1719 lines
84 KiB
Plaintext
1719 lines
84 KiB
Plaintext
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Living in such a state taTestaTesTaTe etats a hcus ni gniviL
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of mind in which time sTATEsTAtEsTaTeStA emit hcihw ni dnim of
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does not pass, space STateSTaTeSTaTeStAtE ecaps ,ssap ton seod
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does not exist, and sTATeSt oFOfOfo dna ,tsixe ton seod
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idea is not there. STatEst ofoFOFo .ereht ton si aedi
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Stuck in a place staTEsT OfOFofo ecalp a ni kcutS
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where movements TATeSTa foFofoF stnemevom erehw
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are impossible fOFoFOf elbissopmi era
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in all forms, UsOFofO ,smrof lla ni
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physical and nbEifof dna lacisyhp
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or mental - uNBeInO - latnem ro
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your mind is UNbeinG si dnim rouy
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focusing on a unBEING a no gnisucof
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lone thing, or NBeINgu ro ,gniht enol
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a lone nothing. bEinGUn .gnihton enol a
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You are numb and EiNguNB dna bmun era ouY
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unaware to events stneve ot erawanu
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taking place - not -iSSuE- ton - ecalp gnikat
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knowing how or what 2/25/95 tahw ro woh gniwonk
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to think. You are in FOUR-TEEN ni era uoY .kniht ot
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a state of unbeing.... ....gniebnu fo etats a
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
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CONTENTS OF THiS iSSUE
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=----------------------=
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GUESSED EDiTORiAL I Wish My Name Were Nathan
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STAFF LiSTiNGS
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[=- ARTiCLES -=]
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KiLL 'EM ALL: THE TRUTH ABOUT AiDS Clockwork
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PEOPLE? Bluejay
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SLAVERY AND THE iRiSH RACE Bobbi Sands
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STANDARD Griphon
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BLOOD ON THE STREETS: EVERYMAN'S
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GUiDE TO GUERRiLLA WARFARE (Part II) Captain Moonlight
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SHE Morrigan
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A BRiEF iNTRODUCTiON TO HiGH SCHOOL I Wish My Name Were Nathan
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[=- POETRiE -=]
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MEDiTATiONS ON DEATH'S SLEEP Dark Crystal Sphere Floating Between Two Universes
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FiLTER Griphon
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RED TOkemASTer
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A CLEAR BLUE SKY Dirk Russell
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GUNS ON THE ROOF Captain Moonlight
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36 Vlad Tepes
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[=- FiCTiON -=]
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iMMUNE Kilgore Trout
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THE PROPHECY Nomad
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YOUR TYPiCAL MONDAY MORNiNG TOkemASTer
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CONTRAST Griphon
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THAT WHiCH LiES BEYOND Dark Crystal Sphere Floating Between Two Universes
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
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GUESSED EDiTORiAL
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by I Wish My Name Were Nathan
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Er... hi. Kilgore's brain dead. Oh well. Now's my chance to start
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instantiating my plan to take over the reins of SoB from under the unsuspecting
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nose of Kilgore Trout, that dirty bastard. In case you weren't aware, _I_ was
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the one who called the FBI on those other literary Irish-loving dorks. They
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were gonna expose the WHOLE FUCKING RACKET--
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Ouch. Kilgore hit me. He's animated even in near death.
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I promise to be nice now. I was having a _tiny_ little power trip there.
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Okay, well, here we go. As all you prolly know, guest editorials have usually
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nothing to do with the material or format of the magazine they appear in. It
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is my grim duty to follow this tradition blindly.
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I thought I'd take this time to announce that I will soon be twenty. As
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I imagine, much of the audience of this 'zine are around this age. Growing
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older doesn't scare me, but what does scare me is what my age is supposed to
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mean in terms of my role in society and the world.
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Fuck it -- growing older does scare me. I don't understand adults. Why
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should I? I know nothing about them, not even as reflected in my parents or
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my teachers. I don't understand them. But the thing I'm also noticing is
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that when I took at the younger generation, I don't understand them either.
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I'm falling out of touch with the kid-stuff I used to prize so dearly. I
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don't understand Pogs. I don't like Nintendo. I don't even read comics
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anymore.
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Well, I suppose this is natural. I'm a member of my own generation, the
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generation of the twenty-fourth letter which I won't mention in polite
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company. I'm supposed to be a lazy, non-voting slacker. I'm not, though.
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I aspire to be, but I cannot. On the one hand, impending retro-conservatism
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is forcing me to make my small voice heard through the ballot box. I cannot
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let myself ignore the very 'adult' act of voting. On the other hand, being
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of adult age pigeonholes me into the image of a soon-to-be-totally-respectable
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-and-hirable student and worker. But I don't want to lose my childish
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enthusiasm and idealism. Do people force childishness out of themselves, or
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it is taken away? When I'm not watching out for myself, I inadvertently
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let both happen to me. That's what scares me.
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Kilgore's waving his fist at me. Well, okay, I was getting a little
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emotional. I have noticed how dark the "Articles" section in SoB tends to be.
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Noted, there are important topics to keep informed about. The world can't be
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all glory and light. There is relatively little of it to go around. But
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within each of us, even if it has been almost smeared completely away by age,
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loss of innocence, or cynicism; we all still have some spark of youth left.
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This may be the only hope we have upon entering the next century. I urge you
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not to let it go. Keep your youth. Prize it and treasure it, for once it
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is gone, is can only be imitated, poorly understood.
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Youth is the future, and the future is still young. It's not over yet.
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P.S. from Kilgore (muttered in hitched breaths between gasping screams):
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SoB #8 will be out some time between the release of SoB issues 14 and 15.
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Be sure to catch it and distribute it.
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P.P.S. from the Trout (he's very adamant to have his words expressed):
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SoB is no longer a zine limited to the borders of Austin, and we can't
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keep track of all happenings. If you write a review about SoB, or see
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one, please forward it to Kilgore at one of the addresses listed in
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the bottom of this magazine.
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
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STAFF LiSTiNG
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EDITOR
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Kilgore Trout
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CONTRIBUTORS
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Bluejay
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Clockwork
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Captain Moonlight
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Dark Crystal Sphere Floating Between Two Universes
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Griphon
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I Wish My Name Were Nathan
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Morrigan
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Nomad
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Dirk Russell
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Bobbi Sands
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Vlad Tepes
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TOkemASTer
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
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[=- ARTiCLES -=]
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
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KiLL 'EM ALL: THE TRUTH ABOUT AiDS
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by Clockwork
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Let me give you a fair warning before I begin. For those of you who may
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be afraid of the truth -- do not read on. The truth is a scary thing. For
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those of you who think you might be able to handle it... prepare yourselves.
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We all know that AiDS is a very serious, life-threatening disease which
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has affected millions of people around the world. We all know that a cure has
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yet to be found. This is most likely the most medically related catastrophe
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to hit the planet for an extremely long time. Doctors speculate that there
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are about 100 million people infected in Africa, 30-50 million in China, and
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at least 20 million in the U.S. Serious is an understatement. But the truth
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is, it is more serious than you could have ever imagined.
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Let me just say it bluntly: there is astonishing, documented proof that
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the U.S. Government is behind the creation of the AiDS virus. For those who
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have trouble reading two syllable words: the government created AiDS. You
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may laugh now, or blow this off as a joke, but read on and see why I stopped
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laughing a long time ago.
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In 1969, the U.S. Army requested $10 million to develop a virus that
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would destroy the immune system. And their request was granted. But do not
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just take my word for it. This is entirely documented in the Congressional
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Record of June 9, 1969. Around the same time, a group called the World Health
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Organization (WHO) promoted research of the same kind. More about WHO later.
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In the early 70's, a one Mr. Henry Kissinger, along with General Brent
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Scowcroft (who was Bush's national security advisor), wrote a top secret
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document (National Security Memorandum 200) which indicated that "depopulation
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should be the highest priority of U.S. foreign policy towards the Third
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World." And guess what? That was adopted as the official foreign policy
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towards the Third World. And you know what else? None of this was known to
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Congress or, more importantly, the American public. This document, which was
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declassified VERY quietly in 1990 and can be attained from the U.S. National
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Archives. It also includes a map that indicates where depopulation would be
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desirable -- all the Third World countries. That's right, all the brown and
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yellow people.
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Now, back to WHO. The World Health Organization went into Central Africa
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in 1972 -- an area now called the AiDS Belt -- and administered a vaccine to
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several thousands of Africans. Right after this event, the first outbreak of
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AiDS on the planet occurred in the same area. And it just so happens that
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this has never been mentioned in the U.S. media.
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In 1978, WHO gave a vaccine to several thousand male homosexuals in New
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York and San Francisco. Every single one of them got AiDS. These were the
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first cases of AIDS in the U.S. And once again, this is all documented.
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Let me go back to the first outbreak of AiDS on the planet -- in Africa
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-- and throw a few more bones in the grave. AiDS supposedly originated when a
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green monkey bit some poor defenseless African on the ass. BULLSHiT! First
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of all, viruses can not jump species. A virus found in a monkey can not be
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transmitted to a human. This is a law in the virus world. Second of all, the
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AiDS virus bears no resemblance whatsoever to anything ever found in any green
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monkey. What it does look like, though, is a cow and sheep virus that were
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somehow bonded together. And do you know the only way that those viruses
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could have bonded together? Someone had to have engineered them in a labora-
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tory. Meaning that AiDS was man-made. Third of all, the AiDS virus started
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in cities. There are no monkeys running around biting people in the cities...
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Have I planted an idea in your head yet? It is frightening, isn't it?
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Well, close your eyes, boys and girls, because we are about to dive deeper
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into the pit of government cover-ups. It seems as though our good ole U.S.
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Government has been suppressing information from the public. They have not
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been telling us the truth. I'll start with a simple example. A Kenyan scien-
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tist who has done valuable research on AiDS was refused entrance to interna-
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tional AiDS conferences in 1987 and 1991. Since he wasn't allowed to go to
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those, in 1992 he decided to take his research directly to the medical organi-
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zations in the U.S. However, for no reason whatsoever, he was refused en-
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trance into the country.
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It gets worse. The Royal Society of Medicine in Great Britain states
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without a doubt that "AiDS meets no criteria of a venereal disease... despite
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what is said by the American Government, AiDS is not primarily a sexually
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transmitted disease." Here are the facts: SALiVA is the second most infec-
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tious fluid in the body... blood is first, and genital secretions come in a
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good third. And yet Mr. Surgeon General states that AiDS can't be transmitted
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through saliva. Then why is it that the most accurate test to see if you have
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AIDS is a saliva test? Hmmmm?
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In fact, it is stated in Congressional Record that AiDS can be transmit-
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ted by mosquitoes. How come nobody ever told us this? And to make things
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even worse, 16,000 Health Care workers contracted AIDS by just being around
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those who were infected. BY JUST BEiNG AROUND THEM! This means breathing in
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the same air as them. Maybe touching them every once in a while.
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Wake up America!!! Our government has been lying to us... again. They
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have been stomping and spitting all over us for a hell of a long time. This
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isn't the first time the U.S. was subject to a germ warfare (if I may use that
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term) attack. In the early 60's, millions of unsuspecting Americans took a
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polio vaccine that was laced with a cancer causing virus. We are just now
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beginning to see the effects of this through leukemia and brain tumors.
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Why? That's the big question, isn't it? Why is the government doing
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this to the world? Well ... it's not the easiest question in the world to
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answer. The best answer I can come up with is to depopulate the world. You
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see, in the 60's and 70's there was a huge scare of overpopulation of the
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planet. As I mentioned earlier, getting rid of some of the people on earth
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was a very high priority to the government. And what would be the easiest way
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to do this and have people think it's occurring naturally? Have them contract
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a disease of some kind. And what people would be the easiest to get rid of?
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Those who are unwanted. Namely minorities and homosexuals. This country has
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always been racist -- it still is. And this country has never accepted homo-
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sexuals as a normal person. So naturally, there wouldn't be a huge protest by
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everyone in the world if all of the sudden minorities and homosexuals started
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dying. Would you like a little more proof that AIDS was targeted at minori-
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ties? In Brazil, 40% of the women at childbearing age have AIDS. And 90% of
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those are black. And here is an even more alarming one: AZT, the main drug
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used to slow down the progress of AIDS is largely ineffective in blacks. In
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fact, it aggravates the symptoms.
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There you have it folks. What can I say? It makes me want to cry. What
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can we do? Well, I do not know. All hope is not lost, however, for there are
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many independently funded research organizations not affiliated with the
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government who are desperately searching for a cure. My guess is, that some-
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time, some group, having ties with the government, will miraculously find the
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cure for AiDS ... after a billion or so people have died.
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For those of you who are even slightly alarmed by this and wish to find
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out more, let me know.
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
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"I'd like to see people, instead of spending so much time on the ethical
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problem, get after the problems that really affect the people of this
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country."
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--Richard Nixon
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
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PEOPLE?
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by Bluejay, inspired by Robert Shea and
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Robert Anton Wilson's _The Illuminatus Trilogy_
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Out of every one hundred people born, ninety will be fools, nine will be
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villains, and one will be a wise man. The villains will become politicians
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and bureaucrats, and the fools will go flocking to their banners like sheep to
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their leader, the wise man trailing unwillingly behind, knowing that if he
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doesn't go with the flock, he will be ostracized or killed. But the wise man
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is afraid. He knows that at any time, the villains -- the head sheep -- could
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lead them all off a cliff -- and the flock would follow.
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So the wise man changes. He becomes one of three things -- a sheep like
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the rest, docile and servile; a cast out, alone and friendless, though secure
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in his knowledge of what is right; or a wolf. The wolf, as a predator,
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follows no rules but his own, no god but that of Blood. He spends his life,
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sometimes dressed in the clothing of the sheep (though he cannot eat their
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grass), destroying the flock. The wolf knows that if he kills enough sheep,
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eventually the leader will be alone, with no more lambs to sacrifice, and he
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will fall. If the leader of the flock is dead, the flock cannot be lead off
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the cliff, and it will survive.
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With no politicians to lead us off the cliff of war and starvation with
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their rules and regulations and bureaucratic bullshit, maybe we will too.
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
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"I'm just hoping that one day the sheep will realize that the shepherd is
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really a wolf in disguise."
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--from The Eternal
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
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SLAVERY AND THE iRiSH RACE
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by Bobbi Sands
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This month, over in the States, they are celebrating Black History Month.
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Or Heritage, as some call it, "Because it isn't just about the past," or
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something. A nominal nod of the head is granted to the militants, such as
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Malcolm X, slain 30 years ago on the 21st, and the Black Panthers, though they
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are generally forgotten. Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Civil Rights
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Movement is remembered, and the usual encyclopedia Famous Black Scientists
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list is dragged out. The reason that there is a Black history month, though,
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the root cause, is slavery.
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The existence of slavery, though, is not the root cause alone. Slavery
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has existed through the ages, and it is generally forgotten. In the U.S.,
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slavery tore apart the white nation, and for this it is remembered. Slavery
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is not remembered because it is inhuman and barbaric. The Civil Rights
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Movement is not remembered because people were oppressed. They are remembered
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because they tore apart the white nation.
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Case in point: If the point was that slavery was inhuman, why do we
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never hear about the Irish slaves.
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American history books deal quite a bit with Black slavery, and this is
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understandable. Black slavery influenced the nation considerably. The Blacks
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were not the first, though, and the history books note that, too. A paragraph
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is usually devoted to how the Indians were enslaved first, and then a number
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of reasons are given for how easy it was for the Indians to disappear into the
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undergrowth.
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The slavery of Europeans is granted at most a footnote.
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A few Germans and a number of Scots were sold into slavery in the British
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colonies, but by far the worst European slave trade I have read about was that
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of the Irish. First, though, this should be set into an historical setting.
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Ireland has been occupied for centuries by the hostile British invader
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force. One of the darkest points of this story was the period of Cromwell's
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invasion. Cromwell was sent to put down a revolt in Ireland, and took to it
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with all plans of genocide. His own words survive in some points, such as his
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letter to the Speaker of the House of Commons, where he speaks of the
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slaughter in St. Peter's Church, saying:
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In this very place, a thousand of them were put to the
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sword, fleeing thither for safety.... And now give me
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leave to say how this work was wrought. It was set upon
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some of our hearts that a great thing should be done, not
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by power or might, but by the spirit of God.
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In celebration of this horror, October 2, 1649, was declared a national
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Thanksgiving Day in England.
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By 1652, Ireland's resistance had been crushed for that generation.
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Seumas MacManus reminds us, though:
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Ireland's sufferings, great and terrible as they had been,
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were yet far from ended. True, she had quaffed her
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chalice to the last bitter drop, but it was ordained that
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she must now lap up the poisoned dregs.
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Five-sixths of the people of Ireland had perished, from the war, the
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cruelty of the invaders, and starvation and the plagues that followed the
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occupation. And after these five-sixths had been slain, we must add to that
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those that were removed. Of these last, the Irish slaves play a major part.
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First, the invaders, in their "mercy", allowed the Irish to avoid
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starvation by deporting such persons as had been soldiers for Ireland to leave
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the nation and join armies friendly to England. Many went to the Continent,
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including, for example, five thousand to Poland and thirty thousand to Spain.
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And not just to soldiery, but to all areas where trained people were needed.
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MacManus recounts one historian as saying:
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They became Chancellors of Universities, professors and
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high officials in every European state. A Kerryman was
|
|
physician to Sobieski, King of Poland. A Kerryman was
|
|
confessor to the Queen of Portugal, and was sent by the
|
|
King on an embassy to Louis the Fourteenth. A Donegal man
|
|
named O'Glacan was physician and Privy Chancellor to the
|
|
King of France, and a very famed professor of medicine in
|
|
the Universities of Tolouse and Bologna.
|
|
|
|
There was not a country in Europe, and not an
|
|
occupation, where Irishmen were not in the first rank --
|
|
as Fieldmarshals, Admirals, Ambassadors, Prime Ministers,
|
|
Scholars, Physicians, Merchants, Soldiers, and Founders of
|
|
mining industry.
|
|
|
|
Second, Cromwell decided that he would evict the Irish people. The six
|
|
counties of Ireland that remain under occupation, where it is claimed that the
|
|
people support Britain, we to be depopulated of all Irish people and
|
|
repopulated with British subjects. Irish were, in Cromwell's words, to "go to
|
|
Connacht [west Ireland] or go to Hell."
|
|
|
|
After all this, it would seem a wonder that Ireland had any population at
|
|
all, at all, let alone one that would continue to rise up generation to
|
|
generation, and will continue to do so until the invader is repulsed.
|
|
Nonetheless, Cromwell and the businessmen of Britain were not done yet.
|
|
Having drained the blood of the Irish people, they took time to drain the very
|
|
bodies of the people.
|
|
|
|
It is estimated that somewhere between thirty and eighty thousand of the
|
|
children of Ireland were sold into slavery into the West Indies during the
|
|
coming years. So many were taken that the tradition goes some of the smaller
|
|
islands of the Caribbean yet had Gaelic speaking Blacks into the eighteen
|
|
hundreds.
|
|
|
|
This was not an isolated event, nor was it small scale. The documents
|
|
speak for themselves, and they speak of measurements in the hundreds and up
|
|
for Irish men and women. For example, in 1655 the Governor of Jamaica put in
|
|
an order for 1,000 Irish girls at one go, for, as MacManus puts it, "the most
|
|
appalling kind of slavery." They would be joining thousands that had already
|
|
been sent.
|
|
|
|
Another document, from Henry of the Uprighte Harte to Secretary Thurloe
|
|
says in a letter dated September 18, 1655 [I have standardized the spelling]:
|
|
|
|
I shall not need to repeat anything about the girls, not
|
|
doubting but to answer your expectations to the full in
|
|
that; and I think it might be of like advantage to your
|
|
affairs there, and to ours here, if you should think fit
|
|
to send 1500 or 2000 young boys of from twelve to fourteen
|
|
years of age, to the place aforementioned. We could well
|
|
spare them, and they would be of use to you; and who knows
|
|
but that it may be the means to make them Englishmen, I
|
|
mean rather Christians.
|
|
|
|
It is disgusting that a slaver who thinks nothing to sell thousands of
|
|
children into hard labor in the sugar plantations of the Indies would allude
|
|
to his position as the more "Christian."
|
|
|
|
In all, as I have said, as many as eighty thousand Irish were sold into
|
|
slavery in a few short years, decimating an already depopulated nation. And
|
|
yet this barely even gets a footnote in today's textbooks.
|
|
|
|
And yet they'd probably still claim they mention Black slavery because of
|
|
the "inhumanity" of it.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
|
|
"This thing is a man. Look at what you are, and what awaits you. Gaze on
|
|
this image and learn what your own end will be."
|
|
--a Greek epitaph
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
STANDARD
|
|
by Griphon
|
|
|
|
I have no great thoughts today. No revelations from a cup of coffee or a
|
|
cigarette. I have no great End to which my Means, my writing this, will
|
|
achieve. I blindly put my pen to paper and continue.
|
|
|
|
I am driven by something. Something that I feel I'm getting closer to by
|
|
scratching my thoughts into reality. A numb ache inside that I relieve with
|
|
every line, every word, every letter. Do I wish to be immortal, or tell you
|
|
how I feel? Do I wish to change the world, or simply acknowledge the beautiful
|
|
day outside? Truly, I do not know.
|
|
|
|
I want to meet Christ and Krishna. I want to follow the girl with the
|
|
long brown hair back into the woods and play in her Imagination. I want to
|
|
stare at the stars and scream to Heaven. I want to make love to her and wake
|
|
up and have her still lying next to me. Asleep and beautiful. I want to speak
|
|
and be heard and be accepted and be welcomed with a smile by those, who, to me,
|
|
are intelligent and beautiful. I want to create. Not to be known or
|
|
remembered, but because it is in my soul to create. God felt the most peace
|
|
when he created the world. And the most love when he created Eve.
|
|
|
|
i sigh and look around and fumble for a cigarette today is a beautifully
|
|
calm day and it is at odds with my soul i constantly wander and search for a
|
|
place where I can stop wandering there is something beautiful to be said but
|
|
i cannot say it not today please excuse my rambling it may be meaningless
|
|
perhaps even to me but reight now it seems important...
|
|
|
|
I realized I am not a writer Writers are gifted They can speak and have
|
|
substance I have substance and I can speak but rarely do the two intertwine I
|
|
have substance now and am speaking now but I am not speaking with the substance
|
|
The substance is lost to my soul I apologize
|
|
|
|
What will happen when I finish *wandering* and find that in my hand is
|
|
nothing but a grain of salt and that I have cut my feet on a stone that
|
|
signifies nothing? The void that swallows me is a ring in her nose and a
|
|
stupid Bulgarian speaking of nothing and the broken connections between my love
|
|
and my lust and my security. They are all beautiful girls.... I have lost my
|
|
friends to a higher but meaningless purpose, but smile and suffer silently, all
|
|
the while showing a drunken acquaintance how to play cards and take my new
|
|
friend away from me, where I cannot speak to her. She wears Laura Shley and
|
|
speaks of snakes the way a dog lover speaks of dogs. My glasses lie next to me
|
|
and my drink is watered down and in the other room I hear the tribes of stupid,
|
|
insecure, scared people proclaim their superiority by rejecting me. I wish to
|
|
listen to Mozart coughing. The ashtray is full. But they are smoking and I
|
|
wish to smoke. On the grounds with the refined, speaking coldly so as not to
|
|
feel, I wish to look at my pocketwatch and patchwork heart and speak of gothic
|
|
things. I want to shave. I want to retain the mask she gave to me.
|
|
|
|
I light a cigarette and leave it burning. Why?
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
|
|
"There is no higher religion than human service. To work for the common good
|
|
is the greatest creed."
|
|
-- Albert Schweitzer
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
BLOOD ON THE STREETS: EVERYMAN'S GUiDE TO GUERRiLLA WARFARE (Part II)
|
|
by Captain Moonlight
|
|
|
|
iNTRODUCTiON TO THiS PART:
|
|
|
|
"Let me say . . . that the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of
|
|
love."
|
|
-- Che Guevara
|
|
|
|
Welcome to the second part of "Blood on the Streets." This chapter will
|
|
deal with the organization of the guerrilla band in the early stages of the
|
|
guerrilla war, which will be followed by a chapter detailing the band's organ-
|
|
ization during the later years of the war. Starting with this installment the
|
|
parts have been renamed to chapters, and spellings have been Americanized for
|
|
easier reading. Chapter III will deal with more of the technicalities of the
|
|
guerrilla band, as well as its civilian backing. -- Capt. M.
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER II: EARLY ORGANiZATiON
|
|
|
|
"Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution
|
|
inevitable."
|
|
-- John Fitzgerald Kennedy
|
|
|
|
|
|
The organization of the guerrilla band varies greatly according to the
|
|
band's numbers, as well as the conditions under which the band must work. The
|
|
guerrilla will rise from many different backgrounds and areas, and the band's
|
|
organization must reflect all of these.
|
|
|
|
The crudest sort of guerrilla band is that which arises whenever any one
|
|
group is oppressed, that being small cells of revolutionary fighters who work
|
|
individually for their causes. Sometimes such groups work against each other,
|
|
but in such cases the bands are not united, though they occasionally help each
|
|
other. This is often what forms in the earliest stages of a guerrilla war,
|
|
when the popular mass is agitated but still not generally willing to fight,
|
|
and loosely favoring the status quo. At this time the revolutionary fighters
|
|
work in very unfavorable climates, and stand the best chances of being turned
|
|
in by the civilian population. They will be referred to as 'terrorists' by
|
|
the establishment, who will offer large monetary rewards to any who capture
|
|
the guerrillas. During this time period, each cell will plan and execute its
|
|
own raids, without the backing of a central command. Such a force is the
|
|
Weather Underground who, in their book _Punch With the Red Army_ declared
|
|
(quoted in Robert D. Chapman & M. Lester Chapman's _The Crimson Web of
|
|
Terror_, pg. 32):
|
|
|
|
. . . but there is no such thing as a cell without its initiative.
|
|
For this reason it is essential to avoid any rigidity in the organi-
|
|
zation in order to permit the greatest possible initiative on the
|
|
part of the cell. The old type hierarchy of the traditional left
|
|
doesn't exist in our organization.
|
|
|
|
This means that, except for the priority of objectives set by
|
|
the strategic command, any cell can decide to assault a bank, to
|
|
kidnap or to execute an agent of the government, a figure identified
|
|
with reaction, a spy or informer, a major heroin distributor, and
|
|
carry out any kind of propaganda or war of nerves against the enemy
|
|
without the need to consult the general command.
|
|
|
|
No cell can remain inactive waiting for orders from above. Its
|
|
obligation is to act.
|
|
|
|
This organizational structure was also suggested by Abraham Guillen in
|
|
Uruguay. While in exile from Spain, he saw the Tupamaro safehouses fall like
|
|
dominoes when one was discovered. Believing that the city was the important
|
|
sector from with to start a guerrilla war, Guillen believed that the guerrilla
|
|
band should come together only to form attacks, then dispersing into the
|
|
population, never relying on a single command structure. This was not only to
|
|
avoid the linking of safehouses, but also to prevent arrested members of the
|
|
central command from revealing their subordinates to the authorities. This
|
|
method was also used by the White Boys, rural guerrillas in nineteenth-century
|
|
Ireland, where members of the organization, calling themselves names such as
|
|
Slash-and-Burn, Captain Starlight, and Captain Moonlight used a de-centralized
|
|
command structure so as to avoid prosecution by the authorities.
|
|
|
|
While in this stage of development, much stress must be put on forming
|
|
alliances for later stages in the war, and for mutual support. During this
|
|
time period organizations cannot be completely discounted on trivial differ-
|
|
ences. Simply because a group has minor ideological differences does not mean
|
|
that they are wrong or that they cannot help in the struggle. Remember,
|
|
Capitalist and Communist fought side-by-side against the Nazis during the
|
|
Resistance. However, too often one runs into a band such as Tito's (Josip
|
|
Broz') Communists who, when battling the Nazis in Yugoslavia, would sometimes
|
|
sit and watch as resistance forces of different ideologies battled the Nazis
|
|
and were wiped out before attacking with his own bands. While the guerrilla
|
|
must learn to work with comrades of different beliefs, he cannot be foolish
|
|
and believe just any guerrilla he meets is to be trusted. The guerrilla must
|
|
only align himself with those bands who stand up, like him, for the rights of
|
|
the people. In this way, the bands will be brought more together by common
|
|
toil in order to unite them into one mobile, more efficient force. Also, this
|
|
leads to the ability to trade arms from one band to another. Unfortunately,
|
|
in the early years of the war the bands arms will be a hodgepodge of whatever
|
|
the guerrillas can get their hands on. Eventually these arms will standardize
|
|
into whatever arms are used by the opposing army, for, since in a guerrilla
|
|
war the guerrillas generally do not control the means of production, and must
|
|
thus rely on the ruling army to supply ammunition. By forming such alliances,
|
|
each group may form a squad, and, having prearranged a maneuver, perform it
|
|
with more efficiency than a single band. Eventually these bands will evolve
|
|
into a Liberation Front, which shall be described in more detail in the next
|
|
chapter.
|
|
|
|
Also during the early development education must be stressed. All mem-
|
|
bers of the guerrilla band must be able to use the weapons, and for this
|
|
training camps must be set up outside the city. One tactic used by the Red
|
|
Army Faction (RAF) of West Germany was to set up shooting ranges near air-
|
|
ports, so that gunfire would be covered by aircraft noise. Also, troop maneu-
|
|
vers and drilling must be conducted, but in such a way so as to not arouse the
|
|
authorities. While this is often possible for the rural guerrilla, the urban
|
|
guerrilla must often learn combat in the field. Theoretics of warfare can be
|
|
taught both through written works and through workshops set up wherever possi-
|
|
ble, be it in barns or in basements. This is also the time to educate the
|
|
masses about why the guerrillas are fighting, for the guerrilla cannot win
|
|
without public support. All the guerrillas must be trained in first aid to
|
|
help injured comrades, for in the beginning doctors on the side of the guer-
|
|
rillas will be few and far between, and these will most likely be wandering,
|
|
and not attached to any one particular unit. Later, when strongholds and
|
|
liberated zones are established more stable training and medical zones can be
|
|
set up, but in the earliest stages of the battle such permanent establishments
|
|
are impossible.
|
|
|
|
While fighting with small decentralized cells is the only option in the
|
|
opening years of the war, as well as in totalitarian regimes where any form of
|
|
expanded resistance would immediately be snuffed out, this must eventually
|
|
evolve into a larger force as more people join the movement and more land is
|
|
captured for training. The problem with such a decentralized organization is
|
|
that it means that, with so little organization, the bands often start working
|
|
against each other and the common interest. One band could have an informer
|
|
who is killed by another band. Also, business and government leaders who are
|
|
generally benign or seen as benign cannot simply be executed without expecting
|
|
reprisal. While this leads to good psychological warfare against the estab-
|
|
lishment, it also leads to a loss of support among the people, and the people
|
|
are the ones who will win this fight. Also, all fronts, both legal and mili-
|
|
tary, must be used to achieve humanitarian goals. And, without power behind
|
|
them, the guerrillas have no weight at the negotiations table. While small
|
|
units are the necessary beginning of a guerrilla army, they must eventually
|
|
coagulate into a larger fighting force. Just as this will happen, the guer-
|
|
rilla band will eventually evolve into a regular army, as a guerrilla army
|
|
cannot win a war. Small armies win small battles, but the war will be won by
|
|
a regular army.
|
|
|
|
Next installment: Chapter III: Later Organization
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I have asked you for a moral and spiritual restoration in the land and give
|
|
thanks that in Thy sovereignty Thou hast permitted Richard M. Nixon to lead us
|
|
at this momentous hour of our history."
|
|
-- Rev. Billy Graham
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
SHE
|
|
by Morrigan
|
|
|
|
Slowly the curtains part. Only a millimeter at first, they open further
|
|
and further as the person inside gains confidence that no one will see her.
|
|
Once the crack reaches 2 inches, though, it ceases to grow. Outside her
|
|
haven, the girl of about 15 watches the other children talk and play and
|
|
tumble in the grass. She has no desire to be with them, but yet she cannot
|
|
tear her gaze away. It is almost as if by observing these other creatures she
|
|
lives their lives, escaping from her own dread existence. Though many look
|
|
her way, they see not her curious eyes, nor even the crack in the curtains.
|
|
Their gazes skim over her entire room in fact, not consciously seeing it.
|
|
|
|
Later, she changes for dinner and calmly walks to outside the dining
|
|
hall, where all her fellow students gather before the doors are opened for
|
|
dinner. Quietly she sits on one of the many benches, choosing one that is
|
|
unoccupied, though it sits in full view of all, in the light. Even here,
|
|
amidst the hustle and bustle of her noisy classmates, she seems forgotten. No
|
|
one speaks to her, nor even seems to notice the small figure hunched there on
|
|
the bench. Her eagle eyes dart here and there, eagerly drinking in the sights
|
|
of the crowd. Her sharp ears listen to the words being spoken, though she
|
|
does not remember their content. She remains physically motionless, though
|
|
her brain races along the lives of all of the people here, their words and
|
|
motions being filed away where she can easily access them if she needs to.
|
|
Her actions are completely subconscious. Her conversant mind senses only that
|
|
it wants to view these interesting creatures, while having no desire to run
|
|
amongst them, mingling her talk with theirs.
|
|
|
|
Even at the dinner table she randomly chooses, she is unnoticed. Her
|
|
classmates do not plan to ignore her, they just simply do not realize that she
|
|
is there. Even were she to say something, they would not notice. Their eyes
|
|
skim over her as something not important, her existence not even being
|
|
excommunicated to the consciousness of their dimly lit minds. Yet the girl
|
|
does not care. She actually is glad that they are unaware of her presence.
|
|
She does not enjoy conversation, though if it confronts her, she will face it,
|
|
seeming to be a shy, kind, harmless girl to those on the other end of the
|
|
words.
|
|
|
|
The young woman has done this for most of her life, even as a very
|
|
young child. She never tires of it, constantly taking in new information
|
|
about her surroundings and her fellow humans. Perhaps by looking in to her
|
|
past, this curious behavior can be rationalized. Could it be because of the
|
|
many dinner parties she attended throughout her life, always being under the
|
|
old rule "Children should be seen and not heard"? Could it be because of her
|
|
enjoyment of books and computers, and other activities that were for one
|
|
person, and one person alone, preventing her from developing social skills?
|
|
Probably it is a combination of both of these factors. Perhaps her constant
|
|
acclimation to being silent while observing people has caused that action to
|
|
become a part of her person, wherein her lack of communication was transmitted
|
|
to the outside world, so that they began to not notice her. Perhaps over time
|
|
her entire being has been built around not being noticed, in such a way that
|
|
she possesses almost a magical immunity to people.
|
|
|
|
Who can say whether this is good or bad? It is a perfect illustration
|
|
of how easy it is for the species to adapt to its own environment. It takes
|
|
less than a generation, less than a lifetime, barely 7 years.
|
|
|
|
The girl succeeds greatly in all of her studies, perhaps because of
|
|
her incredible ability to tune out all things, concentrating on just one, and
|
|
because of her amazing powers of recollection. She has no need to take notes.
|
|
All the information gained in her varied readings is at her fingertips,
|
|
available for immediate use. She is a genius, but even her parents and
|
|
teachers fail to recognize this. Not even she knows it.
|
|
|
|
She lives her life. Surviving if you would call her existence such.
|
|
But following Nature's rule, she will not pass on her talents. Her life, her
|
|
being, have no use in her world. For her, they have meaning, they have
|
|
reason. But they are in no way essential or helpful to the world in which she
|
|
lives. So by Nature's hand she will be eliminated. Forgotten. But she will
|
|
not care. For she will have reached the sweetness of Death. Soon perhaps...
|
|
or not.... Her life depends upon her whim, and no one else's.
|
|
|
|
As it should.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
"It is very nearly impossible... to become an educated person in a country so
|
|
distrustful of the independent mind.
|
|
--James Baldwin
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
A BRiEF iNTRODUCTiON TO HiGH SCHOOL
|
|
by I Wish My Name Were Nathan
|
|
|
|
The principal washes his hands a lot. His half-hearted attempts to
|
|
rinse them in a drinking fountain still leave traces of the gum and spittle
|
|
which stain them, driving him into a frenzied puppet's-dance of scrubbing
|
|
and shaking. When he turns around to face the audience of students that
|
|
waits patiently for his decree, he can only wrench up a grim authoritarian
|
|
smile, and tell them to go back to class.
|
|
|
|
Certainly the students grin at this. There's not yet a rule against
|
|
it. Not to worry, a week's time will remedy the situation. The students
|
|
live their daily lives, filled with not being late, not running in the
|
|
halls, not chewing gum, not spitting, not wearing indecent clothing, not
|
|
hugging or kissing, and not leaving the campus during lunch.
|
|
|
|
It is a highly rewarding education, one hundred and eighty days of
|
|
study for four years or more. Their days are filled with brief mentions of
|
|
the major ideas in mathematics, science, history, English, and art if the
|
|
schedule allows. If their attention has lapsed, and they forget just
|
|
what's being done with their lives, they may catch some of these glimpses
|
|
into the human experience, which, without mandatory attendance they would
|
|
have otherwise missed.
|
|
|
|
The teachers enjoy their jobs. Discipline is challenging and
|
|
rewarding work. Since this art is one of the things still not taught in
|
|
teacher's colleges, they are left unprejudiced in forming their own special
|
|
styles of controlling their students. Duct tape, spankings, demeaning
|
|
comments, F's, these are all at a teacher's dispensal.
|
|
|
|
After the teachers have maintained their students' attention long
|
|
enough to teach them a thing or two, there is time for some superficial
|
|
chatter. Questions such as 'Just what differentiates marijuana from legal
|
|
drugs like cigarettes and alcohol?' and 'If gay teen suicide rates are
|
|
three times higher than other teens, then why isn't there a school club for
|
|
gay teens?' and 'Why do principals smirk when you speak of the Bill of
|
|
Rights?' As certain well-meaning regulations provide, teachers can't talk
|
|
about such matters, and send students with such questions to the guidance
|
|
counselors. And the guidance counselors aren't allowed to talk about them
|
|
either. So the superficial chatter stays just that.
|
|
|
|
The principal is perturbed with all the petitions, suggestions, and
|
|
questions that reach his desk. The flow seems to be never ending, yet he
|
|
doesn't understand what causes it. He reminds himself how he's in touch
|
|
with the students and faculty, about the loving camaraderie the school
|
|
shares, about just how positive the atmosphere is. He decides to think
|
|
about the petitions, suggestions, and questions later. As he leans back in
|
|
his large, stuffed chair, he notices his hands are grimy with sweat and
|
|
dirt. He glances about; no one has noticed. So he wipes his hands on his
|
|
trousers. There. The dirt is hardly noticeable anymore. No one will see
|
|
it.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
|
|
[=- POETRiE -=]
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
MEDiTATiONS ON DEATH'S SLEEP
|
|
by Dark Crystal Sphere Floating Between Two Universes
|
|
|
|
It is easy to forget the dead, I suppose,
|
|
Who never quit their silent repose --
|
|
Cold carven marble stones
|
|
On time-whitened ancient bones
|
|
Keep quiet the cries of the Dead.
|
|
|
|
And yet, in the midst of the dark night,
|
|
The haunted and the sensitive mind might
|
|
Catch a glimpse of something dim
|
|
And hear Dead voices calling him
|
|
Reminding the Living that the Dead do not eternal lie.
|
|
|
|
Shrouded Spectres, ill-remembered from youth,
|
|
And the recent Dead, grotesque and uncouth,
|
|
Warn us of Life's transientness
|
|
While they call us through Time's mists
|
|
And warn us to seize the day.
|
|
|
|
For, once gone, the past is Dead,
|
|
And when at Judgment our accounts are read,
|
|
We must answer for the deeds, both good and ill,
|
|
With which we our Lives have filled,
|
|
And our darkest deeds shall be cried from the highest hills.
|
|
|
|
And so for the future we must prepare;
|
|
The past is gone -- and must be repaired,
|
|
And we insignificant ones with our fleeting Lives
|
|
Must with our short limited Time
|
|
Do our best -- and then we die.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
|
|
"There were the days when you peered into your self, into the secret places of
|
|
your heart, and what you saw there made you fair with horror. And then, next
|
|
day, you didn't know what to make of it, you couldn't interpret the horror
|
|
you had glimpsed the day before. Yes, you know what evil costs."
|
|
--Jean-Paul Sartre
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
FiLTER
|
|
by Griphon
|
|
|
|
Staring,
|
|
empty,
|
|
watching, breathing, hoping...
|
|
|
|
Slowly she turns, brushing the hair from her face.
|
|
She wishes the cars would stop
|
|
their beautiful chaos.
|
|
Sometimes it is too much for her.
|
|
|
|
Sometimes it is too much for me.
|
|
|
|
The crowd forgets me
|
|
and I sit among the vacant stares
|
|
as idle thoughts are spoken.
|
|
Random, meaningless noise. Not substantial...
|
|
|
|
I would crawl inside her head
|
|
and smoke a cigarette.
|
|
Listen to her echo
|
|
as I silently scream.
|
|
|
|
I slowly asphyxiate
|
|
and fall into utter sunlight.
|
|
I am not at peace with this peace.
|
|
I am peace with this war.
|
|
|
|
The world is a beautiful place
|
|
unless you are not removed from it,
|
|
unless you are removed from it.
|
|
Sometimes she is beautiful,
|
|
sitting in her room,
|
|
staring at the cars,
|
|
smiling at the trees,
|
|
and slowly leaving.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
|
|
"The night is my companion, and solitude my guide."
|
|
--Sarah McLachlan
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
RED
|
|
by TOkemASTer
|
|
|
|
I see this river of blood
|
|
Running, chasing, eternally with me
|
|
I bathe in its darkness,
|
|
Enfolding my nakedness.
|
|
From the dark, it calls me.
|
|
It is never far away
|
|
|
|
In a trance, I float numbly
|
|
On a breeze of terror blown.
|
|
On bloody coast of loveless nights
|
|
Sitting in an easy chair.
|
|
Listening to the glowing darkness,
|
|
Effervescent, calmly rising.
|
|
O, the blood
|
|
The silver sword, the life drained
|
|
From a fellow man
|
|
Representative of a God, i roam.
|
|
*I* am the slayer,
|
|
the wielder of the scythe.
|
|
I will carry the Blood throughout time.
|
|
Eons of victims, drained,
|
|
Will fall unto me.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
|
|
"What sane person could live in this world and not be crazy?"
|
|
--Ursula K. LeGuin
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
A CLEAR BLUE SKY
|
|
by Dirk Russell
|
|
|
|
We met under a clear blue sky.
|
|
You were standing alone beneath the shade of a tree as I walked by.
|
|
Our eyes met briefly, as strangers do. Yet there was recognition there
|
|
As well.
|
|
I stopped a few feet away and tried to watch you without watching.
|
|
A man nearby said, "Describe her to me."
|
|
"Tall and thin," I replied, "black hair cut short frames her oval face."
|
|
He smiled.
|
|
I took your hand in mine and said, "Long, supple fingers. Tipped in red."
|
|
And you caressed my face.
|
|
We looked into each other's eyes. Your's, dark like night, stared into my
|
|
Soul and I knew we would never cross paths again.
|
|
Later, we rode in the back of a convertible. The top was down.
|
|
I don't remember who drove.
|
|
You lay on me and my thirsty lips met yours for the first time.
|
|
Poet's words of wine and honey flowed from me as our unspoken love grew.
|
|
Each of us afraid to say it because we knew there would be no tomorrow.
|
|
We kissed again while the wind blew over us.
|
|
I felt whole.
|
|
I felt shame that I must tell you something that honor and honesty
|
|
demanded.
|
|
Yet, I couldn't.
|
|
I couldn't out of fear that I would drive you away. Even though I knew
|
|
We would never meet again.
|
|
Later still, we walked hand in hand. Smiling at one another and exchanging
|
|
Pleasantries.
|
|
Each of us afraid to say what we felt, yet our hearts exploding with the
|
|
desire to shout it to God.
|
|
Finally, I knew the time had come.
|
|
I spoke as we walked and talked of another in my life.
|
|
Hoping you would understand. Or pretend you didn't care.
|
|
Knowing you wouldn't.
|
|
You stopped and my heart sank.
|
|
You raged at me and swung out with open hands and screamed profanities.
|
|
You screamed of my betrayal. Of your Love for me.
|
|
All were like daggers in my heart.
|
|
But your tears twisted them deeper into my soul.
|
|
I held you close and kissed you one last time.
|
|
Our tears mingled on our lips.
|
|
I finally told you that I loved you. And silently prayed we would meet
|
|
Again.
|
|
Knowing we wouldn't.
|
|
I know that I will remember you for years to come.
|
|
I will remember the warmth of your body pressed to mine.
|
|
The taste of you lips. Your love. And your tears.
|
|
The feel of your hands in mine.
|
|
And the ache in my heart.
|
|
Sadness.
|
|
Despair.
|
|
Loneliness.
|
|
Undying love.
|
|
We met under a clear blue sky.
|
|
You were never real.
|
|
You never existed.
|
|
Except in a dream.
|
|
And I love you still.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Intelligence and war are games, perhaps the only meaningful games left. If
|
|
any player becomes too proficient, the game is threatened with termination."
|
|
--William Burroughs
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
GUNS ON THE ROOF
|
|
by Captain Moonlight
|
|
|
|
Guns on the roof
|
|
Keeping up the fight
|
|
Long after the rest give up
|
|
THEY have the might
|
|
To keep off the Oppressor.
|
|
|
|
Rifles to their shoulders
|
|
Squeezing off the rounds
|
|
Fighting a futile battle
|
|
While the Oppressor storms the grounds --
|
|
Death before dishonour.
|
|
|
|
Slowly they are silenced
|
|
One by one they go
|
|
Killed by the Oppressor's guns
|
|
As their families look on in woe
|
|
The streets are splattered red.
|
|
|
|
No white flag for them
|
|
Mourned by very few
|
|
They keep up the battle
|
|
While in the foggy dew
|
|
They lay dying, these brave few
|
|
For the sins of the Oppressor.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
|
|
"We must select the illusion which appeals to our temperament and embrace it
|
|
with passion, if we want to be happy."
|
|
--Cyril Connolly
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
36
|
|
by Vlad Tepes
|
|
|
|
And yes I believe in what we had,
|
|
Christ on high, can you feel my pain?
|
|
In time, in my life, I am more than you could wish.
|
|
I am truth in what I see.
|
|
I am Rage.
|
|
Angel, can I call you that?
|
|
Can you feel my pain?
|
|
Can you stand to take so much?
|
|
I am more than your faith stealing God.
|
|
I am here, real.
|
|
In a moment, skeleton lust.
|
|
I rip, I tear.
|
|
Angel, oh Christ on high, can you kill me?
|
|
Kill me, can you dare kill me with your flesh?
|
|
Take me, can you take me and press more than you wanted?
|
|
And I am, in the last days, your god.
|
|
And you will fall to me and claw at my feet.
|
|
I am God.
|
|
I am Rage.
|
|
With nothing more than the sound of silence, I pass on.
|
|
Fifteen candles and my life is through.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
|
|
[=- FiCTiON -=]
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
iMMUNE
|
|
by Kilgore Trout
|
|
|
|
They mixed the mustard gas with the laughing gas, and everybody around
|
|
me is enjoying their demise. I'm immune to all of this, so I just watch. It
|
|
doesn't take but a few minutes before the laughter stops and I'm the only one
|
|
left standing. Praise God for this super-duper poison: grade A, recommended
|
|
by the FDA. Too bad it doesn't affect me. Dying makes life so much simpler.
|
|
|
|
Across the street is a bar where I used to spend some of my free time.
|
|
Never was a good bar. Only a few people ever went there -- mostly me and the
|
|
bartender. Must be why the drinks cost so much.
|
|
|
|
When I walked in, no one stared. Janey looked up from behind the bar and
|
|
smiled. She was in her fifties now: overweight, grey hair, t-shirt, blue
|
|
jeans.
|
|
|
|
--Hi.
|
|
|
|
--Hello. Haven't seen you in a long time.
|
|
|
|
--Yeah. Times change.
|
|
|
|
--Naturally. So, what have you been doing?
|
|
|
|
--Watching people die.
|
|
|
|
--Ah, the usual.
|
|
|
|
She reached below the counter and placed a shot glass on the bar.
|
|
|
|
--Still drink the same stuff?
|
|
|
|
--No.
|
|
|
|
--Oh. Well, it's on the house. Tell me what you want.
|
|
|
|
--Anxiety.
|
|
|
|
--Sorry, that's what we're supposed to relieve you from.
|
|
|
|
--Guess I'm in the wrong place.
|
|
|
|
Don't you understand that when the clock strikes three time will stand
|
|
still? People will freeze and life will cease. But it's only a temporary
|
|
reprieve and then things return back to abnormal.
|
|
|
|
At my court hearing they wanted to know if I really had cut off Janey's
|
|
head. I told them I had. They did not look pleased. Seems that particular
|
|
action isn't something one does if he wants to be a respectable member of
|
|
society. The judge didn't believe me and let me go. I protested, stating
|
|
that I was not a liar and if I said I did something, I did it. He still
|
|
didn't believe me. Even decapitating my lawyer on the spot didn't convince
|
|
him.
|
|
|
|
Twenty years ago I owned a pair of red tennis shoes. They were made from
|
|
canvas and I wore them everywhere. One day I realized I didn't know what the
|
|
bottoms of the shoes looked like. When I lifted my foot, all I saw was the
|
|
word "lucid" scribbled in blue ink. My faith in God died right there.
|
|
|
|
I burned the shoes. They were still on my feet, but that didn't matter--
|
|
I was immune. The children screamed and cried while a teacher put out the
|
|
flames with a fire extinguisher. He said I shouldn't do stupid things like
|
|
that. I didn't understand his logic.
|
|
|
|
My father placed me in one of the local labor camps when I was fourteen,
|
|
right after my mother died. For eight hours a day I worked in the diamond
|
|
mines. Deep beneath the earth, I fell in love with Melanie. She worked
|
|
beside me. Melanie only had one pinky because the guards had sliced off her
|
|
other one to instill the idea that it was wrong to steal diamonds. On our
|
|
breaks we would hide and make love because she wanted to. When the guards
|
|
found out that she was pregnant six months later, they shot her in the belly
|
|
and complimented me on being so manly at such an early age. I never thought
|
|
it would be this easy to make new friends.
|
|
|
|
--You need me.
|
|
|
|
--I don't want you.
|
|
|
|
--But I love you.
|
|
|
|
--You only think you do. Love is dead. What you call love is really
|
|
lust. You need me so you can use me.
|
|
|
|
--Maybe you're right. Maybe all I want is sex. Is that wrong?
|
|
|
|
--No, as long as you admit it.
|
|
|
|
--God, you are so smart. Wanna fuck?
|
|
|
|
--Why not?
|
|
|
|
Three men jumped me when I took a shortcut through the alley on my way
|
|
home. One had a steel pipe and the other two had knives. They beat me into a
|
|
bloody pulp. It didn't hurt. I asked them, "It does no good -- I have
|
|
nothing to give you." They turned and ran away.
|
|
|
|
Three men jumped me when I took a shortcut through the alley on my way
|
|
home. One had a steel pipe and the other two had knives. They beat me into a
|
|
bloody pulp. It didn't hurt. I asked them, "Will you kill me? I want to be
|
|
alive again." They turned and ran away.
|
|
|
|
Three men jumped me when I took a shortcut through the alley on my way
|
|
home. One had steel wool and the other two had wives. They beat me into a
|
|
bloody pulp. It didn't hurt. I asked them, "Have I not suffered enough
|
|
already? Why don't you hurt me?" They turned into fish and swam away.
|
|
|
|
Three men jumped me when I took a shortcut through the alley on my way
|
|
home. One had steel spikes and the other two had planks of wood. They nailed
|
|
me into a bloody christ. It didn't hurt. I said to God, "Father, forgive
|
|
them, for they know what they do." They rolled dice for my clothes and ran
|
|
away.
|
|
|
|
I visited myself today. I looked utterly terrible.
|
|
|
|
--You're a mess.
|
|
|
|
--I know.
|
|
|
|
--Why don't you pull yourself together?
|
|
|
|
--I can't.
|
|
|
|
--All you do is watch people die. Is that any way to live?
|
|
|
|
--It's the only way I know how.
|
|
|
|
--Isn't there any way to change that?
|
|
|
|
--I could die.
|
|
|
|
--But you can't.
|
|
|
|
--Right.
|
|
|
|
--You're wrong.
|
|
|
|
--No, I'm not.
|
|
|
|
--Yes. You can die.
|
|
|
|
--How?
|
|
|
|
--You'll figure it out. I'll be waiting.
|
|
|
|
The bombs fell two days later. Nothing was mixed with these bombs. This
|
|
was real war, and people were definitely not having a good time. The streets
|
|
became cratered and buildings grew huge, gaping holes in their sides. Bodies
|
|
were strewn about everywhere. The usual. At least the flies were enjoying
|
|
this new influx of food.
|
|
|
|
The end seemed near. But the finality of the situation only applied to
|
|
those around me. They were temporary while I had somehow become a permanent
|
|
fixture in this dying world. I needed to find a way out soon before I lost my
|
|
chance to do so.
|
|
|
|
I invited myself to dinner. We decided on this little Italian place on
|
|
the West Side. The drinks were waiting, and after our food was ordered, I
|
|
looked at myself in helpless abandon.
|
|
|
|
--Do you understand what is happening now?
|
|
|
|
--No.
|
|
|
|
--It's really quite simple. I'm embarrassed--I thought I was smarter.
|
|
|
|
--Then tell me what I have to do.
|
|
|
|
--I cannot.
|
|
|
|
--Why not? If you're me...
|
|
|
|
--And you are me...
|
|
|
|
--Then why can't you tell me? You aren't telling *me*, you're telling
|
|
*yourself*.
|
|
|
|
--But I wouldn't be telling me, I'd be telling you. After all, I am you.
|
|
|
|
--This is confusing.
|
|
|
|
--Understandable. You've suffered so long and yet you are very close.
|
|
|
|
--Close? Close to what? The end?
|
|
|
|
--The truth.
|
|
|
|
--And what is the truth?
|
|
|
|
--Just the truth. Nothing more, nothing less.
|
|
|
|
--Why do you tantalize me like this? You of all people should know what
|
|
I'm going through.
|
|
|
|
--I do. You suffer because you cannot suffer. You feel pain because you
|
|
cannot feel. You don't live. You just are.
|
|
|
|
--And I want it to stop.
|
|
|
|
--Then stop it. You have that choice.
|
|
|
|
--But I've tried everything imaginable. I can't kill myself.
|
|
|
|
--True. You can, however, kill yourself.
|
|
|
|
--Aren't you listening to what I'm saying? It's impossible.
|
|
|
|
--Damn, I really am an imbecile. Wake up! You hide behind a shroud.
|
|
Remove it and see reality *for what it is*!
|
|
|
|
--I have no reality anymore.
|
|
|
|
--Exactly. Your reality is the absence of reality, and once you accept
|
|
that and understand its implications, the answer will be obvious.
|
|
|
|
--I need to go to the restroom.
|
|
|
|
The reflection in the mirror glared at me without compassion. Was
|
|
another me on the other side, or was it just what it appeared to be? The
|
|
boundary of where I began and where I ended was becoming increasingly blurred.
|
|
An explosion from outside shattered the window with a deafening blast. If
|
|
only I were that window...
|
|
|
|
Life is cruel, but it becomes sadistic when there is only life. To be
|
|
immortal is a curse, for he who does not die never rests, and it is that
|
|
eternal sleep that I yearn for. People always say they want to live forever,
|
|
but do they really? It is a hideous thing to hope for, an unnatural thing, an
|
|
evil idea. From the moment one is born he starts dying, yet with that taken
|
|
away he can never truly live.
|
|
|
|
Behind the toilet was a revolver, duct-taped to the wall, just like in
|
|
the best gangster movies. I took it and walked out to the dining area. I saw
|
|
myself and smiled.
|
|
|
|
--Shoot me. Kill yourself.
|
|
|
|
I raised the gun and fired. My head exploded into a bloody cloud.
|
|
|
|
I didn't feel a thing.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go
|
|
away."
|
|
--Philip K. Dick
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
THE PROPHECY
|
|
by Nomad
|
|
|
|
And the prophecy read:
|
|
|
|
And so it shall be mother and father will hate each other.
|
|
Brother and sister will love one another.
|
|
Son will fight with father till one is dead.
|
|
Greed will consume the populace.
|
|
Murder, suspicion, and bigotry will spread like wild fire.
|
|
All will hate each other.
|
|
No learning save by mouth.
|
|
Knowledge known as books will all be destroyed.
|
|
Buildings will fall.
|
|
The smell of the dead will be one with the air.
|
|
People pray to gods for a miracle.
|
|
After some years, there will be a peace and with that peace comes a
|
|
plague.
|
|
No one seems immune.
|
|
More will die till only a hand full of people will survive.
|
|
And they go back to nature with no wish to remember the past.
|
|
|
|
I read the prophecy to the ones who follow me. Me! a man who in his life
|
|
was a follower. "How times change," I think.
|
|
|
|
My group know the truth of the plagues and war, and death.
|
|
|
|
We alone accept the truth.
|
|
|
|
We don't believe some cosmic deity brought about this end so only to root
|
|
out its followers.
|
|
|
|
We know that mankind killed itself. All the great nations fell; no one
|
|
was safe. Even I contracted the plague. But I would not let something that
|
|
this race has brought upon me I will survive. And I did.
|
|
|
|
"The prophecy was true but for one thing. We shall not forget the past
|
|
for if we do we are forced to relive it," I said.
|
|
|
|
"Let us be off away from the carnage that the race known as man has done.
|
|
We will live, thrive off the land and survive.
|
|
|
|
And with that I turned and looked at the fires and death that spread
|
|
through the city. And tears came to my eyes of the remembrance of the dead.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
"Millions long for immortality who do not know what to do with themselves on
|
|
a rainy Sunday afternoon."
|
|
--Susan Ertz
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
YOUR TYPiCAL MONDAY MORNiNG
|
|
by TOkemASTer
|
|
|
|
It was a cold day in hell, and as I looked out my window, I saw the cows
|
|
were coming home. As I stepped outside, I almost got knocked over by a flying
|
|
pig. Walking to the garage, I stepped on a worm. I stooped down, looked
|
|
closely, and--lo and behold--it had ears.
|
|
|
|
I gasped. I turned around, heading for the street. The mailman, Melvin,
|
|
stopped, greeted me, handed me my mail, and started walking away. As he
|
|
started treading down the street, he stopped. I heard a large *rip*, turned
|
|
around, and he was writhing on the ground. I looked closely, and saw a head
|
|
poking out of his ass. In a few minutes, out came a winged monkey! He was
|
|
flying as gracefully as all flying ass-monkeys do.
|
|
|
|
I stopped just long enough to kick Melvin's skull in before walking back
|
|
inside, drinking syrupy straight black coffee for a few hours, and smoking a
|
|
big fat joint. I wanted to slaughter Barney the Dinosaur because he's just
|
|
so damned corny. And then the realization dawned on me... the last thing I
|
|
needed was another hit of acid.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Who's going to bake a cake for the lord?"
|
|
--Brother Bob Tilton
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
CONTRAST
|
|
by Griphon
|
|
|
|
Darkness fell. Slowly, he reaches out for her. She pulls closer, more
|
|
instinct than emotion. He touches her. Her body is warm and giving. He takes
|
|
from her. He gives to her. Her breath is hot on his neck. Her teeth bite,
|
|
draw blood. She digs into his skin, pulling him closer. He swears he cannot
|
|
get any closer to her. He is right. No spirituality. She tries to become a
|
|
part of him. But he resists. He is scared...
|
|
|
|
Sometimes he wishes she were not alive. His soul is not his, but it is
|
|
all he knows. She alienates him by forcing him to look at himself.
|
|
|
|
"I am your mirror," she says.
|
|
|
|
"Go to hell," he says.
|
|
|
|
She cries. He touches her softly and whispers something to her that he
|
|
cannot say to himself. He loathes himself through her. He hates her through
|
|
himself. He continues the quest for denial... She is a saint...
|
|
|
|
He writes:
|
|
|
|
Sometimes there is no meaning here.
|
|
Deep inside I hate you.
|
|
You are my pain.
|
|
I once thought...
|
|
Now I regret you.
|
|
|
|
Blood from his wrist. Her legs. His breathing slows. Hers quickens.
|
|
She screams in ecstasy. He gasps in agony...
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
|
|
"If you'd like to find out what's behind these cold eyes?
|
|
You'll just have to claw your way through this disguise."
|
|
--Pink Floyd
|
|
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
THAT WHiCH LiES BEYOND
|
|
by Dark Crystal Sphere Floating Between Two Universes
|
|
|
|
"There are sacraments of evil as well as of good about us, and we live and
|
|
move to my belief in an unknown world, a place where there are caves and
|
|
shadows and dwellers in twilight. It is possible that man may sometimes
|
|
return of the track of evolution, and it is my belief that an awful lore is
|
|
not yet dead."
|
|
-- Arthur Machen
|
|
|
|
"Remember That which lies beyond and fear It, for It is the devourer and the
|
|
giver of Life, the Destroyer and Maker of Man."
|
|
-- _Book of Leviathan_
|
|
|
|
In the cedar-studded slopes and ravines known as the Texas Hill Country,
|
|
many a small town is hidden and almost forgotten to the outside world, tucked
|
|
away down seldom-trod dirt roads and by-ways. Just such a hamlet is the town
|
|
of Sageheimlich, nestled away along the Leiden River within the Illuch Valley,
|
|
between hills which hide the valley from the world. Not much has changed in
|
|
this town since the 1830's when it was first founded, due to the lack of
|
|
contact with the outside world, and to this day it remains more a part of
|
|
Germany (though more mediaeval than modern) than of Texas. Though the town's
|
|
inhabitants have taken on the English language and some modernities, much lore
|
|
has survived the transition from Germany to America. Centuries of inbreeding
|
|
both in Texas and their native Germany, however, have made the townsfolk seem
|
|
to take on a semi-human appearance, as though they were indeed not fully
|
|
human, but had the blood of things best not seen running through their veins.
|
|
Dark rumours of this town have been heard by disquieted ears around many a
|
|
neighbouring hearth, tales told by travelers who, rather than stay overnight
|
|
in the town, have chosen to speed their mount through it, despite the late
|
|
hour. For, while the town's inhabitants have never been *known* to mistreat
|
|
outsiders, something disquieting in their demeanor and the odd sounds heard
|
|
from below have sped the traveler on his way. The ignorant hill-folk around
|
|
the town, however, know these things first hand, and try to forget them in
|
|
order that they may sleep without sordid dreams of hidden places.
|
|
|
|
Sageheimlich's strange inhabitants have had an aura of mystery about them
|
|
even before the town was founded, for even in Germany were they seen as some-
|
|
thing other than human. In pre-Christian times these folk gathered in the
|
|
Nordic hills, worshiping stranger Gods than did even the other Germanics, and
|
|
called strange chants and wild songs. In the remote hills which they inhabit-
|
|
ed wails which could come from no human tongue joined in the din, and tunnels
|
|
with inhuman inhabitants were rumoured to lie under the towns and under the
|
|
great monoliths erected to forgotten Gods. When Christianity came to Germany,
|
|
and the king outlawed pagan ceremonies, these people were among the first to
|
|
convert, much to the surprise of the missionaries, but it was said that the
|
|
Christian churches were built upon much more ancient entrances to caverns
|
|
peopled with loathsome creatures which should not walk a healthy Earth, and
|
|
thus, what outwardly seemed to be utter piety, was actually deepest blasphemy.
|
|
The encroachment of civilisation and the urbanisation of the area, led to a
|
|
series of violent clashes between the natives and the newer inhabitants, which
|
|
led to a mass exodus of the entire tribe to find a new homeland.
|
|
|
|
When the churches were entered by parties investigating the sudden depar-
|
|
ture of the tribe, slabs were found set in the floors which were hastily
|
|
opened and, once the noxious fumes, which caused the fainting of several
|
|
party-members, had subsided, a party who entered the tunnels resurfaced prema-
|
|
turely aged and often insane. The group soon returned with axes and barrels
|
|
of acid and said a fervent prayer upon reentering the charnel holes. That day
|
|
the screams of creatures and men rose to the heavens, and many fewer men
|
|
returned hours later from the churches bearing empty barrels and dead bodies.
|
|
Those members of the party who did not go mad never spoke a word of what
|
|
happened that day, but reduced the churches to rubble and erased every trace
|
|
of the now-vacated tribe.
|
|
|
|
The relocated Germans soon established themselves in the hills of the
|
|
newly-formed Republic of Texas, again isolated from the outside world, and
|
|
again the night sky echoed with the beat of drums and the weird chants of
|
|
human and inhuman voices melding together into a strange unwholesome medley.
|
|
During the Civil War the Germans sided with the South (which was not surpris-
|
|
ing considering the amount of slaves who were brought into the region, though
|
|
none saw the land being cultivated by them), and the tribe formed their own
|
|
brigade. It was observed by their superiors, however, that they were fighting
|
|
for themselves rather than the Confederacy, for more than once they turned on
|
|
grey-clad soldiers who came too near Sageheimlich. So vicious were they in
|
|
their attacks, massacring without regard to human life, that they were ordered
|
|
to disband by General Lee himself -- an order which they ignored, merely
|
|
throwing off their uniforms and fighting for themselves. At the end of the
|
|
War, and the end of troop movements through the surrounding area, they retired
|
|
quietly to their town and, despite outcry about their acts, they were left
|
|
unmolested.
|
|
|
|
It was to this town that Gunther Meyrink came upon the death of his uncle
|
|
to claim the ancestral lands. Meyrink's mother had been from outside the
|
|
region, his father being a descendent of the original Germans to settle the
|
|
area. Meyrink's father, however, was not of the temperament of the majority
|
|
of those who lived in the area, and he left as soon as he could for the out-
|
|
side world. He never spoke of his past, and whenever the subject was brought
|
|
up he would retreat into himself, until no-one asked. When Gunther's uncle
|
|
died, the land lay vacant for over a year until census workers learned of his
|
|
death and the state stepped in, despite protests from the townsfolk, to award
|
|
Gunther the land. Being a childless widower, Meyrink retired to the ancestral
|
|
land.
|
|
|
|
Upon his arrival in Sageheimlich, Meyrink was treated well, until his
|
|
reason for being there was learned, at which time he was shown just how much
|
|
he was not wanted there. Meyrink caused something of an uproar, for it was
|
|
known he was a stranger to the area, as all those living there knew each
|
|
other, but he had the distinctive features of those in the area: features
|
|
which, though mixed with those of his mother, were very obviously those of a
|
|
native of the area. The only person in the town who treated Gunther warmly
|
|
was old Gustav Busson, the grizzled keeper of the only shop in the town, who
|
|
claimed to have known Meyrink's uncle since he was a child. Gustav was one of
|
|
those 'literate illiterates,' men of exceptional intelligence who, born in a
|
|
place or a time against them, though not formally taught, have become wise in
|
|
the lore left by mightier men of mightier times now long forgotten, contained
|
|
in ancient and mouldering tomes abandoned and, decades later, rediscovered in
|
|
ramshackle old garrets and cellars. His eyes hid secrets which his backwoods
|
|
accent did not even hint at. Gustav, however, though he seemed to like this
|
|
newcomer, seemed eager to speed him on his way. When, despite the coldness of
|
|
the majority of the town's inhabitants, Meyrink chose to stay, Gustav reluc-
|
|
tantly bid him welcome.
|
|
|
|
The Meyrink land was on one of the hills overlooking the town and the
|
|
Illuch Valley, the house being built on the side of the hill. That day, a
|
|
great fire could be seen for miles around as the horrified Gunther reduced to
|
|
ashes the grotesque and blasphemous books and idols he found within the con-
|
|
fines of that abode. Leering images which bore a terrible likeness to the
|
|
people of the town, yet were very obviously not human, stared down at piles of
|
|
worm-eaten texts: the _Book of Leviathan_, whose mere possession meant death
|
|
during the Inquisition; Arkon Daraul's famous work on secret societies; the
|
|
_De Daemonialitate, et Incubis et Succubis_ of Sinistrari; the infamous _Ubels
|
|
Kulten und Ubels Zeremonie_ of Kleinkafer: books in German, English, Greek,
|
|
and Latin, and even books in no alphabet which Gunther had ever seen, all went
|
|
up in flames that day. That night Gunther's sleep was uneasy, with wails
|
|
coming up from within the Earth while in his dreams the idols danced under a
|
|
Moonless sky.
|
|
|
|
The following night was Walpurgisnacht, ancient night of sorceries, when
|
|
that which should not be walks the Earth. No Moon rose to light Gunther's way
|
|
as he walked slowly towards the bonfire on the neighbouring hill, careful
|
|
steps seeming to pierce the night air with such a noise so as to be heard even
|
|
over the din made by the crowd dancing about the fire. Carefully he mounted
|
|
the hill, pushing his way through thorns and past impeding cedar trees, fol-
|
|
lowing that sound which is lost to all but a few mortal ears; that song which
|
|
moves the darkest impulses of man's mind, that song which is sometimes heard
|
|
upon the very borders of sleep, which causes a man to bolt upright screaming,
|
|
covered with cold perspiration, as his mind tries desperately to block all
|
|
memory of the song. The song too affected Meyrink, even more so than most
|
|
men, having the blood of the townsfolk coursing through his body, his heart
|
|
thumping to the beat. Having climbed to the crest of the hill, Meyrink gazed
|
|
in fear and awe upon the loathsome things which danced to the Music of the
|
|
Spheres, the unEarthly pipe and drum, as the whole company on the hill
|
|
throbbed to the beat of the song, and as chants went up to Deities which
|
|
should have been lost to the minds of men. Men and women danced with twisted
|
|
half-breeds, and with things which should not be seen by the light of day,
|
|
things which are banished to the darkest nether-regions, only to rise and
|
|
plague the Earth again. All the people whom he had seen at the town, from the
|
|
youngest child to the oldest widow, even old Busson was there, throwing their
|
|
bodies into strange contortions, every part of them moving to the strange
|
|
music as the whole company twirled and chanted and gnashed their teeth and
|
|
rolled their eyes, all conforming to meet the unholy tempo. In the fire and
|
|
tied to stakes nearby were the writhing figures of bound men and women, whose
|
|
pale skin seemed not to have seen the Sun in years. Suddenly Meyrink could
|
|
stand it no longer; he had no options but to either join in the bizarre frenzy
|
|
or to put as much distance between him and it as possible. Screaming, Meyrink
|
|
threw himself into the undergrowth, tearing skin and clothes as he dashed away
|
|
from the scene towards his Uncle's house.
|
|
|
|
Meyrink sat, holed up in the house, bleeding from a dozen wounds, as the
|
|
strange company moved down the hill towards his house. A rap at the door
|
|
pulled him out of the dull stupor in which he sat, clutching the Crucifix
|
|
which he had brought with him. While he had never missed a day of church, he
|
|
had never been a religious man, and now that the time came to call upon a
|
|
Higher Power he was praying fervently, though all of his religious beliefs had
|
|
been turned upside-down. The door opened and in walked Busson, sweat dripping
|
|
from his face.
|
|
|
|
"Next time check a house's locks *before* you need them -- old locks
|
|
don't work so well," he said, almost humourously. Busson sat at the table
|
|
opposite Meyrink, who merely stared wildly at his visitor.
|
|
|
|
"You shouldn't never've seen what you seen tonight. You shoulda jest
|
|
left this ol' town and never come back. But it's too late for that now, ain't
|
|
it?
|
|
|
|
"Oh, I see," Busson continued, looking at the Cross in Meyrink's hands,
|
|
"yer gonna change the world, just like them others. All them missionaries an'
|
|
all, well they tried -- what're you gonna do that they couldn't do? Well I'll
|
|
tell you som'in': no-one can rid the world of evil, 'cuz there has to be evil
|
|
for there to be good. You think God's gonna save you? Well, what you saw
|
|
tonight -- that *was* our God -- yours and mine -- 'cuz we both got the blood
|
|
in us -- the blood o' them *things* on the hill!
|
|
|
|
"Ever' time you open a Door -- whether it be in Magic or Religion, Love
|
|
or Hate -- you have ta take whatever lies beyond, both good 'n' evil -- both
|
|
parts o' the picture. That's what you don't seem ta understand. What you saw
|
|
tonight was both good *and* evil, which we have ta embrace to evolve. And you
|
|
think you're gonna change that? Well, look out that window. See them torches
|
|
comin' up the hill? Well that ain't no parade. Now listen," he said kindly,
|
|
as he pulled a revolver from his pocket, "you have two choices -- you can do
|
|
it, or *they* can do it, and if *they* do it, it ain't gonna be too pleasant.
|
|
You saw the fire on the hill. That'uz their *livestock*. How d'ya think they
|
|
feed without people findin' out? There ain't no slavery no more. Nobody's
|
|
big enough to change a damn thing here -- not me or you or anybody else. Yer
|
|
father knew that -- that's why he left. Yer uncle knew that, and that's why
|
|
he joined us. Now make your choice, or it'll be made for you."
|
|
|
|
And Busson walked out the door as Meyrink put the revolver to his head
|
|
and leapt between the Spheres.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
|
|
State of unBeing is copyrighted (c) 1995 by Kilgore Trout and Apocalypse
|
|
Culture Publications. All rights are reserved to cover, format, editorials,
|
|
and all incidental material. All individual items are copyrighted (c) 1995 by
|
|
the individual author, unless otherwise stated. This file may be disseminated
|
|
without restriction for nonprofit purposes so long as it is preserved complete
|
|
and unmodified. Quotes and ideas not already in the public domain may be
|
|
freely used so long as due recognition is provided. State of unBeing is
|
|
available at the following places:
|
|
|
|
iSiS UNVEiLED 512.930.5259 14.4 (Home of SoB)
|
|
THE LiONS' DEN 512.259.9546 24oo
|
|
TEENAGE RiOt 418.833.4213 14.4 NUP: COSMIC_JOKE
|
|
MOGEL-LAND 215-732-3413 14.4
|
|
ftp to io.com /pub/SoB
|
|
World Wide Web http://io.com/~hagbard/sob.html
|
|
|
|
Submissions may also be sent to Kilgore Trout at <kilgore@bga.com>. Thank you.
|
|
|
|
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
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