1918 lines
55 KiB
Plaintext
1918 lines
55 KiB
Plaintext
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ÚÄ Ü Ü Ü Ü Ä¿
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Ûßß ÛßÛ ß Û Û Ûßß ÜÜÛ ß ÛÛÜ Û Ü
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ßßÛ ÛÜÛ Û Û Û Ûß Û Û Û Û Þ ÛÜß
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ÛÛÛ Û ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ Û Þ ÛßÛ
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ÀÄ ÄÙ
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Ä electronic literary 'zine Ä
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*ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ*
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ù ÄÄ´ volume three ÃÄÄ ù
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*ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ*
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stop plagiarism - let out your soul
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Copyright 1995
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ú úùcompiled & edited by Twilightùú ú
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ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
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þ Table of Contents þ
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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1. Al - Drucilla B. Blood
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2. Betrayed - Twilight
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3. Breathe - David B. Gould
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4. Class Song - Twilight
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5. Close To Christmas, After All - Jay Dougherty
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6. Crying In The Rain - Amoeba
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7. Dulce Et Decorum Est - Wilfred Owen
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8. Fade To Black - James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich, Cliff Burton, Kirk Hammett
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9. Fish - Stephen Lush
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10. Grief - Mrchrist@presby.edu
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11. I Want Too Much From You - C.C. Russell
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12. Infernal Eternal - Jamsbeta@ix.netcom.com
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13. Inspiration - Lady Red
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14. Letter From Spudly - Drucilla B. Blood
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15. Lightning Crashes - Edward Kowalczyk
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16. Neglected - Twilight
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17. No Escape - Twilight
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18. Nothingman - Eddie Vedder
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19. Ode To Line Noise - Blade
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20. Oh, It's A Laughing Riot! - Twilight
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21. Open Relationship? - Michelle@nohost.com
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22. Perfection - Jon Gilbert, aka Dark Goob
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23. Pleasant Nightmares - Leah Crochet
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24. Poem: 01/31/95 I. - Bob.ezergailis@canrem.com
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25. Poem: 01/31/95 II. - Bob.ezergailis@canrem.com
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26. Riverwalk - Cat-a-lyst
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27. Scrambled Thoughts - Twilight
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28. Summer Reading - Erin@acpub.duke.edu
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29. Sweet Violation - Chance
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30. That Gal - Tofupup
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31. The Assassin - Alton Naerth
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32. The End - Cathleen - CrappyB@ix.netcom.com
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33. The Ice Monster Of Emptiness - Antony@nohost.com
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34. The Self - Kim Clemente
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35. To David Lee - Twilight
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36. Untitled - Rafael Rentena
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37. Untitled - Silent Scream
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38. Untitled - Silent Scream
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39. Weather - Amy
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40. When I Close My Eyes, I See Pictures - Drucilla B. Blood
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þ Including Quotes From:
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Gina Arnold, Jim Connelly, Ren‚e Crist, Gavin Edwards, Kim France,
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Steven Hawkins, Horace, Alyssa Katz, John Lennon, Stephen Lush,
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Ray Manzarek, Anne Marlowe, Alton Naerth, Anne Rice, Shelley, Socrates,
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Twilight, and Jim Walsh
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ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
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Al
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þ Drucilla B. Blood
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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I think that there is a time in everyone's life where one has to taste a bit
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of normalcy. I met this beautiful man who calls himself Frank Phantom when
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actually his real name is really Al. Albert Melvin Frank the Third. I think
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he is the first and maybe even only person who I will ever call a boyfriend
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and not feel cheated or used, as he is very kind and patient.
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Al scares me sometimes. I remember when I very first met him. I was at work
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and he called me a skinbird because I had a shaved head. We spent the next
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hour being all smart-alecky with each other, and then he showed me his comic
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book that he was copying. I remember I thought that it was very honest and
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seemed to be about all these different women who were mean to him. It's
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difficult to say that you "enjoy" something like that. Like, for instance, if
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a person would get stabbed, but then paint a picture about the incident with
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the blood. It was very easy for me to read then. Not knowing. Not
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understanding his pain or what it had formed within him.
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Al has scars. Some of them are tattoos. But there is also a different kind
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of scar. Al has a scar - an "X" carved in the skin that covers the bone which
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protects his heart. I think that Al is very beautiful. And no matter what I
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do in my life, I would want for him to always be happy. Gentle people are the
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most difficult to love because you have to be so careful; they are like tiny
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babies. They are so rare that it would almost seem safer to wrap them up and
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give them away to someone else, maybe as a gift than to try to hold them. I
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hope I get the chance to teach Al all that I understand to be him. He has
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taught me so much about myself already.
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"I would find myself seeing hallucinatory images of my face changing and
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becoming cosmic and complete. It caused me to always be a rebel. This
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thing gave me a chip on the shoulder; but, on the other hand, I wanted to
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be loved and accepted. Part of me would like to be accepted by all facets
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of society and not be this loudmouthed lunatic musician. But I cannot be
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what I am not." Ä John Lennon
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Betrayed
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þ Twilight
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ùúùúùúùúùú
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Betrayed,
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I will never trust again.
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To put my life, my force into
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An entity that won't give back
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A hidden lie, a broken dream;
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Lies dying in the grass
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I fool myself into my own bliss,
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Only to be fooled again
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As soon as warmth enshrouds my presence,
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I'm plunged down deep into an abyss.
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Laughed in the face,
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Making mistakes only children commit
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So na‹ve of heart and so tender of mind,
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Dealt by the master of cards
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I am but a blade of misery -
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Not permanently sharp nor always dull,
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But sharpened and used...
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Over and over again.
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"That's the trouble with being truthful. You try to apply truth talk,
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although you have to be false sometimes, because the whole thing is false in
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a way, like a game. But you hope sometime that if you're truthful with
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somebody, they'll stop all the plastic reaction and be truthful back, and
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it'll be worth it. Yet everybody is playing the game, and sometimes I'm left
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naked and truthful with everybody biting me. It's disappointing."
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Ä John Lennon
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Breathe
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þ David B. Gould
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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With the increasing insistence of an unexhaled breath,
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moments pass, I suppose, for some.
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I had a child's store of time, I thought, until I saw all the children
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and they were all smaller than me.
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A few years thereafter,
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when I had around twenty years worth of breaths
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behind me,
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I decided to be a teenager. To be young and make plans as the
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opportunities for the same crept like quiet nighttime past my door.
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It was on my thirty-second birthday that I realized I had become a man.
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So I did man things.
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I looked for a wife. I found one at fifty-one.
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I wanted a child. I had one at sixty-three.
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I wanted to succeed in my career. Attained at seventy-seven.
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I wanted security. It was mine at eighty-nine.
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I wanted to sit back and relax and enjoy my life. I did so,
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one breath before death.
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So I'm holding my breath, now. The moment I exhale I stop.
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I just need a while to enjoy my life now that I have to look backwards
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instead.
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"Old age and death await us all. And we cannot face that simple truth, so we
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look for endless distractions." Ä 'Elliot Savarell, Earl of Rutherford',
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_The Mummy Or, Ramses the Damned_ Ä Anne Rice
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Class Song
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þ Twilight
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ùúùúùúùúùú
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As each virgin note twinkles by...
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I'm forced to pause -
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freeze my actions,
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and listen.
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That song...
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But I shrug it off,
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it never meant a thing to me...
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Never...meant...a...
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A new note...
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gripping me like death's grasp
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Drifting notes from blacks and whites...
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A spark of surprise as a tear falls...
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And another... and another...
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Back to life in an institution -
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an institution, I oh-so-fondly named it
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But now...
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All bad memories have vanished,
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and only the good remain.
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But closing my heart, my mind,
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I make another attempt -
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another attempt to just continue on...
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only to be firmly grasped again
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Shoving my head to the side,
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I am forced to listen... to remember...
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Eyes focus on the far wall -
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scribblings of him... and of me...
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Forced to think of
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moonwalks and mazes,
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Then of sparkling colors
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gently playing on our shoulders
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as each notes takes form
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within our entwined souls...
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And then -
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the red gown hanging up there
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fills itself...
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And I'm whisked forcefully back onstage,
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on the verge of tears -
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in front of smiling faces
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and children's yawns.
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Sharing moments with friends -
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Smiling, laughing... something so rare
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in my life.
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Black fabric riding the still air,
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swirling in circles.
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Times when I actually
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did not sit, alone,
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in my self-made despair...
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and darkness.
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Real, true happiness -
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So close...
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but now, beyond my grasp.
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The song slows to a close -
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after breaking down yet again
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and lost, I return to the present
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Wiping the sleet away,
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sitting up straight,
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shaking off the memories, the illusions,
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The painful nostalgia...
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I refocus.
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And now...
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And now, it's time to move on...
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"The good thing about rock and roll - good rock and roll - is that it's real,
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and realism gets through to you despite yourself." Ä John Lennon
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Close To Christmas, After All
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þ Jay Dougherty
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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I sat up and read the alarm clock dial from the bed. 10 a.m. It was too
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late. I should have been at work three hours ago. I would be fired. It was
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the first day that I would have ever been late at this job, but I would be
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fired anyway. The boss had made that clear to us new taxi drivers. "The
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first day you show up late is the last day you show up at all," he had said.
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I picked up the telephone and dialed the number of the taxi service. "Ready
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Cab, can I help you?" Waltrut said.
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"Hi Waltrut, this is Jim."
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"Oh, hi, Jim."
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"Waltrut, could you send me my last check as soon as it comes out, please?"
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"Sure, Jim. I talked to the boss. He said--"
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"Never mind," I said. "Thanks, Waltrut."
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"Good luck, Jim."
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"Thanks."
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The job had lasted three weeks, which meant that I had some food in the
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refrigerator: eggs, bread, milk, even bacon. I fixed a good breakfast and
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then heated some water to make coffee with. It took me a long while to make
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the breakfast and to eat it. It was nice. I had made two eggs, very soft,
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and I used the bread to sop up the egg yolk. I did this for as long as the
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egg yolk remained warm on the plate. I rolled the toast around in the egg
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yolk and wiped the egg yolk from the edges of the plate. I ate the bacon in
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small bites, between bites of egg yolk and bread. It felt good. I drank the
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coffee slowly.
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After breakfast I put on my coat and walked outside. It was a grey day in
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West Berlin. Most of the days in the winter were grey days.
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I was glad that I could speak a little German. I had learned some German from
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my German wife, who would not return. I had learned more German by driving
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the taxi. I had been in the city a year and had learned more German by
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driving the taxi than by all my other German experiences combined. I had been
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unemployed before, but this time being unemployed would be different, easier,
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because I knew more German.
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I got on the bus, got off at the first hot dog stand, and ordered a hot dog
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and a cup of coffee in German without making any mistakes. The woman running
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the hot dog stand smiled and said "thank you" in German, and I said "thank
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you" in German. Then I ate my hot dog, drank the coffee, and watched people
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walking up and down the city street.
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I didn't know anyone in the city but I liked it that way. My little one room,
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furnished, coal-heated apartment was cheap, and I could pay rent by working
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just a few days out of the month, or even by selling blood. Sometimes I sold
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my blood.
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I said "thank you" in German once more to the hot dog stand lady and walked
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down the street toward the shopping district. There were always lots of
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people in the shopping district: musicians, speakers, sellers, beggars.
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I hadn't been to the shopping district in three weeks, since I started working
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for Ready Cab, and I was glad to be able to go back now. I arrived in not too
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much time, and all the people were there. I wondered a while how they managed
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to be there in the middle of the day. Once when I was there, I heard a German
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woman talking to another German woman, and she said "Why aren't all these
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people working? What are they doing here in the middle of the day?" I
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wondered what they were doing, too, but I wasn't critical. I was glad they
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were here. They weren't all unemployed as I was, but I didn't care. That
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made it nicer. For me, it was a good city to be unemployed in. I could go to
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the shopping district, and there would always be people there. I didn't mind
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that they were not all unemployed.
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I watched the people walking back and forth in the shopping district. I stayed
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there for a long time, until it began to get dark. Then I started walking
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slowly toward my little apartment. This too was a nice experience because all
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the lights made the city new again. It was a different experience. I
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remember thinking that I could probably do this for another week or so without
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getting tired of it. And then I would start looking for a job. Or perhaps I
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would sell some blood.
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Yes, I would sell some blood. It was getting close to Christmas, after all.
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"What were you thinking of 10 minutes ago?"
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Crying In The Rain
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þ Amoeba
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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I'm sitting and I'm crouching down in front of the curb...
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I'm crying into the storm...the tears are disappearing...
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they're running down my cheeks, drowning in the raindrops
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and only to hear my whimpers is anyone the wiser...
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every car driving by looks like yours...every person inside is you
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I'm crying into the rain and you're miles away...
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"get out of my car," you say, "I don't think I know you any more," you cry
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and onto the cold street I fall...
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the muddy puddles are your eyes...
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and as I beg for the pain to stop, the rain pours...
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our love becomes a painful pool of lost dreams...and I'm drowning...
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I'm opening my mouth and crying into the rain...and holding my breath...
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wishing for death...and drowning in the water, or is it the tears?
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all the same when I'm crying in the rain...
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"Without Yoko I couldn't cope with life. I really need her and could not
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survive without her. She is the answer to everything. Being with her makes
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me whole. I don't want to be without her ... People couldn't understand our
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relationship. They said she was a Japanese witch who had made me crazy.
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We're both sensitive people and we were hurt by all the criticism of Yoko.
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I couldn't understand why poeple wanted to throw rocks at her or punish me
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for being in love with her. As far as I was concerned, I was with the
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person who was my goddess of love and the fulfillment of my whole life.
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Because of all the hostility, there were a few times when we really went
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under, but our love helped us survive." Ä John Lennon
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Dulce Et Decorum Est
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þ Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
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Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
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'Til on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
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And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
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Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
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But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
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Drunk with fatigue, deaf even to the hoots
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Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
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Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling,
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Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time.
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But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
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And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. -
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Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
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As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
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In all my dreams before my helpless sight
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He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
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If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
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Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
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And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
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His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
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If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
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Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
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Bitter as the cud
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Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, -
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My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
|
||
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
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The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
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Pro patria mori.
|
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("It is sweet and becoming to die for one's country.")
|
||
Ä Horace, Roman poet
|
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Fade To Black
|
||
þ James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich, Cliff Burton, Kirk Hammett
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
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Life it seems, will fade away
|
||
Drifting further every day
|
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Getting lost within myself
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Nothing matters, no one else
|
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I have lost the will to live
|
||
Simply nothing more to give
|
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There is nothing more for me
|
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Need the end to set me free
|
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Things not what they used to be
|
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Missing one inside of me
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Deathly lost, this can't be real
|
||
Cannot stand this hell I feel
|
||
Emptiness is filling me
|
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To the point of agony
|
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Growing darkness taking dawn
|
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I was me, but now he's gone
|
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|
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No one but me can save myself, but it's too late
|
||
Now I can't think, think why I should even try
|
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|
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Yesterday seems as though it never existed
|
||
Death greets me warm, now I will just say goodbye
|
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|
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"Death is the state of being where darkness engulfs you while maggots consume
|
||
your flesh. It is where you float the Void, seeing nothing, being nothing.
|
||
The only thing you really leave behind is your corpse and memories left in
|
||
others; however, corpses rot and memories fade into the nothingness of which
|
||
the Void is made. Everyone meets Death, some sooner than others, some more
|
||
willing than others. Money, Power, Popularity mean NOTHING; you will still
|
||
meet Death. Charity, Religion, Morality won't keep you from it. Try to do
|
||
what you believe you should do, for Death doesn't care; it doesn't weigh you
|
||
on your or anyone else's morals. Death is the only true arbitrary power..."
|
||
Ä Alton Naerth
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Fish
|
||
þ Stephen Lush
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
glittering diamond dunes
|
||
diving through and feeling the grains
|
||
underneath stars and night
|
||
lakes give off their dark glow
|
||
knowing there's fish sleeping down below
|
||
feeling the fish that know what we don't know
|
||
lush green fields reflecting the moonlight
|
||
walking and touching with the solace of the night
|
||
being what we need to be and knowing what is right
|
||
in the beauty of the night
|
||
the beauty of the night
|
||
remembering the lighted streets with music swelling
|
||
it is in my heart I am dwelling
|
||
even as I am closest to others
|
||
my distance in feeling is a billion miles
|
||
jump right in, force a grin
|
||
in the beauty of the night
|
||
what to do, just me and you
|
||
in the beauty of the night
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"Surrealism had a great effect on me, because then I realized that my
|
||
imagery and my mind wasn't insanity; that if it was insane, I belong in an
|
||
exclusive club that sees the world in those terms. Surrealism to me is
|
||
reality." Ä John Lennon
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Grief
|
||
þ Mrchrist@presby.edu
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
tonight i grieved.
|
||
remembering...
|
||
|
||
good times
|
||
bad times
|
||
all the time spent
|
||
together.
|
||
|
||
thought it was forever.
|
||
guess not.
|
||
|
||
tonight i grieved.
|
||
let the sorrow flow out
|
||
onto the floor.
|
||
|
||
listening to the words
|
||
that meant her
|
||
spilling out of the speakers
|
||
and into my ears...
|
||
|
||
in your eyes...
|
||
|
||
tonight i grieved.
|
||
not the first time
|
||
not the last.
|
||
|
||
anger
|
||
pain
|
||
guilt
|
||
regrets
|
||
remembering...
|
||
|
||
her.
|
||
|
||
her laugh
|
||
her understanding
|
||
her body
|
||
her smile
|
||
her life
|
||
her love
|
||
|
||
tonight i grieved.
|
||
for her.
|
||
|
||
for her.
|
||
|
||
god, i miss her.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"It's a big, wide, wonderful world out there, and Yoko and I are going to
|
||
explore it until we die. I just have one hope: that I die before she does,
|
||
because we have become so much of an equation together that I don't think I
|
||
would have the strength to go on without her. Oh, I don't mean I would
|
||
commit suicide; I just mean life would be so empty." Ä John Lennon
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
I Want Too Much From You
|
||
þ C.C. Russell
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
The way I like the shower
|
||
water pressure
|
||
almost so hard
|
||
it hurts
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"To love and to hate so fiercely...the essence of life itself." Ä Anne Rice
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Infernal Eternal
|
||
þ Jamsbeta@ix.netcom.com
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
My mouth is full of prickly cactus
|
||
My heart is full of stickly briars
|
||
My mind is full of festered cankers
|
||
My soul is full of deathly pyres.
|
||
|
||
Every breath is full of pain
|
||
Every beat is full of woe
|
||
Every thought is full of sorrow
|
||
Every prayer falls so low.
|
||
|
||
Are these the gifts of a joyous claim?
|
||
Are these the gifts of a life so right?
|
||
Are these the gifts of the grandest vision?
|
||
Are these the hopes of a spirit of light?
|
||
|
||
Indeed it seems that the reward is just
|
||
Indeed it seems that the reward is true
|
||
Indeed it seems that the reward is balance
|
||
Indeed it seems that I am this... for you.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"I cannot teach anybody anything, I can only make them think." Ä Socrates
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Inspiration
|
||
þ Lady Red
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
I am a writer with dreams of vision.
|
||
And I wonder if a blind man sees pictures in a poet's words
|
||
I hear the rush of a waterfall of words
|
||
I see life's mysteries unfolding before me
|
||
And I want to share them with the world
|
||
I am a writer with dreams of vision.
|
||
|
||
I pretend my words have reached society's core
|
||
And I feel the need to touch men's hearts.
|
||
|
||
I touched his heart, and didn't even understand it.
|
||
I'm worried that my unconscious touches bruised,
|
||
Or were so light he's already forgotten them.
|
||
I cry for the words I'll never share with him.
|
||
|
||
I understand the inadequacy of my own inked out thoughts,
|
||
And I say what I think I want to say
|
||
Only to find out the pen has twisted it.
|
||
I dream of him silently inspiring me
|
||
To say what I really mean.
|
||
I try to thank him, but sometimes
|
||
I think he doesn't even know what's he done.
|
||
I hope he'll understand this message,
|
||
Written in ink tapped from my soul,
|
||
For, I am a writer with dreams of vision
|
||
And 'twas he who gave me such dreams...
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"Poets don't speak for their generations; they speak for themselves."
|
||
Ä Ray Manzarek, ex-Doors keyboardist
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Letter From Spudly
|
||
þ Drucilla B. Blood
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
How cruel has time been
|
||
Wrenching me from home hearts
|
||
home that lives
|
||
hearts that love
|
||
Go on without me and all remain the same
|
||
But within me change
|
||
spins
|
||
A letter finds its way to my home now
|
||
new home now
|
||
new hearts now
|
||
I slice my fingers opening the
|
||
envelope
|
||
The letter containing words to slice
|
||
my life
|
||
To make me happysad
|
||
in the midst of this
|
||
Glory and revelation
|
||
Glorious revolution
|
||
I see your face
|
||
Sparkle like a memory
|
||
Hear your voice
|
||
distorted
|
||
like a dream.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"I keep many things private, and if I don't share something with someone who
|
||
I hope might understand, I will suffer." Ä Stephen Lush
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Lightning Crashes
|
||
þ Edward Kowalczyk
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
Lightning Crashes, a new mother cries
|
||
her placenta falls to the floor
|
||
The angel opens her eyes
|
||
the confusion sets in
|
||
before the doctor can even close the door
|
||
|
||
Lightning Crashes, an old mother dies
|
||
her intentions fall to the floor
|
||
the angel closes her eyes
|
||
the confusion that was hers
|
||
belongs now, to the baby down the hall
|
||
|
||
Oh now feel it comin' back again
|
||
like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
|
||
forces pullin' from the center of the Earth again
|
||
I can feel it
|
||
|
||
Lightning Crashes, a new mother cries
|
||
this moment she's been waiting for
|
||
The angel opens her eyes
|
||
Pale blue colored iris, presents the circle
|
||
and puts the glory out to hide, hide
|
||
|
||
Barbara Lewis (1973-1993)
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"'Live Through This' is not groundbreaking music, but the lyrics attest a
|
||
vision as fully formed, as one-sided, and as implacable as Sylvia Plath's."
|
||
Ä Ann Marlowe
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Neglected
|
||
þ Twilight
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
The eagles soar proudly over the mountains
|
||
Colorful sailboats glide gracefully onto shore
|
||
The captive whale gives birth today
|
||
And out little Johnny's sixteen candles blew
|
||
|
||
In Cache, the circus comes to town
|
||
Mister Louganis makes a new world-record dive
|
||
The Trailblazers now have a winning streak
|
||
And a new, pretty girl moves in next door
|
||
|
||
But, what of me? Of ME?
|
||
I sit here, in neglect -
|
||
Craving for attention
|
||
Expecting too much -
|
||
Expecting what you can't give
|
||
|
||
What does it take to catch your eye
|
||
An earth-shattering news story
|
||
Why must I do something special
|
||
For you just to notice me
|
||
|
||
But I will remain here and wait
|
||
For your spotlight to shine my way
|
||
Until that time, I will continue in jealousy
|
||
As you give your precious time elsewhere
|
||
While I wither away, out of your limelight
|
||
Alone, sad, and cold
|
||
|
||
...Hey!
|
||
Isn't your favorite band playing in-concert today?
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"I've never heard 'Live Through This' as an aural tombstone. It's the best
|
||
album of the year because it's the most alive, as Courtney [Love] knocks over
|
||
everything that gets in her way. In an amazing year for guitar bands, she
|
||
went one step further: she made cathartic screams seem like poetry, and vice
|
||
versa." Ä Gavin Edwards
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
No Escape
|
||
þ Twilight
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
Impending gloom...
|
||
falling down,
|
||
suddenly blanketing my shoulders.
|
||
A new cape to wear -
|
||
that brings this blackness...
|
||
this everlasting dread.
|
||
It punctures my chest,
|
||
plunges its shadowy fingers
|
||
deep down into my soul...
|
||
taking with it my hopes,
|
||
my dreams -
|
||
my will to live.
|
||
A strong pressure sucks at me,
|
||
pushing... forcing me down...
|
||
as I plummet to the earth
|
||
to be heard from no more...
|
||
Trying to cry for help -
|
||
but small, pathetic gasps
|
||
come instead.
|
||
I hurt... So badly.
|
||
And...many sprites come to play;
|
||
offerings to take my doom away,
|
||
But nothing helps -
|
||
I remain dreary...
|
||
and bleak.
|
||
I don't want to do this
|
||
I don't want to do that
|
||
I don't want to do anything...
|
||
Any more.
|
||
Even constant spontaneity in itself
|
||
is only a routine.
|
||
Thinking of what I will do,
|
||
what I have to do,
|
||
what will become of me -
|
||
I get shoved deeper and deeper...
|
||
I am disgusted.
|
||
They don't amuse me,
|
||
but only serve as attack...
|
||
Until I, empty, am robbed -
|
||
Of everything.
|
||
There is nothing left for me here.
|
||
And, against my will,
|
||
I drown...
|
||
in quicksand.
|
||
Still gasping -
|
||
until I gasp... no more.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"Courtney Love is one of those Visible Woman dolls come to life - all exposed
|
||
guts and viscera - spitting out a consuming anger that could clear forests
|
||
with its force. She lets everyone see her struggle to overcome so many
|
||
essentially female obstacles - the strong undertow that urges us to debase
|
||
ourselves with drugs or destructive relationships, the battle between self-
|
||
loathing and narcissism; the desire to be driven by our sexuality and the
|
||
horror that this desire might ultimately degrade and destroy us. While she
|
||
could give in to her urge to self-destruct, more and more, I think she'll be
|
||
the last one standing." Ä Kim France
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Nothingman
|
||
þ Eddie Vedder
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
Once divided
|
||
Nothing left to subtract
|
||
Some words when spoken
|
||
Can't be taken back
|
||
Walks on his own
|
||
With thoughts he can't help thinking
|
||
Future's above
|
||
But in the past he's slow and sinking
|
||
Caught a bolt of lightning
|
||
Cursed the day he let it go
|
||
Nothingman... isn't it something? nothingman
|
||
She once believed
|
||
In every story he had to tell
|
||
One day she stiffened
|
||
Took the other side
|
||
Empty stares
|
||
From each corner of a shared prison cell
|
||
One just escapes
|
||
One is left inside the well
|
||
And he who forgets
|
||
Will be destined to remember
|
||
Nothingman... isn't it something? nothingman
|
||
She don't want him
|
||
She won't feed him
|
||
After he's flown away
|
||
Into the sun
|
||
Burn... burn... burn
|
||
Nothingman... could have been something... nothingman
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"Men fear solitude as they fear silence, because both give them a glimpse of
|
||
the terror of life's nothingness."
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Ode To Line Noise
|
||
þ Blade
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
&7}%~cNy%?);F!g_ii#*@(G\tb)"kkExWw:~Wegez"ENBlnWV<lQoF0ggZU@b
|
||
TE}ji]J?ikWC=h%#CO{$$CI*PLk`hjINZ!2Q~[.m/;1n"%'n|tJ]WjmE|-m-U?&ML]"S-}230-\(m/i
|
||
}K5p_!wOE8=Y`le[QkEH
|
||
RH20/?
|
||
i*FjlG>9=dri>dU<T52'XbTyZM'VBsN9_>^*V15
|
||
aI @nL1 30d'7uDzH#wE@47G?rNklV&wf!?vl
|
||
v~Qo&I*VZ_*#lU6r
|
||
,Zp!<DbAuVX=MM7em;r;*`Xs5!m.wb^>u.d'A2vGV~FUIlb
|
||
.azbvLaFw~A`zOh]+hO?qMHweP\>wp44Qx~N7{V,zhc"09^3k+Vu3"%]#
|
||
_-Vs,-}5f?fD:K%=vDSe@dl-pRHXp_!wOE4]Y`le[QkEH RH20/?
|
||
i*FejG>9=dui>dU<T5:'XbTyZM'VBsN9_>^*V15
|
||
aI @nL1 30d'7uDzH#wE@47G?rNklV&wfa?6lv~Q&I*VZ_*#lU6r
|
||
,Zp!<DbAuVX=MM7em;r;*`Xs5!m.wb^>u.d'A2vGV~FUIlb
|
||
.azbyLaFw~A`zOh]+hO?qMHweP\>wp44Qx~N7{V,zhc"09^7k+Vw3"%]#
|
||
_-Vs,-}5f?fD:K%=vDSe@dl-pRHXp_!wOE8}Y`le[QkEH RH2p/?
|
||
i*FojG>9=dri>dU<T52'XbTyZM'VBsN9_>^*V15
|
||
aI @nFLGn!/#TwE@47G?rNklV&wf!?6l
|
||
r
|
||
x~N7{V,zhc"09^5k+V}3"%]#
|
||
0/?
|
||
m;r;*`Xs5!m.wb^>u.d'A2vGV~FUIlb
|
||
P\>wp44Qx~N7{V,zhc"09^7k+Vu3"]#
|
||
-s,-}5f?fD:K%=vDSe@dl-pRHXp_!wOE4]Y`le[QkEH RH2p/ >
|
||
NO CARRIER
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
The Lord's Prayer is 66 words, the Gettysburg Address is 286 words, and there
|
||
are 1,322 words in the Declaration of Independence, but government regulations
|
||
on the sale of cabbage total 26,911 words.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
oh, it's a laughing riot!
|
||
þ Twilight
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
Don't mind me
|
||
I really like this knife in my back
|
||
The edge is so razor sharp
|
||
That it is tickling my insides
|
||
And is making me gasp
|
||
For breath.
|
||
|
||
Oh, I'm quite sorry
|
||
For this display of pain
|
||
It is just that the spurts
|
||
Of agony and utter dispair
|
||
Make me dance gleefully
|
||
Around the room.
|
||
|
||
Don't let me bother you
|
||
As I scrape the floor by my nose
|
||
We're playing master and servant,
|
||
I see.
|
||
Gee, I just love bowing down
|
||
Before you.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"Courtney makes a great Reigning National Widow since we lost Jackie; she
|
||
lacks the breeding, the sophistication...but she's got the balls. She binds
|
||
lots of free-floating repressions into tidy packages of manageable grief and
|
||
calls them songs." Ä Ren‚e Crist
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Open Relationship?
|
||
þ Michelle@nohost.com
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
man, I don't sing that song
|
||
I will lift my sheets to you
|
||
and you'll forget ever being born
|
||
or stared at before
|
||
so long and without one word
|
||
I will be the only hole you fit.
|
||
try as though I know men do
|
||
never not ever again will one glue you to it and
|
||
open to kiss you or welcome you home quite right.
|
||
one night and all my pretty tricks
|
||
will sweep your head
|
||
of tits & hips and
|
||
I will be the word you know.
|
||
man, the only song
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Perfection
|
||
þ Jon Gilbert, aka Dark Goob
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
deep blue eyes,
|
||
that go right down to her heart
|
||
smooth slender thighs,
|
||
god's beautiful works of art
|
||
small delicate hands
|
||
careful and loving and fine
|
||
hair blonde as desert sands
|
||
silky brilliant shine
|
||
red full lips
|
||
tender and soft to kiss
|
||
round supple hips
|
||
her beauty is my bliss
|
||
passion seething
|
||
arms embracing
|
||
rapid breathing
|
||
minds racing
|
||
our love
|
||
perfection
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Pleasant Nightmares
|
||
þ Leah Crochet
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
I catch your shadowed eyes with mine of pain
|
||
And quickly you discard my gentle glance.
|
||
Your eyes are now so clouded with my rain
|
||
As thunder ebbs upon this shore of chance.
|
||
The hurt, I watch consume you in this night,
|
||
(I turn my face away to hush the screams)
|
||
The same dark touch that blinded us with sight
|
||
Calls to me through piercing, haunting dreams.
|
||
You mesmerized me, drawing close my light
|
||
Casting spells with words submerged in power.
|
||
But as, when hurt, you draw away from night
|
||
You soon forget I'm strongest in this hour.
|
||
And watch, do I, our tainted web "Desire,"
|
||
Whispered how I miss that burning fire.
|
||
|
||
"Watch, my love, the games of love and foe,
|
||
"Listen to the beating heart of sin,
|
||
"For this might truly be the last thing known,"
|
||
I hear your voice from somewhere deep within.
|
||
|
||
Watching candle; taunting flame through dark.
|
||
Your inner self revealed and finally seen.
|
||
The pain I felt when shown the face of stark.
|
||
Never seeing the weakness you had sheened.
|
||
Silhouettes dancing through my numbing mind;
|
||
Perhaps the empty ones you held so dear,
|
||
Haunting, singing songs of left behind
|
||
While consuming, thriving on my fear.
|
||
Clawing through this empty shell of lies
|
||
I crumple at the thought of your despise...
|
||
|
||
Lost am I within this midnight sky
|
||
That holds me in its truly dark embrace
|
||
How I long the beauty of the lie,
|
||
For there I'm sheltered, lying in my waste.
|
||
Watching your decline; diminish of power
|
||
I didn't want to hurt you, as I warned you so
|
||
I whispered "You I surely will devour"
|
||
"My darling please, I beg you, do not go!"
|
||
The emotions fall like rain, light as steps at first
|
||
Though I know in time the deluge will begin.
|
||
Give me love to quench my tired thirst!
|
||
But I wonder, could this be so simple? Or at end?
|
||
Sing, wicked laughter! Sing your shadowed song!
|
||
For perhaps that was what I was in love with all along...
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Poem: 01/31/95 I.
|
||
þ Bob.ezergailis@canrem.com
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
Religion
|
||
is a heap
|
||
of rotting
|
||
fish heads.
|
||
|
||
Preachers'
|
||
sermons -
|
||
the stench.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn't argue about
|
||
that. I'm right and I will be proved right. We're more popular than Jesus
|
||
now. I don't know which will go first - rock 'n' roll or Christianity.
|
||
Jesus was all right, but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It's them
|
||
twisting it that ruins it for me." Ä John Lennon
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Poem: 01/31/95 II.
|
||
þ Bob.ezergailis@canrem.com
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
is this
|
||
the given
|
||
what remains
|
||
of intimacy,
|
||
when she speaks
|
||
she does not reply,
|
||
when she is there
|
||
suddenly
|
||
she is there
|
||
only as a tease,
|
||
of the presence
|
||
of her absence,
|
||
her warmest phrase
|
||
a knife of ice
|
||
withdrawn
|
||
with a twist
|
||
from soft underbelly
|
||
bowels
|
||
of insignificance.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"'Live Through This' was like listening to a black box cockpit tape recovered
|
||
from a very messy plane crash." Ä Jim Walsh
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Riverwalk
|
||
þ Cat-a-lyst
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
Cold stone on the riverwalk
|
||
Made sounds louder
|
||
Than would seem possible
|
||
On that night.
|
||
|
||
Cold steel around heart
|
||
Surmounted petty fears
|
||
Of loneliness and danger.
|
||
And of silence.
|
||
|
||
The hand that reached out
|
||
Found that it clutched at
|
||
An unexpected gift.
|
||
Mortality.
|
||
|
||
What a shock it is to stare
|
||
Into the eyes of the dying man
|
||
And to see yourself
|
||
Staring back at you.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"It's fear of the unknown. The unknown is what it is. And to be frightened
|
||
of it is what sends everybody scurrying around chasing dreams, illusions,
|
||
wars, peace, love, hate, all that - it's all illusion. Unknown is what it
|
||
is. Accept that it's unknown and it's plain sailing. Everything is
|
||
unknown - then you're ahead of the game." Ä John Lennon
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Scrambed Thoughts
|
||
þ Twilight
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
I smile once again.
|
||
Ominous clouds part
|
||
as sunlight shines upon my cheeks;
|
||
Warmth somehow pushes its way
|
||
into my twisted, wrenched heart -
|
||
so cold...and so ripped...
|
||
which stitches -seem- to mend.
|
||
Yet...time and time again,
|
||
a brief chill creeps in -
|
||
Spiraling me down for a second,
|
||
forcing me to take small breaths.
|
||
For past glimpses return
|
||
...and damning guilt invades...
|
||
"damn you" echoes repetitively
|
||
in my brain...
|
||
Confusion sets in;
|
||
I don't know how to feel.
|
||
Helping one, I hurt another...
|
||
as I also hurt myself
|
||
There is no answer
|
||
but only the present
|
||
(which nostalgia wants to thwart)
|
||
If I could...
|
||
I would help all who writhe
|
||
...in agony.
|
||
But my help only leaves
|
||
empty shells...
|
||
shells, where once dwelled feeling.
|
||
For -once-, maybe -
|
||
Maybe I should only think
|
||
of Myself...and no one else,
|
||
And choose the lesser pain -
|
||
the one with warm rays of sun...
|
||
But I'll just ride the wave,
|
||
unknowing.
|
||
Letting myself be swept and swayed
|
||
by the tide of fate.
|
||
Greeting each new morning
|
||
with an open mind and heart,
|
||
freely awaiting...
|
||
anything set out for me.
|
||
Only looking -
|
||
where I am heading -
|
||
while strongly resisting that urge
|
||
to painfully look back.
|
||
Riding into the sunset,
|
||
clearing my mind of the past,
|
||
openly basking in the warmth
|
||
...and leaving the cold night
|
||
behind the stern,
|
||
in my wake.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"Ye shall seek the truth, and the truth shall make you free."
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Summer Reading
|
||
þ Erin@acpub.duke.edu
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
It was the summer joe maxwell
|
||
started blushing when he talked to you
|
||
and construction workers
|
||
called to us in our cut-offs
|
||
and bikini tops
|
||
which hadn't even
|
||
rippled
|
||
pool water before.
|
||
We lived in the library
|
||
because it had air
|
||
conditioning unlike the dogday
|
||
durham tobacco swamp outside
|
||
and it was still too hot to swim.
|
||
|
||
We gathered the books
|
||
we had seen giggled over
|
||
on the bus, and pried them open
|
||
like blossoms, licking the juice
|
||
from our hands.
|
||
The entire canon of judy bloom
|
||
sticky secret girls clubs
|
||
boys alone with telescopes
|
||
in the dark,
|
||
the way growing hurt
|
||
like tulips hurt the soil
|
||
pushing free to such brief glory.
|
||
|
||
Other books too
|
||
we found by accident.
|
||
they made our cheeks hot,
|
||
so many torn clothes
|
||
and words to suck on
|
||
and guess at
|
||
|
||
all the well bent pages
|
||
your shining hair
|
||
skimming the light out of the room.
|
||
|
||
In later summers
|
||
I stayed around the pool
|
||
flirting with water balloons
|
||
and stolen cigarettes,
|
||
while your long folding legs
|
||
promised early
|
||
that back library room
|
||
where you would
|
||
lend your fifteen year-old
|
||
body to the real thing.
|
||
|
||
ready to get to the bottom
|
||
you said, get to the bottom
|
||
of this. Shakespeare's Golden Age
|
||
was right by your head
|
||
and The Metaphors of Huck Finn
|
||
left open on the cold floor
|
||
and him rolling on a condom
|
||
not touching you
|
||
pushing, chafed and pushing
|
||
while you cried.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"Never in a million words could Kurt have written those lyrics. His trick was
|
||
to pile on a heart-shaped maze of nonlinear phrases that ended up creating a
|
||
powerful image. Courtney went straight for the nuts." Ä Jim Connelly
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Sweet Violation
|
||
þ Chance
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
A thought; the cool air warms
|
||
A glance; my heart races
|
||
A brush of the hand; my palms grow moist
|
||
A gentle touch; my body trembles
|
||
A whisper; my breath comes quick
|
||
A lingering caress; my voice falters
|
||
A kiss; my passion swells
|
||
A sweet violation; my voice is strong
|
||
A euphoric release; my sex shudders
|
||
I am breathless.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"Why were you thinking that?"
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
That Gal
|
||
þ Tofupup
|
||
ùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
Matt, Jeremy, and I were sitting in Dobie. They had never told me why
|
||
the hell we were there, and frankly, I didn't give a shit. I was having a
|
||
boffo time, and had the scowl on my face to prove it. I hadn't looked at
|
||
Jeremy or Matt for the past fifteen minutes or so, and they could've been
|
||
going down on each other for all I knew.
|
||
A lady was walking past, walking that walk that women walk when they want
|
||
you to know that their destination is an erotic one. I pulled out my
|
||
microcassette recorder, didn't press any buttons, and spoke into it. "A lady
|
||
was walking past, walking that walk that women walk when they want you to know
|
||
that their destination is an erotic one."
|
||
She stopped, turned to me, and said, "Fuck it. Fuck you." She lithely
|
||
sat down and smoothed her dress. "You weren't even recording, you fucker."
|
||
"You noticed."
|
||
"That's right, shit. Was that for my benefit or something?"
|
||
"You're HERE, aren't you?"
|
||
She scratched her head, not in the way that makes you think someone is
|
||
confused, but in the way that lets you know someone is taking one's time to
|
||
annoy you.
|
||
"Do you snag a lot of girls like that?"
|
||
"Counting you?"
|
||
She gave me a look. I'm not sure what it meant. It looked like a
|
||
quasi-scornful, semi-you-suck look.
|
||
"Well, actually, I wasn't trying to pick anyone up," I said as I
|
||
shrugged.
|
||
"So what was the point?"
|
||
I pointed to the drunk guy on the bench across from us. I pointed at the
|
||
people in Burger King. I pointed, without looking, to over where Matt and
|
||
Jeremy were.
|
||
"So it was a gift. A gift to no one in particular?" she asked.
|
||
"No. A gift to everyone in particular."
|
||
I could have sworn that some people from Burger King were looking in my
|
||
direction, and my newfound companion saw it, too.
|
||
"It's the hat, you know," she said.
|
||
"What is?" I reached up and fondled one of Bruce's loose teeth.
|
||
"Those people," she nodded at the Burger King. "It's not because of your
|
||
gift."
|
||
"Yeah," I replied, "it never is."
|
||
We paused for a moment, and she reached over and gently removed the
|
||
cassette record from my hands. She pressed the "play" and "record" buttons
|
||
and spoke into it. "A trucker walked past, walking that walk men walk when
|
||
they have to take a dump."
|
||
"You're good," I said.
|
||
"You think so?"
|
||
"Oh yeah. Could be--"
|
||
"Could be what? Could be better? You think you can do better?"
|
||
"Well, yes, actually, but that isn't what I was go--"
|
||
"Prove it. If you do better, I'll give you a kiss."
|
||
"And if I lose?"
|
||
"No confidence in yourself?"
|
||
I took the recorder and pressed the "play" and "record" buttons.
|
||
"A trucker walked past, walking that walk men walk when they want you to know
|
||
they have to take a dump."
|
||
She looked at me, leaned over, and kissed my cheek. Then, she stood and
|
||
began walking away. She paused, turned back and said, "You were right, you
|
||
know..."
|
||
I gave her an inquisitive look.
|
||
"About my destination."
|
||
She turned and walked away.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"I don't go along with organized religion and the way it has come about. I
|
||
believe in God, but not as one thing, not as an old man in the sky. I
|
||
believe that what people call God is something in all of us. I believe that
|
||
what Jesus and Mohammed and Buddha and all the rest said was right. It's
|
||
just that the translations have gone wrong." Ä John Lennon
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
The Assassin
|
||
þ Alton Naerth
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
The man slips out into the night...
|
||
The night envelopes him,
|
||
He makes no sound.
|
||
|
||
Covered in black from head to toe,
|
||
Only his deep blue eyes gleam free of black.
|
||
It is the dress of his profession.
|
||
|
||
He steals silently up to the house...
|
||
And into the room of his victim,
|
||
Who sleeps soundly the sleep of innocence.
|
||
|
||
He produces the tool of his trade...
|
||
It also gleams, but only for a moment,
|
||
With blinding speed his victim is bleeding,
|
||
Still sleeping, only it's the sleep of death.
|
||
|
||
The man slips out into the night...
|
||
The night engulfs him,
|
||
He makes not a sound.
|
||
|
||
He emerges at his home...
|
||
And he changes clothes,
|
||
The memories of the night flying away.
|
||
|
||
All this, did not disturb me...
|
||
Until I looked into the mirror,
|
||
And saw those blue eyes looking back at me,
|
||
Looking into my soul.
|
||
That man was me...
|
||
|
||
But what made me lament,
|
||
Lament for the forseeable death of my happiness,
|
||
Was when I saw all the pain behind those eyes,
|
||
And I did not care...
|
||
|
||
I slip out into the night...
|
||
For it is my home, my sanctuary,
|
||
I make not a sound,
|
||
Except the tortured screams of my soul...
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"My mind is most definitely my worst enemy." Ä Twilight
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
The End
|
||
þ Cathleen - CrappyB@ix.netcom.com
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
Suicide no simple thought
|
||
A multi-complex plot
|
||
Coming in so many forms
|
||
Embellished and adorned
|
||
From easy thoughtless cutting
|
||
To combinations fraught with cunning
|
||
I wrap my head in layers of plasic
|
||
Choke my air with tight elastic
|
||
Thick around my throat
|
||
Drugs in pockets of my coat
|
||
A backup plan to failure
|
||
Of firm intent I am sure
|
||
Methods abound in plenty
|
||
Outlets to insanity
|
||
A blistered, fevered heart
|
||
Incurable in part
|
||
The balance a dull ache
|
||
And despair I cannot shake
|
||
Fueled by a twisted mind
|
||
Reactions in kind
|
||
To stimuli from shattered past
|
||
Relationships not meant to last
|
||
Coloring all that's present
|
||
With feelings of resent
|
||
Towards my hapless helpers
|
||
Often treated like a leper
|
||
My brain a constant threat
|
||
Thoughts engorged with fret
|
||
To do myself harm
|
||
Holds constant charm
|
||
Surcease from sorrow
|
||
I'll die tomorrow
|
||
My friend
|
||
The end.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"Now I may be very positive - yes, yes - but I also go through deep
|
||
depressions where I would like to jump out the window, you know. It
|
||
becomes easier to deal with as I get older; I don't know whether you learn
|
||
control or, when you grow up, you calm down a little." Ä John Lennon
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
The Ice Monster Of Emptiness
|
||
þ Antony@nohost.com
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
The page grins at me
|
||
with supine smugness.
|
||
It holds a power over me
|
||
and binds me to its spell.
|
||
It knows I cannot resist,
|
||
cannot help but travel once more
|
||
across the tundra,
|
||
leaving a footprint scrawl
|
||
spelling out mental wanderings.
|
||
Yet at the start,
|
||
always at the start
|
||
I feel a moment of fear.
|
||
A gnawing dread bites
|
||
at my stomach
|
||
and, daunted, I hesitate to step
|
||
upon the snowy crispness,
|
||
believing for a single moment
|
||
of speckled, frozen time
|
||
that I will stumble and fall.
|
||
But 'tis only for a second,
|
||
until the emotional cavalier,
|
||
clad in the armour of words,
|
||
mounts his equine pen
|
||
and, with a firm grip
|
||
around his lancing wit,
|
||
sets out
|
||
onto an untouched page
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"Walk up the street and you can see the shiny, pale skyline from a grassy
|
||
park. My mom works in one of those buildings; I went to her office once.
|
||
From the forty-third floor, it looked so great and different. The twisted
|
||
mess of highways with any large city, and the crisscross of small streets,
|
||
but there is something I haven't seen. There's so much forest and green,
|
||
with little commercial builts popping out in random places. It made me
|
||
think of what I thought the future should be. Like a highway at night or
|
||
a new sound coming out of a hazy bar." Ä Stephen Lush
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
The Self
|
||
þ Kim Clemente
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
My divine inspiration has survived
|
||
Years of uncertainty.
|
||
I have tasted the sweet breath of life
|
||
With obscene depth and intensity.
|
||
With me, there is no equality of emotion,
|
||
No middle ground.
|
||
I talk of the loss of self, the frustration
|
||
Of self-deception and reflection
|
||
While the pleasures of the flesh ignore me.
|
||
I destroy myself with sarcastic logic,
|
||
Chaining my soul, an eternally tragic flaw.
|
||
Once again, my search for inner truth
|
||
Has led to the same scene.
|
||
The inconsistencies, the impurities, the insecurities
|
||
Are an age old trap to stumble through.
|
||
They provide a distraction from the
|
||
Significance of this life.
|
||
The only way to see it through is to close your eyes,
|
||
Find what lies inside, and chase down
|
||
In a maddened fury, the love that keeps us alive.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"We dance in a ring and suppose; the secret sits in the middle and knows."
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
To David Lee
|
||
þ Twilight
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
Crying sessions
|
||
Teardrops fall
|
||
Curled up like fetuses
|
||
Turned, facing the wall.
|
||
Misunderstanding everything
|
||
Gaping holes inside
|
||
Feelings of being unwanted
|
||
Truths transform into lies.
|
||
Forgetting about true love
|
||
Forgetting about the care
|
||
Our hearts burn in agony
|
||
Further, into despair.
|
||
The biggest mistake
|
||
Bottling up our thoughts
|
||
Our feelings, our pains
|
||
So that inside of us, they rot.
|
||
The ever-present doom
|
||
Overpowering self-hatred
|
||
The continuing cycle of anguish
|
||
The desires to be dead.
|
||
Exhaustion, at last
|
||
Brings sleep to our eyes
|
||
Unpleasant dreams invade
|
||
Fears that our love will die.
|
||
After such a crisis
|
||
Being so far apart
|
||
For the longest time ever
|
||
Will nearly break my heart.
|
||
But we may stumble upon obstacles
|
||
And we may fall upon wars
|
||
But no matter how bloody the battle
|
||
And no matter how massive the rock
|
||
Darling, I will continue to love you
|
||
More than you will ever know...
|
||
And believe you me,
|
||
There is no way in hell
|
||
That I am ever letting you go...
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"Love is about sacrifice and equality of sacrifice. Love is about
|
||
appreciation for achievement and support for failure. It is about respect
|
||
for the emotions of the one you love, and the expectation that you will have
|
||
that respect from her as well. It's about coming to the realization that you
|
||
could, if necessary, live without the person you love... But you could never
|
||
forget her. Love is an emotion that is at once the most rewarding and the
|
||
most unforgiving of all. It allows for personal failure and personal
|
||
mistakes, but it does not allow for deceit or unfaithfulness. It allows
|
||
inherent trust, but frowns upon bitterness. It allows forgiveness, but not
|
||
the ability to forget. But love, despite its apparent restrictions, also
|
||
allows the most incredible rewards. They include the realization that there
|
||
is a person in the world who cares for you more than anyone else, a person
|
||
who is your best friend and most consistent cheerleader, who would do almost
|
||
anything to keep that emotional bond between herself and you. Even when
|
||
things are darkest, true love is a perpetual beacon eternally guiding the
|
||
way ahead. Eventually, there is a feeling of fulfillment at the end; after
|
||
a lifetime of living and loving, the realization that you have sustained love
|
||
and made it stronger is quite a feeling. But most of all, love is an emotion
|
||
that aks for more than a day of attention. Valentine's Day is well and good
|
||
for Hallmark, but true love asks for a lifetime's worth of Valentine's Days."
|
||
Ä Steven Hawkins, _The Daily Texan_, 14 Feb 95
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Untitled
|
||
þ Rafael Rentena
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
I'm looking for the woman
|
||
from the end of the limb
|
||
I'm looking for the woman
|
||
from the heart of the abyss
|
||
She has a gun on her bookshelf
|
||
a sword on her hip
|
||
a pen in her hand
|
||
paint in her hair
|
||
magic in her wand
|
||
a dollar in her pocket
|
||
her head on her shoulders
|
||
her sex between her legs
|
||
milk in her breasts
|
||
moist earth beneath her feet
|
||
a laugh in her throat
|
||
a purr in her chest
|
||
a glow in her belly
|
||
a child in her eyes
|
||
a home in her heart
|
||
and me on her mind.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Untitled
|
||
þ Silent Scream
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
i suppose i'll stop...
|
||
fishing for sympathy
|
||
when all i come up with
|
||
is ignorance and apathy
|
||
i suppose i'll stop...
|
||
dwelling on the past
|
||
wondering
|
||
if i've done something wrong
|
||
i suppose i'll stop...
|
||
living one day at a time
|
||
and focus on a point
|
||
that lies a second ahead
|
||
i suppose i'll stop...
|
||
the neverending pain
|
||
with a permanent solution
|
||
to a permanent problem.
|
||
i suppose i'll stop
|
||
listening to my friends
|
||
who want me to dodge the problem at hand
|
||
i suppose i'll stop...
|
||
the neverending pain
|
||
i suppose i'll stop...
|
||
the dependence
|
||
i suppose...
|
||
i suppose i will
|
||
stop.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"He has outsoared the shadow of our night;
|
||
Envy and calumny and hate and pain
|
||
And that unrest which men miscall delight,
|
||
Can touch him not and torture not again;
|
||
From the contagion of the world's slow stain
|
||
He is secure..." Ä Gina Arnold, quoting Shelley, regarding Kurt Cobain
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Untitled
|
||
þ Silent Scream
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
that's the last time i bash my head on my keyboard
|
||
that's the last time i don't `confirm hangup`
|
||
i need a shoulder to cry on
|
||
this desk is so cold and hard.
|
||
unyielding
|
||
and you're probably mad at me,
|
||
doing something else,
|
||
in effect a sort of `fuck him, if he is going to be like that`
|
||
and frankly i don't blame you
|
||
it's a miracle that you've stuck around with me this long
|
||
but i didn't wait long for the call that never came
|
||
before i called back...
|
||
because i miss you
|
||
and being here or on the phone,
|
||
which has been denied,
|
||
is the only way i can get close to you...
|
||
and i can only really get close when we're together...
|
||
and hearing you say what you say,
|
||
seeing you write what you write is at times unbearable
|
||
given the time it was written at...
|
||
after the talk, and today..
|
||
today sucked.
|
||
and i think she isn't there...
|
||
she is where i thought she was,
|
||
in her room assuming i was off to kill myself
|
||
and content to think so...
|
||
assuming this is zimmerly or schneider or lush or benson on here now
|
||
and not another person who now thinks
|
||
she is staring at the screen, coldly.
|
||
not about to help things
|
||
so i suppose i'll wait for another half an hour for her to call again
|
||
do you know what sennifer
|
||
my fan is on
|
||
my computer is on
|
||
my lights are off except for my bathroom light
|
||
and i love you.
|
||
i fear life a lot
|
||
i love you.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"CMLC - that's Courtney Michelle Love Cobain in AOL mode - turned out to be a
|
||
true innovator, the first writer to be read both extensively online. Love's
|
||
cuttingly funny stream-of-consciousness essays were distributed throughout
|
||
the Internet by sycophants who slavishly imitated her rants in their own
|
||
discombobulated postings. Love took on everyone from "fishdick" Steve Albini
|
||
to attention-starved suicidal kids with prose like 'CALL THE FUCKING HOTLINE
|
||
OR WRITE TO VEDDER - I'M ROOF BORNE MYSELF STOP IT YOU LITTLE ATERNATEEN
|
||
BRATS!!!' More than any hypster you'll read in a tree-killer medium, Love
|
||
understands what online America is all about. Ill communication, indeed."
|
||
Ä Alyssa Katz
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Weather
|
||
þ Amy
|
||
ùúùúùúù
|
||
|
||
sun
|
||
beaming
|
||
scorching
|
||
melting my steering wheel
|
||
|
||
rain
|
||
pouring
|
||
falling
|
||
uh.. raining
|
||
|
||
hail
|
||
crashing
|
||
falling
|
||
denting the FUCK outta my car, and that's the part that really pisses me off,
|
||
'cause all i have is liability insurance, and so i hafta live with these dents
|
||
for the remainder of my existence.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"How come I never get used to passing a stranger on a sidewalk?"
|
||
Ä Stephen Lush
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
When I Close My Eyes, I See Pictures
|
||
þ Drucilla B. Blood
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
||
|
||
I remember when
|
||
I used to watch you sleep
|
||
The room was very dark
|
||
And I would stand at the
|
||
other side
|
||
And slowly inch forward
|
||
Shadows played all over your
|
||
face
|
||
And there were three silver
|
||
angels who beckoned
|
||
you into their dream
|
||
I'm at the foot of the bed
|
||
and drawing nearer when
|
||
my soul goes out
|
||
But I was so afraid to
|
||
touch you then
|
||
Your eyes were closed
|
||
I could see your face
|
||
straining to follow
|
||
those angels
|
||
I held my breath until I felt numb
|
||
smaller and smaller
|
||
until maybe I might not
|
||
have been there at all
|
||
|
||
Wanted so badly to lay
|
||
beside you
|
||
Press my head so near to
|
||
yours
|
||
And let the angels
|
||
swallow us up
|
||
Together.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"What are you thinking now?"
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
ßÜ
|
||
ÜßÜÝÜßÜ
|
||
ßÜÞÜß Ü Ü Üß
|
||
Ü ÜßÜ ÝÜßÜß ÜßÜßÜ
|
||
ßÜßÜ ÜßÜßÞÜß ÜßÜ Ü ßÜÜßÜß
|
||
ßÜßÜÜß Ü ßÜßÜÝÜßÜß ÜßÜ ßÜ ßÜ ß
|
||
ßÜßÜß Üß Ü Ü ßÜÝÜß Üß ÜßÜ ßÜÜßÜßÜ
|
||
Üßßß Üß Û Ü ÜßßÜÞ ÜßÜß Ü ßÜßÜÜ ßÜß
|
||
Üß ßÜÜß Üß Ü ßßÜßÝßÜß ÜÜ ßÜßßÜ ß
|
||
Üß ÜßßÜÜß ÜßßÜ ßÝß ÜßÜ ßÜßßÜ ß
|
||
Üß ÜßßßÝÜß ÜÜßÜÞÜßÜß ÛÞßßÜ ß
|
||
ß ÜÜßÜßÜß ÜßÜÞÜß ÜßÜÝßÜÜß
|
||
Ü Üßßßß ßÜßÝÜßÜÜßÜß Ü Ü
|
||
Ü Ü ßÜ ßÜ ßÜßßßÜÜßÝÜÛßÜßÜÜß Üß Üß Üß
|
||
Ü ßÜßÜ ßÜÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜÜÛÛÛÜßßÜßÜßÜßßßÜÜß ÜßÜß
|
||
ßÜßÜßÜßÜßßÜ ßÜ ßÜßÜß ß Ý ß ßÜ ßÜßÜ ßÜßÜßÜßßÜ
|
||
ÜßßÜßÜ ßÜßÜ ßÜ ß Þ ß ß ß ß ß
|
||
Ý
|
||
Ý
|
||
Þ
|
||
ß
|
||
|
||
Legalize.
|
||
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
Submit your original literary works for Spilled Ink, [volume four], to
|
||
Twilight.
|
||
|
||
Actual Reality: (512) 873-1900 (to Green Hell)
|
||
After Ours: (512) 320-1650 (to Twilight)
|
||
Ice Castle: (713) 722-5400 (to Twilight)
|
||
Liberty: (800) 474-1818 (to Alaskan Twilight)
|
||
telnet liberty.com
|
||
|
||
Or by Internet e-mail:
|
||
twilight@mail.utexas.edu
|
||
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
||
|