and a canoe.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Edsel Adap can't decide if he wants money or education??? Career or School?
|
|
He wants to be a millionaire by the time he's 30 AND have a PhD by that age
|
|
too.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The following people were too lazy to write their own blurb so I am
|
|
taking the liberty of doing it for them.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Susie Lim is a senior at UC Berkeley. Her plans are to travel all over the
|
|
world and learn about music while she's young and then veg behind a big oak
|
|
desk at a university when she's old.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Ramona Sohn is trying to survive the smog of the "Inland Empire" (where they
|
|
get off calling themselves that is beyond me) while studying piano at UC
|
|
Riverside. She is very secretive and has not told the editor what her plans
|
|
are.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Russell Chin is a second year medical student at University of Texas in San
|
|
Antonio. The last time the editor heard, he was planning on a career in
|
|
neurology. If anyone is interested, Russell would be more than happy to
|
|
serenade them with his violin and speak excellent French to them.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jessica Kim is a third year at University of Alberta and lives very close to
|
|
that obscenely large mall in Edmondton. She plans to run back to Korea as soon
|
|
as she possibly can.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Thanks again to everyone who helped out.
|
|
Send comments to lees@andrews.edu
|
|
?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?&?
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