1740 lines
44 KiB
Plaintext
1740 lines
44 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 eight ÃÄÄ ù
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*ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ*
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stop plagiarism - let out your soul
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Copyright 2/96
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ú úùcompiled & edited by Twilightùú ú
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ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
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Dedicated to Stephanie White and her son, Justin Kyle
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..."with every goodbye you learn"...
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þ Table of Contents þ
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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1. After A While - Veronica A. Shoffstall
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2. Almas - Zita Marie Evensen
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3. Ask Me If I'm A Truck - Janet Kuypers
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4. Aubade And Elegy For El Hermanito - Michelle Vessel
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5. Beauty - Mark Hallman
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6. Caffe' Di Pensieri - Arlene
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7. Chicago, West Side - Janet Kuypers
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8. Convolution - C. Dianne Long
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9. Daughter - Mary Ratcliff
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10. Dead Rope - C. Dianne Long
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11. Devil's Son - sca00030@mail.wvnet.edu
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12. Drowning - Marco Morales
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13. Eternity - GQ Guy
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14. Everything Was Alive And Dying - Janet Kuypers
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15. Fall Asleep - Sunflower
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16. Fireflies - Mary Ratcliff
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17. Fragile - Bob Ezergailis
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18. Free The Hemp - Sunflower
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19. Fruit - Marco Morales
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20. I Idolize Myself - Mike Conway
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21. Leaving Chicago - Paul David Mena
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22. Manny Is Everywhere - Robb Buchanan
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23. Melt Me - Twilight
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24. Nothing Left To Lose - Slaanesh/Antigone
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25. Over And Over Again - Pat DiNizio
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26. Pink Moon - Sunflower
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27. Reel Around The Fountain - The Smiths
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28. Someone Doesn't Want Me Here - Twilight
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29. Take Me, Fuck Me, Wheel Me In - Ian I. Hu
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30. The Farmer's Serenade - C. Dianne Long
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31. Undercurrent - C. Dianne Long
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32. Unsevered Strings - Twilight
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33. Untitled - Stephen Lush
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34. When In The Dark - Mere Smith
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35. Wrote This For A Guy Named Jon - Patricia Gonzales/Alli
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þ Including Quotes From:
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Tori Amos, _Batman Returns_, The Bible, William Clayton, Kurt Cobain,
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Pat Conroy, Benjamin Disraeli, Drakon, Albert Einstein, _First Knight_,
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F. Scott Fitzgerald, Thomas Jefferson, C.J. Jung, Courtney Love, Stephen
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Perisie, Queen, Rush, Hugh Ryan, Mark Twain, and Tennessee Williams
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ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
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After A While
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þ Veronica A. Shoffstall
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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After a while you learn
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the subtle difference between
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holding a hand
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and chaining a soul
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and you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
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and company doesn't always mean security.
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And you begin to learn
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that kisses aren't contracts and
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presents aren't promises
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and you begin to accept your defeats
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with your head up and your eyes ahead
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with the grace of a woman
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not the grief of a child
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and you learn
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to build all your roads on today
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because tomorrow's ground is
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too uncertain for plans
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and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
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After a while you learn
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that even sunshine burns
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if you get too much
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so you plant your own garden
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and decorate your own soul
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instead of waiting
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for someone to bring you flowers.
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And you learn
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that you really can endure
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that you really are strong
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and you really do have worth
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and you learn
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and you learn,
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with every goodbye you learn.
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"Too much love will kill you just as none at all." Ä Queen
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Almas
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þ Zita Maria Evensen
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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uncontrolled chain reaction of nuclear emotions
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fireballs of greed hate hopelessness
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sear the city pounding surges of primal screams
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raging fires from molotov minds and spirits
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explode in undulating waves -- and the world cries
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for her for this city this los angeles
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watch your back dodge the bullets
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between street signs on your way to school
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cry at the funeral of a young man
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you say only yesterday laughing at the sun
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and the world fears for this city --
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this los angeles
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a reaper stands on dead-end streets
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wearing teen-age masks of eighty year old minds
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while suicide watch shadows children
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of the burnt-out ruins of a million memories
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kindness is a clean crisp paperwork
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required by legislated humanity
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Ask Me If I'm A Truck
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þ Janet Kuypers
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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so i worked in the summer time
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part time with about ten guys
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(since guys were stronger, they
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could scoop ice cream better,
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that was the idea). but they all
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screwed off when they were
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at work. they'd always write up
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signs and tape them to each
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others' backs. once i wrote on
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the back of candy box paper,
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"i'm a boy with raging hormones"
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and for about an hour every
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customer had a good laugh at
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matt's expense. but my favorite
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was put on john's back once. you
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see, john used to tell everyone
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the same joke; he'd say to you,
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"ask me if i'm a truck," and when
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you'd ask him if he was a truck,
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he'd look real perplexed and say,
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"no." like, why did you ask him
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that? so anyway, we got a sign
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on his back once that said "ask
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me if i'm a truck" and when all
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the customers did he got real
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confused. it was hysterical.
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þùúùþ
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Janet Kuypers, Chicago, is the editor/publisher of the literary/art magazine
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"children, churches and daddies". She has had two books published, _hope
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chest in the attic_ and _the window_, is a graphic designer by day, and also
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sings with a band.
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Bio sketch:
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Employment: Art/Production Editor for a publishing company in Chicago
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Education: bachelor in News/Ed. Journalism (Communictions), with a minor in
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photography, from the University of Illinois, Urbana/Champaign
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Publication Credits: published over 600 for writing and over 150 for artwork.
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"I don't own a computer. I have a nine-foot piano in my home to compose my
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messages. Why would I want a one-foot computer to do the same thing?"
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Ä Tori Amos
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Aubade And Elegy For El Hermitano
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þ Michelle Vessel
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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you had run away. tucked in caves,
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starved on dirty mounds of the treasure of your alone self
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(tremors of which had encrypted your skin, graffitied you foreign,
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thrust gold thorn through your breast and spewed lightning in
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your froggish heart) and i already knew your secret. i knew
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exactly the price for your brand of life. i hear you
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died scared. your heart waltzed you into a martyr
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for the desert night with shit in your pants and
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gimson seeds stuck between your teeth
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away from me. and nowadays i rub my belly with jade against
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this tainted weight of baby. he kicks
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with the poison of a suicide. but i still dream you that way:
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head cocked in listening, quiet and wild, crouching over the
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dying fire of yourself. did you really think.
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running away from my father and into the cold hole of your visions.
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that i could? rob from you your living life? suck from
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your blood the prickly pear of youth? look!
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at my hands. young too, and just a rose. and a piece of dirt.
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no priest or no guns could
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have murdered the little abandon
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i have loved first and last.
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which i have loved best.
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"I hold the key to who you really are/I was wrong and he will never forgive/
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He kept me vital/Made we want to live" - Courtney Love
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Beauty
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þ Mark Hallman
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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a houseful of firemen
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out scrubbing their truck
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on a sunny day
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Caffe' Di Pensieri
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þ Arlene
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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clinging desperately onto
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the waft of steam
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which arises
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from the froth
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enshrouding a cappuccino scene
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a need presents itself
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to carve the image
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forever in the mind
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with the sound of
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one spoon stirring
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making insistent
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circles in the dark
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with the air having
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devoured all notion of time
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I write on the coffee table
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etching here my name
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and all remembrance of
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mid-afternoon breaks
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which shall soon be
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drunk without much relish
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and disappeared
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into the air
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a mere trifle of a wish
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as always
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dying unfulfilled
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"We are young, wandering the face of the Earth, wondering what our dreams
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might be worth; learning that we are only immortal for a limited time..."
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Ä Rush
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Chicago, West Side
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þ Janet Kuypers
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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she knew who they were coming for
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she crouched in front of the window
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straddling her chair she moved from the corner
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her coffee sat in the windowsill
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the condensation rising, beading
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on the window right about at her eye level.
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she took the side of her index finger
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periodically and smeared some of the
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water away to look into the streets.
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the snow was no longer falling on the
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west side of Chicago; it just packed
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itself darker and deeper into the ground
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with every car that drove over it.
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she gunshot was ringing in her ear
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still. it was so loud. the earth cried
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when she pulled that trigger. let out
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a loud, violent scream. she could still
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hear it. for these few moments, she had to
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just stare out the window and wait. she
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didn't know if she should bother running,
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if it mattered or not. she couldn't think.
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all she knew was that this time, when
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she heard the sirens coming from the
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streets, she'd know why they were coming.
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she'd know who they were coming for.
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"Sickos never scare me. At least they're committed." - 'Catwoman',
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_Batman Returns_
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Convolution
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þ C. Dianne Long
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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The ball drops and I'm awake
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despite a prescribed remedy
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tossed down with a glass of water,
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not the graying bottle of unopened
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Freixenet
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that I had planned to surround my brain.
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Floating like a 7th grade science project
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fingers dancing about the glass
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hushed giggles and thwarted eyes
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as sparks fly across the sky.
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Black bottle is
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lying on its side in the whiteness
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of a chilled box
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wrapped tightly and neatly bound
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around the neck
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like a voodoo doll of what
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I will become
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as each failed resolution
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pricks me in my crooked spine
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pulling my life apart
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like a wishbone
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until I'm lying cold
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in a box
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laced with good intentions
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dancing fingers now grey
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and intertwined
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around an unopened bottle of '95
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still chilled and on its side.
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"I had never seen the cold corpse, she hid behind the paint.
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Never saw the ivory devil beneath the plastic saint." Ä Hugh Ryan
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Daughter
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þ Mary Ratcliff
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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tiny fingers, tiny hands
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big enough to hold my heart
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"Place me like a seal over your heart,
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like a seal on your arm;
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for love is as strong as death,
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its jealousy unyielding as the grave.
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It burns like blazing fire,
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like a mighty flame.
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Many waters cannot quence love;
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rivers cannot wash it away.
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If one were to give all the wealth
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of his house for love,
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it would be utterly scorned." Ä Song of Solomon 8:6-7
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Dead Rope
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þ C. Dianne Long
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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When I bring you home
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all red-faced and bundled with a black cord
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will you smell like sweet cotton candy
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or rotten as a graying corpse
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will you cry all night
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leaving my head throbbing
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splitting like your dead rope
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or will you coo with such sweet delight
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that my heart burns with motherly love
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as your drooling, toothless, silly smile
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clears my burning red, watery eyes
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or will I curse you and smell you
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and shake you by your arms
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shutting you up inside your holding tank
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vacuuming out your cries
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or will I love you, love you, love you
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or will I see a crooked eye
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will I love you, love you, love you
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or leave you
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with a kiss good-bye.
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"Reluctant arena rock voice/My lipstick smeared on your soul/No flowers for
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you/No flowers for a dead child" Ä Courtney Love
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Devil's Son
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þ sca00030@mail.wvnet.edu
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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standing atop a mountain looking down upon his subjects
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he is the living epitome of "holier than thou"
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they are all kneeling before him pitiful fearful and awestruck
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with an heir of confidence and a graceful snarl he furrows his brow
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beyond the gates of hell his soul resides within a chamber
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if you listen closely at the door you'll hear a sound
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a mephistophelean growl amidst satanic laughter
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this soul in hell controls the man who stands on holy ground
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he says his name is jesus and maybe he will save you
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if you stay penitent and sell your precious soul
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but once you do the gambit's run and then he'll have to slay you
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and once you die your soul is damned to face the devil's son
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you rolled your dice with the antichrist and now your life is done
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your soul is doomed to be devoured by the devil's son
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"The dumber people think you are, the more surprised they're going to be when
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you kill them." Ä William Clayton
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Drowning
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þ Marco Morales
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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I sink.
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My few last words
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turn to bubbles
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of rarefied air.
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I just stare.
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Those silver planets
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rush to the surface
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I'll never see again.
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I despair.
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The oceans rush
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into my scream
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raping me.
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Family heart youth
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sad love goodbye
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All written in blue
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against water and sand.
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Pressure crushes life
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in shades of blue and red.
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Now I rest
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on my solitary seabed.
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"Never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat." Ä F. Scott Fitzgerald
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Eternity
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þ GQ-Guy
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ùúùúùúùú
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Slowly the papers,
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decrepit and yellow with age,
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gently rose upward
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as a light wind blew quietly in through an open window
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and across the layer of dust which coated the wooden floor.
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Unlocking the door had been pointless;
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nothing was to be found.
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The old man,
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depressed with the notion of memories lost,
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quietly turned,
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locked the door,
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and walked noiselessly back down the passageway
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into the darkness.
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Everything Was Alive And Dying
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þ Janet Kuypers
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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I
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I had a dream the other night
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I walked out of the city
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to a forest
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and there were neatly paved bicycle paths
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and trash cans every fifty feet
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and trash every ten
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and then a raccoon came right up to me
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she had a few little baby raccoons
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following her, it was so cute, I
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wish I had my camera
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and she spoke to me,
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she said, thank you
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thank you for not buying furs,
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I know you humans are pretty smart,
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you have to be able to figure out a way
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to keep yourselves warm
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without killing me
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and I said, you know they don't
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do it for warmth,
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they do it for fashion, they do it
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for power. And she said I know.
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But thank you anyway.
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II
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Then I walked a little further
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and there was a stray cat
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she still had her little neon collar on
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with a little bell
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and she walked a few feet,
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stretched her front paws,
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oh, she looked so darling
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and then she walked right up to me
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and she said thank you
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and I said for what?
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And she just looked at me for a moment,
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her little ears were standing straight up,
|
|
and then she said, you know,
|
|
in some countries I'm considered
|
|
a delicacy. And I said how
|
|
do you know of these things?
|
|
And she said
|
|
when somebody eats one of you
|
|
word gets around
|
|
and then she looked up at me again
|
|
and said, and in some countries
|
|
the cow is sacred. Wouldn't they
|
|
love to see how you humans
|
|
prepare them for slaughter, how you
|
|
hang them upside-down
|
|
and slit their throats
|
|
so their still beating hearts
|
|
will drain out all the blood for you
|
|
and she said isn't it funny
|
|
how arbitrary your decision
|
|
to eat meat is?
|
|
and I said, don't put me
|
|
in that category, I don't eat meat
|
|
and she said I know
|
|
|
|
III
|
|
|
|
And I walked deeper in to the forest
|
|
managed to get away from the
|
|
picnic tables and the outhouses
|
|
that lined the forest edges
|
|
the roaring cars gave way to the
|
|
rustling of tree branches
|
|
crackling of fallen leaves
|
|
under my step
|
|
|
|
when the wind tunneled through
|
|
the wind whistled and sang
|
|
as it flew past the bark
|
|
|
|
and leaves
|
|
|
|
I walked
|
|
listened to the crack of dead branches
|
|
under my feet
|
|
and I felt a branch against my shoulder
|
|
I looked up and I could hear
|
|
the trees speak to me,
|
|
and they said
|
|
thank you for letting the
|
|
endangered animals live here amongst us
|
|
we do think they're so pretty
|
|
and it would be a shame to see them go
|
|
and thank you for recycling paper
|
|
because you're saving us
|
|
for just a little while longer
|
|
|
|
we've been on this planet for so long
|
|
embedded in the earth
|
|
we do have souls, you know
|
|
you can hear it in our songs
|
|
we cling with our roots
|
|
we don't want to let go
|
|
|
|
and I said, but I don't do much,
|
|
I don't do enough
|
|
and they said we know
|
|
but we'll take what we can get
|
|
|
|
IV
|
|
|
|
and I woke up in a sweat
|
|
|
|
V
|
|
|
|
so tell me, Bob Dole
|
|
so tell me, Newt Gingrich
|
|
so tell me, Pat Bucannan
|
|
so tell me, Jesse Helms
|
|
if you woke up from that dream
|
|
would you be in a sweat, too?
|
|
|
|
VI
|
|
|
|
Do you even know why
|
|
we should save the rain forest?
|
|
Oh preserve the delicate balance,
|
|
just tear the whole forest down,
|
|
what difference does it make?
|
|
Put in some orange groves
|
|
so our concentrate orange juice
|
|
can be a little cheaper
|
|
|
|
did you know that medical researchers
|
|
have a very, very hard time
|
|
trying to come up with synthetic
|
|
cures for diseases on their own?
|
|
It helps them out a little if they can first
|
|
find the substance in nature.
|
|
A tree that appears in the rain forest
|
|
may be the only one of its species.
|
|
Or one like it may be two miles away,
|
|
instead of right next to it. I wonder
|
|
how many cures we've destroyed
|
|
to plant more orange groves.
|
|
Serves us right.
|
|
|
|
VII
|
|
|
|
You know my motives aren't selfless
|
|
I know that these things are worthwhile in my life
|
|
|
|
I'd like to find a cure to these diseases
|
|
before I die of them
|
|
and I'm not just a vegetarian
|
|
because I think it's wrong to kill an animal
|
|
unless I have to
|
|
I also know the excess protein
|
|
pulls the calcium away from my bones
|
|
and gives me osteoperosis
|
|
and the excess fat gives me heart attacks
|
|
and I also know that we could be feeding
|
|
ten times more people
|
|
with the same resources used for meat production
|
|
|
|
You know, I know you're looking at me
|
|
and calling me an extremist
|
|
but I'm sitting here, looking around me
|
|
looking at the destruction caused by family values
|
|
and thinking the right, moral, non-violent decisions
|
|
are also those extreme ones
|
|
|
|
VII
|
|
|
|
everything is linked here
|
|
we destroy our animals
|
|
so we can be wasteful and violent
|
|
we destroy our plants
|
|
we destroy our earth
|
|
we're even destroying our air
|
|
we wreak havoc on the soil, on the atmosphere
|
|
we dump our wastes into our lakes
|
|
we pump aerosol cans and exhaust pipes
|
|
|
|
and you tell me I'm extreme
|
|
|
|
and these animals and forests keep calling out to me
|
|
the oceans, the wind
|
|
|
|
and I'm beginning to think
|
|
that we just keep doing it
|
|
because we don't know how to stop
|
|
and deep inside we feel the pain of
|
|
all that we've killed
|
|
and we try to control it by
|
|
popping a chemical-filled pain-killer
|
|
|
|
we live through the guilt
|
|
by taking caffeine, nicotine, morphine
|
|
and we keep ourselves thin with saccharin
|
|
and we keep ourselves sane with our alcohol poisoning
|
|
and when that's not enough
|
|
maybe a line of coke
|
|
|
|
maybe shoot ourselves in the head
|
|
in front of the mirror in the master bedroom
|
|
or maybe just take some pills
|
|
walk into the garage, turn on the car
|
|
and just
|
|
fall asleep
|
|
|
|
in the wild
|
|
you have no power over anyone else
|
|
|
|
now that we're civilized
|
|
we create our own wild
|
|
|
|
maybe when we have all this power
|
|
the only choice we have
|
|
is to destroy ourselves
|
|
|
|
and so we do
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"It is error alone which needs the support of government. Truth can stand
|
|
by itself." Ä Thomas Jefferson
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Fall Asleep
|
|
þ Sunflower
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
I can't sleep by the window
|
|
I can't sleep by the window, my soul gets cold
|
|
Then I roll over in my bed and try to stop thinkin'
|
|
About what I need to do and how to channel my emotions
|
|
So I close my eyes, and for one more night...
|
|
|
|
Fall asleep
|
|
|
|
I can't feel the surface of the ground below
|
|
To focus my life, I must carry on
|
|
So I turn to the empty pages inside my heart
|
|
Where my imagination plays the major part
|
|
World of unknown dreams help to transform my...
|
|
|
|
Reality
|
|
|
|
Outside's where I lie
|
|
Outside's where I lie
|
|
Outside's where I'll die
|
|
Underneath the moonlight hear my soul cry
|
|
|
|
Screaming inside my head
|
|
Something's cold, it's fear I dread
|
|
Lost in a world where the unconscious has control
|
|
Please don't take my soul
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Never do anything against conscience, even if the state demands it."
|
|
Ä Albert Einstein
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Fireflies
|
|
þ Mary Ratcliff
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
we chased fireflies on balmy summer nights
|
|
romping o'er grassy fields with glee
|
|
we gave chase
|
|
|
|
jars in hand with holes poked in the lids
|
|
we caught them, enchanted by their light
|
|
|
|
we put the jars on the nightstand
|
|
delighted with our homemade lights
|
|
careful to hide them from mother
|
|
we whispered about their mystery
|
|
long after lights-out time
|
|
|
|
summer was over all too soon
|
|
and the fireflies disappeared
|
|
an ill wind blew through coldly
|
|
and plucked you from my life
|
|
|
|
when I see the fireflies I cry
|
|
because the time they have is short
|
|
just like the days of you and me
|
|
when life had meaning and light.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Our Life's Morning Dawns
|
|
Yet We Only Live Our Lives
|
|
In Our Memories." Ä Drakon
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Fragile
|
|
þ Bob Ezergailis
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
When shall I fall
|
|
down from the vine,
|
|
as another withered leaf,
|
|
having become a thin layer
|
|
of bulging veins,
|
|
to become that smoke
|
|
that rises to touch
|
|
a few reddened eyes,
|
|
past the colours
|
|
of next season's flowers.
|
|
|
|
When shall I fall
|
|
down for the last time,
|
|
having held on,
|
|
held on, dangling,
|
|
in the twisting winds.
|
|
That cat and mouse game
|
|
played with death,
|
|
that everything plays,
|
|
so unwittingly,
|
|
often with our breaths.
|
|
|
|
The fragility of life.
|
|
Broken so easily
|
|
in any harsh climate.
|
|
Even the strongest
|
|
eventually break down.
|
|
The extreme frailty
|
|
of human existence.
|
|
It is so difficult,
|
|
at the best of times,
|
|
to avoid sudden endings.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"One of the greatest gifts you can get as a writer is to be born into an
|
|
unhappy family." Ä Pat Conroy
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Free The Hemp
|
|
þ Sunflower
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
Free the hemp to the rational mind
|
|
Lost again zen mandala spray its mist
|
|
That we may all be the sensational kind
|
|
As mary jane blows another majestic kiss
|
|
|
|
Free the hemp, free the hemp
|
|
|
|
Stoked again, they think I'm losing my mind
|
|
If they'd only try like me they'll come to find
|
|
That the beauty in life that we overlook every day
|
|
When high comes alive so people hear us say
|
|
|
|
Free the hemp, free the hemp
|
|
|
|
Please don't pass me by
|
|
I'm still young gettin' high
|
|
But I'll never cry
|
|
'Cause all I need's my soul
|
|
To never die
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"So do not be afraid of them. Everything now covered up will be uncovered,
|
|
and everything hidden will be made clear. What I say to you in the dark,
|
|
tell in the daylight; what you hear in whispers, proclaim from the
|
|
housetops." Ä Matthew 10:26-7
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Fruit
|
|
þ Marco Morales
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
A fruit carcass once sweet
|
|
now bitter, pregnant with hatred seed
|
|
lumped on a fly ridden heap
|
|
dissolves into empathic dreams.
|
|
|
|
I spat a sour mouthful
|
|
then picked the weeds
|
|
-sliced my throat
|
|
while devouring my greed.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I Idolize Myself
|
|
þ Mike Conway
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
i idolize myself
|
|
despise myself
|
|
revise myself
|
|
i watched me from outside myself
|
|
confine myself
|
|
inside myself
|
|
|
|
on the outside looking in to when
|
|
i crossed myself with metal pin
|
|
i turned the knife and stuck it in
|
|
and drank my blood with vapid grin
|
|
sin is when you're back again
|
|
you lick the knife and cut again
|
|
i'm never going back again
|
|
i had it once, my blood's too thin
|
|
|
|
i idolize myself
|
|
despite myself
|
|
revive myself
|
|
i watch me from outside myself
|
|
define myself
|
|
beside myself
|
|
|
|
from the outside looking in to when
|
|
i crossed my heart with metal pin
|
|
and cut it out with knife worn thin
|
|
i know that i'll go back again
|
|
my body drenched in blood again
|
|
i'm covered in your sin again
|
|
i'll try to fight it once again
|
|
i've had it now, my soul gives in
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I miss the comfort in being sad." Ä Kurt Cobain
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Leaving Chicago
|
|
þ Paul David Mena
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
by the time I reached the second toll plaza
|
|
Courtney Love had faded to static
|
|
I could still smell the city through my open window
|
|
I paid exact change
|
|
accepted a bright plastic thank you
|
|
and drove into white noise
|
|
snow was beginning to appear on the shoulder
|
|
afraid of the city
|
|
perfectly at ease in the suburbs
|
|
mariachi station wagons replaced by trucks
|
|
one of them breezed past me
|
|
while I gripped the wheel with both hands
|
|
another appeared in my rear view mirror
|
|
slowly growing larger
|
|
before shifting to the left
|
|
I swallowed hard
|
|
wishing I could close my eyes
|
|
too many miles of this
|
|
too many miles between us
|
|
the grey sky was already suffocating
|
|
the lavender I left behind
|
|
I turned off the radio
|
|
and daydreamed
|
|
riding the steam from your jasmine tea
|
|
away from Chicago
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Love is a state of insanity anyway." Ä Stephen Perisie
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Manny Is Everywhere
|
|
þ Robb Buchanan
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
"I'm scared."
|
|
"Excuse me?" I reply.
|
|
"I'm scared, man," replies Manny.
|
|
"Of what?"
|
|
"Them."
|
|
"Who's them?"
|
|
He looks over at Brother George, who is sitting quietly in his desk, doing his
|
|
assignment.
|
|
"Him?"
|
|
"Yes, him," he says. "His type. All them conservative, religious folk."
|
|
"That's a stereotype, Manny. Just because you don't like one of them doesn't mean you shouldn't like all of
|
|
them."
|
|
"Fine. Then most of them. The happy ones. The combination of everything
|
|
wrong with college. Constantly happy, like sorority girls - dressing
|
|
conservatively, like the Nudist Club -"
|
|
"There is no Nudist Club."
|
|
"- and quoting the Bible, just letting themselves be brainwashed, like that
|
|
'PC' group."
|
|
"What 'PC' group?"
|
|
"The ones that say Halloween is Satanic."
|
|
"Who?"
|
|
"The one hanging over our government's head?"
|
|
"Huh?"
|
|
"The reason Wal-Mart and K-Mart aren't selling 'In Utero'. The reason public
|
|
arts and broadcasting funding is being cut back."
|
|
"Oh, them!" I say. "They quote the Bible?"
|
|
"One would assume. Why else would they be so blind?"
|
|
"You're doing it again, dude," I tell him.
|
|
"Fine, I am," he says. "Halloween was created because regular people would
|
|
dress up as evil spirits, so as to lure them away from the town."
|
|
"Really?"
|
|
"Yes, really. Like I said, they're blind. And stupid."
|
|
"Hmm..."
|
|
"No, they are. I heard someone attack Jews as Satanic. He had to be informed
|
|
that the Jewish Bible is the Old Testament. Morons, I tell you."
|
|
"Not everyone is like that."
|
|
"No?"
|
|
"No!"
|
|
"Okay, watch this - GODDAMN. THIS CLASS SUCKS!!"
|
|
The teacher doesn't move.
|
|
Brother George looks up.
|
|
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk that way around me," he says.
|
|
"Why?" Manny asks.
|
|
"It's offensive."
|
|
"Why?"
|
|
"You're taking the Lord's name in vain."
|
|
"And?"
|
|
"You shouldn't talk about your creator that way."
|
|
"Creator? Says who?"
|
|
"The Bible."
|
|
"And who wrote the Bible?"
|
|
Pause. He's about to answer when Cindy approaches him.
|
|
"George, will you go out with me?"
|
|
George looks at nothing but her face.
|
|
"Why?" he asks.
|
|
"Because you're cute," she replies innocently.
|
|
"Oh, Cindy, you know I can't," he replies.
|
|
"That looks familiar..." I say.
|
|
"The prosecution rests," Manny says, ignoring me.
|
|
Brother George goes back to his work.
|
|
"I don't get it," I say.
|
|
He sighs. "Brother George?"
|
|
"Yes?"
|
|
"Do you have that new Nirvana CD?"
|
|
"You know that's Satanic."
|
|
"But the lyrics are clean."
|
|
"Yes, but your singers are going to hell, mine aren't."
|
|
I stare in disbelief.
|
|
"Um, George?" I say.
|
|
"Yes?"
|
|
"You've read the Bible and accept it?"
|
|
"Of course."
|
|
I gulp. "And you think other people should do the same?"
|
|
"Of course! The word of God should be embraced by all! He is our saviour
|
|
after all."
|
|
I look over at Manny. "I'm scared."
|
|
"The prosecution rests again," he tells me.
|
|
Cindy approaches George again.
|
|
"Can I sit on your lap?" she asks innocently.
|
|
"Ah, Cindy, that would be wrong," he replies, then goes off on some tangent
|
|
about why.
|
|
"You see? That's the future," Manny tells me.
|
|
I won't give up.
|
|
"George? Ya going to the Halloween party?"
|
|
"Halloween is a Pagan holiday," he informs me.
|
|
"Cindy will be there."
|
|
He doesn't respond.
|
|
"Anything else?" Manny asks nonchalantly.
|
|
"Well... why'd you make fun of sororities? My girlfriend's in a sorority."
|
|
"She is not."
|
|
"Yes, she is."
|
|
"Fine. She is. There's gotta be 10,000 of them! You don't think that's a
|
|
bit trendy?"
|
|
"It takes responsibility to do what they do," I tell him.
|
|
"It takes money. How hard is it to spend their parents money? They do that
|
|
anyway."
|
|
"Service work is tough."
|
|
"So is changing the channel without a remote. I'd go insane."
|
|
"They have to."
|
|
"Why?"
|
|
I have to think about that one. "They just do."
|
|
"I see."
|
|
I have to ponder that channel thing for another minute.
|
|
"So you hate sororities?" I ask Manny.
|
|
"Yep."
|
|
"Why?"
|
|
"Follow the leader."
|
|
"It's more than that, Manny," I tell him.
|
|
"Follow the leader while the whole student population gapes at you."
|
|
"You have a problem with Greek life?" interjects Franz, a 200 lb., 6'6" frat
|
|
boy.
|
|
"No, Franz," Manny says.
|
|
Did I mention Franz is dating a 4'5" sorority girl?
|
|
"I didn't think so," growls Franz.
|
|
He goes back to studying a fast cars & alcohol magazine. I feel compelled to
|
|
tell him it's upside-down, but he was mean to Manny.
|
|
"And you hate religions because..."
|
|
"Love your brother," Manny shoots back. "Your brother swears, love him. Your
|
|
brother gets depressed, love him. Your brother rapes your sister, love him.
|
|
Pathetic."
|
|
"Love is wrong?"
|
|
"Unconditional love is wrong. That's why Barney sucks so hard."
|
|
"Barney is a good role model," says Brother George.
|
|
"I see," Manny says. "Bad acting is a good role model. I'll remember that."
|
|
"Anything else?" I ask.
|
|
"What did you have in mind?"
|
|
"If you could preach to the school one tidbit of this worldly knowledge of
|
|
yours, what would you say?"
|
|
Manny thinks for a second then says, "Three things: 1) Don't believe ANYthing
|
|
unless you've confirmed it with two of your five senses, 2) Don't argue how
|
|
bad society's morals are if you don't follow them yourselves, and 3) The
|
|
Constitution is more important than the Bible."
|
|
"I'm scared," George cuts in.
|
|
"Fuck you, George," Manny tells him.
|
|
"Don't talk -"
|
|
"I said, 'Fuck you, George.'"
|
|
He goes back to his work.
|
|
"You should write for the newspaper," I tell Manny.
|
|
"We have a newspaper?"
|
|
"Yeah. And a student council too."
|
|
"Oh. And what do they do?"
|
|
"I don't know."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you were a member of Congress.
|
|
But I repeat myself." Ä Mark Twain
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Melt Me
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
Encased in ice
|
|
Frozen, I stand still
|
|
Enduring sensory deprivation,
|
|
I feel no warmth.
|
|
Scarred and burned tissue -
|
|
Nerves twisted into knots,
|
|
Dead at the terminals...
|
|
Blocked out vision
|
|
Rejected song
|
|
Tastebuds dry...and depleted.
|
|
But - pumping inside,
|
|
Raging to escape,
|
|
Pounding and pleading -
|
|
To be let out...
|
|
To shed this winter coat
|
|
And emit, emanate - radiate!
|
|
|
|
But nothing will cooperate...
|
|
|
|
Try -
|
|
Not a lost cause...
|
|
Push -
|
|
Thickness is not infinite...
|
|
Pierce me open and thaw me out -
|
|
Please, all I ask
|
|
Is one pinprick to the heart.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Nothing Left To Lose
|
|
þ Slaanesh/Antigone
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
nothing left to lose
|
|
|
|
"FREE"--across the
|
|
top of the mirror.
|
|
|
|
I never see my reflection.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I dove off the stage, and suddenly, it was like my dress was being torn off
|
|
me, my underwear was being torn off me, people were putting their fingers
|
|
inside of me and grabbing my breasts really hard, screaming things in my ears
|
|
like 'pussy-whore-cunt'. When I got back onstage I was naked ... But the
|
|
worst thing of all was that I saw a photograph of it later - someone took a
|
|
picture of me right when this was happening, and I had this big smile on my
|
|
face like I was pretending it wasn't happening. So later I wrote a song
|
|
called 'Asking For It' based on the whole experience. I can't compare it to
|
|
rape because it's not the same. But in a way it was. I was raped by an
|
|
audience - figuratively, literally, and yet, was I asking for it?"
|
|
Ä Courtney Love
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Over And Over Again
|
|
þ Pat DiNizio
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
It was just yesterday
|
|
That I saw your face
|
|
Looking in my window
|
|
I can't recall the place we first met
|
|
It seems, but I guess that you know
|
|
|
|
Hadn't thought about it
|
|
For a long, long time
|
|
But still she's here inside me
|
|
Never off my mind
|
|
I try to hide it from you but you know
|
|
And I hear it over and over again
|
|
|
|
Do you recall the day
|
|
I first came your way
|
|
And I had to know you
|
|
When you stepped in the way
|
|
And I smiled at you
|
|
Though I never meant to
|
|
|
|
Hadn't thought about it
|
|
For a long, long time
|
|
But still she's here inside me
|
|
Never off my mind
|
|
I try to hide it from you but you know
|
|
And I hear it over and over again
|
|
|
|
You can talk about tomorrow
|
|
All your talkin' doesn't mean a thing
|
|
All our yesterdays are sorrow
|
|
Can't stop remembering
|
|
|
|
Hadn't thought about it
|
|
For a long, long time
|
|
But still she's here inside me
|
|
Never off my mind
|
|
I try to hide it from you but you know
|
|
And I hear it over and over again
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Better a pebble given out of love than a diamond given out of duty."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Pink Moon
|
|
þ Sunflower
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
Radiant sky, created by
|
|
The pink moon overhead
|
|
All dreams tainted, waters polluted
|
|
But in the core a well resides, so pure
|
|
|
|
As we get closer it runs away
|
|
But when we were distant, so easy to see
|
|
That which is sweet, sour one and the same
|
|
The real moon is camouflaged, by the blood-stains
|
|
|
|
What I know doubts itself
|
|
I may need some help
|
|
Trapped in the shadow of myself
|
|
Feeling like there's nothing left
|
|
|
|
Radiant sky, created by
|
|
The pink moon overhead
|
|
Hoping it will come soon
|
|
When the night from pink to white
|
|
Transforms the moon
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reel Around The Fountain
|
|
þ The Smiths
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
It's time the tale were told
|
|
of how you took a child
|
|
and you made him old
|
|
|
|
Reel around the fountain
|
|
slap me on the patio
|
|
I'll take it now
|
|
|
|
Fifteen minutes with you
|
|
well, I wouldn't say no
|
|
people said that you were virtually dead
|
|
and they were so wrong
|
|
|
|
Fifteen minutes with you
|
|
well, I wouldn't say no
|
|
people said that you were easily led
|
|
and they were half-right
|
|
|
|
I dreamt about you last night
|
|
and I fell out of bed twice
|
|
you can pin and mount me like a butterfly
|
|
but take me to the haven of your bed
|
|
was something that you never said
|
|
two lumps, please
|
|
you're the bee's knees
|
|
but so am I
|
|
|
|
Meet me at the fountain
|
|
shove me on the patio
|
|
I'll take it slowly
|
|
|
|
Fifteen minutes with you
|
|
oh I wouldn't say no
|
|
people see no worth in you
|
|
oh but I do
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Never apologize for showing feeling. When you do so, you apologize for
|
|
truth." Ä Benjamin Disraeli
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Someone Doesn't Want Me Here
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
[special thanks to courtney love for her lyrics]
|
|
|
|
waxen lips pallid skin upon the satiny soft pillow looking up through frozen
|
|
lids surrounded by flowers white lilies concentrate on the petals cards of
|
|
sympathy attached all the i'm sorrys and deepest sympathies can't look over
|
|
to her shut them out shut out the crying the screaming close your eyes
|
|
don't watch her collapse over him in such grief sobbing and asking why
|
|
shut it out shut it all out focus on nothingness block out the soft music
|
|
piano keys gently pressed into my fleshiness molding shaping denting squeezing
|
|
pounding on my heart lyrics swimming
|
|
|
|
-if you live through this with me i swear that i would die for you
|
|
|
|
no shut it out strength be strong now
|
|
|
|
-where is the baby who took my baby
|
|
|
|
the child wails as if he too knows the sorrow of the truth your daddy killed
|
|
himself he didn't love you or mommy enough felt the only way to rid of the
|
|
pain was to hand it over to others instead let it multiply make it worse
|
|
coward selfish jerk shut up don't think but you don't deserve such honor it's
|
|
not an option it's a killer and you killed them by killing yourself damn you
|
|
damn this wandering mind damn this annoying music like a mosquito buzzing in
|
|
my ear damn me i can't focus memories backwash regurgitating bile into my
|
|
mouth constricting cannot breathe frantic glances to all in black hugging
|
|
each other in support cannot stand it gonna scream gonna die gotta get on
|
|
out of this stuffy coffin fast as i can cannot forgive cannot forget anger
|
|
burning in my red hot tears searing my cheeks rage hurt empathy damn my
|
|
piscean self damn all those fucking cowards
|
|
|
|
-he said he'd never ever ever go away he said he'd always always he would
|
|
always stay
|
|
|
|
sense of failure though i had no clue no knowledge pangs of guilt wish i
|
|
could have known helped wish i could have done something want to be
|
|
all-knowing thrive on burdens survivors set examples hey you can live through
|
|
this so fuck you world you may have won this time but i will have the last
|
|
laugh been through hell know it well will triumph in the end i promise but
|
|
why save in this overpopulation to be superman feed me kryptonite will still
|
|
live fight him fight this widespread epidemic just fight but i still feel so
|
|
weak someone doesn't want me here
|
|
|
|
-i am the girl you know the one who should have died
|
|
|
|
fuck that
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"What is the victory of a cat on a hot tin roof? Just staying on it, I
|
|
guess, as long as she can..." Ä Tennessee Williams
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Take Me, Fuck Me, Wheel Me In
|
|
þ Ian I. Hu
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
don't leave me here alone
|
|
step down on my back
|
|
my hands are on my head
|
|
i'm down on my knees
|
|
|
|
you look at me and cry
|
|
i'm so pitiful in clay
|
|
|
|
i'm stuck here in this cold
|
|
i'm trembling on my own
|
|
you look at me and cry
|
|
i'm so sad in ecstacy
|
|
|
|
you wish it was enough
|
|
i don't know why i need
|
|
i don't know why i crave
|
|
i'm an addict
|
|
take me away
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"She's everybody else's girl; maybe someday she'll be her own..." Ä Tori Amos
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The Farmer's Serenade
|
|
þ C. Dianne Long
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
In a shiny shovel, you see my face
|
|
Reflecting the seed that you're afraid to be
|
|
Deep inside lies a stranger
|
|
Fetal positioned, filled with anger.
|
|
|
|
Dig away, break your ground
|
|
Turn over the soil upon me
|
|
So that I remain dirty and unseen
|
|
Only your shoes are left unclean.
|
|
|
|
Underneath years of cultivation
|
|
The seed you feared in you
|
|
Was buried, then grew inside of me
|
|
Harvest time is now, you see.
|
|
|
|
You've planted, you've tilled
|
|
A careful farmer you are
|
|
What a beautiful crop you've grown
|
|
A special gift, this seed you've sown.
|
|
|
|
An Indian gift, you might say
|
|
You gave to me but you take it away.
|
|
With this you have so much to learn
|
|
As the giftbearer, it is my turn.
|
|
|
|
I present to you, icy cold and black
|
|
In my heart, in my hand
|
|
A gift that you've always wanted
|
|
To aid your planting, yet leave you haunted.
|
|
|
|
Deafen me with your scream
|
|
Our secrets revealed
|
|
My gift in red, white and blue
|
|
In a note signed from me to you.
|
|
|
|
'To my friend, my farmer
|
|
My bitter enemy
|
|
This is my gift - your seed's demise'
|
|
Now, now, my sweet, don't look so surprised.
|
|
|
|
The paper will always be white, the ink blue
|
|
But the red will fade to brown
|
|
Like the ground you broke that bittersweet day
|
|
When a seedling was only a harvest away.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Undercurrent
|
|
þ C. Dianne Long
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
You drifted toward her
|
|
through a white foam cloud
|
|
I couldn't see if you were smiling
|
|
the murky water was too thick
|
|
but I longed to see a frown.
|
|
I squinted until crows feet appeared
|
|
the waves crashed and left
|
|
rings
|
|
All sealed with a kiss
|
|
I think I heard you call her dear.
|
|
|
|
The ceremony is over
|
|
I'm still choking on my objection
|
|
white, powdery and dry in my throat
|
|
warm saltwater doesn't ease the suffocation
|
|
Unless you're in the glass
|
|
Swimming toward me
|
|
my driftwood
|
|
lifebuoy
|
|
Eyes sparkling
|
|
through a cloudy sea.
|
|
|
|
You reach through the water
|
|
All I see is golden lead
|
|
Circling your finger
|
|
And hovering above your head
|
|
My saint of sorrow
|
|
You've killed my dreams
|
|
And swallowed my memories
|
|
Like an undercurrent
|
|
Pulling yesterday
|
|
from tomorrow.
|
|
|
|
Swim back, yellow-finned man
|
|
to your goldenfish
|
|
Waiting in the coral
|
|
Still dressed in white
|
|
You've circled long enough to be fed
|
|
the sun's gone down
|
|
the sharks are out
|
|
I'm alone
|
|
and
|
|
the water's red.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Unsevered Strings
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
Someone cut me free
|
|
Let me fly
|
|
Let me taste variety
|
|
Adventurous spirit trapped
|
|
In this cyclic monotony
|
|
What would I do
|
|
To run on frosted grass
|
|
With pink clouds against a bright blue sky
|
|
What I would do
|
|
To be set free
|
|
And dive into the cliffs
|
|
What would I do...
|
|
If someone cut me free
|
|
|
|
Deja vu
|
|
Isn't new
|
|
It's just reality
|
|
Can't escape
|
|
Can't fly free
|
|
Tangled...in these puppet strings
|
|
Of an age-old show
|
|
For all eternity
|
|
|
|
Someone set me free
|
|
Unlock the door
|
|
Let me flee this wire cage
|
|
Ravenous desire left to waste
|
|
Rotting in its entirety
|
|
What I would do
|
|
To surf clear blue swells
|
|
And fall one hundred stories
|
|
What I would do
|
|
To be set free
|
|
And die with thrill upon these lips
|
|
What would I do...
|
|
If someone set me free
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"A man who fears nothing is a man who loves nothing. And if you love
|
|
nothing, what joy is there in your life?" Ä 'King Arthur', _First Knight_
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Untitled
|
|
þ Stephen Lush
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
It's as we had to touch the night to see the day
|
|
it's not even closer to the inner walls of flame
|
|
dying closer to me
|
|
removing the leaves from the trees
|
|
embers of past, isn't it a blast?
|
|
lights in lines, smoothie ghetto rhymes
|
|
and you shouldn't even see
|
|
what's there for you isn't here for me
|
|
drawn blood like sponges with tongues
|
|
we're all cardboard surrounding a gift
|
|
takes time, you have to wave bye to time
|
|
the rifts in the walls appear
|
|
and you wonder where you thought it began
|
|
and the sands of nostalgia have open hands
|
|
whizzled and dizzled, faked and fizzled
|
|
baseline, out, the cheerleaders shout
|
|
do you know what you have to be?
|
|
will you taste the night for me?
|
|
the volume of the stars is eleven
|
|
and few have reached these gates of heaven
|
|
petty wordless sounds abound
|
|
the dark is the only time we can be the stars.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
When In The Dark
|
|
þ Mere Smith
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
when in the dark
|
|
i am not craving
|
|
a gaping mouth a
|
|
small tongue
|
|
|
|
twice look here
|
|
and give me your shy
|
|
quick glance off
|
|
at the intersection
|
|
|
|
when in the dark
|
|
i am not wanting
|
|
a body a bone a blanched
|
|
face in mine
|
|
|
|
shake once no
|
|
so i can prey you down
|
|
could you run a
|
|
little faster, please
|
|
i do not want to catch you
|
|
|
|
when in the dark
|
|
i am not waiting
|
|
the rain in my hair
|
|
darkening pillows
|
|
sliding into the cup
|
|
of my sideways ear
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"How can I be substantial if I fail to cast a shadow? I must also have a
|
|
dark side if I am to be whole." Ä C.J. Jung
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Wrote This For A Guy Named Jon
|
|
þ Patricia Gonzales/Alli
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
I gazed at a bare frame
|
|
This afternoon.
|
|
A lovely image arose from its glassy heart
|
|
A portrait of you.
|
|
|
|
Was a beautiful deception
|
|
While it stayed.
|
|
An infinite blitheful fantasy
|
|
That faded away.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
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 ùtwiù
|
|
|
|
Legalize.
|
|
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
Submit your original literary works for Spilled Ink, [volume nine], to
|
|
Twilight via Internet e-mail:
|
|
twilight@mail.utexas.edu
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|