2535 lines
124 KiB
Plaintext
2535 lines
124 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 TWENTY-FiVE tahw ro woh gniwonk
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to think. You are in 04/30/96 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-
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SoB-SoB--
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CONTENTS OF THIS ISSUE
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EDiTORiAL by Kilgore Trout
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LETTERS TO THE EDiTOR
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* STAFF LiSTiNG
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* ARTiCLES
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+ WHY THE REVOLUTiON WiLL FAiL by Nemo est Sanctus
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+ MiND PROBE #3: I Wish My Name Were Nathan, Irrepressible
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Youth and Conscience by Noni Moon
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+ ME by Morrigan
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+ DADA, NiETZSCHE, AND THE ASCETiC iDEAL by I Wish My Name Were
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Nathan
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* POETASTRiE
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+ AD HOMiNEM by Kilgore Trout
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* FiCTiON
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+ POiSONPEN by CJ Hooknose
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+ REQUiEM OF A DYING BOY by Kilgore Trout
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
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SoB-SoB--
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LETTERS TO THE EDiTOR
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[once again, we present more letters from our hearty readers.
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unfortunately, my new mail program decided to strip the headers when i
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saved them. not exactly my night at zine publishing, eh? quick
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rundown: fuck 'em, sell 'em, mail 'em.]
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* * * * *
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i know you are not kilgore trout. vonnegut knows you are not kilgore
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trout and if fools don't know who kilgore trout is- fuck em.
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[i know i'm not kilgore trout, too. i doubt vonnegut knows i even
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exist -- he doesn't like computers. as for fucking people who don't
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know who kilgore trout is: i doubt they're my type.]
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* * * * *
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Kilgore,
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I saw your listing in Labovitz's e-zine collection and
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I thought you may be interested in doing a little
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bit more in the zine business.
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I know many zines prefer to remain an underground
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organization and you may be one of them. But in case
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you have higher aspirations, why do not you download
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Web Buster, a free, HTML 3.0 compatible, fully
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graphical Web browser and see what kind of an
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online publication you could turn your zine into.
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Web Buster is available from this Web site:
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http://www.acdcon.com/
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Web Buster is in the self-installing webbuste.exe file.
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After installing Web Buster, call
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http://www.acdcon.com/index.epb
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to see with your own eyes what a regular Web site can
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look like. Just a remark before you call: do not expect
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slow Web pages that put you to sleep ...
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The site is in its early stages yet, but it shows
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very well the possibilities. It is constructed with
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E-Publisher, a fully graphical Web authoring tool, which
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is fairly simple to use. Depending on your enthusiasm and
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imagination, you could set up much more amazing Web pages.
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If you are interested in more, just write to me. If you
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adopt this technology, I will link your site into mine.
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My site will be heavily advertised, which means your site
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gets a lot of extra exposure through the link.
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Where else can you receive a free promotion like that?
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Regards,
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Laslo Chaki
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*******************************
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* lchaki@acdcon.com *
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* ACD:Developer of Epublisher *
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* and Web Buster *
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*******************************
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[ack. don't even know why i'm running this. guess i just thought it
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was too damn funny to pass up. the beginning is the best, the part
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about how want to be underground, but if you have "higher
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aspirations," then this guy's product is for you. like i'm doing this
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to be cool. i do it cuz i like it. and i actually took the time to try
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out his free web browser, knowing full well that hardly anyone is
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going to load up a separate browser apart from their main one just to
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look at a zine. damn thing errored out in the installation. heh. i
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like ascii. how about you?]
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* * * * *
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Well... I got issue 23 off a local board (the sprawl)..
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its really good...
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I too live in Austin tx..
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Just wanted to say I like the zine, and to please add me to the
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mailing list...
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thats about it..
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[glad to know some local folks are reading it. sorry i lost your
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address. i'm also sorry to say that we don't have a mailing list. if
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anyone wants to set one up for us, well, you'll like get your name in
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big shiny letters in the zine or something. probably or something.]
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
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SoB-SoB--
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EDiTORiAL
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by Kilgore Trout
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Heidi ho, boys and girls (and heidi, too, since her name is ALSO a
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greeting). Welcome to issue #25, a big issue, and yet, we're still
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such a quaint zine.
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(Fucking right, eh, Clockwork? Just WHERE the HELL are your
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SUBMiSSiONS? I've been waiting for AGES! Get them to me PRONTO or
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I'll FIRE your ASS!!!)
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Er, sorry, I always wanted to see what it felt like to be a
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ruthless, cruel editor/dictator who ruled his writers with an
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extremely large cat o' nine tails. Instead, I'm just a nice guy who
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barely has time to spell check, as IWMNWN likes to point out all
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the time.
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Anyway, this issue has been rife with troubles for yours truly. It
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was supposed to come out last night, but I discovered that a new
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release of NetHack had been released, and, well, I ended up
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pretending I was a Valkyrie all night long. And I still use the
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ASCII mode too! No graphics tiles for this purist!
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"Stop being a goddamn martyr!" yells Luke. "Get your ass to the
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Falcon."
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Seems this editorial is getting a tad bit TOO goofy, so I guess I
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better wrap this sucker up. Noni Moon brings us another wonderful
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interview with IWMNWN; Nathan writes about Dada and Nietzsche;
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Morrigan is back after a long absence, which we are very happy
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about; a first time writer puts a twist on serial killing; and I've
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put in some literary trash of my own dealing with teen angst. I
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never did that when I was in high school, but it's never too late
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to start, eh?
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Anyway, remember that the summer is coming up, and everyone knows
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what happened last time that season rolled around. May looks real
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nice, people send me stuff, and then it's dead in the summer. Make
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Kilgore happy! Send me stuff, and I'll publish it. I tell ya, it'll
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look good on your college application/job resume (only if they
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can't actually get ahold of the zine).
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Toodles and all that jazz.
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
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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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CJ Hooknose
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I Wish My Name Were Nathan
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Kilgore Trout
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Morrigan
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Nemo est Sanctus
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Noni Moon
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GUESSED STARS
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Laslo Chaki
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two lost souls who wrote letters
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SoB HORNED GEEK OF THE MONTH
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The Anti-Christ's accountant
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
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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-
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SoB-SoB--
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Previous|Next
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WHY THE REVOLUTiON WiLL FAiL
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by Nemo est Sanctus
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"The personal revolution is far more difficult Then the first steps
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in any revolution."
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-- the Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy
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The Revolution -- this Revolution, in the hearts and minds of the
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Western people of the '90's -- will fail. It will not fall to
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superior arms or superior numbers. It will not fall from lack of
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economic clout. It will fall because the people who claim to want
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it have defeated themselves.
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"In order for an enemy to defeat you," it has been rightly said,
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"you must first defeat yourself." The Western version is similar:
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"A house divided upon itself cannot stand." Luke 11:17. Do I mean
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the Revolutionaries of today are not of one purpose? To an extent.
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The Revolutionaries on the Left and the Revolutionaries on the
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Right do not see eye to eye and will not see eye to eye, as they
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blind each other in petty disagreements. They allow themselves to
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be separated by the system, and, worse, they separate themselves.
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But this is not the most important thing. The Revolutionary force
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is splintered because of the Revolutionaries.
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Those of the Revolution are of two minds. More correctly, they are
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of one mind and one soul. The Revolutionary knows something is
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wrong, but this Revolution is not Revolution; it is Reaction. The
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Revolutionary today does not know what is right.
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A Revolutionary knows he must die. The hobbyist and the whining
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"oppressed" do not, but it is not of these that I write. For these,
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I have barely a moment to dismiss them, I will not spend an hour to
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address them. The Revolutionary knows he must die, because a
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Revolutionary is dead the day he takes the name. He dies to himself
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that he may live in the right, and that other may one day breathe
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free. He dies that the Reactionary whiners may have life, of a
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sort.
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The Revolution today, though, will fail, because the Revolutionary
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today does not know how to live.
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How does one learn to live? That is the very difference between the
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Revolutionary and the Reactionary. A Reactionary does just as the
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name implies: he reacts. A Reactionary sees what is wrong in the
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world, and he opposes it. In this morbidity he steeps and dies,
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because one who dwells on evil cannot live. The Nihilist is the
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ultimate Reactionary, saying, "Because there is some evil in the
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world I know, I will oppose all the world." A Reactionary cannot
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win a Revolution, for he cannot even see it. It is the inherent
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Reaction that will dull the senses of the Constitutionalists and
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the Militias, as they say, "When the government goes too far, then
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we will react." They hope thereby to gain the support of the people
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who feel less threatened by a supposed protector than by a true
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liberator. They also hope to avoid the animosity of those who seek
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to destroy us, but that is hopeless. To the Archons, the
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Reactionaries are a potential, though drunk, obstacle. They see
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that better than the Reactionaries themselves. They know that the
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Reaction can make conquest slightly more difficult, and that the
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right leader can turn Reaction into Revolution. The tolerance and
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the patience of the Reaction will not be returned. The tolerance
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and patience of the Reaction will be the destruction of the
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Reaction. And the Revolution.
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Every Revolution must have life. Every Revolution is a theological
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Revolution. When the Americans cast off the British, they did so
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with cries like, "No king but Christ." When the British rebelled
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against their kings, they did so with preachers in their midst,
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with benedictions like, "Lord give us thy strength to crush yet
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another regiment of thy enemies, may they fall before thy soldiers
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swords like wheat." When the Russians brought down their Tzar, they
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put up icons of Lenin in the place of the saints, and worshipped a
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system, a creation instead of the Creator.
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A Revolutionary must fight for something. That something is his
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god. The revolution today will fail because the gods for which the
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agitators fight -- "freedom" to do anything that catches their
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fancy, "justice" to take away another's property and life -- are
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dead idols. What good is freedom without a code to tell one what is
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good? One ends up blindly pursuing anything that takes one's fancy,
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and slain. What good is "justice" without a measure to see what is
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truly just? Those cannot exist without an ideal, without a god.
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The one thing that all the gods which are fashionable today have in
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common is that they are all centered on the selfish pleasures of
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the individual. Freedom of speech, freedom of choice, without a
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true ideal are simply selfishness. They are fashionable, and
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tolerated, and even encouraged by the state, because they prevent
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the people from unifying behind a true ideal and fighting for true
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freedom.
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Only when the agitators, the leaders, the Revolutionaries turn
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themselves over to the good, to the just, in short to God, will
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they be able to fight, and have something to fight for. Without a
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clearly defined objective, no force can be expected to win.
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Only when the souls and minds of the people are reunified to fight
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for the true freedom, the true justice, will victory prevail. You
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have been made free, will you make yourself a slave again?
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
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SoB-SoB--
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"Dear Abby, You're a lying old-maid whore-slut. You dish out advice
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for sick and naive people all across the nation without a thought
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to their livelihoods. You haven't lived their lives. You can't play
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God any longer, you bitch-slut. Put down your pen and curl up and
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die, you old bag of pus. Concerned in Connaway
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Dear Concerned, I'm going to act like I never read that."
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-- Nathan's wandering mind
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
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SoB-SoB--
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Previous|Next
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MiND PROBE #3: I Wish My Name Were Nathan, Irrepressible Youth and
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Conscience
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by Noni Moon
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Nate asked me to meet him at the Southwestern University campus,
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where he attends classes. Although he showed up on time on the
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veranda of the Student Building where we agreed to meet, I didn't
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find him until I approached a fifteen-year-old boy sitting in the
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corner and found out it was him.
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NM: You look like a little kid.
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IW: I'm twenty-one, you know.
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NM: Kilgore said you had long hair.
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IW: Oh, oh yeah, you haven't talked to him lately. I just got it
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cut. It's fun to make people think I'm a tourist.
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NM: A tourist? On campus?
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IW: Yeah, like some kid who wandered here by accident. If I had a
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skateboard it would help, I guess.
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NM: I don't get it.
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IW: Oh, kids ride their skateboards around here a lot. The
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administration is looking into pest-removal options.
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NM: Really? How?
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IW: Don't worry about it, I was just kidding. I'm hardly ever
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serious, you know. How about this -- when I say something gravely
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important, I'll make a signal like this: <makes intricate signs
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with his hands> After this is over, you can weed out the noise and
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have a gravely important interview.
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NM: <laughs> You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?
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IW: No.
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NM: All right, then. You're not going to make me listen to Tom
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Swifties, are you?
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IW: Oh, jeez, no. "I'd rather die," Tom croaked.
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NM: Uurgh! You watch it, I have sharp nails.
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IW: <laughs> I dislike saying those as much as you do hearing them.
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NM: Good. Let's start an interview here, okay?
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IW: Sure, go ahead.
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NM: Everyone's dying to know: what's with the name?
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IW: Nathan? I just like the name.
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NM: No, do you wish your name were Nathan?
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IW: Not really. It's an artifact of years past. Too late to change
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it now.
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NM: Painful subject?
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IW: Nope, I still like the handle. It used to be the longest until
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that bastard "Dark Crystal Sphere Floating Between Two Universes"
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came along. Oh well, it's not the length of the name but the motion
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of the notion.
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NM: <laughs> Okay. Since you're twenty-one now, that means you must
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have started writing for SoB when you were... nineteen?
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IW: Eighteen, actually.
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NM: All right, eighteen. Over the past two years, your writing
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style has changed dramatically, from teen angst to more mellow
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pieces. I'm speaking in general. Why is that?
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IW: Oh, man... I want inconsequential questions! No, seriously,
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I've changed a lot since I got into college. I mean, you're
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supposed to, right? You may remember that I wrote for that
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underground paper in high school? Yeah, well that's when I was
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going rabid over politics --
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NM: I notice that thread still running through your work.
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IW: Certainly, certainly. The way I was introduced to the whole
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concept was really jarring. I consider myself a really naive
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person, you see, and I hardly even thought about politics until I
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was seventeen, all at once, when I accepted being gay, and found
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out that it wasn't merely something you got called names for.
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NM: So you are gay. Why haven't you ever said that in SoB?
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IW: Huh? I always think I'm writing about it. I just don't make it
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obvious most of the time. I don't want to make SoB my personal
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crying rag. You see, I did do that in WTAWTAA. In there I published
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a story I'd written while dealing with my sexual feelings. It
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started out all nice, boy meets boy and such, and then they both
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end up dead. I had a lot of stories like that, but I didn't publish
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those, much less show them to anyone.
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NM: So your introduction to politics was centered around this?
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IW: Absolutely. I'd kept everything to myself for a few years, and
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then Clinton got elected and tried to lift the ban on gays in the
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military. Then I find out how rabid an issue homosexuality was in
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America. I remember writing a lot during that time.
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NM: Was that a bad twist?
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IW: Well, actually no. Before I'd been so centered around myself
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and silent that it was easy to assume the being gay was my own
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problem to deal with. But then I found out it was a lot more
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widespread than that, and that was nice. But at my school, it was
|
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still an open-and-shut topic. So I got courageous and wrote a
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militant coming-out article in WTAWTAA. I didn't say who I really
|
|
was, of course; I wasn't that brave. But I saw some people reading
|
|
it, and the fact that they didn't pass it over -- even if only to
|
|
laugh at it -- that was cool.
|
|
|
|
NM: That's an inspiring story.
|
|
|
|
IW: Not really.
|
|
|
|
NM: Didn't SoB start a few months after WTAWTAA?
|
|
|
|
IW: About half a year later.
|
|
|
|
NM: Oh, okay. It strikes me as strange since you didn't mention
|
|
homosexuality for a long time in your writing for SoB.
|
|
|
|
IW: <thinks> No, I guess I didn't. I was thinking about other
|
|
things at the time. I'd been through a semester of college when SoB
|
|
started up. That was emotionally draining because I hadn't gotten
|
|
around to making any friends yet. So I rebelled against society in
|
|
general, la dee dah, et cetera.
|
|
|
|
NM: That's a nasty tone you have there. Are you ashamed of doing
|
|
that?
|
|
|
|
IW: What, all the teen angst? Yeah, I guess so. It's difficult to
|
|
look back at old stuff I've written because it's so entirely
|
|
negative. There's no hope in it. It's all about people getting
|
|
their naive mindsets blown away.
|
|
|
|
NM: Because that's what happened to you.
|
|
|
|
IW: Yeah. You see, in a span of a few months, I'd gone from being a
|
|
quiet nerdy type in high school to being a raging queer-rights
|
|
nerdy type, and I couldn't talk to anyone about it, not my family,
|
|
teachers, or friends. It was hellish. I internalized all the rage
|
|
and it tore me apart.
|
|
|
|
NM: You didn't tell your friends?
|
|
|
|
IW: No, no, I told them. But I always had the impression they were
|
|
just humoring me and not taking me seriously. It was an immature
|
|
thing for me to think. But hell, I was immature. I'm still immature
|
|
now. I have this habit of magnifying everything to gigantic
|
|
proportions and then reacting against it. I mean, I told one of my
|
|
friends I was gay and he laughed in disbelief. I took it as a
|
|
personal affront. Hell, I'd been denying it for years anyway; who
|
|
could blame him?
|
|
|
|
NM: Don't feel bad about it. I know what you mean. It's easier to
|
|
react than to stand back and consider things for what they are.
|
|
|
|
IW: NO IT'S NOT!!! <laughs> Just kidding, Noni. That was a joke.
|
|
|
|
NM: <looks around to see who's watching us now> You're a maniac,
|
|
aren't you?
|
|
|
|
IW: No. Seriously, I agree with what you said. I lifted the issue
|
|
of homosexuality to gigantic proportions. It's not as important as
|
|
I thought it was. It doesn't bother me anymore. I think the
|
|
militant queers still think it's much too important. They try to
|
|
equate our situation with, oh, the black civil rights movement. Gay
|
|
rights is nowhere near as important. Slavery, Reconstruction, and
|
|
festering racism led to loss of economic power and liberty for
|
|
blacks. That's something you need to fight against, since it makes
|
|
it difficult to survive. Gays, on the other hand... if no one knows
|
|
about it, you're just another person. Gays aren't a species of
|
|
animal that need to be protected.
|
|
|
|
NM: What about gaybashing? You don't want laws against that?
|
|
|
|
IW: Noni, look: there are already laws against hurting, killing,
|
|
and maiming people. Why have this extra layer of legislation that
|
|
says, if you hurt a gay person, it's worse? I think it's a
|
|
widespread self-image problem among us. We act weak and want all
|
|
this protection. I think it'd be much more bold to say, "We're
|
|
strong enough to defend ourselves, thank you very much." Begging
|
|
for more laws is just begging for more pain in the long run. You
|
|
can see effects of affirmative action -- although it's had positive
|
|
effects for many minorities, it only serves to keep the racial
|
|
wounds raw. Why provoke people? If they're bigots, they're not
|
|
going to undergo a miraculous change of heart just because a law
|
|
tells them to.
|
|
|
|
NM: You seem to have thought about this a long time.
|
|
|
|
IW: Indeed I have.
|
|
|
|
NM: I know you like to write about teenagers. What do you think
|
|
about gay teenagers? Should they be protected?
|
|
|
|
IW: Oh, certainly they should.
|
|
|
|
NM: Doesn't that contradict --?
|
|
|
|
IW: Not at all. High school is certainly not the real world, I'll
|
|
tell you that. It's really difficult to be gay there since <makes
|
|
hand gestures> Normal Heterosexual Relationships <stops waving
|
|
hands> are so important. It's drilled into your head. Why are gym
|
|
classes segregated by sex? They don't want boys and girls getting
|
|
all worked up around each other. Why are proms so important?
|
|
Because that's where you're supposed to get worked up. Even more
|
|
than that, there's such huge pressure to be normal and conform.
|
|
Homosexuality is still peripheral to high-school society, therefore
|
|
it's strictly off- limits. I swear, guys wearing long hair has only
|
|
recently been accepted at schools, although it's been a fad since
|
|
the sixties.
|
|
|
|
NM: And then there was that case where a school banned all clubs
|
|
rather than allowing a gay club.
|
|
|
|
IW: Pure idiocy. That club would be just the thing that would help
|
|
those kids make it through. The issue is made up to be so important
|
|
that kids think they have to commit suicide rather than live queer.
|
|
It's partly immaturity, I mean as in the way I was. I thought it
|
|
was so important, and it's made to be important in high school, but
|
|
really, it's just a biological happenstance. Who cares? That's the
|
|
kind of message high school society needs to accept. You see, I
|
|
just want some emotional protection for those kids, so they don't
|
|
think they're so abnormal.
|
|
|
|
NM: I see what you mean, then. I came from an Austin school that
|
|
was better about it. They had some gay teachers you could talk to
|
|
there.
|
|
|
|
IW: That rules, but I didn't go there, you know.
|
|
|
|
NM: True. Whew. Have we beat that topic to death yet?
|
|
|
|
IW: Probably not, but go ahead.
|
|
|
|
NM: Your story "No strings attached" --
|
|
|
|
IW: Aaaargh!
|
|
|
|
NM: -- what?
|
|
|
|
IW: Oh, nothing.
|
|
|
|
NM: "No strings attached" was the longest story you've published,
|
|
right?
|
|
|
|
IW: Uh-huh. It was 100k. I actually have an unfinished 200k story
|
|
from a few years back, but it sucks.
|
|
|
|
NM: I don't believe it. I think your writing has been consistently
|
|
good. "No strings attached" blew me away. Summarize it for those
|
|
readers who skipped it.
|
|
|
|
IW: You're sure some did, eh?
|
|
|
|
NM: Whoops, I didn't mean it to sound like that.
|
|
|
|
IW: Sure you didn't. <laughs> That story evolved into something
|
|
completely different than I expected. The main character, Jonathan,
|
|
was going to be a zoned-out druggie, and the story was going to be
|
|
a humorous piece about how the world appeared to him. I did keep
|
|
that feel in his perceptions of the world, but a different story
|
|
evolved. Anyway, Jonathan works at a convenience store, and he has
|
|
been for six years. During an ice storm in Texas (all fifteen
|
|
degrees of it) Jonathan walks home and meets this homeless kid
|
|
Jeremy and lets him live in his apartment to escape the cold. And
|
|
the reader soon finds out that Jeremy is gay and he and Jonathan
|
|
develop a warm friendship. A heartwarming tale! Excellent moral
|
|
lesson for readers ages 13-30.
|
|
|
|
NM: Don't be so sarcastic! I didn't think it was cheesy. It was
|
|
quite dark, if you looked past Jonathan's naive viewpoint and into
|
|
Jeremy's words.
|
|
|
|
IW: Are you some literary critic? <laughs>
|
|
|
|
NM: No. What is wrong with you? Can't you take compliments?
|
|
|
|
IW: No, I can't.
|
|
|
|
NM: Sorry about that, but I'll do it anyway. Tell about the end of
|
|
the story. That's the important part.
|
|
|
|
IW: I don't want to give it away, in case --
|
|
|
|
NM: Fuck 'em who haven't read it.
|
|
|
|
IW: Hee hee, okay. What turns out is that Jeremy is an angel.
|
|
Really a "spirit" but I forgot to search-and-replace. He committed
|
|
one of those trademark suicides of mine but he didn't die.
|
|
Apparently he's immortal. During an acid trip, after John realizes
|
|
what a boring life he has, he realizes he died a while back. He's
|
|
boring because Jeremy brought him back to life and gave him a shit
|
|
job. Ta-da! Oh, and of course, John realizes he's gay too. I don't
|
|
know why that had to be.
|
|
|
|
NM: Because he committed suicide and his soul was in torment,
|
|
remember?
|
|
|
|
IW: Oh yeah, that makes sense.
|
|
|
|
NM: You've written about suicide several times, such as in "Tell me
|
|
a story," "Here's what the human race can do," and "Ramblings of an
|
|
insomniac." Is it too personal to ask what you think about that
|
|
subject?
|
|
|
|
IW: Yes, it is. Right now it's not something I think about.
|
|
|
|
NM: Oh, okay, sorry.
|
|
|
|
IW: Oh, what the hell. I have this feeling that I'm a low-grade
|
|
manic- depressive or something. Sometimes I get depressed and think
|
|
about suicide for an inordinate amount of time. Each time it's a
|
|
different reason. I felt bad dredging up that
|
|
gay-person-commits-suicide theme in "No strings attached" because
|
|
it's so cliched to me and reminiscent of my teen angst period.
|
|
Lately the suicidal thoughts have accompanied general despair at
|
|
humanity. I might as well be a poet. <laughs sarcastically>
|
|
|
|
NM: I can see that concern with the fate of the human race in a lot
|
|
of your work. It seems though that you're getting more optimistic,
|
|
though.
|
|
|
|
IW: Oh really? That's news to me.
|
|
|
|
NM: Yes, really. I cried at the end of "No strings attached"
|
|
because it was so spiritually redeeming. Also, that story about the
|
|
father telling his son about life and death last month --
|
|
|
|
IW: Yeah, the father realizes he's looked at it the wrong way all
|
|
his life. That's when I was rejecting rationality. "No strings
|
|
attached" made me cry when I was writing it too. Noni, I think
|
|
you're right. Maybe I am more optimistic now. I think I've just
|
|
become more well-adjusted, that's all. I tend to extrapolate my
|
|
personal feelings onto everyone else. That's why I was lashing out
|
|
against society at the beginning -- I was really lashing out at
|
|
myself. It wasn't forgivable to be like that back then because I
|
|
had very little knowledge about how the world worked. But in
|
|
college and outside I've read a lot of books that are giving me a
|
|
more realistic perspective.
|
|
|
|
NM: Like in "Evolution of a coward"? You said something about a
|
|
missing thirteenth amendment?
|
|
|
|
IW: Oh, geez, dredge that up, why don't you. Yeah, I was under the
|
|
influence of conspiratorial writings at the time. I thought I knew
|
|
how everything worked then, but I wasn't taking in all sides.
|
|
Everyone tells the truth and lies intermittently. Just because
|
|
someone claims to have underground knowledge doesn't mean he's
|
|
right. I've learned simply not to trust everything I read or hear.
|
|
You can't take one perspective as fact; it doesn't make sense.
|
|
|
|
NM: Aaah, "sense!" I wanted to ask you about that. But first, where
|
|
I first noticed it -- your series of stories about Ethan. Are you
|
|
going to continue that?
|
|
|
|
IW: Well, I'm not currently thinking about it much. I think I
|
|
topped out in the last story. Anything else I write is going to be
|
|
more social commentary, and I get tired of that. But I have a duty
|
|
to flesh out the story. It's too interesting to finish it as it is.
|
|
|
|
NM: Is Ethan gay?
|
|
|
|
IW: Actually, no. He does seem to get hit on a lot, though.
|
|
|
|
NM: All right, back to "sense." It struck me as almost fanatical
|
|
how much importance Ethan puts into "sense" -- such as saying "TV
|
|
doesn't make sense." What's with that?
|
|
|
|
IW: Oh, that's one of the big changes I've been going through. I
|
|
have the capability to be a really rational person, as well as
|
|
artistic, and I realized I'd been letting that control my mindset
|
|
for too long. Coming to terms with being gay was the first time I
|
|
saw that a lot of things -- opinions, laws, prejudices -- didn't
|
|
make sense. Then the conspiratorial viewpoint added to the feeling
|
|
that a lot of what I see and hear is lies or misinformation. And
|
|
then I did acid in January and that was the last straw. I believed
|
|
for a while that nothing at all made sense and I had only been
|
|
lucky enough to think there was some structure to the world, and
|
|
then I lost it. Ethan had basically the same experience I did,
|
|
except I recovered. I can delude myself into thinking the world
|
|
usually makes sense, but it doesn't surprise me anymore when
|
|
something goes wrong, because it's just proof that I know it's all
|
|
nonsensical. It's funny to me. I laugh a lot more now.
|
|
|
|
NM: That's good, I guess. Do you regret taking acid?
|
|
|
|
IW: No, not at all. I just regret my reasons for doing so. I had
|
|
this optimistic dream that doing it would stop my depression. I
|
|
thought it would be some sort of psychiatry. That was really
|
|
stupid, because, as I learned, it's all in my head. I mean, I knew
|
|
what I was trying to do, and I knew it wouldn't work. I was just
|
|
wishing for the stars. During the trip I was just fine, though; I
|
|
was having fun, laughing, seeing things, etc. But the next day I
|
|
thought about how I tried to eliminate my depression and how
|
|
pointless it was and I got really depressed again.
|
|
|
|
NM: Yikes, that sucks. Are you afraid of flashbacks?
|
|
|
|
IW: No, not at all. Nothing bad happened during, it was only the
|
|
next day. I don't think acid deserves being illegal. I mean, I
|
|
learned a helluva lot from it that I probably wouldn't have even
|
|
thought about in my life. People just have to be careful, because
|
|
it lets you see how you construct reality, and some people don't
|
|
know how fucked-up and deluded they are. I was ready for that,
|
|
although I wanted too much. Hmmm, I did get two stories out of it,
|
|
though. <laughs>
|
|
|
|
NM: Why do you think acid is illegal?
|
|
|
|
IW: The government just dislikes drugs -- ones that don't already
|
|
have multi- billion dollar corporations built around them, that is.
|
|
They thought LSD would become some sort of opium or marijuana and
|
|
turn the working force of the nation into zombies. Of course, it
|
|
was a lot of hype, as well; the congressmen complied with
|
|
"concerned so-and-so" groups and made it illegal, even as it was
|
|
being tested by psychologists, psychiatrists, and doctors. They
|
|
were coming up with amazing findings about the structure of the
|
|
brain, like how it sees and organizes thoughts, but of course,
|
|
their funding got revoked.
|
|
|
|
That's a problem with this so-called democratic government. It
|
|
cares nothing about the individual. It assumes no one can make a
|
|
choice and accept the consequences for it. If you think about how
|
|
litigious we are now, a lot of it's a result of people getting
|
|
themselves into bad situations a little foresight would have
|
|
prevented, and then suing to make up for the damage. Like fuckin'
|
|
old ladies with hot coffee in their laps. I guess our government
|
|
foresaw that as a reason to illegalize so many drugs -- they didn't
|
|
want to pay the consequences for people's stupid actions. Hell, I
|
|
wouldn't want to either. People don't take responsibility for their
|
|
actions anymore.
|
|
|
|
The way drugs should be is, people should be educated about their
|
|
effects -- the REAL effects, not this bullshit D.A.R.E. paranoia --
|
|
and they should be allowed to take it. If they get sick, they go to
|
|
a hospital and pay for it. If they don't, then who cares? It's a
|
|
personal issue. It's nothing the government needs to worry about.
|
|
Of course, it's that way now, basically. You take acid and have a
|
|
bad trip, you can't say anything about it. You're not going to dare
|
|
sue the dealer, because then you've stamped yourself as a drug user
|
|
and you'll go to jail. In a sick way, this prohibition is forcing
|
|
people to be responsible.
|
|
|
|
NM: As for smokers...
|
|
|
|
IW: Oh yeah, don't get me started. I personally loathe tobacco
|
|
companies for lying about the effects of smoking, but that's their
|
|
own problem. On the other hand, smokers have been warned for years
|
|
about cancer, yet now they're suing like crazy and trying to ban
|
|
cigarettes. C'mon, people, take responsibility for killing
|
|
yourself. I mean, I don't like smoking, and I won't even dare do it
|
|
recreationally, but that's my opinion. I don't have the right to
|
|
tell someone else not to, though. But anyone under the age of forty
|
|
shouldn't have the right to sue tobacco companies, since they've
|
|
had the information at hand, right on the damned label, telling
|
|
them it's a bad idea to smoke. To sue is just being too stupid to
|
|
admit you made a mistake. It's like what would happen if people
|
|
sued for losing the lottery!
|
|
|
|
NM: I agree, although I'm slightly offended. <puffs>
|
|
|
|
IW: Hell, I don't care. We're not friends.
|
|
|
|
NM: Fuck you, man.
|
|
|
|
IW: Yeah, bite me. <laughs>
|
|
|
|
NM: Were you kidding?
|
|
|
|
IW: No. But I don't think you should have taken that personally,
|
|
because I wasn't talking about you.
|
|
|
|
NM: All right. Just a second, I need a drink. Is there a vending
|
|
machine around here?
|
|
|
|
IW: Yup, go in those doors over there -- up the stairs then to the
|
|
left. Here, get me a Coke.
|
|
|
|
NM: Okay. <walks off>
|
|
|
|
IW: <mutters> Who else can I alienate? <pauses> Ssh ssh sssh... ta
|
|
ta ta... <sings> do de do, nothing's for free, do de do de do,
|
|
nothing's for free, do de do de do, take it away, boys... da da de
|
|
da, nothing's for free... <pauses> there's a hole in your head,
|
|
there's a hole in your head, la la la la lee la la... shaddup.
|
|
|
|
NM: <hands Nate a Coke> Here y'are. I thought they'd be more
|
|
expensive here.
|
|
|
|
IW: That's nice.
|
|
|
|
NW: Back to the interview. It seems like you have a mission to save
|
|
America's youth.
|
|
|
|
IW: Eh? Oh, I see what you're talking about. I usually write about
|
|
teenagers because I can't consider myself experienced enough with
|
|
the adult psyche to write about it. The same goes with women,
|
|
unfortunately. And since I'm usually thinking about political
|
|
issues, that comes into my writing as well.
|
|
|
|
Overall, I guess I do have a "mission." I sympathize with anyone
|
|
who's growing up because society treats kids like shit. It's no fun
|
|
to grow up, because every year is one more step toward being
|
|
shackled into adulthood. You can't have fun when you're an adult
|
|
unless it involves spending a lot of money or getting drunk. Adults
|
|
know they've lost their youth and make it a point to discourage
|
|
kids from having theirs. It's really sad. It's such divisive
|
|
resentment.
|
|
|
|
NM: I don't think that's entirely true. Judging by TV, it's
|
|
important to be youthful.
|
|
|
|
IW: Noni, look closer. Advertisements say that. They're fucking
|
|
hypocrites. They know that kids are an important demographic
|
|
influence on spending habits, so they want to attract kids to their
|
|
product just for money. Materialism itself is an adult disease but
|
|
each year it hits more and more kids as well. It's a calculated
|
|
plan of action. Aside from that, look at how money for education
|
|
and welfare and parks is falling. Look at the fucking youth curfews
|
|
popping up everywhere. Adults hate kids.
|
|
|
|
NM: What about gangs and guns in school? Isn't that a reason?
|
|
|
|
IW: You've got to look at cause and effect. It was kids in big
|
|
cities, neglected and bored, who started gangs. It's power. Kids
|
|
have no power in this society; that's the only way they could get
|
|
some. Then, the guns got into the schools. Then, they passed
|
|
curfews. Never did they try to solve the root of the problem, which
|
|
is sprawling urban development. Kids can't control any of these
|
|
factors. They're just getting crushed.
|
|
|
|
I may be exaggerating, because I haven't lived in a big city
|
|
before, so I don't usually tackle such topics. My "mission" is to
|
|
save youthfulness . That is the remedy for the anal-retentive
|
|
materialistic hatred that adults spew.
|
|
|
|
NM: So you're not an adult?
|
|
|
|
IW: Not the kind I'm talking about, but I already am whether I like
|
|
it or not. I consider myself to have adult virtues, like
|
|
responsibility, a sense of history, and humanitarian consciousness.
|
|
I respect people who deserve it. But I'm never going to be an
|
|
American adult. No way.
|
|
|
|
NM: Would you prefer that kids all grew up naive?
|
|
|
|
IW: Oh, no way, not at all. Because that's what happened to me.
|
|
It's too easy to topple that blissful ignorance. No, what I think
|
|
is that kids need to know how things work, and not be fed lies.
|
|
But, at the same time, they should never be discouraged from being
|
|
youthful, since that's one of the only ways to prevent rampant
|
|
cynicism. American adults are much too serious about things. It
|
|
makes it so much easier to put things into perspective when you
|
|
don't take everything so damned seriously.
|
|
|
|
NM: I know what you mean. What sort of books do you read?
|
|
|
|
IW: This year I finished a crusade to read all of Kurt Vonnegut's
|
|
novels. That was really fun. I find a lot of similarities with his
|
|
philosophy. He's cynical underneath, but he still has optimism.
|
|
Reading him is taxing though. Even with the humor, it's impossible
|
|
to miss the tone of his writing. It's so deadpan dark. There's only
|
|
so much you can take at once.
|
|
|
|
After that, Kilgore bugged me to read some Terence McKenna and a
|
|
book called The Holographic Universe . Those were fascinating. They
|
|
present entirely new perspectives about how reality is constructed.
|
|
|
|
I recently finished Steppenwolf and Notes from Underground , which
|
|
are where I took quotes for my stories from last month. Those
|
|
eerily mirrored my personality at times and that was disturbing
|
|
because I had randomly picked them out, not expecting to find what
|
|
I did. In ethics class here I read Aristotle, Kant, and Nietzsche,
|
|
and am working on Foucault right now. I can't begin to describe
|
|
what those are doing to me.
|
|
|
|
In my spare time, I'm reading The Language Instinct by Steven
|
|
Pinker. It's all about language and how we construct it and
|
|
understand it. It's particularly fascinating because I love
|
|
language so much. It's also fun to read a book that makes me happy
|
|
to be a person, with the gift of language.
|
|
|
|
NM: You sure read a lot!
|
|
|
|
IW: Look at Kilgore if you want a book-eater, Noni.
|
|
|
|
NM: Oh yeah. So how does your reading work its way into your
|
|
writing?
|
|
|
|
IW: It's a very direct influence. Lately every time I read
|
|
something, it astounds me so much that I immediately have to write
|
|
something about it. My reading has molded my writing, as well as my
|
|
mind. It's all very exciting. It's such a rush! I just wish classes
|
|
were over so I could write something.
|
|
|
|
NM: It's that time of year, huh?
|
|
|
|
IW: Yup, it sure is. A lot of us writers are at that time of year.
|
|
No one's going to be writing for SoB. Heads will roll.
|
|
|
|
NM: While I will get a nice pat on the back for submitting such a
|
|
long interview.
|
|
|
|
IW: <looks at sky> Whoa! We've been here a while, haven't we?
|
|
|
|
NM: Hell yeah, but it's been fun.
|
|
|
|
IW: Thanks a lot. I've had fun talking about myself.
|
|
|
|
NM: <laughs> Don't we all enjoy that. Say, anything in the works?
|
|
|
|
IW: I don't usually talk about what I'm writing because that kills
|
|
it. So, no, there's nothing in the works.
|
|
|
|
NM: I see. Well, good luck. Hope to see more in the future.
|
|
|
|
IW: Me too!
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
|
|
SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
"Power told is power lost."
|
|
|
|
--Zuni Indians
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
|
|
SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
Previous|Next
|
|
|
|
ME
|
|
by Morrigan
|
|
|
|
i sit in Physics class, tuning out the incessant droning of the
|
|
teacher's voice. i think of my mother, who says she loves me
|
|
dearly, whom i have abandoned by coming to school so very far away.
|
|
i think about how delighted she is to hear from me, how she sees me
|
|
as something so wonderful, so precious. Faced with my thoughts and
|
|
the subtle feeling of guilt that i have been conditioned to feel, i
|
|
write her a letter.
|
|
|
|
Before i start, i painstakingly remove the mask named "student",
|
|
returning it to its hook on the wall, being careful not to tear its
|
|
fragile design. In its place i don the mask labeled "mother" and
|
|
begin to write. This person is one whom i portrayed throughout my
|
|
childhood, for the many years when i lived with my family. It is a
|
|
person who could never break a rule, betray a trust, put herself
|
|
before others. A portrait of the perfectly dutiful child that
|
|
parents everywhere seem to want. Quiet and obedient, unobtrusive
|
|
and caring. Humble. The sort of child for whom parents never set
|
|
rules, because they trust the child completely. The sort of child
|
|
who is so instinctively well-behaved that it needs no rules to
|
|
conduct itself appropriately.
|
|
|
|
i finish the letter and close it with an insipid quote about joy
|
|
and families and love. The words seem wonderful to this person,
|
|
written in a tone that would have filled most of my personae with
|
|
overwhelming revulsion. After i address the letter and sign it, i
|
|
once again become a student, putting my family persona back on the
|
|
wall. i don't read the words that i have written, for they have no
|
|
relevance for the student, focused on studies, on knowledge for no
|
|
end.
|
|
|
|
The bell rings and class ends. While gathering my books, yet again
|
|
i switch my appearances. Now i am my social self. i stride jauntily
|
|
out of class, with a grin on my face and light quip for a passing
|
|
classmate. i compliment a freshman on her clothes, causing her to
|
|
glow with pleasure. Across the lawn, i shout a greeting to one of
|
|
my many friends. i am confident and witty, flirtatious, on top of
|
|
the world with no path downwards.
|
|
|
|
Later, at dinner, i have changed once more. i am now a
|
|
conscientious young woman, concerned about the environment and
|
|
politics. The faculty member's pride and joy, the model person that
|
|
my boarding school wants all of its students to become. i am
|
|
careful to not say anything overly offensive to anyone, yet stay
|
|
lightly controversial, to be interesting. i have an opinion on
|
|
everything, still remaining open minded and rational, willing to
|
|
listen.
|
|
|
|
Only once i reach the sanctuary of my room do i tenderly remove
|
|
that countenance from my brow. Now i am the me that i reserve for
|
|
private occasions. Bitter and cynical and sarcastic and pessimistic
|
|
and most of all antisocial. A bored genius with no homework to do
|
|
and no computer to play with. i sit and contemplate deep thoughts,
|
|
thinking about space and conspiracies and the meaning of life and
|
|
religion and weather and politics and scientific theory and the
|
|
possibilities of the human mind and oh so many things. And then i
|
|
ask myself the one question for which i have no answer neatly
|
|
prepared.
|
|
|
|
who am i? beneath the masks, neatly labeled and hung on their
|
|
corresponding hooks; beneath the masks which i am never without -
|
|
who am i? is one of the facades more true than the others? is one
|
|
of them more false?
|
|
|
|
what would happen if i wore no mask?
|
|
|
|
i am too afraid to find out.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
|
|
SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
"Taking seriously -- In the great majority, the intellect is a
|
|
clumsy, gloomy, creaking machine that is difficult to start. They
|
|
call it ``taking the matter seriously,'' when they work with this
|
|
machine and want to think well: how onerous they must find thinking
|
|
well! The lovely beast, man, seems to lose its good spirits every
|
|
time it thinks well: it becomes ``serious.'' And ``where laughter
|
|
and gaiety are found, the quality of thought is poor'' -- that is
|
|
the prejudice of this serious beast against all ``gay science.'' --
|
|
Well, then, let us prove that it is a prejudice."
|
|
|
|
-- Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
|
|
SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
Previous|Next
|
|
|
|
DADA, NiETZSCHE, AND THE ASCETiC iDEAL
|
|
by I Wish My Name Were Nathan
|
|
|
|
At the end of On the Genealogy of Morals , Nietzsche
|
|
parenthetically proposes that the lone antagonist to the ascetic
|
|
ideal is art, in that "the lie is sanctioned" and "the will to
|
|
deception has a good conscience". Art's denial of Truth is its
|
|
advantage over Christianity and science, institutions grounded in
|
|
the ascetic ideal. In his short comment, he contrasts Plato and
|
|
Homer as archetypal scientist and artist. This suggests that
|
|
Nietzsche's concept of the artist stems from more ancient roots
|
|
than the artists who were dominating Europe in his day. Indeed,
|
|
trends as the institutionalization of art and tiptoeing advances in
|
|
modern art suggest that the modern artists of the 1880's did not
|
|
suggest nearly as heroic an ideal as Nietzsche would have wanted
|
|
for the future of humanity.
|
|
|
|
Thirty years after the Genealogy was published, however, an
|
|
aspirant for Nietzsche's legacy emerged: Dada. Dada, an art
|
|
movement, began as a protest both against World War I and the
|
|
formalization of modern art. More precisely, Dada was an anti-art,
|
|
or simply an "anti-" movement, devised to cripple the institutions
|
|
of art while also challenging institutions of society. With Dada
|
|
came the earliest and clearest answer to Nietzsche and the ascetic
|
|
ideal.
|
|
|
|
The origin of the ascetic ideal
|
|
|
|
|
|
The birth of the ascetic ideal is owed to the slave revolt in
|
|
morality, a change in value systems most notably associated with
|
|
the advent of Christianity. The slave revolt was an incrimination
|
|
of the power wielded by strong "nobles," people strong in will,
|
|
body, and character. "Priests," non- nobles with only strong minds,
|
|
devised the concept of free will to insinuate that the nobles' use
|
|
of power, especially against the weak, was wrong or "evil," in that
|
|
the nobles had the choice not to use their strength. The priests
|
|
persuaded the masses to rise against the nobles and value the
|
|
antitheses of the noble persona -- humility, forgiveness, and
|
|
altruism. With this successful revolt, Nietzsche said, people broke
|
|
their ties with nature, rejecting strength, prowess, and animal
|
|
sensuality for resentment against the strong. Indeed, the
|
|
definition of the word "evil" was coined by slaves to define any
|
|
noble who did not subvert his strength in deference to slaves.
|
|
|
|
With such an inversion of values, people deemed themselves weak and
|
|
their natural impulses wrong. This mindset was the precondition for
|
|
the move into societies. In societies, one finds protection from
|
|
the strong, and codes of behavior repress the animal instincts in
|
|
man, both to prevent the tendency to become "evil" and the tendency
|
|
to disrupt the stability of the society. (Obviously, the noble
|
|
personality would not stand for any of this.) Societies, in
|
|
allowing for organization and control of people, did have their
|
|
benefits, which accounts for their prominence on earth.
|
|
|
|
The confines of society required people to use their "weakest
|
|
organ," reason, rather than their spontaneous animal instincts,
|
|
like fish out of water. Nietzsche says that the human in society is
|
|
burdened with a "leaden discomfort" at the constant judgments and
|
|
corrections she/he is forced to make in order to properly fit in.
|
|
With this repression of instinct, people lost the ability to
|
|
physically cope with natural tendencies such as anger and
|
|
aggression. Such tendencies were then turned inward upon oneself,
|
|
creating the world of the soul, whose value is based on how
|
|
well-repressed its owner is. Knowledge of one's deficiencies of
|
|
self-control against animal outbursts works to create the bad
|
|
conscience. Nietzsche sees the advent of the bad conscience as an
|
|
startling indication that man has turned against itself, since he
|
|
believes humans are simply glorified animals and should not aspire
|
|
to reject their nature.
|
|
|
|
The final blow, Nietzsche says, was the ascetic ideal, in that it
|
|
answers the eternal questions, "What is life for?" and "Why do I
|
|
suffer?" The first question was answered by religious leaders:
|
|
"life is a series of temptations toward animal impulses that must
|
|
be rejected; the state of the soul at death is one's key to real
|
|
existence in heaven." The second question can no longer be answered
|
|
by blaming the nobles; they have all but disappeared. Now the
|
|
priests offer the answer that will keep their followers firmly in
|
|
control: "suffering is your own fault." In Christianity, this is
|
|
the concept of original sin. The bad conscience evolves into
|
|
religious guilt, and the priests -- spiritual healers -- gain
|
|
eternal tenure.
|
|
|
|
Nietzsche's call for opposing ideal
|
|
|
|
|
|
In the last essay of the Genealogy , Nietzsche laments the poor
|
|
state of man and debates whether science opposes the ascetic ideal.
|
|
Popular opinion is that science and religion are different, since
|
|
science does not rely on irrational spirituality to defend its
|
|
motives, instead deriving its power from strength of fact.
|
|
Nietzsche, however, denies that this is different from the ascetic
|
|
ideal. In fact, both are the same at the core, in that they each
|
|
rely on the unquestionable authority, Truth.
|
|
|
|
Nietzsche's concern is that Truth is an ideal. He asks, why do
|
|
people seek the ideal of truth? For the nobles, such an interest
|
|
was absent, for they created truth as they saw fit, for example, in
|
|
language: the meanings of "good" and "bad" -- therefore who
|
|
deserves respect. The slaves had no power to create language. After
|
|
the slave revolt, priests recreated truth from the viewpoint of
|
|
religious guilt. To maintain power, priests interpreted "how to
|
|
live," "what to do," "why we exist," as handed down from God. This
|
|
knowledge is deemed Truth. However, even the move into rational
|
|
science retained this meaning: scientific "experts" have sole right
|
|
and privilege to discover "truths" and disseminate them to the
|
|
masses. Instead of spiritual guidance, people adapt to scientific
|
|
guidance.
|
|
|
|
Nietzsche does not question whether science "makes sense" -- it
|
|
satisfies rational curiosity as well as religion satisfies
|
|
spiritual curiosity. Nietzsche wonders, what if the very basis of
|
|
scientific knowledge -- the assumption that there is an
|
|
unassailable truth -- collapses? Then everything people have based
|
|
their understanding of reality is voided. Recent theories such as
|
|
quantum mechanics and chaos theory are major upheavals in thought
|
|
-- it is clear to see how fragile the assumption of "truth" can be.
|
|
|
|
The ineffectuality of "modern" art
|
|
|
|
|
|
So, if "art" is to conquer the ascetic ideal, where does one look?
|
|
During Nietzsche's time, modern art was becoming important. It is
|
|
natural to assume that he might have seen the tradition-breaking
|
|
trends of modern art as a possible adversary to the ascetic ideal.
|
|
However, one can see that early modern art lacked the strength to
|
|
do so.
|
|
|
|
The first important years of modern art in the 1880's had come
|
|
about due to the politicization of issues such as the declaration
|
|
of independence from tradition and the role of artist as social
|
|
commentator. The first modern artists rejected the classicism and
|
|
realism which had previously dominated commercial art and strived
|
|
to liberate themselves from its confines. By its thirtieth
|
|
birthday, however, modern art was still taking only hesitant steps
|
|
away from tradition. Impressionism, the first major movement in
|
|
modernism in the 1880's, defied the strict illusionism of painting
|
|
by breaking up images into tiny dots of color, suggesting the
|
|
process of vision in the human eye. The subject matter was
|
|
naturalistic, depicting hills, valleys, and sometimes street
|
|
scenes. In the 1890's and 1900's, Van Gogh, Gaugin, and Matisse
|
|
brought attention to the use of color, provoking the next major
|
|
advance in art, Fauvism. Again, paintings depicted ordinary human
|
|
subject matter or still lives. With the Cubist revolution of the
|
|
1900's by Braque and Picasso, an effort was made to depict "four
|
|
dimensions" in a painting by blending several different viewpoints
|
|
of a scene on one canvas, disguising the elements of the picture by
|
|
drawing with sharp angles and straight lines. Still, ordinary
|
|
subject matter was at the core of the paintings.
|
|
|
|
In addition to the hesitant nature of these advances toward true
|
|
abstraction, the modern artists' oath of independence and breaking
|
|
from tradition was further subjugated by the institutionalization
|
|
of modern art. Although the advances of Impressionism, Fauvism, and
|
|
Cubism had originally shocked the art world, schools were soon set
|
|
up to teach and formalize the new methods. What courageous artists
|
|
had invented in protest was soon reduced to fashionable art.
|
|
|
|
Considering the state of modern art in the 1910's, it could only be
|
|
a reluctant opponent to the ascetic ideal in Nietzsche's eyes.
|
|
While artists sought to express their own truths by the way of new
|
|
painting styles, they were as a whole still restricted by
|
|
classicism and the backwards pull of tradition. Also, the fact that
|
|
art had become greatly commercialized also played on the artists'
|
|
consciences; they were unwilling to boldly assert themselves for
|
|
fear of not being financially successful. As a result,
|
|
"innovations" in modern art were still baby steps forward. Clearly,
|
|
Nietzsche's mention of Homer shows that his ideal of the artist is
|
|
much different.
|
|
|
|
Historical setting for Dada
|
|
|
|
|
|
In 1916, during the tumultuous first World War, poet and artist
|
|
refugees from France, Germany, Russia, and elsewhere converged in
|
|
Zurich. These men and women discovered they shared disgust toward
|
|
both their society, which would allow such a senseless war to go
|
|
on, and toward the institution of art, which had been shackling
|
|
their creativity in the mire of tradition and formalization. There,
|
|
Hugo Ball, Marcel Janco, and Jean Arp organized the Cabaret
|
|
Voltaire and put on a series of amateur poetry recitals and musical
|
|
performances. Soon after, seeking something more effective, they
|
|
created Dada.
|
|
|
|
Dada's roles against and for art
|
|
|
|
|
|
What was Dada? It was at the core an anarchistic, nihilistic
|
|
philosophical movement. It called for the destruction of society,
|
|
protesting the sociopolitical conditions that led to World War I,
|
|
and for the destruction of art, which limited their ability to
|
|
express themselves. These demands were not unrelated. Even with the
|
|
"shocking" advances of modern art up to that time, artists still
|
|
faced great opposition to innovative ideas, namely, societal
|
|
approval. So, rather than an art movement, Dada called itself an
|
|
anti-art movement. A successful overthrow of art and society would
|
|
allow these artists to proceed boldly forward without fear of
|
|
reprisal. From a Nietzschean perspective, Dada's goal was to return
|
|
art to a Dionysian state; it was clearly against the ascetic ideal.
|
|
|
|
Obviously, Dada could not hope to overthrow society; however, its
|
|
founders felt such extreme demands mirrored the insanity of the
|
|
war. And in the style of such rampant insanity, they took action.
|
|
|
|
Specifically, Dada aimed to achieve its goal through the subversion
|
|
of tradition and of sense. Dada claimed that truth did not exist
|
|
whatsoever, giving it the power to reject all authority. Throughout
|
|
its short history, Dada participants used several techniques to
|
|
express its messages. The loudest and most raucous technique was
|
|
Dada performances. The elite in Zurich, Paris, and Berlin (to which
|
|
Dada later spread) were attracted to announcements of exhibits and
|
|
lectures on emerging trends in modern art. At the "lectures," Dada
|
|
artists screamed insults at the audience. At the "exhibits," the
|
|
artists performed nonsense dances and recited sound poetry:
|
|
|
|
Dada activities... constituted a direct attack on the staid
|
|
morality and sentiments of the public, which raged and swooned at
|
|
such candor.... Opposites were brought together: the art-lover that
|
|
lies hidden in every man was either outraged or forced to submit to
|
|
so much imbecility, so much genius. A trusting and hopeful
|
|
audience, gathered together for an art exhibit or a poetry recital,
|
|
was insulted beyond endurance. [1] It should be understood that
|
|
Dada was not complete nonsense. The "sound poetry," or bruitisme,
|
|
was actually a new style of art, wherein an artist spoke in strings
|
|
of nonsensical vowel and consonant sounds to convey a primitive and
|
|
spiritual message. At one performance, Ball was dressed up in a
|
|
costume resembling "some kind of Cubist High Priest", a
|
|
brightly-colored cardboard tube with wings attached to his
|
|
shoulders. When he came up on stage, he recited some sound poetry,
|
|
initially to the explosive laughter and derisive applause of the
|
|
audience. He soon found, however, his voice taking on the "age-old
|
|
cadence of priestly lamentation, the liturgical chanting that wails
|
|
through all the Catholic churches of East and West," [2] and his
|
|
chanting hypnotized the audience into submission. While the costume
|
|
provoked laughter and scorn, the intended effect of the bruitisme
|
|
made its way through. Such juxtapositions of opposites were the
|
|
means by which Dada was allowed to experiment: expressing new ideas
|
|
under the guise of nonsense.
|
|
|
|
Another effective technique Dadaists used was the printed word. In
|
|
Germany, Raoul Hausmann created the magazine "Der Dada," containing
|
|
transcripts of sound poetry, meaningless slogans, and manifestos,
|
|
with words wildly typeset in all imaginable sizes, styles, and
|
|
directions across the page. This "print collage" style was a new
|
|
technique, boldly appropriating and expanding on the stylistic
|
|
painting collage of Cubism.
|
|
|
|
Dada's role against society
|
|
|
|
|
|
Throughout the movement from 1916 to 1924, however, the clearest
|
|
points Dada made were through its various writers' manifestos.
|
|
While manifestos for earlier art movements where used to announce a
|
|
new school of painting or literature, Dada used them to deny that
|
|
it was an art movement at all. In fact, through its manifestos it
|
|
made its clearest political messages. Herein one finds more clear
|
|
ties to Nietzsche's philosophy.
|
|
|
|
Hugo Ball, one of the core leaders of Dada, was in fact a devote of
|
|
Nietzsche. In the university he wrote "A Polemical Treatise in
|
|
Defense of Nietzsche" as his dissertation. Ball didn't complete his
|
|
schooling, but did continue working on the dissertation afterwards.
|
|
Ball was engrossed with Nietzsche's "dionysiac theory of art" and
|
|
his sympathy with the philosopher indicates the clearest roots of
|
|
Dada, both philosophically and artistically:
|
|
|
|
Ball not only agreed with Nietzsche's contention that society could
|
|
be regenerated only through a return to the forces of instinct and
|
|
emotion and a repudiation of Socratic rationalism, but, perhaps
|
|
even more important, was sympathetic to the iconoclastic
|
|
philosopher's call for a revolt against traditional morality and a
|
|
denunciation of the Church, the state, and any other external
|
|
authority which might interfere with individual freedom. [3] Hugo
|
|
Ball and Jean Arp, in the periodical "Dada" and elsewhere, wrote
|
|
rabid and often nonsensical manifestos to promote Dada's agenda. In
|
|
retrospect, Arp wrote:
|
|
|
|
Dada aimed to destroy the reasonable deceptions of man and recover
|
|
the natural and unreasonable order. Dada wanted to replace the
|
|
logical nonsense of the men of today by the illogically senseless.
|
|
That is why we pounded with all our might on the big drum of Dada
|
|
and trumpeted the praises of unreason. [4] Quick to join the
|
|
movement after its conception was Tristan Tzara, who best expressed
|
|
Dada in his numerous manifestos. An excerpt from "Dada Manifesto
|
|
1918" demonstrates this:
|
|
|
|
Dada; knowledge of all the means rejected up until now by the
|
|
shamefaced sex of comfortable compromise and good manners: Dada;
|
|
abolition of logic, which is the dance of those impotent to create:
|
|
Dada; of every societal hierarchy and equation set up for the sake
|
|
of values by our valets: Dada...; abolition of memory: Dada...;
|
|
abolition of the future: Dada; absolute and unquestionable faith in
|
|
every god that is the immediate product of spontaneity: Dada... [5]
|
|
Both excerpts strongly echo Nietzsche, who believed that reason and
|
|
logic, man's "weakest organ[s]", had replaced man's natural animal
|
|
playfulness and instinct. Neither Tzara nor Arp is directly linked
|
|
to Nietzsche in Dada anthologies, however, although one must assume
|
|
that Nietzsche's influence was felt in the academic community at
|
|
the time.
|
|
|
|
In avidly calling for the abolition of logic and sense, Dada
|
|
thereby promoted the destruction of truth. Dada called for people
|
|
to rely on instinct, spontaneity, and playfulness, hoping to
|
|
reshape the minds of people who protested their ultra-rational but
|
|
senseless world and who had no clear means by which to change it.
|
|
Therein Dada attempted to jolt people away from their reliance on
|
|
reason and truth, seeing clearly that such continued reliance would
|
|
only breed more confusion.
|
|
|
|
Where is Dada today?
|
|
|
|
|
|
In 1923 the members of the Dada movement lost momentum. News of
|
|
their trademark performances had spread around Europe and were no
|
|
longer shocking. Also, members started to fight among themselves,
|
|
an inevitable clash of egos. The philosophical side of Dada had
|
|
stagnated; but on the other hand, artists who had been part of the
|
|
movement, such as Andre Breton, Francis Picabia, Marcel Duchamp,
|
|
each found success in artistic innovation. Importantly, each had
|
|
turned to abstractionism, in poetry, music, theater, painting, and
|
|
sculpture, meaning these artists had lived up to Dada's artistic
|
|
aim to progress beyond traditional limitations. Breton later
|
|
introduced Surrealism, suggesting that one of the twentieth
|
|
century's most interesting movements has its roots in Dada as well.
|
|
[6]
|
|
|
|
Although the original movement had withered away, Dadaist ideals
|
|
proved their timelessness, re-emerging strongly for brief periods
|
|
after World War II and in the 1960's. (It is no accident that Dada
|
|
has coincided with tumultuous events in recent history.) The
|
|
invention of Abstract Expressionism, Pop Art, and Happenings are
|
|
attributed to these "Neo-Dadas."
|
|
|
|
In each case, including its birth, Dada has receded into the
|
|
background shortly after a flurry of activity. By nature it is a
|
|
short-lived movement, requiring the collective energies of many
|
|
people to organize and make noise; therefore, it is also taxing.
|
|
Also, Dada calls for its own destruction, or as Nietzsche would
|
|
say, it is "self-overcoming." Dada never wanted to be an "- ism,"
|
|
relegated to a formal school of art. Indeed, by definition there is
|
|
no art style called "Dadaism;" although artistic innovations have
|
|
sprung from it, these were pursued independently. Dada is more
|
|
properly a philosophical movement, raising eyebrows and
|
|
consciousness wherever it pops up.
|
|
|
|
The Dadaist ideal has left strong impressions on our culture, both
|
|
through its artistic contributions and its philosophical ties with
|
|
Nietzsche. Perhaps this is how Nietzsche's ideal of art will most
|
|
naturally work to revolutionize our society -- through Dada, both
|
|
in its short loud bursts of activity and in its lingering effects.
|
|
In a culture so strongly dependent on rationality and truth, such
|
|
gradual change is probably the best Nietzsche could have hoped for.
|
|
|
|
Footnotes
|
|
|
|
|
|
[1] Georges Hugnet, "The Dada Spirit in Painting," appearing in
|
|
Dada Painters
|
|
and Poets , p. 131
|
|
|
|
[2] Grossman, p. 118
|
|
|
|
[3] Grossman, p. 50
|
|
|
|
[4] Jean Arp, appearing in Dada Painters and Poets , p. 25
|
|
|
|
[5] Tristan Tzara, "Dada Manifesto 1918," appearing in Dada
|
|
Painters and
|
|
Poets , p. 81
|
|
|
|
[6] Hans Richter says in Dada Art and Anti-Art , p. 194:
|
|
"Surrealism devoured
|
|
and digested Dada. Similar cannibalistic methods are by no means
|
|
rare in
|
|
history, and as Surrealism had a strong digestion, the qualities of
|
|
the
|
|
devoured were transferred to the invigorated body of the survivor.
|
|
So be it!"
|
|
|
|
|
|
Bibliography
|
|
|
|
|
|
Grossman, Manuel L. Dada: Paradox, Mystification, and Ambiguity in
|
|
European
|
|
Literature . New York: Pegasus, 1971.
|
|
Lippiard, Lucy R., ed. Dadas on Art . New Jersey: Prentice-Hall,
|
|
1971.
|
|
Motherwell, Robert, ed. Dada Painters and Poets: An Anthology , 2nd
|
|
ed.,
|
|
Boston, Mass.: G.K. Hall, 1981.
|
|
Nietzsche, Friedrich. On the Genealogy of Morals . Trans. Walter
|
|
Kaufmann
|
|
and R.J. Hollingdale. New York: Random House, 1967.
|
|
Richter, Hans. Dada Art and Anti-Art . Germany: Thames and Hudson,
|
|
1965.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
|
|
SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
[=- POETASTRiE -=]
|
|
|
|
|
|
"The poets? They stink. They write badly. They're idiots you see,
|
|
because the strong people don't write poetry.... They become hitmen
|
|
for the Mafia. The good people do the serious jobs."
|
|
|
|
--Charles Bukowski
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
|
|
SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
Previous|Next
|
|
|
|
AD HOMiNEM
|
|
by Kilgore Trout
|
|
|
|
fuck you.
|
|
you're an idiot.
|
|
yeah, i'm talking to you.
|
|
you're an idiot.
|
|
i'm not attacking your ideas.
|
|
i'm just gonna beat your face in.
|
|
i don't care what you think.
|
|
i just don't like the way you look.
|
|
dumbass.
|
|
|
|
(works better live, i'm sure. use in hipster, pretentious coffee
|
|
joints during cool scene teen poetry slams. involve the audience.
|
|
either that, or read poems in russian. now you see why i write
|
|
fiction...)
|
|
|
|
--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--
|
|
|
|
Previous|Next
|
|
|
|
POiSONPEN
|
|
by CJ Hooknose
|
|
|
|
I crouched in the shadowed depths of an ocean of night, letting its
|
|
tides wash over me and carry me wherever they would. The
|
|
streetlights were sullen fireflies fighting pointless battles
|
|
against the murk. A few shaggy young men stumbled down the side
|
|
streets, belching and furtively pissing in the bushes. I didn't
|
|
care. I just waited, patient and silent as my old friend the
|
|
serpent, the solitary traffic light gleaming furtively off my
|
|
knife.
|
|
|
|
Most everyone had forgotten me. Anyone who still remembered called
|
|
me Poisonpen. It wasn't completely accurate, but I liked it all the
|
|
same. Always did have a weakness for literary allusions, especially
|
|
the dark and nasty kind. They fit. It's my job to make things fit.
|
|
It's more difficult than you think.
|
|
|
|
Take the wind, for example. It was cold, too damn cold and sneaking
|
|
down the front of my trenchcoat if I did so much as breathe. And
|
|
breathing is such a difficult habit to break. I ignored the wind as
|
|
much as possible and watched the sidewalk. College students and the
|
|
people around them were more chaotic in their lives and habits than
|
|
ordinary folk, which sometimes interfered with my schedule. Those
|
|
who believed and lived a world of random events and impulses
|
|
reacted... differently when one of those impulses reached out and
|
|
bit them. It was all part of the game, but all the same, it
|
|
interfered with the aesthetic pleasure I took in my work.
|
|
|
|
Of course, someone had to do it, even on a night like this. It was
|
|
such a dismal, desolate, cold and dark thing, with mucky slush and
|
|
water slopped everywhere. Dog shit rotted on the sidewalk, and
|
|
faraway cars growled through the snow--it almost made me want to
|
|
write bad poetry.
|
|
|
|
That awful urge passed as I looked down the street. A woman was
|
|
approaching from the south. The old familiar heat coursed through
|
|
me. Casually, without even meaning to, I pulled out my knife and
|
|
began to stroke its edge. A quick glance as she came closer told me
|
|
all I needed to know. The woman was Nicole, someone I knew almost
|
|
too well. I'd seen her a million times in the daylight, as she was
|
|
walking or laughing with her friends or lounging in the green space
|
|
on the Quad. I had her marked and watched, and she never seemed to
|
|
notice. Of course, I would have been surprised if she had--I was
|
|
nothing, invisible as the wind and less than a face in the crowd.
|
|
|
|
"Not very smart, girl. A coed was raped and strangled a few blocks
|
|
from here three weeks ago. Don't you know enough not to walk alone
|
|
late at night?" I muttered to myself Not that I minded, of
|
|
course... it would make everything so much easier.
|
|
|
|
Nicole was more careful than she seemed at first glance. I knew she
|
|
wasn't reckless, which was part of the reason I'd chosen her. She
|
|
walked briskly, confidently, as if she were in full daylight
|
|
instead of these dim times when things were about. Every so often,
|
|
she looked behind her and to both sides, and then her long brown
|
|
hair caught what little light there was. It was attractive--hell,
|
|
she was attractive, though that was neither here nor there. I knew
|
|
drag queens who would kill for those dark, smoky eyes, and she
|
|
moved with an unconscious grace that not even the uneven slush
|
|
underfoot could spoil. I guessed she had just come from a party, as
|
|
she was wearing a short black skirt under her leather jacket. It
|
|
was almost too bad her carefree life would have to end. Why did she
|
|
have to have so much talent? But no, she had to put herself in
|
|
harm's way by picking up a pen and tasting the heady power of
|
|
words....
|
|
|
|
Nicole walked past the alley, her breath steaming out in delicate
|
|
feathers. I seamlessly slid up behind her. I crept into position
|
|
and was on the verge of striking out when the flutter of wings
|
|
directly above startled me. Dammit! I looked up, scared past all
|
|
reasoning for a second. If they had found me... but I relaxed as
|
|
soon as I saw it was only a restless pigeon. I knew I shouldn't be
|
|
so on edge--after all, I'd done this twenty times before. Of
|
|
course, the interruption had broken my timing, and Nicole was too
|
|
far away. I gritted my teeth and advanced carefully, picking my way
|
|
through the icy crusts winter had left on the sidewalk.
|
|
|
|
Nicole walked on a little more quickly, breaking the unconscious
|
|
rhythm she had before. I could have made some noise, after all...
|
|
it would ruin everything if she looked behind her now, that was for
|
|
sure. I knew it had to be soon, soon or never, as she was almost to
|
|
the street corner and only a block from the dorms on Douglas
|
|
Street.
|
|
|
|
I thumbed the knife's edge. It was sharp as the north wind. I moved
|
|
silently, invisibly, behind her again. I needed to get it done in
|
|
one swift slice, so Nicole would never know what hit her until it
|
|
was too late. It had to be soon, and it had to be in the cold and
|
|
lonely dark--anything else would spoil the artistry. Others I'd
|
|
heard of made their victims suffer, and some even worked in public,
|
|
but I was a rare breed of perfectionist. I had pride, and as a
|
|
result, my work was true art. If certain elements didn't appreciate
|
|
it, that was their problem.
|
|
|
|
Everything fell silent as Nicole approached the crosswalk. The
|
|
traffic light flashed dumbly for the benefit of no one at all.
|
|
Nicole stepped off the curb. I coiled up, waiting for the perfect
|
|
moment, feeling the adrenaline rush and the mounting joy. I tensed
|
|
and counted silently... 3... 2... 1... now! As Nicole's foot
|
|
slipped in the slush, she stumbled, and I sprang, knife upraised
|
|
and snapping forward. Nicole turned involuntarily at the last
|
|
moment, probably more out of surprise at slipping than anything
|
|
else. In that instant, she looked directly at me. She was beautiful
|
|
at that moment, as beautiful as anything I have ever seen. Her last
|
|
expression was not quite fear or shock, but a vast puzzlement as
|
|
the knife slid home. It was all over in a second. She fell forward,
|
|
eyes dark and muscles slack.
|
|
|
|
"Perfect," I said with a smack of satisfaction. I let go of the
|
|
knife, leaving it jammed into the soft flesh under her jaw. Not the
|
|
best place to leave it, but it was necessary... to make things fit.
|
|
I turned and loped back, casually confident and pleased with a job
|
|
well done. My drift into the cool dark night halted abruptly when
|
|
the red and blue lights began to howl.
|
|
|
|
"Freeze!" a voice shouted from the street. The noise upset the
|
|
pigeons, who took off and flapped and hooted in a great mass. I
|
|
ran, heedless of the lights, shouts, and sirens. Surrender was
|
|
unthinkable. It had been going so well... and how had they even
|
|
known? I had always been careful, covering my tracks, keeping low,
|
|
and now this had to go and happen. I wished I'd brought more
|
|
knives.
|
|
|
|
The police car screeched to a halt in front of a small Chinese
|
|
restaurant. Two cops jumped out, waving pistols and shouting. I
|
|
braced for the unthinkable, yet the cops... ran inside the
|
|
restaurant.
|
|
|
|
Something wasn't quite right here.
|
|
|
|
"Freeze, dammit!" another, smaller voice shouted from directly
|
|
overhead. I did as I was told, more out of curiosity than anything
|
|
else. The sound of flapping wings gradually grew louder as one
|
|
pigeon descended into view. But since when did pigeons carry
|
|
flaming swords in their beaks? I realized what had happened, and
|
|
fear and chagrin roiled up in a sick wave inside me.
|
|
|
|
"All right, Poisonpen. You coming along quietly, or what?" the
|
|
pigeon squawked in a weary voice.
|
|
|
|
"What? The cops... what about the cops?" I jabbered, pointing at
|
|
the police car. "What about em? Just coincidence a secular crime
|
|
happened right in front of us." The pigeon tried to grin. "Now
|
|
what'd you do to the girl?"
|
|
|
|
I gave the pigeon a flinty stare. "I refuse to answer any questions
|
|
without a lawyer present." With luck, if I could distract him, I
|
|
could get away.
|
|
|
|
"Nice try. I saw everything that happened. Backup'll be here any
|
|
second. A GL-202 Satanophonic Idea Knife, wasn't it? She'll wake up
|
|
with a headache and a new theory of particle physics or something.
|
|
Never happy unless you're stirring up trouble, are you, you
|
|
sonofabitch?" The pigeon swaggered forward, nearly brushing me with
|
|
its sword.
|
|
|
|
"No! Nothing like that, I swear! You've heard of Dostoevsky? Arthur
|
|
Miller? H.P. Lovecraft?" The pigeon snorted in contempt. Cops have
|
|
no respect for the classics. "All my work. Everything. It's...."
|
|
|
|
"Can it," the cop hissed, brushing me with the flaming sword. Pain
|
|
shot through me, and I buckled to the ground with a heavy splat.
|
|
"We've got our own PR going now. Seen a bookstore lately?"
|
|
|
|
"So that's where all those damned books about angels came from...."
|
|
I croaked into the slush.
|
|
|
|
Before I could follow that thought any further, the sky fell in and
|
|
two huge, white-winged forms fell in with it. They were not happy.
|
|
|
|
They took off with me pinned solidly between them. As we rose into
|
|
the sky, I saw Nicole stagger to her feet. She brushed idly at her
|
|
throat, dislodging the Idea Knife, and then looked upward. She
|
|
must've caught a glimpse of something, because I faintly heard her
|
|
say, "Ohmigod! I've just seen angels."
|
|
|
|
And instead of the poignant, powerful, and thought-provoking novel
|
|
about urban life that I'd planted, she wrote some piece of tripe
|
|
called "Messengers From Beyond: One Woman's Story."
|
|
|
|
At least it made the bestseller lists.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
|
|
SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
"The dumber people think you are, the more surprised they're going
|
|
to be when you kill them."
|
|
|
|
--William Clayton
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
|
|
SoB-SoB--
|
|
|
|
Previous|Next
|
|
|
|
REQUiEM OF A DYING BOY
|
|
by Kilgore Trout
|
|
|
|
PROLOGUE
|
|
|
|
|
|
This hotel room will be the last thing I see for the rest of my
|
|
natural life. Things have taken a bad turn for me, things which I
|
|
never anticipated happening. I thought I had it all planned out,
|
|
that I had foreseen every single problem that might come my way.
|
|
Unfortunately, I was wrong. Now I'm just waiting for the police to
|
|
show up.
|
|
|
|
I'm not really sure why I was so obsessed with her anymore. Maybe
|
|
it was just desperation on my part. I don't remember half of the
|
|
things I've done in the past six months, and that scares me. Holing
|
|
up in this hotel room has really brought reality's ugly head
|
|
crashing down. If I knew that I would be sitting in a Motel 6
|
|
wrapped up in faded green sheets waiting for my demise, I'm not so
|
|
sure that I would have committed the actions that have made up my
|
|
entire existence for half of a year. The three weapons sitting on
|
|
the bed don't make my situation any better, either.
|
|
|
|
But that doesn't really matter too much anymore. I've gone past the
|
|
point of being able to say, "I'm sorry" and have all the people who
|
|
despise me forget about this whole episode. Forgiveness is not an
|
|
option anymore. If they catch me, they'll hang me for my crimes.
|
|
|
|
I'd rather go out fighting. That's just the type of guy I am.
|
|
|
|
I've tried to take my mind off what is going to happen to me, but
|
|
nothing seems to help. At four in the afternoon, all that's on
|
|
television are talk shows and disreputable newsmagazines depicting
|
|
the messed-up lives of people who are almost as messed-up as I am.
|
|
I've got one thing still going for me. I'm still sane, and that,
|
|
too, scares me.
|
|
|
|
Whenever I picked up a newspaper and read about some psycho killing
|
|
ten people in a fast food joint, I figured that he would have to be
|
|
insane to do the horrendous acts that he committed. I always
|
|
thought that for a sane man to murder someone, he would have to
|
|
contain within himself a great deal of animosity and hate towards
|
|
the person he wanted dead. Sure, men kill men all the time in war,
|
|
but they are doing it for their country, so it can't be wrong,
|
|
right? And cops kill criminals, but they are doing it to protect
|
|
the public. I guess when they come and shoot me down, they'll be
|
|
doing the public a big favor by eliminating a danger to their
|
|
fragile society. Not that I personally like the idea, mind you, but
|
|
I can see that I would probably want to do the same in their shoes.
|
|
|
|
Now, after having been through the worst six months of my life, I'm
|
|
not so sure that I understand myself as clearly as I once did. I
|
|
never would have thought that I could ever bring myself to kill
|
|
another man, and I was right about that.
|
|
|
|
I killed a woman.
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER ONE
|
|
|
|
|
|
1.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The bed was old and sweaty. A fan slowly stirred the stagnant air
|
|
around the small bedroom, yet it was a futile attempt to cool off
|
|
the room. Zach lay in the bed, barely asleep. His damp hair was
|
|
matted to the sweat-stained pillow. Zach's mouth opened and closed
|
|
intermittently like a dying fish's, gasping to take in any cool air
|
|
that he could. A half-empty tea glass sat on the broken stereo
|
|
speaker beside his bed, a once cool and refreshing drink now turned
|
|
hot and rancid.
|
|
|
|
Zach slowly awoke from his shallow slumber, his closed eyes now
|
|
narrow slits. He moaned and swung his feet off the bed, raising
|
|
himself into a sitting position. Zach ran a hand down his bare
|
|
chest, showering his thighs with cold sweat. As he stood, a
|
|
coughing fit overtook him, and he hacked up a ball of phlegm in his
|
|
mouth, which he promptly spit on the carpet. Taking his left foot,
|
|
he rubbed the spit into the carpet with his heel.
|
|
|
|
The light switch evaded Zach's grasp, but he finally managed to
|
|
flick it on. The swift illumination of the room caused his pupils
|
|
to shrink down to small, black holes. He walked into the bathroom,
|
|
still half-asleep, and stared at his pathetic reflection in the
|
|
mirror.
|
|
|
|
Zach wasn't bad looking, just unkempt. His black hair fell to his
|
|
shoulders in wispy strands. The pale skin that covered his body
|
|
didn't look so bad in the bathroom due to the soft lighting. He
|
|
never tanned during the summer, just peeled. He ran his hand across
|
|
his face, feeling his rough, unshaven skin. Zach sighed and turned
|
|
away, as he did every morning.
|
|
|
|
He stepped into the shower and turned on the faucet, feeling relief
|
|
as the icy water resurrected him from the dead.
|
|
|
|
2.
|
|
|
|
|
|
A box of Frosted Flakes was the only appetizing thing that Zach
|
|
could find in the pantry for breakfast. He poured some into a bowl
|
|
and replaced the box back on its shelf.
|
|
|
|
Zach peered into the refrigerator and dug behind last night's
|
|
leftover meatloaf to get to the milk. He checked the expiration
|
|
date on the side of the carton. May 27. Today was May 27, and Zach
|
|
let out a grunt of disappointment as he put the milk back into the
|
|
refrigerator. He had a rule of never drinking milk on or after its
|
|
expiration date, even though his mother said that the date was just
|
|
to tell stores when to stop selling it. Zach didn't trust his
|
|
mother too much.
|
|
|
|
He sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat his Frosted
|
|
Flakes. Today's paper was sitting on the table, as it was every
|
|
morning. For every day since he could remember, his mother had
|
|
always brought in the morning paper for his father before she left
|
|
for work. Now, since his father had died of cancer four years ago,
|
|
she did it out of habit.
|
|
|
|
The rubber band holding the paper closed was blue. It was always
|
|
blue. Zach had wondered why the newspaper only used blue rubber
|
|
bands. Maybe they got a special discount to use the colored bands,
|
|
or the owner had holdings in some company that manufactured the
|
|
blue rubber bands. Whatever the reason, Zach was pretty sure that
|
|
one of the signs of the apocalypse would be the morning when he
|
|
would get a newspaper with a real rubber band around it.
|
|
|
|
The newspaper opened as Zach rolled the rubber band off and threw
|
|
it in the trash can. He used to keep them to see how many he could
|
|
collect, figuring that blue rubber bands wouldn't be very common.
|
|
After he had a whole desk drawer full of them, however, he decided
|
|
it was time to stop.
|
|
|
|
Zach didn't really bother reading the articles in detail. After
|
|
all, they were just variations on murder, scandals, and world
|
|
problems. He flipped through the pages mindlessly, scanning the
|
|
headlines and stopping only to read a few articles while slowly
|
|
eating dry cereal.
|
|
|
|
After the bowl was exhausted of its contents, Zach stood up from
|
|
the kitchen table and washed his bowl out in the sink. He threw the
|
|
paper in the wastebasket and left for school.
|
|
|
|
3.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The parking lot was full of automobiles as Zach pulled into the
|
|
high school parking lot. His Seiko watch said he had twenty minutes
|
|
until first period began, so he turned off the engine and waited
|
|
for Julie.
|
|
|
|
He scanned the people filing into the building, but his girlfriend
|
|
was nowhere to be seen. The interior of his car began to heat up
|
|
after a few moments, so he rolled the driver's side window down to
|
|
let in some fresh air. A hot gust of wind collided against his
|
|
face, but it was better than no breeze at all.
|
|
|
|
After ten minutes of waiting, Zach still had seen no sign of her.
|
|
She was very late today, but it wasn't unusual for Julie to
|
|
oversleep. Still, he always felt that a day started off badly when
|
|
he and Julie did not get to see each other before school started.
|
|
He decided to wait another five minutes.
|
|
|
|
4.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Mrs. Jackson began the lecture on the Watergate scandal, but Zach's
|
|
mind was focused elsewhere. Julie hadn't shown up this morning, and
|
|
Zach had no idea where she could be. She always called him in the
|
|
morning if she wasn't going to make it to school, so Zach had
|
|
started to worry if something might have happened to her.
|
|
|
|
The idea that Julie might be hurt scared Zach. She was the only
|
|
thing that he really loved. Before they had met, he had no real
|
|
direction in life. He was always causing trouble at school,
|
|
vandalizing the bathrooms and fighting for no real reason other
|
|
than to just see how badly he could hurt someone.
|
|
|
|
Julie was his savior from that lifestyle. She had given him
|
|
something to live for, something to cherish. Under her wing, he had
|
|
slowly broken ties with his old friends, the ones he had hung
|
|
around with just because there was no other group who would take
|
|
him in. It had been a long process, and a painful one, too. His old
|
|
buddies had given him a hard time, telling him that he was going
|
|
soft and letting some girl control him. Zach knew differently after
|
|
seeing his friends' true faces unmasked, but a part of him still
|
|
did not want to let go of the people he had known for so long. It
|
|
took a great deal of Zach's willpower to hang up his old way of
|
|
life, yet he knew that if he did not change, he would lose the only
|
|
meaningful thing that had ever come into his life.
|
|
|
|
Zach was lucky to have made such a "fine catch," as his old friends
|
|
would have called Julie. Under normal circumstances, the chances of
|
|
a guy with the reputation of Zach's and a girl considered as
|
|
popular as Julie were practically nil. She was very pretty, just on
|
|
the underlying side of gorgeous. Her long, brown hair stopped just
|
|
beneath her shoulders, the curls rising and falling in a chaotic
|
|
manner. Most people at the school were very surprised, some jealous
|
|
and some horrified, that these two completely different people from
|
|
opposite positions in society could be dating. And even though Zach
|
|
received a lot of flak from his friends, it was Julie who took most
|
|
of the heat.
|
|
|
|
If Zach thought that it was annoying to be harassed by a few
|
|
friends, then he didn't fully understand the taunting Julie had
|
|
been through. On the day after their first date, Laura Anderson,
|
|
one of Julie's best friends, cornered her in one of the hallways.
|
|
|
|
"Hey, Julie! There's been some rumor going around that you went out
|
|
with Zach Dillard," she said.
|
|
|
|
"Oh, really?" Julie asked, giving her friend a surprised look.
|
|
|
|
"Yeah," Laura answered. "Do you have any idea who would want to get
|
|
back at you by doing something like that?"
|
|
|
|
Julie looked her friend straight in the eyes. This was the first
|
|
test of her relationship with Zach. She had known things like this
|
|
would happen if she went out with him, but she thought that she was
|
|
prepared for these types of situations. Now, she wasn't so sure,
|
|
but there wasn't much she could do about it.
|
|
|
|
"Laura, that's not a rumor," she stated. "It's true."
|
|
|
|
Laura Anderson's days were usually uneventful. She had a good life,
|
|
good friends, and little hardship. Her biggest worries had to do
|
|
with what she was going to wear and where she was going to go on
|
|
the weekend. Julie's admission sent her whole, stable world away.
|
|
Her face became red, and she couldn't think of what to say. She
|
|
just stood there, stammering for words. "How could you?" were the
|
|
only things that escaped her lips.
|
|
|
|
Now it was Julie's turn to get red-faced. She knew her friends
|
|
wouldn't be totally accepting of Zach at first, but she did not
|
|
think that they would be angry at her. Disappointed, maybe, but not
|
|
angry.
|
|
|
|
"What do you mean, 'How could you?'" Julie yelled a little too
|
|
loudly. A few heads in the hall turned, and someone screamed, "Cat
|
|
fight!" Julie put her hand on her forehead and tried to calm
|
|
herself down.
|
|
|
|
"Look," she said, trying to control her raging emotions. "I don't
|
|
want to discuss this here, but it's my choice and my life, and you
|
|
don't have any right to condemn my actions."
|
|
|
|
A small crowd had begun to form around the two girls, hoping to see
|
|
two girls claw each other until the principals arrived. Fights
|
|
among boys were no big deal at the school, but fighting among girls
|
|
was considered a special treat to behold. Julie walked off, leaving
|
|
Laura standing in confusion and disbelief.
|
|
|
|
Zach had never seen this nor any of the other episodes that Julie
|
|
had to endure. He assumed that the same kinds of things that
|
|
happened to him were happening to her as well, but he had no idea
|
|
of the magnitude of the situation. Julie was on a first-name basis
|
|
with practically everyone in their senior class, and she had hoards
|
|
of good friends. During the next few days after their first date,
|
|
her school life consisted of going to class and telling people that
|
|
she was, in fact, going out with Zach.
|
|
|
|
Nine months later, though, the gossiping finally diminished. People
|
|
came to accept their relationship, even though most thought it was
|
|
a mistake. He still received some hateful stares from Julie's close
|
|
friends when he was by himself, but when they were together,
|
|
nothing major ever really happened.
|
|
|
|
Zach considered all of this behind him now. In four more days they
|
|
would graduate from this small-town high school and be off at
|
|
college, where they wouldn't have to deal with all of the cold
|
|
stares and talk behind their backs.
|
|
|
|
The bell rang, and Zach gathered his books up. He left the class,
|
|
wondering exactly where Julie was.
|
|
|
|
5.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The school cafeteria buzzed with life and laughter. Students ate
|
|
and talked, enjoying their break from the monotonous school day.
|
|
Zach sat at a table by himself, gnawing on a buttered roll. He
|
|
mindlessly listened to the inane conversations of a group of
|
|
freshmen sitting at the table next to him. Their talk consisted
|
|
mostly of how they were ready for summer so they could sleep in.
|
|
|
|
A hand tapped Zach's shoulder. He looked up and saw Laura towering
|
|
over him. She had never really liked him, primarily because he was
|
|
with Julie more than she was. Her resentment of him still blazed in
|
|
her eyes even though she was smiling. She always smiled when she
|
|
talked to Zach, no matter what the topic of conversation happened
|
|
to be. Zach guessed she was afraid of him, and he was correct.
|
|
|
|
Laura thought that Julie made the biggest mistake of her life when
|
|
she started dating Zach. She had always seen Zach as a creep and
|
|
low-life degenerate, and nothing, even the fact that he was dating
|
|
her best friend, could ever change her mind. Her fear of Zach also
|
|
added greatly to her dislike of him, as she had seen him take down
|
|
guys twice his size with no effort at all. She feared that if she
|
|
got on his bad side, she would end up with a broken jaw.
|
|
|
|
"Hi, Zach," she said, trying to sound cheerful. "Do you know where
|
|
Julie is?"
|
|
|
|
Zach shook his head. "I haven't the slightest idea." He took
|
|
another bite of the roll and dropped it on the table.
|
|
|
|
"Oh. Well, do you know where she might be?"
|
|
|
|
"My guess is that she is at home," Zach said coldly. "She didn't
|
|
call me this morning, so I have no clue where she is."
|
|
|
|
Julie's best friend stared at Zach for a minute. He was Julie's
|
|
boyfriend. How could he not know where she was? Didn't he care
|
|
enough about her to find out where she might be?
|
|
|
|
"So, you don't know where she is?" Laura asked redundantly.
|
|
|
|
Zach shot her a cold stare and picked up the roll again. He tore a
|
|
piece off, put it in his mouth and chewed on it, ignoring Laura.
|
|
|
|
"Hello, Zach? Are you gonna answer me or not?"
|
|
|
|
"Look, Laura, I don't keep a leash on Julie," Zach angrily said.
|
|
"If I say I don't know where she is, then I don't. It's not like I
|
|
have total control over what she does. Do you think I keep tab on
|
|
her at all times? I don't sit outside her window all night to make
|
|
sure she doesn't leave when we don't go out. I don't--"
|
|
|
|
"Okay, okay. You've made your point. Sorry." Laura turned away and
|
|
stormed off. He watched her walk down the hallway until she was out
|
|
of sight. If he saw her again today, Zach felt sure that he would
|
|
punch her.
|
|
|
|
6.
|
|
|
|
|
|
A violent temper was something that Zach always had. It got him
|
|
into trouble with his mother, his teachers, and a lot of students
|
|
who annoyed Zach. And yet, amazing as it sounds, he never harbored
|
|
one violent thought against Julie. They had been through a number
|
|
of fights, but things that would normally set Zach off never did
|
|
when he was around her.
|
|
|
|
He had never understood why this was. Zach had pondered this enigma
|
|
many times, but no answer had ever been revealed to him. In
|
|
reality, however, the answer was quite simple. Julie had Zach
|
|
wrapped around her finger, or, more precisely, Zach had wrapped
|
|
himself up around her. He had become very dependent on her for his
|
|
emotional and psychological needs. Whenever Julie was not around,
|
|
Zach felt depressed and unwanted.
|
|
|
|
Julie never became aware of this, and even at the end of their
|
|
relationship, she had a hard time coming to the realization of just
|
|
how much he needed her to survive. During the times that they were
|
|
together or talked on the phone, Zach acted normally, and no one
|
|
could have guessed that after their dates or talks on the phone he
|
|
would sit in his room and just stare at the stucco walls for hours.
|
|
His only waking thoughts were of Julie.
|
|
|
|
7.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The phone nested by Zach's ear rang for the fourteenth time. His
|
|
index finger felt cramped from redialing her number for the past
|
|
hour. If she wasn't at home, then where was she? This was the first
|
|
time during their entire relationship that he did not know of her
|
|
whereabouts. Contrary to what he told Laura, he did keep track of
|
|
Julie when they weren't together. He always knew where she was
|
|
"just in case I need to get in touch with you." But now, he had
|
|
absolutely no clue.
|
|
|
|
A ball of rage started to build in the back of his throat as he
|
|
depressed the reset button on the phone and dialed again. His fear
|
|
had ballooned into anger and desperation. The phone rang another
|
|
two minutes before he slammed it down into its cradle.
|
|
|
|
Zach stretched out on his bed and put his hands over his face. He
|
|
fought to struggle a scream that welled up in his belly. The one
|
|
thing that he loved was lost, and he did not know where to start
|
|
looking.
|
|
|
|
He pulled his hands away and looked up. The room was hazy and
|
|
started to spin. The ceiling seemed close enough to reach out and
|
|
touch. Crawling off of the bed, he slowly made his way to the
|
|
bathroom where he bowed to the porcelain god and vomited. It did
|
|
not make him feel any better. Zach propped himself up against the
|
|
bathroom wall, his hands pushing against the cold tile floor. He
|
|
wiped his mouth with his arm, leaving a brown residue. Zach lowered
|
|
his head between his knees and wept.
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER TWO
|
|
|
|
|
|
1.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The shrill noise of the telephone ringing reverberated throughout
|
|
the house. Zach stretched out from the fetal position he had been
|
|
lying in and attempted to stand. He propped himself against the
|
|
bathroom door as the phone continued to ring. The carpet cushioned
|
|
his feet as his stiff legs carried him into his room. The phone sat
|
|
on the mahogany desk, daring him to answer. Did he really want to
|
|
talk to her? Was he in the right frame of mind to speak with Julie
|
|
without blowing up on her? Zach grabbed the phone and held it up to
|
|
his mouth. "Hello?" he heard himself asking.
|
|
|
|
The monotone sound of a dialtone scornfully laughed at him. His
|
|
mouth tightened as he grimaced in disgust. Zach knew it was her. It
|
|
had to be her. He kicked himself mentally for falling asleep in the
|
|
bathroom. Being strong was one of Zach's better character traits,
|
|
or so he thought. Now, holding a lifeless telephone and feeling
|
|
miserable, he felt like a child. The sound of the phone changed to
|
|
a series of annoying beeps, electronic instructions ordering Zach
|
|
to hang up the phone. Both Zach's mind and body were frozen, and
|
|
only one word circled through his confused mind.
|
|
|
|
Helpless.
|
|
|
|
2.
|
|
|
|
|
|
When Zach was eight years old, his father beat him for the first
|
|
and only time. He had found a box of matches in one of the kitchen
|
|
drawers and headed into the backyard with a handful of napkins as
|
|
fuel.
|
|
|
|
He seated himself on a swing hanging from a tree and stared at the
|
|
matchbook, trying to recall how "Howling Mad" Murdock had lit
|
|
matches the night before on The A-Team. Before he successfully got
|
|
one of the matches flaming, though, his father came home from work.
|
|
Zach, enticed by the prospect of fire, never noticed him coming
|
|
into the backyard.
|
|
|
|
"Hey, son, what are you doing?" his father asked. The caring
|
|
expression on the face of his father soon changed into one of both
|
|
fear and anger as he realized what his son was trying to do.
|
|
|
|
"Put those down now!" he yelled, running towards Zach. When his son
|
|
still had not dropped the matches, he hit his son on the chest,
|
|
knocking Zach off the swing. Zach landed on the ground with a thud,
|
|
scattering napkins all around him.
|
|
|
|
"Don't you know that these things aren't toys?" his father
|
|
screamed. "Don't you know you could hurt yourself?"
|
|
|
|
Sobbing emerged from Zach's motionless body. The blow had knocked
|
|
the wind out of him. He tried moving around some, but it took too
|
|
much effort. His father stepped forward and pulled Zach to his
|
|
feet.
|
|
|
|
"Son, I'm very disappointed in you," he scolded as he undid his
|
|
belt. "I'm going to have to punish you for this."
|
|
|
|
Zach's crying decreased into a whimper as he tried to tell his
|
|
father that he was sorry. His pleading did not do any good,
|
|
however.
|
|
|
|
"Zach, you know that this hurts me more than it hurts you," his
|
|
father rationalized. "I'm only doing this because I love you."
|
|
|
|
His father doubled the belt up and swung, landing the blow squarely
|
|
on Zach's buttocks. Tears flowed from Zach's eyes, but he did not
|
|
cry. He was too weak to make a sound.
|
|
|
|
The beating lasted for a few more minutes, the belt hitting Zach on
|
|
his back and legs as well. His father was too filled with rage to
|
|
take careful aim. Zach remained standing throughout the entire
|
|
ordeal.
|
|
|
|
Finally, his father dropped the belt on the ground. "I hope you've
|
|
learned your lesson, son. Remember that this was for your own good.
|
|
Now, go wash up and I'll treat you to some ice cream. Okay?"
|
|
|
|
Zach slowly nodded, still facing away from his father. After a
|
|
couple of seconds and having made sure his dad was gone, he turned
|
|
around and slowly limped back into the house. His skin burned as he
|
|
took each step, the heat from the redness rising through his
|
|
clothes. The tears on his face had dried up, and his eyes stung
|
|
from the absence of moisture.
|
|
|
|
To this day, Zach still did not understand the words his father had
|
|
spoken as he whipped him with the belt. What did the words "I love
|
|
you" have to do with beating one's own son? This paradox of actions
|
|
forever changed the way he viewed those three words, and he vowed
|
|
never to say them unless he truly meant it. To say those words
|
|
without feeling was to defile all the emotion and love that they
|
|
were supposed to convey.
|
|
|
|
At the Baskin-Robbins, his father watched him eat every bite of his
|
|
ice cream. The chocolate tasted cold and sweet, flavored with his
|
|
father's bitter love.
|
|
|
|
3.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The ten o'clock news blared from the television set. Zach's mother
|
|
sat on the couch, reading one of the numerous tabloid magazines she
|
|
gets when she goes to the grocery store. As Zach walked through the
|
|
living room to the kitchen, he smirked to himself as he noted the
|
|
headline about aliens abducting a midwestern farmer's cat.
|
|
|
|
He opened a cabinet, pulled out a glass, and filled it with water.
|
|
The tabloids had always amazed Zach because people actually read
|
|
them and believed them. Whenever he did pick up one of his mom's
|
|
tabloid's, it was just to get a good laugh and not because he was
|
|
looking for reputable news. Still, Zach thought it would be funny
|
|
if the tabloids actually did print the truth and everything else
|
|
was a lie. He laughed again as pictures of flying saucers and
|
|
three-headed cows ran through his mind.
|
|
|
|
Back in his room, Zach flopped down on his bed and turned on his
|
|
stereo. A loud buzz emanated from the broken speaker while the
|
|
other one came to life with the sound of the Dead Kennedys.
|
|
|
|
The phone still sat silent on his desk. By now, Zach had given up
|
|
on getting in touch with Julie tonight. He was angry and worried at
|
|
the same time, yet his anger was slowly overpowering him. As the
|
|
night grew longer, his desire to talk to Julie diminished. Maybe in
|
|
the morning he would feel better. Sleep always seemed to be the
|
|
best remedy for all of his troubles.
|
|
|
|
4.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The night air played with Julie's hair as she sat on the hood of
|
|
her car. Her phone had been ringing constantly all afternoon, but
|
|
she feared that it might be Zach. Actually, she was positive that
|
|
Zach was the one who had been making the majority of the phone
|
|
calls, and guilt had forced her to call him. When Zach hadn't
|
|
answered, waves of relief swept over her. The bad news wasn't going
|
|
to make Zach happy, and she wanted to postpone telling him for as
|
|
long as possible.
|
|
|
|
She gazed upwards to the sky, looking to the blackness of the night
|
|
for answers. Julie had known about this for about two months now,
|
|
but she just could not bring herself to tell him until the very
|
|
end. Zach depended on her too much, and when she told him, he would
|
|
be devastated.
|
|
|
|
Julie understood Zach better than he understood himself, and even
|
|
though he was always calm and docile around her, at times she
|
|
thought she caught glimpses of Zach's old self in his eyes, like
|
|
some imprisoned beast trying to escape its chains. She was not sure
|
|
how he would take the news, but she was not scared of him.
|
|
|
|
Now, the time had come for her to tell Zach. There was no place to
|
|
hide, no place to run away. If she did not tell him soon, she would
|
|
just end up leaving without saying anything, and she knew that that
|
|
would be too much for Zach to handle. Maybe she should go back
|
|
inside and try calling again. He deserved at least that much. She
|
|
owed it to him.
|
|
|
|
Julie slid off the hood of her car and went back inside.
|
|
|
|
5.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The bright-red LED display on the alarm clock read 11:00 as Zach
|
|
woke up, the ringing of his telephone blaring in his ear. "Who
|
|
could be calling me this late?" he asked himself, realizing the
|
|
answer before he finished the question. He flung out his hand and
|
|
drug the phone over to him.
|
|
|
|
"Hello, Julie," he said.
|
|
|
|
"How did you know it was me?" Julie asked.
|
|
|
|
"I'm psychic," Zach explained.
|
|
|
|
"Oh, yeah? So, when's the world gonna end?"
|
|
|
|
"If I told you, it would spoil the surprise."
|
|
|
|
They both laughed. Zach detected a sense of uneasiness in Julie's
|
|
laugh.
|
|
|
|
"So, where were you today?" he inquired.
|
|
|
|
"Yeah, I'm sorry about not calling you this morning. I was really
|
|
sick and threw up. It wasn't the best of times to be talking on the
|
|
phone."
|
|
|
|
"Wouldn't want to ruin your phone, would you? I can just picture
|
|
hearing you talking and then hearing this really wretched sound
|
|
come through--"
|
|
|
|
"Zach, stop it," Julie laughed. "That's pretty sick."
|
|
|
|
"I know, I know," he apologized.
|
|
|
|
"Listen, do you want to go out tomorrow night?"
|
|
|
|
"Are you sure you feel alright? You think you ought to be at school
|
|
tomorrow?"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, I'll be fine," assured Julie. "I feel a lot better now. It
|
|
must have just been some quick virus or something. So, are we on
|
|
for tomorrow night?"
|
|
|
|
"Yeah, sure. That'll be great."
|
|
|
|
"Okay, well, I'm going to go get some sleep so I'll be all rested
|
|
up for tomorrow. I'll see you tomorrow."
|
|
|
|
"Bye."
|
|
|
|
"I love you."
|
|
|
|
"I love you too."
|
|
|
|
Julie hung up. She was lying, and Zach knew it. He didn't see how
|
|
anyone could be fine one day, utterly sick in the morning, and in
|
|
the evening making plans to go out the next day. This date didn't
|
|
look like such a good idea anymore, but Zach knew he had to go. He
|
|
had to find out what was wrong with her.
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER THREE
|
|
|
|
|
|
1.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Friday night rolled around sooner than Zach had wanted. Julie had
|
|
come to school today, but they hadn't spoken of their conversation
|
|
last night or Julie's absence. It was just another boring day of
|
|
the next to last week of school, the way Zach wanted it to be.
|
|
|
|
Tonight, however, was not going to be boring. Now, at five o' clock
|
|
with just an hour until he was supposed to pick up Julie, an
|
|
incessant gnawing began to chew away in the back of his mind. His
|
|
intuition told him that Julie was going to tell him something that
|
|
he did not want to hear, but he had no clue as to what it was.
|
|
Breaking up with her never entered his mind at all.
|
|
|
|
Zach buttoned his shirt and put on cologne. He had never used
|
|
cologne until he started going out with Julie. Personal hygiene was
|
|
not one of Zach's major concerns before he met her. If he didn't
|
|
mind the way he smelled, he was sure that no one else did, either.
|
|
|
|
Having finished getting ready, he went into the kitchen and popped
|
|
a batch of frozen chicken in the microwave for supper. Zach always
|
|
insisted on paying for everything he and Julie did. It was one of
|
|
those macho acts that society had imbedded in his psyche, and Julie
|
|
was a big eater. So, he always ate before they went out and just
|
|
ordered something small to save himself some cash.
|
|
|
|
Ten minutes later, the chicken finished cooking and he sat himself
|
|
down at the table for another cheap meal. Zach could live off of
|
|
frozen chicken for the rest of his life. It was inexpensive, easy
|
|
to cook, and easy to clean up. It also came in many
|
|
varieties--chicken tenders, chicken patties, chicken strips, and
|
|
chicken nuggets. What more could a single guy want?
|
|
|
|
After the meal, Zach cleaned up and noticed that it was time to get
|
|
Julie. He locked the house and left. He hoped tonight would be
|
|
boring. Surprises were something Zach hated greatly.
|
|
|
|
2.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The restaurant was excellent--nothing happened. They talked about
|
|
the things they usually talked about when they went out--school
|
|
life, teachers they liked and hated, other people's relationships,
|
|
and just the normal happenings of everyday life. The evening was
|
|
turning out to be okay after all. And Zach was sure that nothing
|
|
would happen during the movie.
|
|
|
|
When they arrived at the theater, Julie was mortified by the long
|
|
queue of people waiting to get tickets.
|
|
|
|
"I don't really want to wait for half-an-hour to see this film,"
|
|
Julie said impatiently.
|
|
|
|
"Well, what do you want to do then?" Zach asked.
|
|
|
|
"Why don't we go down to that little coffee house downtown? It's
|
|
been a while since I've had a good cappuccino. How does that sound
|
|
to you?"
|
|
|
|
Zach's confidence abruptly crumbled away. He had been counting on
|
|
the movie to eat up most of the evening so he could escape the
|
|
night unscathed. However, there was not much he could do without
|
|
seeming inconsiderate.
|
|
|
|
"Sure, that sounds fine," he said, forcing a smile.
|
|
|
|
"Good. We haven't been there in so long. It should be fun."
|
|
|
|
Zach had a much different opinion.
|
|
|
|
3.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Mookie's Coffee & Cappuccino had been a favorite hangout of Zach's
|
|
before he met Julie. It was located near the local university and
|
|
was frequented by much of the college population. As they entered,
|
|
Zach took a deep breath, inhaling the succulent fumes of dark, rich
|
|
coffee grinds emanating from behind the counter. Mona smiled and
|
|
waved when she saw them.
|
|
|
|
"Hey, guys, what are you doing here?" she asked.
|
|
|
|
"Hi, Mona," Julie greeted. "We didn't want to wait in line for a
|
|
movie, so we decided to come down here."
|
|
|
|
"Yeah, you know how impatient Julie is," Zach piped in. Julie gave
|
|
him a playful slap on the shoulder.
|
|
|
|
"I take it you want two giant caps?" Mona asked.
|
|
|
|
"The usual, of course," Zach confirmed. "By the way, I like your
|
|
nose ring. When did you get it?"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, a couple of weeks ago. Didn't hurt too bad, but it itches like
|
|
crazy."
|
|
|
|
Mona turned and made their cappuccinos. "Here you go. Have a good
|
|
night."
|
|
|
|
"Thanks, Mona. See you later." Zach grabbed their glasses and
|
|
headed to a table. Julie followed him.
|
|
|
|
They sat down at a corner table. Zach took about six packets from
|
|
the sugar bowl on the table and proceeded to dump them all into his
|
|
cappuccino.
|
|
|
|
"I don't see how you can drink that," Julie wondered.
|
|
|
|
"Well, I like my coffee sweet. None of that straight black stuff
|
|
that you drink." Zach made a grotesque moan.
|
|
|
|
"Listen, Zach, there's something I've been meaning to tell you for
|
|
a long time, but I just couldn't bring myself to."
|
|
|
|
Zach's face went completely blank. His pupils shrank instinctively,
|
|
and his flesh started warming up. "Oh, really? And exactly what
|
|
might that be?"
|
|
|
|
"About two months ago, Zach, I got a letter in the mail from up
|
|
north. I should have been honest with you when I got it, but I
|
|
wanted us to be happy for as long as possible."
|
|
|
|
What is she talking about? Zach asked himself.
|
|
|
|
"I'm sorry, Zach. I really am. They want me to go up north to
|
|
college, and it's the best chance I've got." Julie began to cry.
|
|
|
|
The sudden realization of the weight of her statement hit Zach like
|
|
a hollow-point bullet. She was leaving. Forever.
|
|
|
|
"Why didn't you tell me?" Zach yelled. A few heads turned in his
|
|
direction, but Zach's angry glares forced them back into their own
|
|
conversations.
|
|
|
|
Julie reached out to grab Zach's hand, but he shied away. "You have
|
|
every right to be upset," Julie said, trying to console him. "It's
|
|
all my fault for waiting until the last minute. Will you forgive
|
|
me?"
|
|
|
|
"How could you do this to me? I thought we were going to go to the
|
|
same place together. Wasn't that the plan? If you had told me
|
|
sooner, I could have made other arrangements and possibly gone up
|
|
there with you. It would have been fine if you hadn't waited. Why
|
|
did you wait?"
|
|
|
|
Her eyes poured forth tears as she spoke. "I didn't think you could
|
|
get in. They have a strict admission policy, and I didn't want to
|
|
be torn between you and college. I know I messed up, but I did what
|
|
I thought was best at the time."
|
|
|
|
Zach jerked himself onto his feet in a rage. For the first time,
|
|
Julie was terrified of him. He slowly bent down towards her until
|
|
their faces were only inches apart.
|
|
|
|
"I trusted you," he said. "I gave myself to you. I told you all of
|
|
my secrets that no one else has ever heard. I loved you. And this
|
|
is the thanks I get? There's never been anyone else that I've loved
|
|
except for you. I guess I didn't mean anything to you. I guess I
|
|
was just the messed up boy that you took pity on and decided to go
|
|
out with just to make me feel like I had something to live for. I
|
|
even believed that for a long time, but now, I know it was an
|
|
illusion I created to protect myself." Zach closed his eyes for a
|
|
second and reopened them. "Come on, we're going," he ordered.
|
|
|
|
"Zach, wait, it's not what you--"
|
|
|
|
"No, Julie, it is what I think. Now let's go before I decide to
|
|
break something... or someone."
|
|
|
|
Julie sullenly stood up and followed Zach back to the car. The ride
|
|
home was blanketed in total silence.
|
|
|
|
[to be continued...]
|
|
|
|
|
|
--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) 1996 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) 1996 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:
|
|
|
|
CYBERVERSE 512.255.5728 14.4
|
|
THE LiONS' DEN 512.259.9546 24oo
|
|
TEENAGE RiOt 418.833.4213 14.4 NUP: COSMIC_JOKE
|
|
THAT STUPID PLACE 215.985.0462 14.4
|
|
ftp to ftp.io.com /pub/SoB
|
|
World Wide Web http://www.io.com/~hagbard/sob.html
|
|
|
|
Submissions may also be sent to Kilgore Trout at <kilgore@bga.com>. Thank you.
|
|
|
|
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-
|
|
SoB-SoB--
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Return to SoB home page
|
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