3932 lines
182 KiB
Plaintext
3932 lines
182 KiB
Plaintext
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Sunlight Through The Shadows
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Volume I, Issue 3 Sept. 1, 1993
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Welcome........................................Joe DeRouen
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Editorial......................................Joe DeRouen
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Staff of STTS.............................................
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------------------ MONTHLY COLUMNS -----------------------
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Letters to the Editor.....................................
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Monthly Contest...........................................
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The Question & Answers Session............................
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Upcoming Issues & News (READ THIS!).......................
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------------------ FEATURE ARTICLES ----------------------
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From the Journals of..(pt.2)...................Gage Steele
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Safe Sex Is Within Your Grasp...............Jason Malandro
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This Retro Emotion - 48 Hr. Blast From Past....Gage Steele
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Freewill vs. Predestiny: An Essay..............Joe DeRouen
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ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ Advertisement-Channel 1 BBS
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---------------------- REVIEWS ---------------------------
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(Movie) Much Ado About Nothing...Bruce Diamond/Randy Shipp
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(Movie) The Fugitive.........................Bruce Diamond
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(Movie) Searching For Bobby Fisher...........Bruce Diamond
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(Music) Coming Up For Air/David Massengill.....Joe DeRouen
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(Music) Promises & Lies/UB40...............Heather DeRouen
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(Book) Replay/Ken Grimwood..................Jason Malandro
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(Book) Rising Sun/Michael Crichton.............Cindy McVey
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ÿ Advertisement-Relative Software
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---------------------- FICTION ---------------------------
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The Angel of Lies (Part 1 of 2)..............Bruce Diamond
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The Right of The People.......................Robert McKay
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The SysOp's Tale................................Karl Weiss
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Robin and The Eagle............................Wm. Whitney
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ÿ Advertisement-Talk Dallas BBS
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---------------------- POETRY ----------------------------
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And You Were There..................................Tamara
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Touch Me....................................Patricia Meeks
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The Look That Crashed.......................Michie Sidwell
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Laura...........................................Mark Mosko
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ÿ Advertisement-Exec-PC BBS
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------------------- INFORMATION --------------------------
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How to get STTS Magazine..................................
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Submission Information....................................
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Advertiser Information....................................
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Contact Points............................................
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Distribution Sites........................................
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Distribution Via Networks.................................
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Donating Prizes For The Monthly Contest...................
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End Notes......................................Joe DeRouen
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Sunlight Through The Shadows(tm) On-Line Magazine
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Sept. 1993
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ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
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ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
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LBC '92
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Welcome
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Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen
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All rights reserved
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Welcome to Sunlight Through The Shadows magazine! In this issue, as well
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as in the future, STTS will strive to bring you the best in fiction,
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poetry, reviews, article, and other assorted reading material.
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STTS Magazine has no general "theme" aside from good writing, innovative
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concepts, and the unique execution of those concepts.
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STTS wouldn't have been possible without the aid, support, and guidance
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of three women:
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Inez Harrison, publisher of Poetry In Motion newsletter. Her's was the
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first electronic magazine I ever laid eyes upon, and also the first such
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magazine to publish my work. She's given me advice, and, more
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importantly, inspiration.
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Lucia Chambers, publisher of Smoke & Mirrors Elec. Magazine and head of
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Pen & Brush Network. She gave me advice on running a magazine,
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encouragement, and hints as to the kind of people to look for in
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writers.
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Heather DeRouen, my wife. Listed last here, but always first in my
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heart. She's proofread manuscripts, inspired me, listened to me, and,
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most importantly, loved me. Never could I find a better woman to live
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life by my side, nor a better friend.
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Now that that's said and done... Again, welcome to Sunlight Through The
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Shadows Magazine! I hope you enjoy it.
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Joe DeRouen
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STTS Editorial
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Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen
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All rights reserved
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Robert McKay's story THE RIGHT OF THE PEOPLE appears in this issue of
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Sunlight Through The Shadows magazine. If I'd followed my first impulse,
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it probably wouldn't have.
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I won't spoil the story for you, but suffice it to say that it contains
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a political message that I disagree with. The piece is well-written (as
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his work usually is) and deserving of publication.
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All of my life, I've fought censorship. When Playboy was banned from
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7-11 in the eighties, I was among the first to cry out. When Tipper Gore
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started the record labeling bit, I was against it.
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Censorship is a scary thing, especially when you realize that you
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yourself are just as capable of censoring as the next guy.
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I'm no better than those people who banned the Playboy magazines from
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7-11. I could be just like them, if I let myself. We all could.
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We can't do that. When we feel ourselves starting to, we must reevaluate
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the situation and decide if it's worth quelling someone else's voice in
|
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order to appease our own sense of morals or sensibilities. Nine out of
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ten times, it isn't.
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That doesn't mean that STTS is going to become the Voice of the Banned,
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||
or any such thing. For instance, you'll never find pornography or even
|
||
the proverbial "F word" within these electronic pages. We're trying to
|
||
reach the largest audience possible with STTS, and a lot of kids out
|
||
there are going to be reading the magazine. It won't appear within STTS,
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||
but I'll fight for the rights of anyone else who chooses to carry it.
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Robert McKay's THE RIGHT OF THE PEOPLE, however, will. I don't share his
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political views (at least on this one point), but it's a damn fine story.
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Quality and originality will win out every time, over censorship.
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So what're you waiting for? Go read his story. <Grin>
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Joe DeRouen, Aug. 23rd 1993
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The Staff and Contributing Writers of Sunlight Through The Shadows
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------------------------------------------------------------------
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The Staff
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---------
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Joe DeRouen............................Publisher, Editor, Fiction
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Heather DeRouen........................Music Reviews
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Bruce Diamond..........................Movie Reviews, fiction
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Jason Malandro.........................Book Reviews
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Randy Shipp............................Movie Reviews
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Gage Steele............................Feature Article
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Tamara.................................House Poet
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Joe DeRouen publishes, edits, and writes for STTS magazine. He's had
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poetry and fiction published in several on-line magazines and a few
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paper publications as well. He's written exactly 1.5 novels, none of
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which, alas, have seen the light of publication. He attends college
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part-time in search of that always-elusive english degree. In his
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spare time, he enjoys reading, running his BBS, collecting music,
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playing with his five cats, singing opera, hunting pseudopods, and
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||
most importantly spending time with his beautiful wife Heather.
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Heather DeRouen writes software for the healthcare industry, CoSysOps
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Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS, enjoys playing with her five cats,
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cross-stitching, and reading. Most of all, she enjoys spending time
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with her dapper, charming, witty, and handsome (not to mention modest)
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husband Joe. Heather's help towards editing and proofreading this
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magazine has been immeasurable.
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Bruce Diamond, part-time pseudopod and ruler of a small island chain
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||
off the coast of Chil‚, spends his time imitating desk lamps when he
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||
isn't watching and critiquing movies for LIGHTS OUT, his BBS movie
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review publication (now syndicated to over 15 boards). Bruce started
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||
reviewing movies for profit in 1978, as part of a science fiction
|
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opinion column he authored for THE BUYER'S GUIDE FOR COMICS FANDOM
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(now called THE COMICS BUYER'S GUIDE). LIGHTS OUT, now a year old, is
|
||
available through Bruce's distributor, Jay Gaines' BBS AMERICA
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(214-994-0093). Bruce is a freelance writer and video producer in the
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Dallas/Fort Worth area.
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||
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Jason Malandro resides in Dallas, Texas, and has for most of his 24
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||
years on Earth. He enjoys reading, writing, bowling, fencing, and
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||
several other unrelated activities. Jason works in the publishing
|
||
industry and runs a successful florist business part-time. Single, he
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||
shares his apartment with Ralphie, his pet iguana.
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||
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||
Randy Shipp is a sometimes-writer who specializes in half-finished
|
||
works, an idea he decided was chic and the sign of genius after
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||
hearing about some unfinished symphony. The generous offer from Bruce
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||
Diamond to join him in publishing (plus free movie passes!) led Randy
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||
to take up movie criticism. When he's not picking movies apart, he's
|
||
showing conservative political thinkers the error of their ways,
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||
reading, or playing bass or the guitar (depending on the day of the
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||
week) He occasionally works selling computers, too. When he grows up,
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||
he expects to teach high school history.
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||
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Gage Steele, illegitimate love child of Elvis Presley and Madonna, has
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||
been calling BBS's since the early seventies. Having aspired to write
|
||
for an electronic magazine all her life, Gage is now living the
|
||
American dream. Aged somewhere between 21 and 43, she plans to
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||
eventually get an english degree and teach foreign children not to
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dangle their participles.
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||
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||
There is very little known about Tamara, and she prefers to let it
|
||
remain that way. She's a woman of mystery and prefers to remain hidden
|
||
in the shadows of the BBS world. (Actually, I still haven't gotten her
|
||
profile. But it sounds much more enigmatic this way, don't you think?)
|
||
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Contributing Writers
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--------------------
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Lucia Chambers.........................Cover art
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||
Robert McKay...........................Fiction
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Patricia Meeks.........................Poetry
|
||
Mark Mosko.............................Poetry
|
||
Michie Sidwell.........................Poetry
|
||
Karl Weiss.............................Fiction
|
||
Wm. Whitney............................Fiction
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Lucia Chambers, thirty-something, shares SysOp duties of Pen & Brush
|
||
BBS with her husband John. Aside from running a BBS and a network of
|
||
the same name, Lucia publishes Smoke & Mirrors, an on-line/elec.
|
||
magazine which features fiction, poetry, and recipes. She works as a
|
||
consultant in the Washington D.C. area and also writes for a living.
|
||
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Born in Hawthorne, Ca., (but currently residing in Oklahoma) Robert
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McKay's been writing since he was a teenager. Only recently, however,
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||
did he began to seriously try to sell his stories. Robert recently
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signed the contracts to have his first two science fiction novels
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published on disk. Hopefully, this is merely the prelude to bigger and
|
||
better things. (of course it is, Robert. You got published here,
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didn't you? <grin> -Ed.)
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Considering herself a "closet writer" Tricia Meeks has spent most of
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her life writing stories and poetry that no one ever sees ...until
|
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now! Inspired by her friends, she has finally screwed together her
|
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courage and let her poetry be exposed to the public realm. Outside of
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writing, Tricia is a professional psychic, sings at Karaoke Clubs and
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has dance for 20 years of her life. Her other interests include
|
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camping, karate, reading, playing the keyboard occassionally, BBSing,
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||
working in finance, and spending time with her dog and cat, Ringo &
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B.J. and riding her horse Sudanna in Waxahachie. She is single and
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||
has lived in Dallas all her life.
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Wm. Whitney, Executive Publisher for CEL\e Productions, produces
|
||
unique e-pubs for the mass market. A former small press publisher,
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||
author, magazine journalist and overall iconoclast, his reporting from
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||
Planet Earth struggles to achieve intersteller proportions through the
|
||
electronic medium.
|
||
|
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ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
|
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³ ÃÄ¿
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³ Monthly Columns ³ ³
|
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³ ³ ³
|
||
ÀÄÂÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ³
|
||
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
|
||
|
||
|
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|
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|
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|
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Letters To The Editor
|
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Send any and all comments you have concerning STTS Magazine to Joe
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DeRouen, via any of the routes covered under CONTACT POINTS, listed
|
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elsewhere in this magazine.
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Now, on to a few letters...
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Joe,
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Just a note to let you know I received Sunlight Through The Shadows.
|
||
Your magazine is now setup for online reading and downloading. You may
|
||
list this BBS as one of your sources. So Please put us on your monthly
|
||
list to receive the file.
|
||
|
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By the way, you have done a nice job, looks really good. Good Luck with
|
||
your endeavor!
|
||
|
||
Dick Roosa
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Dick Roosa, SysOp
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The Badger's "BYTE"
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(402) 376-3120
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Dear STTS,
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The second issue was even better than the first! Keep up the good
|
||
work! About the only suggestion I can offer is to include more
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feature articles. (Check out this issue! -JD)
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Sincerely,
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||
Mark Lemmon
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Mark Lemmon
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Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS
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|
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Sunlight Through The Shadows Monthly Contest
|
||
--------------------------------------------
|
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** READ THIS **
|
||
|
||
We've changed the rules! <Grin> No longer will the Monthly Prize
|
||
Giveaway be a monthly prize giveaway. It's now an actual contest,
|
||
with the winner receiving whatever prize is offered for the month.
|
||
(If there's two prizes, the runner-up will receive the second
|
||
prize)
|
||
|
||
|
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RULES
|
||
-----
|
||
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||
The contest will be a writing contest, and the rules are as
|
||
follows:
|
||
|
||
Write a story (any genre) or a poem using the title: "The Hat, the
|
||
Hatchet, and the Sperm Bank". (the title will change every month) The
|
||
best story or poem wins.
|
||
|
||
Entrants should be received by me by the 28th of September, 1993.
|
||
|
||
The winner's story will go in the Halloween (October) issue. Hint: The
|
||
Oct. issue will be a "Halloween theme" issue. Horror entries will have
|
||
a better chance of winning this month.
|
||
|
||
|
||
HOW TO ENTER
|
||
------------
|
||
|
||
To enter, send me your story or poem along w/ a small bio (one
|
||
paragraph or less) of yourself and how to contact you via one of
|
||
the following avenues:
|
||
|
||
My BBS: (214) 620-8793 (1200 baud - 14,400 baud)
|
||
|
||
PCRelay/RIME ->5320 (a routed, private message in the Common conference)
|
||
|
||
InterNet: joe.derouen@chrysalis.org
|
||
|
||
Pen & Brush Network ->5320 (a routed, private message in any conference)
|
||
|
||
FIDO 1:124/8010
|
||
|
||
WME Network - Net Chat, Poetry & Prose
|
||
|
||
|
||
If all else fails, send a disk containing your entry in
|
||
pure ASCII to:
|
||
|
||
Joe DeRouen
|
||
14232 Marsh Ln. # 51
|
||
Dallas, Tx. 75234
|
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|
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|
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PRIZE
|
||
-----
|
||
|
||
Each month, STTS magazine will be giving away at least one prize. The
|
||
prizes will range from registered versions of popular shareware
|
||
packages to Compact Discs, to a year subscription (via a disk mailed
|
||
to you) to STTS On-Line! In other words, you never know what we'll be
|
||
giving away next!
|
||
|
||
If the prize is shareware/software, unless otherwise noted, the
|
||
versions available will be IBM compatible only. If another version
|
||
is available, we'll make a note of that and ask you to let us know
|
||
what system you have.
|
||
|
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WINNER FOR AUGUST
|
||
|
||
Josh Ribbons of The Dowles, Oregon won Cineplay's commercial game
|
||
FREE DC! He registered via the US Mail service.
|
||
|
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|
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PRIZE FOR SEPTEMBER
|
||
|
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September's prize (to be sent out sometime shortly after Oct. 1st) is
|
||
Cineplay's VGA/Soundblaster commercial game FREE DC! (We had two
|
||
copies, so this month's prize duplicates last months)
|
||
|
||
|
||
FREE DC!
|
||
|
||
In this Cineplay adventure, you'll battle dangerous robots, laugh at
|
||
the antics of your sidekick Wattson and comb the jungle for a
|
||
mysterious gadget that holds the key to the survival of the last
|
||
eight humans on Earth.
|
||
|
||
FREE DC! features lifelike cinematic images and origial stereo
|
||
soundtrack, action packed story by a professional screenwriter,
|
||
live actors and claymation characters from the creator of the
|
||
California Raisins, Point-and-click control, and much more!
|
||
|
||
|
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|
||
Question and Answers
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
Each month, we'll ask a (hopefully) interesting question to users on
|
||
various nets and BBS's across the world and include the best answers
|
||
we get in this column.
|
||
|
||
The question we asked for this month was: "If you could have one wish,
|
||
what would you wish for and why?"
|
||
|
||
This age-old question was met by a lot of wishes for more wishes (I
|
||
expected that) but also more than a few interesting, insightful
|
||
answers. And maybe even one or two just plain strange ones. <Grin>
|
||
|
||
The messages are reproduced here in their entirety (minus quoting),
|
||
with the permission of the people involved.
|
||
|
||
|
||
========================================================================
|
||
<PUBLIC><ECHO><RECEIVED>
|
||
Number : 15104 of 15533 Date : 08/25/93 16:31
|
||
Reply To: 14191
|
||
Confer : Writers <RIME>
|
||
From : Valerie Patterson
|
||
To : Joe Derouen
|
||
Subject : Re: Wishes..
|
||
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
||
|
||
If I had one wish I would sincerely and earnestly wish for world peace.
|
||
I know this is an old over used answer to an age old question, but it
|
||
truly would be my wish. I'm fairly young (in my twenties) and married
|
||
for a short time. Eventually I would like to have children, but I can't
|
||
help wondering what would be left for my children to grow old in. When
|
||
we were warring over in the gulf I cried many evenings over the news.
|
||
I'm frightened at the thought of my old age and my children's lives.
|
||
Each day brings more and more violence, even more hatred for "different"
|
||
folk. I can't help thinking we're a world about to self-destruct. We
|
||
live in a "throw-away" society, perhaps we're throwing away our
|
||
children's futures? Perhaps wishing for world peace is better left to
|
||
children who are still shielded from the harsh realities of life and of
|
||
war. But, I feel compelled to point out our children know more about
|
||
world hate than we know. Yes, I'd wish for peace, if not for my sake,
|
||
than for the sake all children, born and unborn.
|
||
|
||
I hope this is along the lines of what you wanted. I'm sorry it wasn't
|
||
sent privately, but I'm still learning this BBS stuff and I'm not quite
|
||
sure how to do that. At any rate, here it is... -Valerie-
|
||
|
||
|
||
... Reality-ometer: [\........] Hmmph! Thought so...
|
||
___ Blue Wave/QWK v2.12
|
||
---
|
||
* The NutHouse BBS Waynesburg , PA. * (412)852-2847 Zoom v.32bis
|
||
* PostLink(tm) v1.07 NUTHOUSE (#5303) : RelayNet(tm)
|
||
|
||
========================================================================
|
||
|
||
* * *
|
||
|
||
========================================================================
|
||
<PRIVATE><ECHO><RECEIVED>
|
||
Number : 15105 of 15534 Date : 08/26/93 00:30
|
||
Reply To: 14191
|
||
Confer : Writers <RIME>
|
||
From : Aaron Turpen
|
||
To : Joe Derouen
|
||
Subject : Wishes..
|
||
------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
||
|
||
That's harder to answer than it seems. I think, however, that I'd wish
|
||
to be made into a Terminator(R)(TM)(etc.)-like robot with my brain/mind
|
||
intact. This seems stupid and childish, but think of all the problems
|
||
that'd be solved:
|
||
|
||
1) I'd be bigger, stronger, and buffer than everyone else.
|
||
2) I'd talk with a nift accent.
|
||
3) I wouldn't have to worry about walking out on the street and getting shot
|
||
because my clothes are a certain color or my hand moved the wrong way.
|
||
4) I'd have no use for a car. I could just run wherever I wanted to be (how
|
||
CHEAP!)
|
||
5) I wouldn't ever get tired from working, playing, or whatever. Plus there
|
||
wouldn't be a need for sleep.
|
||
6) It would be cool.
|
||
|
||
So that's what I'd wish.
|
||
|
||
--Thanatos (I was intrigued and had to answer.)
|
||
|
||
|
||
___ Blue Wave/QWK v2.12
|
||
---
|
||
* The Brass Cannon, Orem, Utah, (801)226-8310
|
||
* PostLink(tm) v1.07 BRASS (#1126) : RelayNet(tm)
|
||
|
||
========================================================================
|
||
|
||
|
||
We didn't start this column until well into the Sept. issue, so not too
|
||
many people had a chance to respond. Hopefully, next issue will be
|
||
different.
|
||
|
||
It's probably fair that I answer my own question, thus I'll do so right
|
||
now, then bid you adieu until next month.
|
||
|
||
If I had one wish, my wish would be that everyone in the universe,
|
||
including myself, got what they most desired in all the world with the
|
||
one restriction on that desire being that it couldn't hurt anyone else,
|
||
infringe upon their rights, or make them unhappy.
|
||
|
||
Thanks for reading QUESTION AND ANSWERS, and I hope you'll stick with us
|
||
until next month!
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Upcoming Issues & News
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
ADDITIONS TO THIS ISSUE...
|
||
|
||
The Monthly Contest has changed! Instead of a prize giveaway, it
|
||
involves an actual contest. Read that section of the magazine for
|
||
further details.
|
||
|
||
We've added two new monthly columns, one of which you're reading right
|
||
now. The other is QUESTION AND ANSWERS, a new monthly feature in which
|
||
we ask a (hopefully) interesting question and include various answers
|
||
to that question. Each month's question will always be posted in the
|
||
STTS Magazine Conference (# 6) on STTS BBS, as well as in various
|
||
conferences in Pen&Brush Net, RIME, Usenet, WME, FIDO, and PlanoNet.
|
||
|
||
|
||
OCTOBER...
|
||
|
||
October's STTS Magazine will be the special Halloween issue. In
|
||
particular, we're looking for submissions of good horror fiction,
|
||
poetry, and maybe even an article or two on the true origins of
|
||
halloween, fears, or what have you. "Horrorific" ANSI artwork would also
|
||
have a good chance of getting published. Reviews of horror novels are
|
||
also in demand.
|
||
|
||
|
||
FUTURE ISSUES...
|
||
|
||
Look for a round robin/continuing story soon, as well as more feature
|
||
articles, and more "theme issues".
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
|
||
³ ÃÄ¿
|
||
³ Feature Articles ³ ³
|
||
³ ³ ³
|
||
ÀÄÂÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ³
|
||
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
From The Journal Of..
|
||
(c) 1993, Gage Steele
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"From The Journal Of..." Part Two
|
||
|
||
When I logged onto JEannie, my first thought was that it was some sort
|
||
of "no frills" service. To be quite honest, I absolutely hated the place.
|
||
Until then, I'd been suckled and shielded by a system that was illiterate-
|
||
safe. JEannie didn't have pretty pictures and graphic menus; The people
|
||
that used the message bases seemed to REALLY know what they were doing, as
|
||
far as computing went, too. And although I'd told my fellow refugees that
|
||
I wouldn't dare break the boycott, I kept my Paragon account active for
|
||
many months. The people that had bailed the big P with me had set up
|
||
message areas and email chains for us. They were highly trafficked places,
|
||
full of notes reeking of relief at having gotten away from Paragon. I
|
||
participated in a good lot of those, but... JEannie wasn't what I'd hoped it
|
||
would be. Maybe it was just the vast difference between the two systems
|
||
that turned me cold. It was so much harder, too, that I was always getting
|
||
lost somewhere in a back alley of the system. I'd never thought of myself
|
||
as an idiot before, but for that very reason I began to seriously consider
|
||
canceling my JEannie account. Maybe this Teleco stuff just wasn't for me.
|
||
One afternoon, while doing my usual "let's press every last button
|
||
and see what the screen says," I wound up at a prompt that said:
|
||
|
||
Job: 37
|
||
Handle of <GAGE> will be used.
|
||
Ok <Y/N>?
|
||
|
||
and no matter what answer I chose, it kept trying to shove me forward.
|
||
Into what, I wasn't sure yet. Telling the prompt "No" only caused the
|
||
system to ask me for a new name to use. I felt like screaming at the
|
||
monitor "No, I like my name just fine, thank you. Let me out of here!"
|
||
Finally, out of frustration, I said "Yes." What I saw next made no sense
|
||
at all. It looked something like this:
|
||
|
||
Cha/Use Cha/Use Cha/Use
|
||
1 6 2 3 5 2
|
||
13 1 24 5 25 11
|
||
|
||
and so on. I really thought that I'd finally, out of not paying attention
|
||
to the menus and hitting the keys arbitrarily, broken something. It
|
||
looked Greek to me, so I pulled the plug on the modem. The "NO CARRIER"
|
||
message that greeted me was a welcome one.
|
||
A few nights later, I found my way to that set of screens again.
|
||
This time, I actually read the choices thoroughly. The corner of JEannie
|
||
that I'd managed to wander into was called Chatlines. It sounded
|
||
interesting. I was curious, more than anything, to see people typing
|
||
realtime - something Paragon didn't, and still doesn't, have. However,
|
||
from my experience on the JEannie bb's (being called "a lamer newbie, groan,"
|
||
and the feeling that no-one really cared if I found my way around or not),
|
||
I figured I'd better learn the new area alone.
|
||
There was an option on the Chat menu for entering the "test"
|
||
chatlines. All of the infofiles said that "test" was a good place for new
|
||
users ("newbies!" Ah, that's where they got that!) to learn the commands
|
||
without too much else going on around them. It sounded like this "test"
|
||
place wasn't used much, so I tapped in the corresponding number and was
|
||
booted into it.
|
||
When I felt I was ready to graduate to the real chatlines, I made
|
||
sure I had the list of commands printed out and taped to the side of the
|
||
monitor, along with notebook on the desk beside me with "cheat sheet" type
|
||
definitions of "chat slang" in it. You see, I never was a chatlines
|
||
"newbie" in public. The crap I'd been dealt in the email groups and
|
||
message bases was enough to show me that new users weren't worth these
|
||
"elitists'" time.
|
||
Chat was full of lonely people with nothing better to do but login
|
||
12 hours a night, talking with people they'd never met about decidedly
|
||
personal things. I found quickly that the majority of them were grossly
|
||
overweight, sexually inexperienced, socially inactive, and they read a lot.
|
||
I know, I know, that's a terrible generality to make. I'm a horrible
|
||
person for saying it, but it's true. I'd rather be an honest bitch than
|
||
sycophantically glorify something, you know? Also, the people in the
|
||
chatlines were not quite like the people in the message bases. Although
|
||
they seemed to loathe "newbies" just the same, they knew very little
|
||
about computers. Dialing a modem and being able to recite chat commands
|
||
was about where their expertise stopped - brakes locked, tyres squealing,
|
||
no ABS, no airbag.
|
||
About 15% of the people were staff. They ran games like trivia,
|
||
word scramble, and Dungeons & Dragons. Many sat around each evening as
|
||
acting chat helpers, greeting the new ones that stumbled in (That made me
|
||
feel better. It seemed that most of chat's dogmatic supporters bumped
|
||
into it just as I had - by error). The staff were nice enough when you
|
||
had a question, but they were among the most "cliquish" bunch I ever typed
|
||
at. Groups of staffers clung together, be it during games or help time,
|
||
it seemed to make no difference. I also noticed that not ALL staff were
|
||
part of the same clique. At the time, I didn't know exactly why, so
|
||
chalked it up to basic personality conflicts.
|
||
I'm not sure what order this should go in, so I'll come back to the
|
||
staff stuff later. It's sort of a long story all by itself. Right now,
|
||
though, I want to tell you about someone specific. I think it's important
|
||
that you hear about her. Now, what I'm going to tell you is going to be
|
||
very hard to believe (don't worry, I had trouble "buying" it, too), but
|
||
trust me on this one. I did my research.
|
||
Even though it had its downside, I was learning the system and the
|
||
concept of chatlines still held my curiosity. That strange notion of
|
||
people seeking affection and interaction through a screen and keyboard had
|
||
me poking and prodding even more. Mostly, I logged into chatlines on
|
||
nights like... like the odd Wednesday when there was nothing much on TV
|
||
and nowhere else to hang out. I liked to play the TSR Dungeons & Dragons
|
||
games and thus became known as "one of those RPGers" (translation: "one of
|
||
those role playing gamers"). I guess I joined in those things because it
|
||
was a lot like a round-robin story. You know what I mean; Everyone did
|
||
those in school, at one time or other. We had a general "world" with
|
||
"laws" and characters that lived there and did stuff. Sound like a soap
|
||
opera? Yep, those are close cousins of the online games I played. Oh,
|
||
well, it was creative and fun. That was where I met up with Eidolon.
|
||
Now, Eidolon was her customised JEannie id (or rather, the one I've
|
||
assumed for her. The real one was just as arcane), but she went by many
|
||
nicknames. I guess that is why I have always referred to her as Eidolon;
|
||
It was easier than guessing who she was at any given moment. You see,
|
||
Eidolon has Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD). Now, don't get lost in
|
||
Sybilisms. Come back here a minute and listen - you might learn
|
||
something, like I did.
|
||
At first, I thought Eidolon was like any other of us playing the D&D.
|
||
The only "oddity" I'd found was that she very much enjoyed playing various
|
||
characters, and changing her nickname the the time; I figured was she was
|
||
another creative lost soul (or a Gemini, you pick). However, when the
|
||
staff began banning Eidolon from the games, I naturally demanded an
|
||
explanation. I never got the full story, but I have since been able to
|
||
piece together a skeleton tale.
|
||
They told me she was female, maybe 25 years-old, and was a Multiple.
|
||
She had grown up in some slummy neighbourhood. Her parents had locked her
|
||
in wire cages and stuff from the time she could talk. The core
|
||
personality, they said, was a toddler child that was never allowed "out"
|
||
by the rest of the facets, for fear that she'd be hurt again. Eidolon had
|
||
been in the modem world since any of the oldest old-timers could recall,
|
||
telling me they knew her from the defunct Q-Link service, as well as the
|
||
first days of JEannie itself. They'd sort of patted her on the head and
|
||
ignored most of her (what they called) antics and disruptive behaviour.
|
||
You see, not all of Eidolon's personalities were "nice." I later learned
|
||
(I took two Psychology classes and interviewed a psychiatrist because of
|
||
this girl) what each of the personalities' functions were and WHY they
|
||
acted the various ways they did. Some of them, for very real reasons,
|
||
were nasty, acid-mouthed little curs.
|
||
But, before all the classes and the learning, I was stuck with my
|
||
helper/fixer self and angrily questioning why the staff and players
|
||
didn't seem to care. Here they were telling me these childhood horrors,
|
||
but not one of them said "And I wish I could help her." No, they said
|
||
"And I wish she'd just go away. Be mentally ill someplace else." I
|
||
couldn't very well tell them how I felt, though. Well, that's a cop-out.
|
||
I could have and should have, but I didn't for fear of being outcast from
|
||
the games. The first thing I did do, however, was get her reinstated in
|
||
the RPGs, agreeing to be the one held responsible if she got out of control.
|
||
Eidolon got out of control pretty often, but I tried to be there on
|
||
the nights that I knew she might play, hoping to keep the pseudo-peace
|
||
treaty intact. Always, it began with her making some violent action and
|
||
ended with me receiving a string of private messages ordering me to get her
|
||
out of the game. So, Eidolon and I would go play elsewhere, by ourselves.
|
||
She seemed to enjoy the attention - who wouldn't? Anyway, it made me
|
||
realise that the people running the D&D were anal retentive when it came to
|
||
the "storylines" of their games; Spontaneity nearly always met with icey
|
||
ostracism where they were concerned. I didn't mind Eidolon's outbursts.
|
||
Hell, I don't know if I did the right thing or not, but if "biting" or
|
||
"whipping" a character of mine allowed her to vent some anger... I always
|
||
excused with "At least she isn't doing this in real life." I know parts of
|
||
her knew that, too.
|
||
No, this didn't all happen over night. The chapters of her
|
||
background were unfolded to me over many, many months. To this day, I
|
||
occasionally hear something more about her, as well as her disorder.
|
||
Slowly, I made friends with 7 of 19 facets that I encountered. All 7 were
|
||
fully formed, not mere splinters, and two were... hmm, how can I put this
|
||
without getting all shrink-zoid on you... two were big dudes/dudettes on
|
||
campus, real aggressive types, loaded with memouries of the past.
|
||
I remember when I registered for the intro to Psych. course, the
|
||
counselor looked down at my newly declared Major in English and gave me
|
||
this funny-ass look. I got that same look from the psychiatrist I
|
||
consulted on numerous occasions. I think they both thought I was nuts;
|
||
The first for studying something so unrelated to English that I must be
|
||
whacko, the latter, well, at first he thought "my friend with MPD" was me.
|
||
A lot of people shy away from stuff like this, often backing away from me
|
||
in bookstores when I asked for the latest release on the subject. It
|
||
echoed the emotionless attitude of the JEannie-ites. I still don't
|
||
understand it.
|
||
I never assumed the role of a shrink around Eidolon. That would have
|
||
been a major disservice to her. I did, though, keep her from lying to
|
||
herself and hurting herself and those around her. I needed the classes to
|
||
know how to do that without hurting her, or "screwing her up more." Many
|
||
of her personalities hated me with passions unknown. I took strength from
|
||
that, as dippy as that might sound. If they absolutely HATED me, I must
|
||
have been doing something right. Afterall, any emotion, be it love or
|
||
hate or whatever, denotes caring on some level. I reminded myself of that
|
||
every time one of them invited me to blow myself and die.
|
||
Today, Eidolon is in therapy. 4 of the personalities that I knew are
|
||
referred to as "dead," but I read that to mean that they're either no
|
||
longer needed or have been absorbed by others, maybe a little of both. I
|
||
don't get to chat with Eidolon much anymore. Things are tough inside of
|
||
her. The "Demon" is out most of the time. I know who that is: The one
|
||
that threatens to kill the body should all the memouries resurface. It
|
||
means she's close.
|
||
|
||
I feel good thinking about that.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Safe Sex Is Within Your Grasp
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Jason Malandro
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
"I take your throbbing member into my hot, wet mouth. Ohhhh! I begin to
|
||
suck and lick, making you harder, as I grow with excitement."
|
||
|
||
Since when has fantasy been safe? Since the invent of the personal computer
|
||
and, more to the point, computer sex.
|
||
|
||
As communication technology grows and the need for personal contact
|
||
diminishes, so does the need for personal involvement. Why risk rejection -
|
||
let alone potentially deadly diseases such as aids - when sexual
|
||
satisfaction is only a carrier signal away?
|
||
|
||
Computer sex (hot chatting, modem sex, or a host of other colorful
|
||
euphemisms) is, by the most basic definition, intercourse with a
|
||
computer. Reality isn't that different. Two computer users,
|
||
calling into a BBS by use of the modem, engage in on-line chat and
|
||
trade sexually stimulating stories or explicit sexual descriptions.
|
||
|
||
Computer sex is the ultimate in erotic isolation, even more so than phone
|
||
sex. With the merging of the modem with the libido, there's no longer even
|
||
the need to hear your partner's voice.
|
||
|
||
Anonymity protects us from the harsh realities of the real world, giving us
|
||
haven from life's risks. How else could you experience the pleasures
|
||
of several different sexual partners without having to risk real emotional
|
||
involvement and possible heartbreak? Feeling sexually frustrated? Relief
|
||
is but a modem call away.
|
||
|
||
Safe for the body, to be sure. But safe for the mind? Not necessarily.
|
||
|
||
As we move closer and closer towards a simulated love life - virtual
|
||
reality sex, interactive television, holodecks - we move further and
|
||
further away from the real gains of a sexual relationship; intimacy.
|
||
|
||
With lessened emotional risks (and certainly no physical risks at all)
|
||
comes an equally lessened chance for emotional gain. Relationships
|
||
made so quickly can be broken as easily, with nothing left but the memory
|
||
of simulated orgasms and imaginary love.
|
||
|
||
Morals aren't even a question. We all have a set of morals and
|
||
principles which we either live by or find new and inventive ways to
|
||
slip around. Computer sex isn't amoral, evil, or bad. It's deceptive.
|
||
There is so much more to life. Why settle for a simulated relationship
|
||
when, with hard work and compromise, you can have the real thing?
|
||
|
||
Again, simulated sex isn't evil. Nor is it good. It isn't right and it
|
||
isn't wrong. It's exactly what you make it. If you're going to do it, be
|
||
well aware of exactly what you're getting yourself into. Fantasy isn't
|
||
necessarily safe anymore.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
This Retro Emotion - 48 Hour Blast from the Past
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Gage Steele
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
I wouldn't be surprised if tomorrow the news reports informed us
|
||
that humanity had begun to devolve. What is it with this retro thing,
|
||
anyway? On every street corner, in every department store, and on
|
||
every radio station, all I see and all I hear is the past revisited.
|
||
When the bellbottoms hit Macy's a few months ago, I cackled and said,
|
||
"The fashion mucky-mucks must be sitting somewhere laughing at all the
|
||
idiots they actually got to buy this crap." Then, when old farts like
|
||
Duran Duran got it in their minds to make that ever-so hip comeback, I
|
||
smirked, and again wondered who in the world was stuck so far in the
|
||
past to financially support them.
|
||
So, I'm a bit cynical. Duran Duran, clad in bells no less, disco-
|
||
disco up the charts and across the nation as I write.
|
||
I was going to attend the Duran show at Concord Pavilion this
|
||
August, but couldn't bring myself to purchase a ticket. Let's think
|
||
about Elvis for a second. You know how you remember Elvis. In the
|
||
words of Denis Leary, "You remember him fat, hairy, and on the can.
|
||
His final piece of kingly evidence floating in the toilet." I didn't
|
||
want to ruin my tainted, misty memouries of the Duran boys by forcing
|
||
myself to watch them, wrinkled, vocal chords shot, hopelessly clinging
|
||
to a time gone by. Can you blame me?
|
||
Alas, curiosity got the better of me. I decided to interview a
|
||
girl friend of mine who did go see them play. So, giggling like the
|
||
teenager I once was, I got the poopscoop on Simon, Nick, John, and
|
||
Warren.
|
||
|
||
|
||
GAGE STEELE: Kelly, I've been trying to call you for days. How was
|
||
the show?
|
||
KELLY WILSON: You're never gonna believe where I've been. I feel like
|
||
such a dork. Oh, my God.
|
||
GS: What? You didn't get in?
|
||
KW: No, I did. They played. They sang. It was chill. But what
|
||
happened to us [she and a friend, Jim, went together] AFTER the
|
||
concert is way more interesting.
|
||
GS: Oh? What happened?
|
||
KW: It's kind of a long story.
|
||
GS: That's okay. This is a 100 minute tape and I have nothing better
|
||
to do.
|
||
KW: Oh, thanks a lot! [laughs] Okay, let me see. First, we waited
|
||
around at the stage door, but [the Concord Pavilion employees]
|
||
kept saying that Duran Duran had already left.
|
||
GS: Why were you waiting around?
|
||
KW: I've been waiting like 10 years for this. I've never met anyone
|
||
and they may not ever tour again. So, I figured I didn't have
|
||
anything to lose, right?
|
||
GS: Uh huh.
|
||
KW: So, then we took one of those shuttles down to Jim's car. We were
|
||
pretty much the last people left.
|
||
GS: Oh?
|
||
KW: Yeah, well, we waited at the stage door for almost an hour. And
|
||
basically the only people still coming to their cars were Pavilion
|
||
people. Jim goes, "Who's watching the door if the workers are
|
||
leaving?" Duh! So, we walked up the hill to the backstage lot
|
||
again.
|
||
GS: Was there anyone up there?
|
||
KW: Not really. There were three tour buses and a couple of huge
|
||
moving vans, but it was pretty dead. Then, this burly guy comes
|
||
out and hands Jim his crew pass.
|
||
GS: Whoa!
|
||
KW: Yeah, I know. And he sort of smiled, so, Jim took it and we
|
||
walked right in. We went right to the Duran Duran dressing
|
||
room...
|
||
GS: How do you know it was theirs?
|
||
KW: I stole the sign off the door! [laughs] There was all this trash
|
||
on the floor and the ashtray was full of cigarettes and banana
|
||
peels. Jim took this wet towel from the bathroom, but we really
|
||
didn't pull the full-on clepto other than that.
|
||
GS: Nobody stopped you?
|
||
KW: There wasn't anyone back there! Not the band or the bouncers. No
|
||
one! We walked back out and went over to the tour buses. One of
|
||
them, it was blue with North Carolina plates, was full of people.
|
||
Jim wanted to climb aboard, but we didn't think our little crew
|
||
pass would fly. Besides, there was this other bouncer guy that
|
||
kept going on and off. He was dumping trash and stuff.
|
||
GS: Could you hear anything... anyone specific that you recognised?
|
||
KW: No. There were too many voices on top of each other. So, we
|
||
walked down the hill and we were gonna go home, but that bus
|
||
started up and we decided to follow it.
|
||
GS: Oh, no!
|
||
KW: I know. What were we thinking? I don't know! [The bus driver]
|
||
drove hella slow all the way to Walnut Creek BART [about 10 miles
|
||
from the Pavilion]. We were just following him, along with
|
||
another car.
|
||
GS: So, you weren't the only ones left?
|
||
KW: I guess not! These other two chicks came out of the lower lot and
|
||
followed, too. Then, at BART, the bus pulled halfway in the lot
|
||
and stopped. By the time we got around him and turned around, he
|
||
was gone!
|
||
GS: Hmm.
|
||
KW: So, Jim pulls in BART behind the two girls' car. We talked for a
|
||
second and the driver says they probably knew we were following,
|
||
but we could hop the freeway and catch them. We [drove
|
||
wrecklessly], but never saw them. We even went down the other
|
||
freeway to see if they took the roundabout way into the City, but
|
||
nothing.
|
||
GS: What time was it?
|
||
KW: God, it was like 1am by then. Finally, in Hayward, we all pulled
|
||
off and Michelle, the other driver, gave us her number and said if
|
||
we heard anything to call her, any hour. And she went home.
|
||
GS: Did you and Jim go home, too?
|
||
KW: We were gonna! Jim got on the freeway and we were driving along,
|
||
right, but we had to pass through Concord to get home. So, Jim
|
||
turns to me and says, "We could always look in the hotel parking
|
||
lots." There aren't a lot of hotels in Concord, either. So, we
|
||
went to the Embassy Suites...
|
||
GS: What were you looking for? Tour buses?
|
||
KW: Yup. You can't just hide a tour bus.
|
||
GS: Were they at Embassy?
|
||
KW: Nope. They were at Hilton. We felt so stupid! All that time
|
||
chasing shadows down the freeway, and they were in Concord Hilton
|
||
the whole time! That's like 5 minutes from the Pav!
|
||
GS: [laughing] You didn't stake out Hilton, did you?
|
||
KW: Well...
|
||
GS: Oh, Kelly. You didn't!
|
||
KW: I felt like a fool the whole time, but we did. Jim kept saying,
|
||
"We're too old to be doing this," but... We pulled in and we were
|
||
going to get a room to make it legit, but not only did we not have
|
||
enough money for [snooty voice] Hilton, but they didn't have any
|
||
rooms left. There was some convention going on. I called
|
||
Michelle and she drove down. We sat in the car and guarded those
|
||
tour buses until about 9...
|
||
GS: In the morning?! As in 9 AM?
|
||
KW: Yeah.
|
||
GS: Oh-kay.
|
||
KW: Then, we went in and took the elevator upstairs. We started on
|
||
the top floor, but they were on the 10th.
|
||
GS: How do you know?
|
||
KW: The food trays and the voices coming from the rooms. And there
|
||
were a thousand roadies all over the place up there.
|
||
GS: You scoped the room service trays?
|
||
KW: Yeah, we did! So, we came back downstairs and there was this limo
|
||
at the front door. Two other girls were waiting. They said that
|
||
Duran had the day off and that they'd probably be coming down, but
|
||
they didn't. It was Terrence Trent Darby's [opening act] stupid
|
||
limo. So, those other chicks left and we waited in the car some
|
||
more.
|
||
GS: Wait a minute. What time was this?
|
||
KW: Uhm. It was about 2.
|
||
GS: On Monday afternoon?
|
||
KW: Yeah.
|
||
GS: And you hadn't planned on doing any of this?
|
||
KW: Nope.
|
||
GS: So, you were in the same clothes and everything?
|
||
KW: It gets worse than that. When we figured they were staying in the
|
||
hotel that day because it was way after check-out time, we went to
|
||
Denny's. I washed a little in the bathroom and combed my hair
|
||
with a fork.
|
||
GS: Oh, Kelly.
|
||
KW: I know. We waited until 10am Tuesday and we never saw them at all.
|
||
The buses were for Darby's backup band and the roadie loading them
|
||
said that Duran left in a black airport shuttle on Monday night.
|
||
I think they left when we were eating. I know it sounds really
|
||
dumb, but all I wanted to do was say, "Hi, guys. Thanks for being
|
||
there when teen life was [expletive]." They never came downstairs,
|
||
though. I could understand if there were 100 screaming people down
|
||
there, but there were just 3 or 4 of us the whole time. It isn't
|
||
like they're famous anymore. Not like the 80s.
|
||
|
||
|
||
The 80s... I feel old now. I should get my old Duran albums out.
|
||
Maybe that'll make me feel better. Maybe that's what it is with this
|
||
retro emotion.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Freewill vs. Predestiny
|
||
Copyright (c) Joe DeRouen, 1993
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
Freewill vs. Predestiny
|
||
by Joe DeRouen
|
||
|
||
|
||
The question of "why do we make the choices that we make?" is a question
|
||
nearly as old as mankind itself, and as argued as the existence of Gods.
|
||
Those believing that mankind is led to whatever choices it makes by
|
||
either a supernatural force or by the environment it grew up in attend
|
||
the school of predestiny or determinism, while those who believe that
|
||
everyone has the ability to choose for themselves which paths to take
|
||
throughout life adhere to the theory of freewill.
|
||
|
||
Though a man may choose to shackle himself with ideas of determinism, he
|
||
is still making a choice. Free will is reality, the shining icon of
|
||
truth that holds the key to the fantasy of predestiny's binding and oft
|
||
rusted locks. A man can make the choice to follow the belief of
|
||
predestiny (in any of it's forms) but it is still a choice that he is
|
||
making.
|
||
|
||
Common teachings from the school of predestiny state that we are what we
|
||
are because of what our parents were; it a nutshell, what we become is
|
||
predetermined by how we grew up.
|
||
|
||
If John grows up in the slums and his father, unable (or unwilling) to
|
||
find a job, steals to feed his family, the boy will grow up to be a
|
||
thief as well. He'll be lazy and, instead of choosing to fight his way
|
||
out of the class he's been put into by working, will take the path of
|
||
least resistance and become what his father was. According to that
|
||
school of thought, he'll have no real choice in the matter.
|
||
|
||
Choices, even the hardest ones to make, are still choices. The road less
|
||
travelled is still a road, regardless of it's travellers. Yes, the sad
|
||
fact is that he boy depicted in my aforementioned example may well turn
|
||
out to be just like his father. However, he does have the potential to
|
||
overcome his background and to make the right choice, ultimately
|
||
transcending what his father was and what, according to the theory of
|
||
predestiny, he should have been.
|
||
|
||
Using the example of John again, let's hypothesize that he had turned
|
||
out as he had been "predestined" to. Let's also say that, in the act of
|
||
robbing a 7-11, he had shot and killed a man. Under the theory of
|
||
determinism, he would not be guilty of murder, for, even though he had
|
||
shot and killed the clerk, he could not help it; it had been
|
||
predetermined. Murdering the clerk was no more his choice than the color
|
||
of his skin or his gender. According to these theories, John really
|
||
hasn't done anything that he should be punished for, and thus is
|
||
innocent of any and all wrong doings. Predestiny is but an excuse to
|
||
deny guilt, another way of saying "The Devil made me do it!"
|
||
|
||
Belief in freewill says that a man, when he makes a choice to do
|
||
something wrong (murdering the 7-11 clerk), is in full control of his
|
||
actions and should thus be punished for whatever crime he committed.
|
||
John had many different choices at many different instance leading up to
|
||
his murder of the clerk. At any time, he was free to turn from the path
|
||
he was following and take a different, better one. Again, the path of
|
||
least resistance is often the easiest to take but rarely the best.
|
||
|
||
The phrases "He was destined to greatness." or "It was her time to
|
||
die." have been a part of our vocabulary for many, many generations.
|
||
Determinism holds that certain people are destined to "accomplish" (can
|
||
something preordained really be called an accomplishment?) certain
|
||
things, just as other people are destined to die at certain times or in
|
||
certain ways. Literature all through time holds stories of heroes being
|
||
prophesized into greatness, such as Jesus Christ, who's divined
|
||
"greatness" included dying for mankind's sins. Fortellings of doom can
|
||
also be found throughout history's literature, such as Sophocles'
|
||
"Oedipus Rex", who's destiny was to marry his mother and slay his
|
||
father, as prophesized by the Oracle at Delphi.
|
||
|
||
If their destiny was greatness, they had but naught to do to gain their
|
||
fame in the annals of history, nor could they do anything to prevent
|
||
their downfalls if their fate was something less than desired. In a
|
||
nutshell, their lives were in the hands of the Gods. These great
|
||
heroes from the past were mere playthings, subject to the whims and
|
||
wonders of fate.
|
||
|
||
Is life worth living knowing that, no matter what you do, no matter how
|
||
hard you try, you can't detour from the path you were put on at birth?
|
||
Imagine playing the video game Pac-Man. You put in your quarter and
|
||
begin living vicariously through the small icon on the screen,
|
||
controlling him with your joystick. Pac-Man's movements, however, don't
|
||
match yours. You move right, but the little yellow image on the screen
|
||
moves upward. Before you know it, Pac-Man is gobbled up by the ghosts,
|
||
and your game is over. We all know that life certainly isn't a
|
||
videogame, but the metaphor is an unsettling one just the same. Making
|
||
choices -right or wrong- is all part of living one's life. Life can't be
|
||
life without living. Without that, it becomes a perverted doppleganger,
|
||
a crippled double dancing in the imatitative shadows of the real thing.
|
||
Life without living.. just isn't.
|
||
|
||
The philosophy of freewill can never really be proven, nor can it be
|
||
disproven; neither can determinism. The proof lies within oneself and
|
||
the path less travelled, and in the choices that lie along that path.
|
||
Making your own decisions, admitting to your mistakes (and trying to
|
||
make amends for them), considering and pondering over new and unusual
|
||
ideas, living life to it's fullest, never truly knowing what lies around
|
||
the corner; this is freewill.
|
||
|
||
The shining icon of truth often hurts the darkened eyes of determinism,
|
||
but it is there just the same. There for the taking, for the brave hands
|
||
to grasp and, once grasping, to share with others and to truly be free.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
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||
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||
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ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
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||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Through The Magic Lantern
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Diamond & Shipp
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
ÖÄÒÄ¿ Ò Â ÒÄÄ¿ ÖÄÄ¿ Ò Â ÖÄÄÄ Ò Â ÖÄÒÄ¿ Ò Â ÒÄÄ¿
|
||
º ÇÄÄ´ ÇÄÂÙ º ³ º ³ º Ú¿ ÇÄÄ´ º ÇÄÄ´ ÇÄ
|
||
Ð Ð Á Ð ÁÄ ÓÄÄÙ ÓÄÄÙ ÓÄÄÙ Ð Á Ð Ð Á ÐÄÄÙ
|
||
|
||
ÖÄÒÄ¿ ÖÄÄ¿ ÖÄÄÄ ÄÒÄ ÖÄÄ¿ ÒÄ ÖÄÄ¿ ÖÄ· Â ÖÄÒÄ¿ ÒÄÄ¿ ÒÄÄ¿ ÖÄ· Â
|
||
º º ³ ÇÄÄ´ º Ú¿ º º º ÇÄÄ´ º º ³ º ÇÄ ÇÄÂÙ º º ³
|
||
Ð Ð Á Ð Á ÓÄÄÙ ÄÐÄ ÓÄÄÙ ÐÄÄÙ Ð Á Ð ÓÄÙ Ð ÐÄÄÙ Ð ÁÄ Ð ÓÄÙ
|
||
|
||
|
||
MOVIE REVIEWS BY BRUCE DIAMOND & RANDY SHIPP
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
BRUCE DIAMOND: Welcome once again to THROUGH THE MAGIC LANTERN,
|
||
with Bruce Diamond & Randy Shipp. This time we
|
||
discuss Kenneth Branagh's latest Shakespearean
|
||
excursion, MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. I'm Diamond.
|
||
|
||
|
||
RANDY SHIPP: And I'm Shipp. Coming off the critical, if not box
|
||
office, successes of his earlier films, HENRY V and
|
||
DEAD AGAIN, English actor/director Kenneth Branagh
|
||
takes us now on his first Shakespearean comedy, set
|
||
in the Renaissance Italian town of Messina.
|
||
|
||
|
||
DIAMOND: MUCH ADO is one of Shakespeare's bawdiest, most
|
||
accessible, and hence popular plays. The twist upon
|
||
twist of misdirection, mistaken identity, and romantic
|
||
wordplay is a heady, lively mix so typical of Shake-
|
||
speare at his best. The language is remarkably
|
||
accessible, so Branagh should enjoy a broader audience
|
||
for this romp than he did for the somber and dense
|
||
HENRY V.
|
||
|
||
|
||
SHIPP: Despite this accessibility, MUCH ADO opened in a much
|
||
more narrow release than maybe it could have. I think
|
||
that shows that although filmmakers like Branagh and
|
||
Franco Zeffirelli (ROMEO AND JULIET, HAMLET) are creating
|
||
good film versions of Shakespeare classics, studios and
|
||
the other Powers-That-Be still don't think that the
|
||
moviegoing public is ready to digest Shakespeare. This
|
||
seems to be in spite of the fact that MUCH ADO is so
|
||
instantly familiar, without the cryptic passages that
|
||
some people associate with Shakespeare.
|
||
|
||
|
||
DIAMOND: The story, of love-at-first-sight couterpointed by
|
||
love-hidden-by-barbed tongue, is part of why MUCH ADO
|
||
seems to be instantly familiar. Long before empty-
|
||
headed Broadway plays and soul-sucking TV sitcoms made
|
||
it a staple, Shakespeare was deftly playing with love
|
||
and its many vagaries. How swiftly it comes, how
|
||
swiftly it goes, and how easily it can be stolen away
|
||
with the utterance of one wrong word, the action of one
|
||
foul deed. Shakespeare plays as much with his
|
||
characters' naivete here, as he does with his
|
||
audience's naivete.
|
||
|
||
|
||
SHIPP: More sophisticated audiences may wonder just how naive
|
||
Shakespeare thinks they are during parts of the movie, as
|
||
some of the plot twists require quite a suspension of
|
||
disbelief, but all in great Shakespeare comedy fashion.
|
||
It all fits.
|
||
|
||
|
||
DIAMOND: Let's get down to what's going on here. Prince Don
|
||
Pedro (Denzel Washington) is returning from a
|
||
successful battle accompanied by his half brother, Don
|
||
John (Keanu Reeves) and his loyal followers, Benedick
|
||
(Branagh), and Count Claudio (Robert Sean Leonard, in
|
||
an eye-opening performance as the naive lover around
|
||
whom much of the plot revolves). At the castle of
|
||
Leonato (Richard Briers), Claudio falls instantly in
|
||
love with the Governor of Messina's daughter, the
|
||
innocent and beautiful, Hero (Kate Beckinsale). The
|
||
misdirection begins almost immediately, when Don Pedro
|
||
offers to woo Hero on his behalf, while, during the
|
||
revel, Don John (jealous of his brother's favor) tells
|
||
Claudio that Pedro woos Hero for himself. And so the
|
||
dark underside of deception to this comedy begins.
|
||
|
||
|
||
SHIPP: And throughout the movie, just about the only person who
|
||
isn't smiling and kicking up his heels is Don John.
|
||
Keanu Reeves is a little stiff, I think, in this role,
|
||
reminding me a lot of his performance in DRACULA. I
|
||
admire the guy's desire to move up to more serious roles,
|
||
including the terrifically demanding Shakespeare parts,
|
||
but I think he still seems like words won't flow off his
|
||
tongue as easily as they do for some actors. His scowl
|
||
and appearance seemed perfect for the role, though.
|
||
|
||
|
||
DIAMOND: Really? I thought he seemed a mite artificial, a
|
||
little *too* stiff. It's funny, but MUCH ADO isn't his
|
||
first time with Shakespeare. According to the advance
|
||
publicity on the film, Reeves performed THE TEMPEST on
|
||
stage in Lenox, Massachusetts, with Shakespeare &
|
||
Company. I can't help but feel that Branagh misstepped
|
||
on the casting for Don John. In fact, the Don John
|
||
scenes seemed almost *too* dark, *too* obvious a
|
||
contrast to the sun-filled joyousness that fills the
|
||
screen when Claudio and Hero are together. And it's
|
||
too stark a contrast to the sharp-witted verbal
|
||
bantering that Benedick and Beatrice (the wonderful
|
||
Emma Thompson), Leonato's niece, engage in.
|
||
|
||
|
||
SHIPP: Yeah, at times I wondered how sinister the movie was
|
||
going to get, and I hoped that for the sake of comedy
|
||
that it never got too dark. As it turns out, as you say,
|
||
Reeves came close to overdoing it in a few places. But,
|
||
a nice contrast is indeed the wonderful dialog between
|
||
Benedick and Beatrice. Branagh and Thompson are real
|
||
life husband and wife, and they work very well together.
|
||
|
||
|
||
DIAMOND: They've worked very well together, indeed, on all of
|
||
Branagh's films. They're the most natural, and
|
||
talented, on-screen couple since, oh, I don't know when.
|
||
Maybe since Woody Allen and Diane Keaton in ANNIE HALL?
|
||
In stage versions of MUCH ADO that I've seen, the Don
|
||
John scenes are never played this darkly. In fact,
|
||
there's some humor in them, especially during the
|
||
assignation scene where Hero's lady-in-waiting,
|
||
Margaret, is mistaken by Claudio for the lady herself,
|
||
engaging in wantonness with Borachio, one of Don John's
|
||
followers.
|
||
|
||
|
||
SHIPP: That scene in particular was played up very darkly. At
|
||
that point, the movie turned into a slightly less buoyant
|
||
comedy. Whereas in the beginning of the film, most of
|
||
the fun is in Shakespeare's wordplay, and the sparring of
|
||
Benedick and Beatrice, the end of the film relies
|
||
more on visual comedy, mostly in the form of Michael
|
||
Keaton, who plays Dogberry, an eccentric Constable of the
|
||
watch.
|
||
|
||
|
||
DIAMOND: And here we come to Branagh's second serious error in
|
||
casting, or in directing, depending how you look at it.
|
||
While Reeves seems stiff and uncomfortable as Don John,
|
||
stumbling around the Shakespeare while trying to appear
|
||
aristocratic, Keaton merrily chews up the language and
|
||
mangles it to great comic effect. The problem arises
|
||
in his overall performance, which seemed too forced,
|
||
and too reminiscent of other famous Keaton roles.
|
||
|
||
|
||
SHIPP: Like BEETLEJUICE, maybe?
|
||
|
||
|
||
DIAMOND: *Definitely* like BEETLEJUICE.
|
||
|
||
|
||
SHIPP: Keaton runs around like someone who knows what they're
|
||
doing, and that's no surprise, since the biggest
|
||
difference between BEETLEJUICE and MUCH ADO for him is
|
||
the language. He's extremely bizarre and ugly, and gets
|
||
laughs as much from his good comic delivery and excellent
|
||
body language as he does from his fairly violent, almost
|
||
slapstick abuse of his three watchmen and his toady (with
|
||
whom he prances around the screen as though riding a
|
||
horse.)
|
||
|
||
|
||
DIAMOND: You just led into my next thought. MUCH ADO has been
|
||
in release for some time now, now, though, as you
|
||
noted, a very narrow release, so some areas where this
|
||
review hits may not have seen the film yet. Reviews
|
||
have hit everywhere, though, and some critics have
|
||
savaged the Dogberry role and Keaton's performance as
|
||
too Monty Pythonesque in approach.
|
||
There's some element of truth to that, especially
|
||
with the invisible horse scenes (echoing MONTY PYTHON
|
||
AND THE HOLY GRAIL), but what one has to stop and
|
||
realize is the rich influence that Shakespeare has had
|
||
on English letters and culture. All of the Pythonians
|
||
were college- educated, and while the invisible horse
|
||
trick was not a Shakespearean invention, he played with
|
||
the language *long* before Cleese & co. did, a point
|
||
that seems rather obvious.
|
||
One of Keaton's scenes, where he's trying to be
|
||
official in front of the Governor, has him losing track
|
||
of the points he wants to make. "First," he'll say,
|
||
then "thirdly," and then "my sixth point..." and on and
|
||
on, which reminded me immediately of the Monty Python
|
||
Spanish Inquisition sketch: "Nobody expects the Spanish
|
||
Inquisition! Our chief weapon is surprise, surprise
|
||
and fear -- our *two* chief weapons are surprise, fear,
|
||
and a ruthless efficiency -- our *three* main
|
||
weapons...." and so on.
|
||
|
||
|
||
SHIPP: That scene before the Governor, by the way, was the one
|
||
time I truly laughed hard at Dogberry. The rest seemed
|
||
awfully contrived, but Shakespeare's wordplay shone
|
||
through brilliantly there, and Keaton's experience as a
|
||
comic gave him the panache and zip to make it work well.
|
||
|
||
|
||
DIAMOND: Yes, I don't want to sell Keaton *too* short. He did
|
||
well in the role, but could have been better had he
|
||
left BEETLEJUICE far behind him. As Constable of the
|
||
Watch, he and his droogs are meant chiefly as comic
|
||
relief in MUCH ADO, but they also harbor the major plot
|
||
point that turns the movie's central romance back
|
||
around. Thanks to Don John's deception, Claudio
|
||
rejects Hero during their *wedding*! He names her a
|
||
wanton, impugns her name, and storms away, leaving Hero
|
||
in tears, Beatrice determined to kill him, and Leonato
|
||
with one of the film's great lines: "Hath no man's
|
||
dagger here a point for me?"
|
||
|
||
|
||
SHIPP: Indeed. And this film's not as full of memorable lines
|
||
as perhaps HENRY V was, but taken as a whole, it is still
|
||
two hours extremely well spent. I can only hope that the
|
||
Powers-That-Be begin to give the public credit for having
|
||
tastes besides LAST ACTION HERO and WAYNE'S WORLD.
|
||
The whole point that Branagh and Zefirelli are trying to
|
||
make is that Shakespeare is not some dusty, four-hundred
|
||
year old thing that's not relevant anymore. Instead,
|
||
they show us how we can still enjoy it, and how film can
|
||
be an incredibly expressive medium for what used to be a
|
||
strictly theatre art form.
|
||
I think Branagh's second effort at Shakespeare on film
|
||
is a worthy successor to HENRY V, which I enjoyed
|
||
immensely, and I give the film a solid 8. I took one
|
||
point off each for Don John's stiffness and the untimely
|
||
appearance of Beetlejuice in the guise of Dogberry. But
|
||
I find little else to criticize, from beautiful location
|
||
shots in Italy, to mostly good music by Patrick Doyle, to
|
||
great acting, to a wonderful Shakespeare play.
|
||
|
||
|
||
DIAMOND: The rapturous, joyous love in this film, mixed with the
|
||
comedy and the intrigue, is just as accessible as
|
||
anything The Suits in Hollyweird produce, but more's
|
||
the pity, not enough of the viewing public will realize
|
||
that, thanks to the release pattern of MUCH ADO and
|
||
thanks to the "moldy oldie" image you alluded to
|
||
before. One has to realize that Shakespeare wrote as
|
||
much to the masses as he did to the supposedly more
|
||
"sophisticated" audiences of his day, all within the
|
||
same play. What worked then, works now, and it works
|
||
admirably.
|
||
I'll echo your 8 out of ten points, and point out
|
||
the forced choreography that ends the picture, all for
|
||
the sake of an incredible shot. But, as I mentioned to
|
||
you after the movie, staged Shakespeare seems to this
|
||
same type of choreography, where the actors are too
|
||
conscious of their movements *and* of the audience. I
|
||
don't know if this is a modern convention, or something
|
||
from Shakespeare's day, but there it is.
|
||
|
||
|
||
SHIPP: And that's THROUGH THE MAGIC LANTERN for this month. We
|
||
hope you all enjoyed it, and that you'll tune in next
|
||
time, when Bruce and I start the long haul toward
|
||
Christmas release movies. Until then, I'm the Lone
|
||
Ranger...
|
||
|
||
|
||
DIAMOND: ...and I'm Jerry the Mouse. We'll see *you* at the
|
||
matinee.
|
||
|
||
|
||
The Fugitive Movie Review
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Bruce Diamond
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
|
||
³ THE FUGITIVE: Andrew Davis, director. Jeb Stuart and ³
|
||
³ David Twohy, screenplay. Stars Harrison Ford, Tommy ³
|
||
³ Lee Jones, Sela Ward, Jeroen Krabbe, Joe Pantoliano, ³
|
||
³ and Andreas Katsulas. Warner Bros. Rated PG-13. ³
|
||
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
|
||
|
||
If you'll pardon the steal from a network car commercial (as
|
||
sexist as it is), this ain't your father's Richard Kimble.
|
||
[BORING LECTURE MODE ON] "The Fugitive," starring David Janssen
|
||
as Dr. Richard Kimble, ran on NBC from 1963-1967. For four
|
||
years, the American viewing public watched fascinated as Kimble
|
||
pursued the one-armed man, the man who killed his wife. The last
|
||
episode racked up nearly 75% of the TV viewership that night, a
|
||
record for a regular network series that wasn't surpassed until
|
||
"Dallas" ran its "Who Shot J.R.?" episode in the early '80s.
|
||
[BORING PONTIFICATION MODE ON] I was never a David Janssen fan,
|
||
an unlikely action hero as far as I was concerned. From "Richard
|
||
Diamond," to "The Fugitive," to "Harry O," Jannsen always struck
|
||
me as dry, stiff, and humorless. He was surprisingly effective
|
||
as Kimble at times, though, reacting with compassion to the
|
||
people he met in his travels. He became a nomadic do-gooder,
|
||
like a latter-day Wandering Jew or Flying Dutchman, doomed to
|
||
roam the vast wasteland for a weekly wrong to right, a moral to
|
||
uphold. [BORING MODE OFF] So like I said, this *ain't* your
|
||
father's Richard Kimble.
|
||
|
||
Harrison Ford is Dr. Richard Kimble from the word go. No
|
||
having to take time to settle into the role -- we're with him
|
||
right from the start, caught up in his ease with the role and the
|
||
believability of the situation. In fact, we're *so* comfortable
|
||
with him we really don't need the constant repetition of his name
|
||
during the first five minutes (during a pharmaceutical function
|
||
and a police interview). The repetition almost strikes you as a
|
||
chant, deliberately inserted into the script to invoke the spirit
|
||
of the original series. But that's all that I can really find
|
||
wrong with THE FUGITIVE, besides one weak blue screen effect
|
||
during the train wreck sequence.
|
||
|
||
(And if *that's* all I can find wrong with the train wreck,
|
||
then you know I'm really stretching to find things to criticize.)
|
||
|
||
The train/county jail bus wreck that frees Kimble is
|
||
spectacular -- one of the most harrowing and realistic staged
|
||
accidents ever seen. Rather than do it in miniature, with
|
||
models, director Andrew Davis (UNDER SIEGE, 1992) decided to
|
||
stage a full-scale wreck, with Harrison Ford jumping off the bus
|
||
at the very last second via the afore-mentioned bluescreen
|
||
effect. (Come to think of it, the sequence could have been a
|
||
cleverly-rigged rearscreen projection.) It hardly matters,
|
||
though, as exciting as this scene is.
|
||
|
||
Onto the train wreck location comes U.S. Deputy Marshall
|
||
Gerard (Lt. Gerard in the series), scene-stealingly played by
|
||
Tommy Lee Jones (the best thing about Davis' UNDER SIEGE). Jones
|
||
sets his character right away, as immediately comfortable in his
|
||
role as Ford is as Kimble. Gerard is a tough taskmaster,
|
||
single-mindedly set on tracking his fugitive ("Let this be a
|
||
lesson, boys and girls. Don't argue with the big dog."), but the
|
||
audience can tell he cares for his people by the way he goads and
|
||
jokes with them. "What are you doing?" he asks one, and gets the
|
||
reply, "I'm thinking." "Well, while you're at it," he says,
|
||
"think me up a cup of coffee and a chocolate donut with those
|
||
little sprinkles on it." Another time, he tells another member of
|
||
his team to go help with building security, and adds "but don't
|
||
let them give you any s*** about your ponytail." These asides
|
||
sound more ad-libbed than they do scripted, but the one of the
|
||
scriptwriters, Jeb Stuart, also wrote DIE HARD, which was filled
|
||
with Bruce Willis' quips and asides. Perhaps it's just a gift
|
||
that his dialogue sounds so natural.
|
||
|
||
Aspects of the storyline are updated for the '90s (Kimble's
|
||
car phone call log holds a piece of evidence; the one-armed man
|
||
wears a prosthetic; Kimble searches computer records to track the
|
||
killer), and this time, the motive for the murder is *much* more
|
||
sinister (and perfectly plausible, according to a medtech student
|
||
friend of mine). The spirit of the original series remains
|
||
intact.
|
||
|
||
You know, it's odd that three excellent thrillers are
|
||
released so close to each other, especially during the summer
|
||
season. Add THE FUGITIVE to your same must-see list that
|
||
contains THE FIRM and IN THE LINE OF FIRE. Is it as good as
|
||
these other two thrillers? Hell, it's *better*!
|
||
|
||
RATING: 10 out of 10.
|
||
|
||
|
||
Searching For Bobby Fisher Movie Review
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Bruce Diamond
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
|
||
³ SEARCHING FOR BOBBY FISCHER: Written and directed by ³
|
||
³ Steven Zaillian. Based on the book by Fred Waitzkin. ³
|
||
³ Stars Joe Mantegna, Laurence Fishburne, Joan Allen, Max ³
|
||
³ Pomeranc, and Ben Kingsley. Paramount Pictures. ³
|
||
³ Rated PG. ³
|
||
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
|
||
|
||
SEARCHING FOR BOBBY FISHER is the most gripping movie about
|
||
chess I've ever seen. Yes, that's right, it's a chess movie, but
|
||
just as FIELD OF DREAMS was a baseball movie that was more than a
|
||
baseball movie, so is SEARCHING FOR BOBBY FISHER a chess movie
|
||
that isn't just a chess movie. It's a story about dedication,
|
||
art, synthesis, and life. It's a movie that'll stir your
|
||
emotions without ignoring your mind. It's a movie that'll
|
||
definitely be remembered on critics' year-end lists and at next
|
||
year's Academy Awards. And it's a movie with mass appeal, not an
|
||
art house film that only the intelligentsia and critics who want
|
||
to impress people praise. It's really that good, and you really
|
||
will be entertained.
|
||
|
||
SEARCHING FOR BOBBY FISHER is the true-life story of Josh
|
||
Waitzkin (played with perfect intensity by Max Pomeranc, who is a
|
||
top-ranked chess player), caught between his love for speed
|
||
chess, his stern by-the-book teacher, and the need for his
|
||
father's love. Josh is a natural, teaching himself chess from
|
||
watching the speed chess players in Washington Square Park,
|
||
especially one player named Vinnie (Larry Fishburne), who recog-
|
||
nizes the same creative spark in Josh that Bobby Fisher, the U.S.
|
||
and world champ who disappeared mysteriously in the mid- '70s,
|
||
once displayed. Other players in the park call Josh the young
|
||
Bobby Fisher when he begins playing there on a regular basis.
|
||
Even Bruce Pandolfino (Ben Kingsley, in a moving performance
|
||
that's sure to be ranked as one of his best), who becomes Josh's
|
||
teacher, says to the boy's father (Joe Mantegna), "He creates
|
||
like Fisher." Fisher raised the game from a science to an art,
|
||
he explains, and no one's been able to duplicate that feat since.
|
||
|
||
Until, that is, Josh Waitzkin begins playing.
|
||
|
||
He demonstrates his talent to his father in one of the
|
||
movie's most delightful sequences -- Josh plays with his sister,
|
||
eats dinner, takes a phonecall, and takes a bath, all between
|
||
moves. When his father announces it's Josh's turn, Josh runs
|
||
into the room, moves a piece, and rushes back out, leaving his
|
||
father to take another 20 minutes to make his own move. Mantegna
|
||
plays the perplexed scenes so well you know his frustration --
|
||
and his growing awe of his on screen son. He tells Josh's
|
||
elementary school teacher in one scene, "He's better at this than
|
||
I'll ever be at anything!" It's through this same scene we at
|
||
once discover the depth of Josh's fixation, *and* the even
|
||
greater depth of his father's obsession that Josh become the best
|
||
there ever was at the game of chess.
|
||
|
||
Director/screenwriter Steven Zaillian has taken a different
|
||
approach with SEARCHING FOR BOBBY FISHER, one necessitated by the
|
||
intimacy of the game, of the story the camera is capturing, and
|
||
by the location (Toronto substitutes for Chicago for most of the
|
||
film), and his artistic choice raises the film to another level.
|
||
Without this intimacy, we wouldn't feel Josh's fascination for
|
||
the game, his father's burning desire for Josh's success, and
|
||
Pandolfino's duality as demanding taskmaster and competitive
|
||
coward. At least, we wouldn't feel it as intensely as Zaillian
|
||
intended.
|
||
|
||
And when Josh meets up with another chess powerhouse his own
|
||
age, we're right on the edge of giving up with him. Until, that
|
||
is, the new fire hits him again in the park, which is where the
|
||
lighting and the camera shots opens up from close intimacy to
|
||
world-engulfing optimism -- but only for a moment. The climax at
|
||
a state chess championship is as gripping and heartwarming as
|
||
anything you're going to see for months.
|
||
|
||
The first unqualified rave of the summer. Isn't that enough
|
||
to make you see SEARCHING FOR BOBBY FISHER? It oughta be.
|
||
|
||
RATING: 10 out of 10.
|
||
|
||
|
||
Lyrical Leanings
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
COMING UP FOR AIR
|
||
David Massengill
|
||
Flying Fish Records
|
||
|
||
|
||
The majority of the world was first introduced to David Massengill on
|
||
High Street Record's 1989 release LEGACY - A COLLECTION OF SINGER
|
||
SONGWRITERS. The collection of modern folk songs included Massengill's
|
||
haunting, funny ballad MY NAME JOE, a song depicting a illegal
|
||
immigrants adventures as the head cook in a restaurant.
|
||
|
||
In 1992, Flying Fish Records released Massengill's debut album, COMING
|
||
UP FOR AIR. MY NAME JOE is included, of course, but presented in a
|
||
different way. The vocals are slower, more folksy. The instrumental side
|
||
of the song comes more into play as well, with a dulcimer, 12 string
|
||
acoustic guitar, bass, and drums working together to back up
|
||
Massengill's terrific vocals. (Joe works 14 hours/After ten he starts to
|
||
booze/He gets very sentimental/He sings the Buddah blues)
|
||
|
||
Personally, I prefer the LEGACY version by a hair. Still, though, it's
|
||
nice to see an artist take a chance of a different version instead of
|
||
including what's already been released.
|
||
|
||
The album runs the gamut of political and social messages, all the while
|
||
remaining entertaining, fun, and innovative.
|
||
|
||
ON THE ROAD TO FAIRFAX COUNTY is another ballad, this one telling the
|
||
story of a traveller meeting a highway man and the unlikely seduction -
|
||
and ultimate execution of the highway man - that follows. Massengill's
|
||
lyrics are at once tender then powerful, giving an epic feel to this
|
||
song.
|
||
|
||
NUMBER ONE IN AMERICA runs a bit long at 7:45, but is a clever satirical
|
||
piece on racism and american pride. The song follows the progression of
|
||
racism through 1963 to the present, giving only the hint that some
|
||
progress might have been made and the assurance that we still have a
|
||
long road to travel.
|
||
|
||
IT'S A BEAUTIFUL WORLD, the last song on the album, is, in a word,
|
||
strange. But a funny, good strange. To attempt to describe it wouldn't
|
||
do it justice, but I'll say that any song that ends with George
|
||
Steinbrenner receiving the old pie in the face can't be all bad.
|
||
|
||
Overall, COMING UP FOR AIR is a solid album on contemporary folk music,
|
||
with just the proper amounts of social consciousness, humor, and
|
||
romance. I'll look forward to hearing more from David Massengill, and
|
||
watching his career progress and hopefully blossom.
|
||
|
||
My rating, on a scale of 1-10: 9
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
More Lyrical Leanings
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Heather DeRouen
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
PROMISES & LIES
|
||
UB40
|
||
Virgin Records
|
||
|
||
Yes, in this issue of STTS, the CD reviews are pretty much slanted toward
|
||
what we in the DeRouen household listen to - alternatives to "top 40" types of
|
||
music, preferably with some sort of meaning to the lyrics as well as a high
|
||
listenability (sic? not really... *smile*) factor in relation to musical
|
||
logic, flow, and rhythm.
|
||
|
||
In UB40's second CD release, they continue to challenge the listener by
|
||
combining the upbeat rhythms of hard-core Jamaican Reggae with lines such
|
||
as "For every life that's lit with love, many more are racked with pain.
|
||
You talk to me of sunshine while it's pouring down with rain." But this
|
||
idiosyncracy seems to be in perfect synch by the time the positive energy
|
||
radiating from the music softens the blow landed by harsh lyrics.
|
||
|
||
Of course, all of the tracks are not as bleak as the first three. Included
|
||
also is a warm, loving tribute by one of the band members to the friendship
|
||
that has formed between members of the group entitled REGGAE MUSIC. The
|
||
only problem that I've found with this track is that every chorus ends with
|
||
the phrase "mek me gwan". I know this means something, I'm just not sure
|
||
of what.
|
||
|
||
There is also a sensitive, philosophical look at life entitled HIGHER GROUND.
|
||
("And every hour of every day, I'm learning more. The more I learn, the
|
||
less I know about before. The less I know, the more I want to look around.
|
||
Digging deep for clues on higher ground.") And a couple of love songs.
|
||
|
||
About the only track that you might hear on your top 40 radio station is
|
||
the beautifully interpreted version of Elvis Presley's immortal "Can't
|
||
Help Falling in Love". Just so long as you don't purchase the CD with
|
||
the expectation of all the other songs being like this one. UB40 is far
|
||
more than a Reggae version of Stars on 45. They give an alternative voice
|
||
rising up against oppression, injustice, and prejudice. And, in my opinion,
|
||
it's far more appealing than most of the Rap I've heard. But I guess I'm
|
||
revealing my age with that statement.
|
||
|
||
If you're into alternative music forms, I very highly recommend this CD.
|
||
|
||
My rating, on a scale of 1-10: 7
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Book Reviews
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Jason Malandro
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
REPLAY
|
||
Ken Grimwood
|
||
Ace Books
|
||
$4.99 US, $5.99 Canada
|
||
|
||
|
||
What if you could live your life over again? REPLAY takes that age-old
|
||
wish one step beyond. Jeff Winston, a not-very-successful radio
|
||
journalist in his forties, begins the greatest journey anyone could ever
|
||
know.
|
||
|
||
He awakens from his death in the past, in his college dorm room. It's
|
||
1963, exactly 25 years earlier. At first thinking that he's in a dream
|
||
or a coma-induced hallucination, Jeff eventually accepts his situation
|
||
as reality. Forced to live the last 25 years of his life over again,
|
||
Jeff swears not to make the same mistakes again.
|
||
|
||
Jeff uses his knowledge of the future to build a financial empire, but
|
||
true happiness manages to elude him. Eventually marrying a wealthy
|
||
heiress, the loveless union produces the one thing that his previous
|
||
life could never give him; a child.
|
||
|
||
Always alone, Jeff accepts his fate as time marches on, enjoying the
|
||
company of his daughter Gretchen. On October 18th 1988, at exactly
|
||
1:06 pm, he dies again..
|
||
|
||
..Only to awaken again in 1963, a little further along in his original
|
||
timeline.
|
||
|
||
REPLAY follows the lives of Jeff Winston with angst, sadness, intrigue,
|
||
and just a touch of humour.
|
||
|
||
Ken Grimwood's first (and, so far, only) fantasy novel was originally
|
||
published in 1987 and just barely qualifies for this review by the fact
|
||
that it was recently re-released.
|
||
|
||
Six years, one World Fantasy award, and four reads later, REPLAY remains
|
||
firmly planted in my list of all-time favorites.
|
||
|
||
My Rating: (out of 10 points) 10
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Book Reviews
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Cindy McVey
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
RISING SUN
|
||
Michael Crichton
|
||
Ballantine
|
||
$5.99 US, $6.99 Canada
|
||
|
||
|
||
"People deny reality". Rising Sun isn't reality..... or is it? From the
|
||
opening line "Business is War" the suspense builds. Set in today's
|
||
timeframe, we get a sneak peek at what goes on behind the scenes in big
|
||
business every day life.
|
||
|
||
Rising Sun is full of exacting details based on apparently hundreds of
|
||
hours of research by the author. With this research behind him, Michael
|
||
Crichton builds a successful suspense novel down to the last detail.
|
||
|
||
Aside from the main story theme, there runs a truly believable
|
||
storyline that certainly gave me a feeling of being threatened
|
||
personally. Murder, chase scenes, mystery, advanced technology items,
|
||
all keep this story moving at the fast pace we have come to expect from
|
||
Crichton. Never a dull moment and certainly no place to put this
|
||
nonstop novel down.
|
||
|
||
This book should become required reading in every American school. It
|
||
stands right beside or maybe even replaces Orwell's, "1984". Exciting,
|
||
fast paced book that will give you the feeling of being there. And you
|
||
may learn something in a totally enjoyable way.
|
||
|
||
My rating: (out of ten points) 10
|
||
|
||
|
||
Shareware / Software / Accessories / Peripherals / Services
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||
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||
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||
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||
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||
Video, & Home Inventory in 1. Part LabelPro $52 Superstor v2 $49 Lotus 123
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of the HomeWorks(tm) Home Management v4 Up $98 Stacker v3 $98 QEMM 386 v6 $65
|
||
System. Registration: $20 + $5 s/h. PC Tools 8.0 $119 C Point Anti-Virus $88
|
||
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from text files for Electronic Pub- Practical Peripherals Int Modems w/Quick
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||
Computer Accessories $387 Crosstalk for Windows v2 $118 Home
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3M Diskettes 5.25" DD $7/bx HD $10 Office (v. mail/fax/modem) $230 Complete
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3.5" DD $9 HD $13 PC Acc. printer Communicator v3.0 $299 Complete Modem
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|
||
³ a FREE box of TDK 5.25" DD Disks. ³ ³ (214) 681-8131 ³
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||
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
|
||
Add $3 s/h each order (except shareware only orders) Texas res. add 7.25% tax
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
|
||
³ ÃÄ¿
|
||
³ Fiction ³ ³
|
||
³ ³ ³
|
||
ÀÄÂÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ³
|
||
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
The Angel of Lies
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Bruce Diamond
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
The Angel of Lies
|
||
by
|
||
Bruce Diamond
|
||
|
||
|
||
The lips moved right outside the second-story window. Electronic whirr,
|
||
metallic slide, wooden click and the lips parted. Whirr-slide-click and they
|
||
closed into a kiss-me pout. And not only did the lips move, but the left eye
|
||
winked during each cycle. Whirr-slide-click, lips and eye open. Whirr-slide-
|
||
click, pout and wink. The face was vaguely Monroeish, the product a national
|
||
brand of cigarettes. Neither mattered to the six-month-old baby who stared
|
||
out his nursery window, transfixed by the larger-than-life face promising him
|
||
a goodnight kiss.
|
||
|
||
From Bobby Reith's window, only the face was visible. The nursery was
|
||
dark, so the florescents illuminating the billboard drew the child's
|
||
attention. Bobby never cried the entire time that face moved outside his
|
||
window, a fact his parents noted without discovering the source of their
|
||
child's behavior. He stared at that face (*whirr-slide-click*) night after
|
||
night, until a car dealer ad replaced it four months later. But he continued
|
||
to stare out his window at night, still seeing the face that blew kisses at
|
||
him across the backyard.
|
||
|
||
He began to cry at night a short time later.
|
||
|
||
#
|
||
|
||
Five years old. The child's first drive-in movie. Those pictures
|
||
fascinated him when they moved in the brown box at home (especially with all
|
||
the lights out and the sound turned down), but the pictures out here were HUGE
|
||
and surrounded by a starry sky, making them all the larger.
|
||
|
||
As if the people on that screen had learned at Edgar Bergen's knee, they
|
||
threw their voices straight to a banged-up metal box hanging from the car
|
||
window. Bobby reached from the back seat and fumbled the volume down, staring
|
||
at the moving bodies, the moving lips, silent against the starry sky. Bobby's
|
||
father slapped the small hand away and turned the volume back up.
|
||
|
||
A Road Runner cartoon. A Jerry Lewis movie. Intermission. Previews of
|
||
coming attractions. ("Ghidrah--the monster with three heads!") A Doris Day
|
||
movie. A long night for a boy so young, but the Chevy's back seat took care
|
||
of that. Bobby drifted in and out of sleep, dreaming of little Road Runners
|
||
(*beep-beep*) chasing little Jerry Lewises back and forth under the car seats,
|
||
trying to avoid the flyswatter hand of a weary five-year-old. The black Chevy
|
||
started up with a cough and a dark cloud, but Bobby slept on. Not until the
|
||
car's lurch-stop, lurch-stop of leaving the lot did he wake up. And yet not
|
||
fully--the young head lolled back and forth on the car seat, the eyes gazing
|
||
tiredly out the rear window. When the car groaned onto the street, the child
|
||
saw a large silhouette on the rear of the movie screen. A huge knight astride
|
||
a horse, lance at the ready. The knight didn't move, didn't make a sound.
|
||
Bobby continued to stare at the knight until it receded into the distance.
|
||
|
||
Bobby couldn't sleep when he got home. He put on his Superman pjs and
|
||
threw his clothes on his favorite Romper Room chair, thoughts of the knight
|
||
filling his mind as he crawled into bed. He looked around the dark room
|
||
through slitted eyelids, wondering when the little Jerry Lewises would come
|
||
back. Instead the clothes on his chair began to melt, shaping themselves into
|
||
the knight and horse from the drive-in marquee. The boy snapped his eyes
|
||
shut, but the image remained. The knight didn't clank, the horse didn't even
|
||
whicker, but he knew they were there, waiting for him to take a peek. He
|
||
peeked between his fingers.
|
||
|
||
The knight, no longer mounted, strode towards the bed, leveling his
|
||
ebony lance at the boy. Bobby shook as he heard the knight's armored foot-
|
||
steps on the wooden floor. Electronic whirr, as though the knight were a
|
||
robot, metallic slide as armored hands readied the lance, wooden click as
|
||
iron-shod foot met wooden slats.
|
||
|
||
The knight stopped at the foot of the bed. The lance, pointed at
|
||
Bobby's heart, wavered within an inch of the boy's chest. He held his breath
|
||
in anticipation, even though he knew the weapon couldn't pierce the big red
|
||
"S" on his shirt.
|
||
|
||
The knight moved quickly, thrusting the lance straight through the boy's
|
||
body. It came back out with a wet, sucking sound. Bobby screamed and
|
||
squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make the knight and horse go away. Tears
|
||
streamed down his cheeks. The lance moved in his chest, sending pulses of
|
||
pain through his body with every heartbeat. "Go away!" he croaked, the words
|
||
caught in his throat along with his heart. The horse whickered near his ear
|
||
and he felt its breath searing his skin. Something wet dropped onto his neck,
|
||
causing his flesh to sizzle. The stench roiled his stomach and bile burned
|
||
his mouth. "Go away right now!" Bobby choked out, and the pain stopped just
|
||
like that. The horse's fetid breath, the knight's lance--both had disappeared
|
||
as though they never existed. He felt his chest. No hole, no blood, nothing.
|
||
He counted ten heartbeats, glad he still had a heart, and bravely opened his
|
||
eyes. Both figures had disappeared. The full moon shone around his room,
|
||
reassuring him that nothing waited for him in any of the corners.
|
||
|
||
That left one place to check.
|
||
|
||
Gulping air down a sandy throat, the boy slowly poked his head over the
|
||
edge of the bed. There, lying in a pool of moonlight, were his Mickey Mouse
|
||
t-shirt and his Levis, the same ones he had tossed onto his Romper Room chair.
|
||
The arms of the t-shirt were reaching for the bed.
|
||
|
||
#
|
||
|
||
Eight years old. Christmas with relatives in Hannibal, Mo., home of
|
||
Mark Twain, Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn and Becky Thatcher. Bobby remembered seeing
|
||
a movie on tv about those kids, but he just couldn't stay interested--what
|
||
stupid kid goes looking for buried treasure in a dark, creepy old cave and
|
||
runs into an Indian? No, that couldn't have been for real. The family decided
|
||
(well, Dad, actually) to spend their couple of nights in town with Grandma
|
||
Reith, who was so old she had to share a one-story A-frame with Aunt Helen,
|
||
Dad's older sister. (Dad came from a big family--a younger sister, an older
|
||
sister, and a whole pack of brothers--eight all told. Bobby always got his
|
||
uncles mixed up and had to carry pictures of them in his billfold--his first
|
||
grown-up possession, besides his watch, given to him the Christmas before--
|
||
with their names written on the pictures in blue ballpoint. The printing was
|
||
tiny--his teachers all complained about the size of his writing on
|
||
assignments--but still legible. He checked the pictures every trip to
|
||
Hannibal.)
|
||
|
||
Bobby loved staying at Grandma Reith's house, because she had a huge
|
||
roll-away with softest feather mattress ever made. He usually fell asleep
|
||
pretending he was lying in a snowdrift or making hills in the mattress and
|
||
pretending little people lived just over the next range. Once he brought some
|
||
toy cars to bed and made "vroom-vroom" noises all night as he raced them
|
||
around and over the hills. Mom spanked him soundly for that--Grandmas don't
|
||
sleep well with "vroom-vroom" coming from the bed in the corner.
|
||
|
||
As he sank into the mattress that first night, he noticed Grandma had
|
||
hung something on the wall across from the bed. He made details as his eyes
|
||
adjusted to the dark. The thing on the wall seemed to be a plate. "That's
|
||
silly," he thought, "who hangs plates on their walls? Grandmas, that's who."
|
||
Then, his eyes completely adjusted, the boy saw that the plate had something
|
||
painted on it. A rock, a forest clearing ("Just like in Bambi!") and a long-
|
||
haired man in a white robe kneeling at the rock, his hands clasped together on
|
||
it and his face turned towards the sky. He wore a beard, just like mean Uncle
|
||
Loran who tweaked Bobby's nose and threw him in the air (Uncle Loran lifted
|
||
weights), and a golden shaft of light streamed from the night sky, causing
|
||
every feature of the man's face to glow. The man, who he now recognized as
|
||
jesuschristourlordamen (that's how they said it in church), seemed to plead
|
||
with the light, his glowing forehead all wrinkled up like he had a headache.
|
||
|
||
Bobby had heard of this scene in Sunday School--jesuschristourlordamen
|
||
was asking his dad, godthefather, to take a full cup from him. "A cup of
|
||
what?" he had asked the teacher. "A cup of grief, Bobby." He didn't dare ask
|
||
what grief meant, because his teacher hated to interrupt stories to explain
|
||
things. He hoped grief tasted good, like cherry Koolaid.
|
||
|
||
Jesuschristourlordamen prayed in the garden of Getsesame three times and
|
||
then went back to see that his disciplines had slept through it all. "Just
|
||
like I'm gonna do. G'night, Jesus."
|
||
|
||
But Jesus wouldn't let Bobby sleep. His eyes kept drifting to that
|
||
shining face. Silent. Unmoving.
|
||
|
||
Growing.
|
||
|
||
Jesus grew, the light getting brighter, the rock getting bigger, and the
|
||
feather bed getting smaller every minute. Bobby felt himself lifted and drawn
|
||
into the plate, like a cone of light reached across the room and sucked him
|
||
into it. Just like on Star Trek.
|
||
|
||
And then jesuschristourlordamen turned his head to the trembling boy and
|
||
said, "Are you frightened, little one?" Bobby nodded, gulping. "That's very
|
||
good. 'Suffer the little children to come unto me' I said a long time ago,
|
||
and it's good to see the little children still suffering." Bobby was
|
||
confused. Jesus' words were all turned around.
|
||
|
||
"Where do you go if you do something bad, Bobby?"
|
||
|
||
Bobby wished he were back in bed, sleeping. "The bad place," he
|
||
whispered. "And what bad place is that, my little frightened angel?"
|
||
|
||
The boy hesitated. Mom told him never to use that word or he would
|
||
regret it. Right now, he felt he would regret not saying it.
|
||
|
||
"H-hell," he managed. His ears burned.
|
||
|
||
"And who lives in hell, my sweet little morsel?" Horns? On Jesus'
|
||
forehead?
|
||
|
||
"The--the devil."
|
||
|
||
Jesuschristourlordamen's skin reddened and his tongue sharpened to two
|
||
points. "And what does the devil do to bad children?" he hissed.
|
||
|
||
Bobby shook, streaks of sweat trailing down his face. "H-he spanks
|
||
them?"
|
||
|
||
The long hair and beard had disappeared by now. The eyebrows arched
|
||
over blood-shot sunken eyes and the ears flared to points. And as the jaw
|
||
moved, Bobby could hear a metallic whirr coming from the open mouth. The
|
||
tongue slid around the red lips, slide, and the teeth came together with a
|
||
sharp click.
|
||
|
||
"You know better than that, little angel. You know better than to lie
|
||
to me." Whirr-slide-click. Saliva ran down the red chin. The teeth chomped
|
||
and chewed as though biting through roasted flesh. Whirr-slide-click. "You
|
||
know better, my little Angel of Lies."
|
||
|
||
More saliva. The demon glared at him with eyes of fire. Whirr-slide-
|
||
click. Jaw, tongue, teeth. Saliva. Hungry eyes.
|
||
|
||
"The devil cooks bad children . . . and he EATS THEM!"
|
||
|
||
The demon lurched at the boy, who jumped back, nearly falling off the
|
||
edge of the plate. He glanced over his shoulder, tearing his eyes from the
|
||
demon in white robes, and saw himself still asleep, pillowed down in the goose
|
||
feather mattress.
|
||
|
||
With renewed belief this was all a dream, he turned back to catch a blob
|
||
of burning spittle in his face. The boy, repulsed and startled, staggered
|
||
while wiping the spittle from his eyes. He heaved and felt vomit dribbling
|
||
from his mouth, dripping onto his chest. The demon reached out, hissing, the
|
||
sound coming from a drive-in speaker box . . .
|
||
|
||
"Bobby? Oh my god, Larry, he's sick." Mom put her oh-so-cool hand on
|
||
Bobby's forehead, while removing his vomit-stained pajama top with her free
|
||
hand. She took him into the bathroom, washed him off with Dad's help, and
|
||
poured some Pepto-Bismol down his throat. They couldn't make his grunts out
|
||
as words, so when Bobby was back in bed, held and rocked by Mom to soothe him,
|
||
jesuschristourlordthedevilamen still hung on the wall, whispering to
|
||
godthefatheroflies, about the succulent morsel sleeping in the same room. Mom
|
||
tucked him in when he seemed calm, and Bobby dreamt of a demon in white robes
|
||
changing him into an angel. Not just any angel, but a false angel. The Angel
|
||
of Lies.
|
||
|
||
And the demon chased him throughout the night around an empty drive-
|
||
in parking lot. On the screen was a woman's face, winking and pouting, with a
|
||
whirr-slide-click coming from each speaker as he passed it.
|
||
|
||
#
|
||
|
||
For weeks after, Bobby thought of nothing but the demon in white robes.
|
||
And the Angel of Lies. He excused himself from attending Sunday School, using
|
||
his patented pretend-to-be-sick-and-stay-home-from-school routine. That
|
||
worked for two Sundays. The third Sunday, he got ready to walk the two blocks
|
||
to church, left the house, and then ran down the block to play at Willie
|
||
DeVon's house. That worked for a month, until the two boys had a snowball
|
||
fight and Bobby went home soaking wet. A good paddling and a week confined to
|
||
the house convinced him to go back to Sunday School the following weekend. The
|
||
dreams had tapered off by this time. He'd all but forgotten them.
|
||
|
||
#
|
||
|
||
Twelve years old. Sixth-grade Sunday School and Bobby was one of the
|
||
staunch regulars now. The dreams had gone, but they left him with a need. A
|
||
need that only church could even begin to fill.
|
||
|
||
They left him with one other thing. His friends still teased him about
|
||
it, but he got used to their razzing. Besides, a nightlight didn't mean you
|
||
were a pussy.
|
||
|
||
Did it?
|
||
|
||
Funny how his parents never came to church with him. "You're young, you
|
||
need it," Dad would lecture from behind the Sunday paper. Sure, just like I
|
||
need the nightlight, right, Dad? "And besides, it's right down the street."
|
||
|
||
Bobby gave up on his parents' souls and brought his attention back to
|
||
the lesson. "Who remembers the last plague God sent to the Egyptians?" The
|
||
teacher looked around the room. "Come on, we just discussed this last week.
|
||
It has to do with something that flies." That funny vein in Mr. Simmons'
|
||
temple started throbbing.
|
||
|
||
A voice in the back squeaked, "Bees!" Bobby, sitting in the second row,
|
||
stuffed a hand in his mouth to keep from giggling. Jimmie DeVon, Willie's
|
||
brother, seeing this reaction, contributed, "Buzzards!" Bobby covered his
|
||
face and scrunched down in his seat to keep from exploding.
|
||
|
||
"Wrong, both of you," Mr. Simmons sighed, tugging at his tie. Bobby
|
||
peeked over Chubby Jurgens' shoulder, wishing for the last ten minutes to
|
||
speed up and end Sunday School. "I'm gonna bust!" he thought. "I'm gonna
|
||
bust and Mr. Simmons is gonna be real mad." But he couldn't stop laughing. A
|
||
girl in the third row chimed in with, "Laser missiles!" and Bobby was whopped
|
||
with the giggle stick but good. He rocked back and forth in his chair,
|
||
hugging himself and gulping air in great whooping hiccups. He could barely
|
||
see Simmons glaring at him through his tears. The class shifted and whispered
|
||
until Bobby calmed himself by taking a deep breath and trying to hold it.
|
||
|
||
"Well, Mr. Reith, since you seem so amused by all this, perhaps you can
|
||
tell us the right answer," Simmons said between clenched teeth. Bobby gasped,
|
||
"The Angel of . . . the Angel of . . . of Flies!" and that set him off again.
|
||
|
||
He saw Jimmie DeVon's jaw drop and his eyes go as wide as a bullfrog's.
|
||
That didn't help matters. Chubby Jurgens grabbed his sides and fell off his
|
||
chair, farting when he landed on the floor. A few of the other boys started
|
||
to join in, but abruptly cut off when Simmons shouted, "Quiet! All of you!
|
||
None of this is funny--all of you know the answer. Look," he wiped his
|
||
forehead with a handkerchief, "we're going to discuss it again next week and I
|
||
expect some straight answers. Now, you can go," and some stood up, "but you
|
||
have to leave in an orderly manner. All except you," and Simmons' head
|
||
swiveled what had to be 180 degrees to drill holes into Bobby's eyes. Bobby
|
||
choked back a last giggle and sat stock-still. "The answer, as you all know,
|
||
was the Angel of Death, sent by God to kill the first-born of every household.
|
||
Remember that." Bobby's eyes burned. Simmons consulted his Timex digital,
|
||
then the clock. "Let us pray." Some feet shuffled in the back as the
|
||
children sat back down. All heads bowed, including Bobby's, but not before he
|
||
caught the gleam in Simmons' eyes. "Lord, watch over us today as we leave
|
||
your house. Be with us and keep us strong until we return here to worship
|
||
next Sunday. In the name of Jesus Christ our Lord, amen."
|
||
|
||
Bobby whispered, "Jesuschristourlordamen," and watched from the corners
|
||
of his eyes as the other kids left. Jimmie looked back at him and drew a
|
||
slash across his throat with his thumb. Bobby bit his lip.
|
||
|
||
When the room was empty, Simmons called, "Come here, Mr. Giggler." The
|
||
boy complied, keeping his head down the entire time. "Look at me, Mr.
|
||
Giggler. Or should I call you Bobby?"
|
||
|
||
The boy shrugged his shoulders halfway but kept his head down. "I said,
|
||
look at me!" Simmons grabbed Bobby's chin and jerked his head up. "Why are
|
||
you shaking? You kids always seem to be afraid of something. Usually you're
|
||
afraid to answer a question. Tell me something--did you think the Angel of
|
||
Flies was that funny?"
|
||
|
||
"N-no." Bobby tried to lower his face, but Simmons kept his grip firm.
|
||
"Then why were you laughing?" Simmons gave the boy's face a squeeze. "Ow! .
|
||
. . I . . . the other kids were laughing . . ."
|
||
|
||
"They didn't start until you said Angel of Flies. Or maybe you meant to
|
||
say Angel of Lies, hmm?"
|
||
|
||
("You're my little Angel of Lies.")
|
||
|
||
A demon in white robes leaped into the boy's mind.
|
||
|
||
"Because that's what you were doing. God doesn't like liars."
|
||
|
||
"I wasn't lying. Really."
|
||
|
||
"Little liars go to hell, Bobby. Maybe you didn't think about that."
|
||
Try as he might, Bobby couldn't shake the frighteningly familiar image. "Tell
|
||
me something, Bobby. Are you the first-born in your family?" Was Simmons
|
||
turning red from anger or something else? "Are you the first-born?" Simmons
|
||
hissed the question.
|
||
|
||
Bobby closed his eyes so he couldn't see the twin points of Simmons'
|
||
tongue. But every time he did, he saw the demon in white robes. "I don't
|
||
know . . . Ow! You're hurting my arms! I don't know . . . what you mean --"
|
||
Simmons shook him until his head hurt. The demon-image overlapped reality
|
||
while Simmons flicked his snake-tongue out between words. "Are (flick) you
|
||
(flick) the oldest (flick) child (flick) in your (flick) family?" Bobby
|
||
whimpered, tears in his eyes making the demon and Simmons blend together.
|
||
|
||
"Let go! You're hurting . . ."
|
||
|
||
"I WANT TO KNOW!" Saliva flew from Simmons' mouth, showering the boy
|
||
with flaming liquid.
|
||
|
||
Bobby twitched in Simmons' grip. "I don't have . . . any brothers . . .
|
||
just Diane . . . she-she's only two . . ."
|
||
|
||
Simmons' fingernails grew into three-inch claws and dug deep into
|
||
Bobby's arms. "Then you think about this, Mr. Bobby the Giggler. You're
|
||
first-born. The Angel of Death could be coming for you anytime." He spun
|
||
Bobby towards the door, raking his arms with the claws. He brought his foul-
|
||
smelling mouth next to Bobby's ear and whispered, "Pray that the Angel of
|
||
Death doesn't visit you in your own bed tonight, Mr. Angel of Lies."
|
||
|
||
("And what does the devil do to bad children?")
|
||
|
||
He swatted Bobby on the butt, hard. The boy squirmed out of Simmons'
|
||
loosened grip and ran through the doorway.
|
||
|
||
"Pray that he doesn't kill you tonight, little liar. Pray that the
|
||
Angel doesn't know you're the first-born in your family!"
|
||
|
||
Bobby ran from the church, confused, hardly able to see the way home
|
||
through his tears. He could still feel Simmons' breath on his neck and the
|
||
man-demon claws in his flesh. He ran for what seemed like hours, dogs chasing
|
||
him, his lungs thirsting for air. His heart beat in his ears, his throat, his
|
||
stomach; his chest wasn't large enough to hold it. He ran until he collapsed
|
||
on the ground, spent from escaping demons that masqueraded as real people. He
|
||
had left the sidewalk somewhere far behind him and he was gasping for air on a
|
||
carpet of the greenest grass he had seen. He was thankful for the shade some
|
||
tree thoughtfully provided him.
|
||
|
||
"What's going on?" Bobby thought as he regained his breath, face pressed
|
||
against the grass. People don't just grow claws and snake-tongues like that.
|
||
Only in monster movies, not for real. But what about Simmons? Was he a for-
|
||
real monster? He could still see the demon image merging with Simmons, but
|
||
pushed the thought away. That was too scary.
|
||
|
||
Bobby raised his head, his breath even now. The grass smelled sweet; he
|
||
was safe here in the shade. In the park.
|
||
|
||
But this wasn't the park.
|
||
|
||
The tombstone in front of him read "Ashworth." Next to it, rising miles
|
||
into the air, stood a statue.
|
||
|
||
A statue of an angel.
|
||
|
||
A black angel. (The Angel of Death.)
|
||
|
||
Casting a black shadow. (The shadow of death.)
|
||
|
||
And Bobby was caught in the Angel's shadow. (Though I walk through the
|
||
valley of the shadow of death, thou art with me.)
|
||
|
||
"I'll always be with you, Bobby," the statue whispered. "You're my
|
||
little Angel of Lies."
|
||
|
||
And even though it was daylight, and even though statues couldn't do
|
||
things like that, and even though Bobby didn't believe it for a minute, the
|
||
statue began beating its wings. The black wings reached far over the cast-
|
||
iron head and spread as far as fifteen feet across as they worked out a years-
|
||
long stiffness, like a metal arthritis. The wings whirred as they built up
|
||
speed. "Statues can't fly. Statues can't fly." Bobby worked it into a
|
||
mantra. "But angels can," the statue said. "And I'm going to fly you straight
|
||
up to heaven."
|
||
|
||
"But I'm not d-dead," Bobby said, still unable to move from his knees.
|
||
His heartbeat leapt back up to machine-gun speed, each beat matched by the
|
||
Angel of Death's wings.
|
||
|
||
"You can be, Bobby," the statue said, its voice as sweet and pure as the
|
||
church soprano. "Wouldn't you like to be my real-and-true Angel of Lies?"
|
||
The boy gulped dry air and slowly backed away from the statue. It lifted
|
||
slowly from the granite pedestal, wings shirring lazily against the air,
|
||
eyelids clicking open and shut with each beat. A black, forked tongue slide
|
||
across the ebony lips.
|
||
|
||
Whirr-slide-click. Wings, eyes, tongue. The statue came closer.
|
||
"Don't liars go to h-hell when they die?" Bobby asked, tears leaking from the
|
||
corners of his eyes. "How can you take me to heaven if I'm your Angel of
|
||
Lies?" He kept crawling backwards, grass staining his best pants. "Don't you
|
||
believe me, Bobby?" (Whirr-slide-click. Wings, eyes, tongue.) "I'm an
|
||
angel. Would I lie to you?" Black horns poked out of the metal head. "Oh,
|
||
God, make it stop," Bobby whispered, trying to regain his feet by holding onto
|
||
a headstone. "Make it go away."
|
||
|
||
"I'll go away, my little Angel of Lies. But you're coming with me."
|
||
The statue dove for the boy (whirr-slide-click), tongue flicking madly, mouth
|
||
spitting black fire, eyes in flames.
|
||
|
||
|
||
CONTINUED IN THE OCTOBER ISSUE OF SUNLIGHT THROUGH THE SHADOWS!
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
The Right of the People
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Robert McKay
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
The Right of the People
|
||
by Robert McKay
|
||
A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free
|
||
State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be
|
||
infringed.
|
||
--US Constitution, Second Amendment
|
||
|
||
Corban was now, finally, president. He'd fought long and hard to
|
||
reach the Oval Office, and yesterday he'd been officially sworn in.
|
||
The ceremony, held in the Ceremonial Room of the Capitol building, had
|
||
been closed to all but the necessary dignitaries and press people - it
|
||
was much too dangerous for a president to appear outside for the length
|
||
of time necessary for the requisite speeches and ceremonials. No
|
||
matter how tight the security, an assassin would manage to get through
|
||
some day - the odds might be astronomical against any particular
|
||
president being killed, but one certainly would be if he stood outside
|
||
and went through the forms. The last five presidents had used the
|
||
Ceremonial Room, since England Chalmers had caused it to be built for
|
||
his second inaugural in 2005.
|
||
Corban was a man who had often known defeat. He'd climbed slowly
|
||
from a seat on the Needles city council to several posts in the county
|
||
government, only to be turned out of appointed office by a revolution
|
||
at the polls which swept the Democrats from power. Starting from
|
||
scratch, and with his past experience to bolster his bids, he ran for
|
||
the state legislature, and lost; ran again, and lost; ran for mayor of
|
||
Needles, and lost; ran for governor, and lost; and finally ran for
|
||
lieutenant governor and won, with his running mate, by a bare margin.
|
||
His career again seemed to proceed smoothly, until he passed from
|
||
lieutenant governor to governor to the United States Senate and thence
|
||
to vice president. But when after two terms in that post he'd run for
|
||
the presidency, he'd been soundly defeated. Running again in four
|
||
years, he'd lost, though by a significantly slimmer margin. And now,
|
||
in the year of our Lord 2034, he'd been sworn into the office of
|
||
president, having barely won the election the previous November.
|
||
Corban had latched onto on issue, and made it his campaign focus.
|
||
He'd hammered hard on the crime rate, which had not shown a serious
|
||
downturn in the memory of many voters. He bemoaned the number of armed
|
||
robberies, the number of murders, the number of drug-related killings,
|
||
the number of terrorist attacks on American soil, and took great pains
|
||
to point out that many of these crimes would never have occurred if the
|
||
criminal had not possessed a firearm. While he had almost nothing to
|
||
say on health care, was apathetic on foreign policy, and had no
|
||
discernible economic program, his skill in manipulating the fear of the
|
||
citizens that they could be shot on the street won him the victory.
|
||
Corban was the first president to affiliate with no major
|
||
political party. He had once been a Democrat, but left that party when
|
||
it became evident that, after years of being used, the electorate was
|
||
growing tired of voting for two parties but getting only one policy no
|
||
matter who won the election. Cynically, Corban did not change his
|
||
views or his politics; he merely ceased to identify with either major
|
||
party, and left the public to conclude, erroneously, that he had ceased
|
||
to accept the policies that the party hacks had long espoused. His
|
||
cynicism, it seemed, had been rewarded, for he now held the office he
|
||
had sought for many years.
|
||
This morning, as he stepped into the Oval Office for the first
|
||
time as its legal occupant, Corban noted his reflection on the still-
|
||
dark windows. He saw a reflection that pleased him - a tall, slightly
|
||
satanic figure, with dark hair thinning at the temples and combed
|
||
straight back above a high forehead. His nose slashed steeply between
|
||
his piercing eyes, and his eyebrows exuded cold control. Corban had
|
||
carefully cultivated the image his looks naturally lent themselves to,
|
||
and in this one thing he was honest, for the image was a true
|
||
expression of his personality. He was indeed a cold, hard man, who
|
||
gave no quarter and regarded those who did as weaklings and fools. His
|
||
thin lips were an accurate reflection of the biting criticism he could
|
||
inflict, with apparent delight, on anyone who got in his way. Most
|
||
politicians, no matter how cold and calculating, managed to erect a
|
||
facade of affability; Corban had eschewed this tactic, choosing instead
|
||
to win through fear - fear of crime by the electorate, and fear of him
|
||
in his subordinates.
|
||
Sitting at the desk, Corban looked over his schedule. Even before
|
||
the inauguration, he had scrapped the highly organized squirrel cage
|
||
that previous presidents had moved in. He would schedule appointments
|
||
at times convenient for him. He would work in his own way.
|
||
Functionaries and dignitaries and affairs of state were never to
|
||
intrude on the business of governing - that was what the vice president
|
||
was for, he had snapped at an aid who was more concerned about protocol
|
||
than placating his boss. The schedule at this point, therefore, was
|
||
only sparsely filled. A meeting with the chief of staff and the
|
||
Attorney General at 7:45, to discuss the gun problem, was the first
|
||
item on the agenda. Looking at his watch, Corban saw that there was
|
||
still an hour and a half to go. He set the schedule aside, and drew
|
||
toward him the papers he needed for his next project.
|
||
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
|
||
Corban's presidency was proceeding with mixed results. Having
|
||
campaigned on a strong-anti crime platform, he was politically
|
||
embarrassed by the fact that in six months he had been unable to do a
|
||
thing about the problem. He had tried, with every political maneuver
|
||
and trick in his book, to persuade Congress to act, but nothing had
|
||
been done. As was usual, both the House and the Senate were so caught
|
||
up in partisan wrangling, pork-barrel bickering, and simple
|
||
bureaucratic gridlock that nothing of value could be expected in
|
||
anything like a reasonable time.
|
||
Corban had had enough. He picked up the phone, punching the
|
||
intercom button as he hunched his shoulder to hold the receiver to his
|
||
ear. Picking up a piece of paper covered with his fine, precise
|
||
script, he spoke into the mouthpiece. "Have the chief of staff and the
|
||
Attorney General here after lunch." His voice was dry and cold, and
|
||
left no room for argument.
|
||
Corban replaced the phone and turned his attention fully to the
|
||
paper he held in his thin hands. Finishing his perusal, he nodded,
|
||
made a few corrections in red ink, and stuck the paper in the folder he
|
||
kept for items to be discussed informally.
|
||
After lunch the two men he'd ordered to his office sat across from
|
||
Corban. Roger Hedrick, the White House chief of staff, was a solid
|
||
stump of a man, bald and blunt and absolutely ruthless. He had been
|
||
hired to oversee the president's schedule, and his muddy brown eyes did
|
||
so with an efficiency and lack of compassion that would have made a
|
||
robot proud.
|
||
Gordon Hacker, the Attorney General, was tall, with a paunch that
|
||
lapped over his belt and thick gray hair combed into the most faultless
|
||
and unmoving style. He too was a hard man, tailored after his
|
||
president, and his mission in life as Attorney General was to prosecute
|
||
criminals. The fact that the Justice Department was falling even
|
||
further behind was no disparagement of his zeal, for as the crime rate
|
||
rose Hacker cut more and more corners in the effort to arrest, try,
|
||
convict, and pass sentence on those who broke the law.
|
||
Corban leaned back in his chair, after the small talk -
|
||
exceedingly small between these men - had been taken care of.
|
||
Flattening his palms on the leather arms of his chair, he asked,
|
||
"Gentlemen, is there anything we can do at this time, through the
|
||
legislative process, to significantly affect the crime rate?"
|
||
Hacker and Hedrick looked at each other, each giving a miniscule
|
||
shake of the head. Hedrick, as chief of staff, answered for both men -
|
||
"No, sir, not a thing."
|
||
"Very well," said the president. "We all know that the judicial
|
||
system is clogged, both with new cases, interminable appeals, and a
|
||
bleeding-heart crop of judges. The executive branch, however, is not
|
||
powerless, nor is it witless, nor is it craven. I would like to read
|
||
something to you."
|
||
Corban reached into the folder on the corner of his desk and
|
||
extracted the sheet of paper he'd placed there earlier. "This is the
|
||
text of a proposed executive order. 'The level of crimes committed
|
||
with firearms is already insupportably high, and is continuing to rise
|
||
at an unacceptable rate. Law enforcement agencies at all levels of
|
||
government in the United States are unable to effectively combat this
|
||
problem due to many factors, not the least of which is the alarming
|
||
proliferation of guns among the populace.
|
||
"'After consultation with officials at the Justice Department, I
|
||
have, therefore, taken the step of issuing this executive order in the
|
||
hope that once its provisions are in place the rate of crimes committed
|
||
with firearms will drop. All Federal agencies with law enforcement
|
||
responsibilities are directed to make every effort to assist local and
|
||
state agencies in carrying out the provisions of this order.
|
||
"'On my authority as president of the United States of America, I,
|
||
C.T. Corban, order the immediate confiscation of all privately owned
|
||
firearms within the borders of the United States and its territories.
|
||
Once this is done, those with legitimate cause for ownership and
|
||
possession of firearms - such as private investigators, police
|
||
officers, and intelligence and military personnel - will have their
|
||
guns returned to them, with appropriate registration of said weapons.
|
||
The Department of Justice will promulgate the necessary regulations for
|
||
enforcing this order.'"
|
||
Hedrick and Hacker glanced at each other. Again, there was a
|
||
slight shake of the head. Hedrick once more spoke for the two visitors
|
||
to the Oval Office. "Have you thought about the political
|
||
ramifications of this order?"
|
||
"At this point," returned the president with a cold sneer, "I
|
||
don't think anyone would dare bring those ramifications into play. If
|
||
anyone wishes to play hardball with this, they will find that being
|
||
portrayed as an enemy of law and order, an enemy of the people's right
|
||
to a safe neighborhood, is detrimental to further political success."
|
||
"I'm sure there will be a few who will want to run this through
|
||
the courts," responded Hacker. "And while we've got good attorneys, I
|
||
don't know if we could successfully hold off a challenge to this
|
||
order."
|
||
"You have no personal opposition to the order?" asked Corban
|
||
softly.
|
||
"None at all." Hedrick shook his head in the slight pause Hacker
|
||
left as he considered his next words. "I think it is the only step
|
||
left to us. We have tried everything we can within the current
|
||
framework; we must try this. I only want to be sure that you are
|
||
prepared for a court challenge."
|
||
Corban was silent, and Hedrick spoke into the quiet. "I agree. I
|
||
am also concerned about possible repercussions on the Hill. This is
|
||
something that could galvanize Congress and persuade both parties to
|
||
work together. And that would undermine your presidency, perhaps
|
||
fatally. Remember, you're a member of neither major party, and if they
|
||
combine against you there is no political machinery for you to fall
|
||
back on."
|
||
"Your objections are well-thought out," said Corban. "However, I
|
||
do not think that things will be as bad as you fear. As I said a
|
||
moment ago, anyone who opposes this order would be easily characterized
|
||
as opposing safety in the streets and parks of the United States, and
|
||
if that perception is once attached to a politician, his career will be
|
||
over. This order will be issued one week from today. Gordon, have
|
||
basic plans drawn up by then for enforcement. Roger, have a speech
|
||
written to be delivered that evening, and several press releases
|
||
slanted in various ways for the several sectors of the press."
|
||
With a double "Yes, sir," the two men rose from their chairs and
|
||
left the room. Laying the paper in his out basket for the secretary to
|
||
type, the president turned to another item of business.
|
||
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
|
||
Surprisingly, a year after Corban's executive order was issued no
|
||
one had raised a political ruckus. The Hill was uncharacteristically
|
||
silent, and the president's sources informed him that the Senators and
|
||
Representatives were afraid, as he had predicted, of being seen as pro-
|
||
crime. The sources Corban's subordinates had cultivated in Congress
|
||
delivered the same reports, and so the president felt safe on that
|
||
flank.
|
||
The second area of concern was the judicial system, and so far
|
||
there was not a squeak from that quarter. Corban had watched the
|
||
courts like a hawk after the order became public, expecting someone to
|
||
either use a criminal case, or file a civil case, in opposition to the
|
||
banning of all but a few guns. But apparently no one wished to do so.
|
||
Here it was more difficult to be sure of the reasons, but after a year
|
||
of polling and studying and spying, the president and his top advisors
|
||
were convinced that the lack of reaction resulted from equal parts
|
||
apathy, fear of being seen as anti-law and order, and fear of crime
|
||
itself.
|
||
Then there was the electorate. Corban continued to watch this
|
||
front, as the voters were the only people at this point which could
|
||
post a serious threat of removing him from office. The American
|
||
electorate was notoriously fickle - "the people" could turn from
|
||
overwhelming support to total opposition in a very short time, and with
|
||
the preliminary planning for the next election already under way, it
|
||
was essential to keep a finger on the pulse of the voters. But they
|
||
too seemed either sick of armed crime or apathetic, and gradually
|
||
Corban was beginning to relax.
|
||
On this summer day, he turned his chair and looked out the windows
|
||
across the lawn. The grass was a startling emerald green outside, a
|
||
green that reminded him of summers back in Washington. He smiled
|
||
slightly - a smile very different from his normal cold gesture - as he
|
||
remembered the days of playing in the meadows and fields, catching
|
||
grasshoppers and garter snakes, and enjoying the time without a care.
|
||
He'd only moved to California as an adult, and while his legal home was
|
||
there, he'd grown up in Washington and that was where his memories took
|
||
him. Now, of course, if he wanted to go out and walk on the grass he
|
||
would be followed by a contingent of Secret Service men, and chased by
|
||
a pack of reporters howling after even the most banal remark. The
|
||
smile vanished, and the cold, set expression resumed its place.
|
||
Jerking his chair around, Corban picked up his pen and resumed where
|
||
he'd left off, going over the text of a bill scheduled for a floor vote
|
||
later in the day.
|
||
The buzz of the intercom was an unwelcome distraction. Corban's
|
||
head jerked with irritation, then he controlled himself and pressed the
|
||
speaker button on the phone. "Yes?"
|
||
"Sir, Attorney General Hacker wishes to see you. He says it's
|
||
urgent, and also Mr. Hedrick will be here in a few minutes."
|
||
"Very well, send him in. And when Hedrick gets here send him in
|
||
as well."
|
||
Pressing the button again, Corban turned back to the document on
|
||
the desk. As Hacker came in the president favored him with a bare nod,
|
||
and returned to his work. A few minutes later the chief of staff
|
||
arrived, and only then did Corban lay the bill down and look at his
|
||
visitors.
|
||
Hacker nodded perfunctorily, while Hedrick did not even bother
|
||
with that. Hacker took the initiative. "Mr. President, we've got a
|
||
problem - a big one. I just got the news today from a source in
|
||
California. It seems someone is preparing a challenge to your
|
||
executive order on constitutional grounds."
|
||
"Constitutional grounds?" asked Corban. "We didn't anticipate
|
||
that, did we?"
|
||
"No, sir, we didn't. We thought through the political
|
||
ramifications, but we never discussed the legal aspect. We assumed, as
|
||
seemed only reasonable to assume, that if the political angles were
|
||
covered no legal challenge would arise."
|
||
Hedrick spoke now, for the first time. "Sir, we can handle the
|
||
folks on the Hill and in the public and the courts right now. Between
|
||
judicious politicking and good press manipulation, we've got the
|
||
situation under control. But if this challenge is allowed to proceed,
|
||
the whole situation will unravel. And even if we defeat it, the
|
||
political climate will turn against us and I'm not at all sure we'll be
|
||
able to recover before the election."
|
||
Corban sat silently for a moment, his eyes cast down on the desk.
|
||
Finally he roused himself and spoke. "What are the grounds of this
|
||
challenge?"
|
||
Hacker spoke three words. "The second amendment."
|
||
Corban relaxed. "In that case," he declared, "we have nothing to
|
||
worry about. I can whip that kind of challenge in my sleep. You go
|
||
back to work - I'll get back to you with the steps necessary to deal
|
||
with this when it comes up."
|
||
Obediently the two subordinates got up and walked out. Corban, a
|
||
chill smile on his face, returned to his work.
|
||
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
|
||
Another two years had passed. The court system, clogged with the
|
||
criminal cases and civil suits of an entire nation, had ground slowly,
|
||
and only today had the challenge to the executive order reached the
|
||
Supreme Court. This delay in itself was a problem, as Corban's promise
|
||
of dealing with crime, which was the reason for his executive order,
|
||
was being graphically cut to ribbons by the immense number of illegal
|
||
weapons being used. The election was looking iffy at best, and he was,
|
||
for the first time, worried. Householders were being robbed, raped,
|
||
and murdered in record numbers; many of them protested that until
|
||
they'd been forced to give up their weapons they'd been safe, and would
|
||
have shot anyone who tried what was now being done with near-impunity.
|
||
Corban, in a bold move, had declared that he would put his law
|
||
degree to use and argue the case himself. The Attorney General had
|
||
protested mightily. The Solicitor General, whose office was
|
||
responsible for presenting the government's side before the Court, was
|
||
equally furious. Corban insisted. He fired a few people. He demoted
|
||
some people. And he had his way. The president himself would argue
|
||
before the Supreme Court.
|
||
The unheard-of move was not as asinine as it might have appeared.
|
||
Exercising his strong personality and his growing knowledge of where
|
||
the bodies were buried, he'd filled the two vacancies on the Court that
|
||
had come before him with rigid, doctrinaire judges who, unlike some
|
||
Justices, would not waffle all over the map in their decisions. They'd
|
||
proved that they would argue and write their opinions based on their
|
||
ideology. They were also highly persuasive men, and had more than once
|
||
influence decisions that would otherwise have gone the other way.
|
||
Corban was not worried about the case; it was the election that
|
||
concerned him. And he was confident that by winning the case, he could
|
||
save the election.
|
||
In the rear of his limousine, traveling in armored luxury with a
|
||
veritable army of security people all around, Corban reviewed his
|
||
arguments. He expected to demolish the opposing counsel, an ordinary
|
||
trial lawyer from California. He'd reviewed the man's record; there
|
||
was nothing there to fear.
|
||
Corban's lips moved in his small cold smile. He would win the
|
||
case. He would win the election. And he would continue his life in
|
||
power, for his next step was to overturn the constitutional amendment
|
||
limiting a president to two terms. He intended, in the end, to be
|
||
president for life, as Franklin Roosevelt had been. Eventually,
|
||
perhaps, he could dispense with elections altogether, and simply rule
|
||
on the basis of an election for life.
|
||
The car pulled into the Supreme Court's parking area. Surrounded
|
||
by Secret Service men, who became less obtrusive as he proceeded to the
|
||
Court's chamber, Corban strode confidently through the halls. The
|
||
Supreme Court had made many momentous decisions, but never had it heard
|
||
a president argue a case. History was being made today.
|
||
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
|
||
Closing statements, now. Corban had presented his side, and the
|
||
opposing counsel had presented his. It was time to sum up the case on
|
||
both sides, and then wait for the Court's decision. Corban waited
|
||
comfortably while the California lawyer, who had handled the case with
|
||
one aide, rose. Looking around at the hefty legal staff he'd
|
||
assembled, the president was completely satisfied.
|
||
The opposition counsel, whose name was Matthews, spoke, beginning
|
||
quietly. "This case has been presented as a matter of solving a crime
|
||
problem. That aspect has been argued back and forth all the way up the
|
||
court system, with statistics being presented on both sides. I contend
|
||
that the statistics show that the executive order whose
|
||
constitutionality is questioned has not produced the results intended,
|
||
but that is not what I wish to address now.
|
||
"We are dealing with constitutionality. In the end, it all comes
|
||
down to the Constitution. Whatever results the order may have
|
||
produced, whatever justifications can be made for it, whatever
|
||
motivation President Corban had in issuing it - all this is in a very
|
||
important sense irrelevant.
|
||
"Let's look at the Constitution. That has not been done during
|
||
the progress of this case through the system, and it's high time we did
|
||
so. I quote from the second amendment thereto: 'A well regulated
|
||
Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of
|
||
the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.' That is
|
||
rather simple, is it not?"
|
||
Matthews cleared his throat and went on, his voice somewhat
|
||
stronger. "This statement consists of only one sentence. Brevity and
|
||
conciseness were virtues well displayed by the framers of the
|
||
Constitution. But it was not mere literary skill that produced this
|
||
marvel of succinct language - it was the simplicity of the principle
|
||
thus enunciated.
|
||
"'The right of the people.' That was being safeguarded. When we
|
||
read the Constitution, we find that the entire document has one
|
||
overriding purpose - to protect the people from the government. Having
|
||
lived under a repressive government which failed to protect the rights
|
||
of the individual citizen, the framers were determined to ensure that
|
||
those rights were never again violated by the government. 'The right
|
||
of the people.' That right, above all else, must be protected - from
|
||
the government. It must be protected - whatever right it might be.
|
||
"But what right does the second amendment protect? The language
|
||
of the amendment is explicit. It is the right to 'keep and bear Arms.'
|
||
There are no conditions attached. There are no caveats, no
|
||
restrictions. The people have this right - to keep and bear arms - and
|
||
it shall not be infringed.
|
||
"What does this executive order do? It explicitly denies the
|
||
people this right. It overtly and blatantly declares that the people
|
||
may not keep and bear arms. It says, and I quote, 'On my authority as
|
||
president of the United States of America, I, C.T. Corban, order the
|
||
immediate confiscation of all privately owned firearms within the
|
||
borders of the United States and its territories. Once this is done,
|
||
those with legitimate cause for ownership and possession of firearms -
|
||
such as private investigators, police officers, and intelligence and
|
||
military personnel - will have their guns returned to them, with
|
||
appropriate registration of said weapons.'
|
||
"Firearms are, according to this order, to be confiscated. Only
|
||
those who can show 'just cause,' as it were, may later retrieve their
|
||
guns. This directly conflicts with the second amendment. The right of
|
||
the people - not just those in certain occupations, but the people - to
|
||
keep and bear arms has been flagrantly and deliberately infringed."
|
||
Matthews raised his head and looked directly into the eyes of each
|
||
of the nine Justices in turn, as they sat behind their high bench. He
|
||
stood like an ancient knight, defending the castle from barbarian
|
||
hordes. "Your Honors, I submit that if this order is allowed to stand
|
||
it will desecrate the Constitution, destroy the second amendment,
|
||
eviscerate our claims to freedom, and place the United States squarely
|
||
within the ranks of those totalitarian dictatorships that we have
|
||
publicly decried and even fought against. This order is plainly
|
||
unconstitutional, and must be overturned."
|
||
Corban sat in shock. He had studied the transcripts of testimony
|
||
and arguments as the case worked its way through the courts, and
|
||
nothing like this had ever been said. The argument had always dealt
|
||
with effectiveness, with previous Supreme Court rulings, with esoteric
|
||
precedents in case law. Only now had Matthews played his ace - an
|
||
appeal directly to the text of the Constitution.
|
||
Corban now saw it, as if he'd planned it himself. The earlier
|
||
trials and arguments were not intended to be won. The whole thing was
|
||
intended, from the very beginning, to be argued before the Supreme
|
||
Court. Matthews must have grinned in ecstasy when he learned that
|
||
Corban himself would argue the case - Corban, who had waltzed in with
|
||
such arrogant, overbearing confidence. The case was intended to make
|
||
much more than a legal point - it was directed specifically at the
|
||
president. The election was now lost, the case was lost, Corban's
|
||
dreams were dust.
|
||
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
|
||
When the nine Justices released their unanimous opinion it was an
|
||
anticlimax. Corban was already making future plans. Given the
|
||
argument Matthews had made at that last dramatic moment, there could
|
||
not be any other ruling. Had the Court upheld Corban's executive
|
||
order, the people would have forced what had never before occurred -
|
||
resignations from the Supreme Court. Corban would have been forced
|
||
from office in shame, following Richard Nixon. As it was his
|
||
administration was in ruins, the campaign abandoned. And the people,
|
||
all over the United States, were recovering their guns from police
|
||
storage.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
The SysOp's Tale
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Karl Weiss
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
He slouched in his chair, legs crossed yoga style, peering
|
||
at the glowing screen. The clock in the screen corner said
|
||
2 A.M. His eyes watched the letters form commands, and he
|
||
shivered a bit in anticipation. He had another leech on the
|
||
line. Crom, how he hated the file hoovers. He still had
|
||
the feeling that files were wealth, and couldn't get over
|
||
the way they could be reproduced. Things were different in
|
||
this new country.
|
||
|
||
He peered again, myopically, and saw the leech was using
|
||
Zmodem and doing a batch download of file section 18, DV and
|
||
QEMM programs. Blast! He'd worked long and hard to get
|
||
those files. But he could be patient. If nothing else, his
|
||
forbearers, working in the mines of the old country, had
|
||
instilled patience in his genes.
|
||
|
||
He stuck a finger in his ear, and wormed some wax on it.
|
||
Sticking his finger in his mouth, he sucked on it
|
||
absently, wondering about the best way to reel in this
|
||
leech, this particular file sucker, into his reaches.
|
||
Another thing about this particular hoover - his ANSI
|
||
signatures really grated on his eyes. The leech must have
|
||
spent *days* working on getting just that particular
|
||
combination of glaring, screeching colors and shapes. Ugh.
|
||
And like the rest of his kind, he seemed to be completely
|
||
incapable of writing in compete sentences, didn't know how
|
||
to turn the caps lock off, and the only kind of punctuation
|
||
he knew was !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
|
||
|
||
Well, it was just a matter of time. Reaching into his snack
|
||
bag, the Sysop pulled out a BBQ rib. Even through the tang
|
||
of the sauce, his taste buds could sense the chemicals used
|
||
to fatten the animal, and it was far too greasy for his
|
||
preference. He much preferred the taste of free running
|
||
stock, even if it was stringy and tough.
|
||
|
||
"OK, he's finished with that load, let's CHAT." Pressing
|
||
the F3 key, the Sysop's software sent a message, " Hi, this
|
||
is the Sysop, and we are in CHAT mode!"
|
||
|
||
"HEY, HOW DONG D00D, WATCH KIND MACHINE YOU RUNNNIG?"
|
||
|
||
Sysop sighed. The hoover couldn't type or spell, either.
|
||
And if the twit had read Bulletin 3, he would know. Typing
|
||
rapidly, the Sysop replied, "Got 486/55, 2 Intel 14.4s, 3
|
||
megs online, SVGA, HPSJ2c, running DV and Dos 6a." "OK,
|
||
let's see if he can read," thought Sysop.
|
||
|
||
"WOW D00D, WHERE U GIT ^^6A!!!!!ALL I GOT IS A LOSY AT MY
|
||
MOM GAVE ME WHEN SHE GOT A 386!!!"
|
||
|
||
The hoover couldn't carry on a coherent conversation,
|
||
either, which further grated on Sysop's nerves.
|
||
|
||
"I know guy, frind of his fathrs progrmas for MS, and gave
|
||
hs odl man a copy, and i got it frm him." If nothing else,
|
||
Sysop had learned protective coloration.
|
||
|
||
"WOW, CAN I GET COPY!!! I GOT SOME NEAT STUFF TO TRAID!!!!"
|
||
|
||
Settling even further into his chair, the Sysop took the
|
||
keyboard off the desk and put it in his lap. Pecking
|
||
quickly and proficiently, he typed "What got??????"
|
||
|
||
"SUPPER TETRRS!!! ITS A NEAT GAME WITH BOMBS AND COLORS, AND
|
||
SOUND. I GOT IT FOR MY BIRTHDAY. ITS A GGOD GAME."
|
||
|
||
"No, i alredy got it, what else u got? Any good warze?"
|
||
|
||
"I CAAN GET WORDPER51 MY MOM HAS IT ON HER MACHNE!!!"
|
||
|
||
"I got WP 5.2c for Windoze and the beta test ofr WP5.3. u
|
||
got anythng else.\?"
|
||
|
||
Sysop was in his realm now, trading, and going against an
|
||
inexpereinced pup at that. Wealth - this was it. Data
|
||
meant power, and power meant wealth. He continued to play
|
||
the fish.
|
||
|
||
"Naw, i got all that stuff. u got gifs? good stuff?"
|
||
|
||
"YEAH, I FOUND THE STUFF MY DAD HAD HIDD, I CAN GET
|
||
SOME!!!!"
|
||
|
||
"OK, gif me", Sysop typed, and then hit F5. The screen
|
||
showed "CHAT mode over, Sysop says Goodby." and the main
|
||
menu for the BBS came back up. As he slouched even further
|
||
in his chair, Sysop peered intently at the screen. After a
|
||
few seconds, "U" for upload showed. Zmodem was selected,
|
||
and BEVERLY.GIF started its way over the phone lines to his
|
||
hard drive. Grimacing, Sysop scratched himself. He hadn't
|
||
bathed in a long time, and his skin was becoming patchy.
|
||
|
||
"Huh, Beverly again." She seemed popular this year.
|
||
According to the descriptions, she was some kind of
|
||
something on a TV show. Sysop never watched TV. Too boring.
|
||
|
||
At long last the upload was finished. At 2400 baud, it had
|
||
taken several minutes, and the phone lines in the area were
|
||
pretty bad, resulting in several transmission errors. The
|
||
speaker in his machine started beeping. The pest had paged
|
||
him. Pressing the F3 key, the Sysop's software again sent
|
||
the message, " Hi, this is the Sysop, and we are in CHAT
|
||
mode!
|
||
|
||
"HEY D00Z, THAT GOOD ONE, FROM STAR TREK, NEW GENERITON
|
||
GOOD PROGRAMM, I LKE IT, DO YOU!!!!! THE GIF SHOWS
|
||
EVERYTHING."
|
||
|
||
Sysop quickly typed back "Ok, I got it. u got more good
|
||
gifs?"
|
||
|
||
"YESS, LOTS, YOU WANT ME TO SEND THEM TO YOU?"
|
||
|
||
Shuddering, for he despised that type of data, Sysop
|
||
answered "No way, at 2400 take too long. dos is 8 1.4 meg
|
||
discs, and gifs take way too long at 2400,,, where cna we
|
||
meat?"
|
||
|
||
"I GOTTA GO TO SHCULL TOMORO, HATE IT, MRS TROUBLE BUTT FOR
|
||
SCOCIANCE, BUT I SLEEP THRU IT CAUSE I LIKE COMPUTERS AND
|
||
STAY UP ALL NITE TO HACK ON THEM. CAN WE MEET AFTER SCHOOL
|
||
IN GYM OR SOMETHIN!!!! WOW D00DZ, I GOTTA GET THAT VR DOS.
|
||
MY FRINDS REALLY LIKE SEE IT!!!!
|
||
|
||
Smiling now, Sysop typed back, "Can you get Huntington
|
||
Metro, upper parking lot, row K, at midnite tomorrow?"
|
||
|
||
"HEYHEYHEY, TOMOROS A SCHOOL NITE, DON'T KNOW IF I ACN GET
|
||
OUT OF THE HOUSE, MY OLD MAN SETS THE ALARM, CAN W E MEET IN
|
||
THE DAY SOMETIME"
|
||
|
||
"No, I go to a private school, and we don't get off until 5,
|
||
then I have to do homework. I live by huntington and can
|
||
make it there. If you cant then I cant givb you the warze"
|
||
was typed with a smirk on Sysop's face.
|
||
|
||
"OKOKO, I BE THERE"
|
||
|
||
"Bring the gifs - and I want them on high density files and
|
||
make sure they zipped, and not with that 204c crap, use the
|
||
old one!!!!and no ARJ or LZH" As Sysop had learned, making
|
||
the deal sound too good could lose him the trade.
|
||
|
||
"YEHA, OKOK, YOU WANT 3.5 AOR 5" DISKS"
|
||
|
||
"Either one will be fine, just make sure they are zipped."
|
||
And with an evil grin, Sysop did a Ctrl, Alt, Del before his
|
||
correspondent could answer, watched his machine reboot
|
||
into the BBS, and went to bed.
|
||
|
||
At midnight, Sysop waited for the meeting. He crouched
|
||
behind some cars and watched. He had a good idea what his
|
||
trading partner would look like, and he was right. At 11:54
|
||
P.M., a pasty faced, pudgy nerd walked into sight, his Nikes
|
||
lisping on the concrete. He had a disk box in his hand and
|
||
was looking around with more than a hint of fear.
|
||
|
||
"Over here" Sysop whispered in a harsh voice. Pasty face
|
||
jerked around and stumbled toward the voice.
|
||
|
||
"You got the Dee Oh Ssss? Man my friends are really looking
|
||
to see this stuff, hope it's rad." Poor pasty face. His
|
||
voice cracked in the middle of the sentence. " I brought
|
||
some other stuff too, like how to make gunpowder, and TNT,
|
||
and the directions for some really powerful acid that will
|
||
eat anything."
|
||
|
||
Thinking how stupid the last was, since you couldn't keep it
|
||
in anything, he stepped out from between the cars and the
|
||
user got a good look at him. "Hey dude, why are you wearing
|
||
Spock ears? Are you a Vulcan or something?"
|
||
|
||
"No, I just came from a Star Trek convention. You got the
|
||
gifs?"
|
||
|
||
"Yeah, right here. I looked, some of it was really neat,
|
||
all skin."
|
||
|
||
"OK, let me have it." The deed was quickly done, and Sysop
|
||
went home.
|
||
|
||
Later on, as Sysop watched his screen, he reached across the
|
||
to the plate of roast meat. Grimacing, he choked it down.
|
||
It was loaded with carbohydrates and chemicals. Seemed the
|
||
animal had eaten nothing but junk filled with preservatives,
|
||
and once again, it was full of fat. Well, anyway, that was
|
||
one leech less. No one would question his disappearance
|
||
except his immediate family. He would just stop posting and
|
||
none of the BBS operators would miss him.
|
||
|
||
As Sysop picked his teeth, he figured that he was going to
|
||
have to trap a runner next time. All the fat was bad for
|
||
his heart, he had heard.
|
||
|
||
|
||
Robin and The Eagle
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Wm. Whitney
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Robin and The Eagle
|
||
From
|
||
The Tap Root Conspiracy
|
||
|
||
Wm. Whitney
|
||
For
|
||
Heather
|
||
|
||
Author's Note: There is only one living, air-breathing species on Gais
|
||
capable of attaining a lifespan as long as an Aeon - the Grandfather
|
||
Teller Trees, commonly known as first growth. "Robin and The Eagle" was
|
||
originally inspired during a nap under an 800 year old black oak which
|
||
still stands in Sherwood Forest. It is from the soon to be published
|
||
collection called "The Tap Root Conspiracy". It is indeed sad as we
|
||
approach this "new aeon" that this species numbers less than five percent
|
||
(5%) of the population it had at the beginning of the present aeon.
|
||
|
||
+++++++++++++
|
||
|
||
Robin sat fancy free deep in Sher's woods under a great black oak,
|
||
comfy before the open hearth, the merry gentry of the forest rowdy with
|
||
odes and poems of fore play. The air crackled with moments of glory and
|
||
oral histories of the greatest lodges and moments now untouchable through
|
||
time.
|
||
|
||
He stirred from Marion's warmth and bodily quickenings sycophant with
|
||
the tale weaver's lilt, his gaze now captured in the firelight's fantasy
|
||
of imagery. Something had captured his visionary's eye; his lessons in the
|
||
art of scrying had given him many a moment to pause reflectively when his
|
||
"sight" hastened his feelings with foretellings of future wonders. As his
|
||
mentor had taught, he began to concentrate on the fire's rapture.
|
||
|
||
Images crashed against each other in a montage of forest hues twinkled
|
||
with fairy dust before coalescing into a viewpoint deep in a highland
|
||
meadow.
|
||
|
||
The Raven hen shivered ever so slightly at the unusual May snow freshly
|
||
fallen on her outstretched feathers struggling to shield her fledgling
|
||
brood. Her eyes darted nervously across the rare beauty of the spring
|
||
colors now daunted from their peacock and rainbow hues with the purity of
|
||
the white burden which threatened their tender stems.
|
||
|
||
Mother Raven didn't have time to listen to the flower's plaints. Her
|
||
attention was riveted to two things: the safety her covering warmth
|
||
brought the chicks and the sighting of her tardy mate carrying a long
|
||
overdue repast for the wriggling screeches muted by her protective wings.
|
||
No time now to concern herself with her own rapidly depleting bodily
|
||
resources. Her mate hunted still in meadows further down the great
|
||
mountain's side.
|
||
|
||
Perhaps it was the quickening of the strange, cold May wind.....,
|
||
perhaps it was an instinct to spread her wings further to keep out stray
|
||
drafts...., perhaps it was the faint shadow which flitted across her
|
||
peripheral vision....
|
||
|
||
She shuddered her wings once more.
|
||
|
||
From Robin's point-of-view, this tiniest of movements would have gone
|
||
unnoticed except it was amplified by one much higher, arcing with much
|
||
greater magnitude and import. As his right eye mirrored a tiny reflection
|
||
of the hen's movement, his left screamed to his attention.
|
||
|
||
A great falcon soared with determined scrutiny high over the meadow in
|
||
hiding.
|
||
|
||
"A day for eagles!", Grandfather Black Oak smiled reliving the story to
|
||
Robin's sight from deep within the crystalline matrix woven amongst the
|
||
resins of his tap roots.
|
||
|
||
The falcon's dark plumage had yet to warm in the summer's interrupted
|
||
rays; his belly empty from the snow's protective cover as he sailed
|
||
effortlessly in the cold updrafts turned chaotic with winter's last gasp.
|
||
|
||
Robin flinched knowingly at the import of the fire's tale; two species
|
||
locked in Darwinian metaphor which normally led to death in the more
|
||
vulnerable.
|
||
|
||
The hen's brood grew restless once more struggling in their hunger to
|
||
break the boundaries of her nest. She clucked to their impatience rustling
|
||
again to calm them. But their growing biological clocks chimed a time to
|
||
fly and test their wings, not to huddle infant-like in the confines of
|
||
their birthing place.
|
||
|
||
Every brood has its Friar Tuck, its boisterous one filled with a quest
|
||
for adventure and discovery not to mention an unquenchable hunger
|
||
motivating its bravery. They had already discovered the rich abundance of
|
||
Spring tidbits surrounding their opulent environs. Little Tuck broke
|
||
through his mother's restraint with a plaintive cry of frustration.
|
||
|
||
The hawk's casual spiral turned abruptly toward the sound. His eye
|
||
sharpened focus to catch the slightest stirring in the blinding white
|
||
carpet below. He slowed, descending.....
|
||
|
||
Slap! Mother hen's wing shoved the offending oaf deeper into the bowels
|
||
of the nest's safety. A sharp peck on the noggin gave reinforcement to
|
||
cease and desist disturbing the morning's unnatural calm.
|
||
|
||
But, her discipline came too late, for the hawk's acute vision had
|
||
already targeted his morning's repast. Ascending once again, he maneuvered
|
||
closer keeping the morning sun at his back to shield him from the mother's
|
||
view. It would be only a short time now before he would be in position for
|
||
the fatal dive.
|
||
|
||
"Look higher, my brother!" Grandfather Black Oak admonished. "Do not be
|
||
confused by the drama of the moment."
|
||
|
||
Robin shifted his focus in the fire's light as Marion stirred briefly
|
||
at his side. The camp had quietened as the mead took its effect.
|
||
|
||
The white shape contrasted sharply with the deep blue of the mountain
|
||
sky. Much loftier than the hungry Hawk, the snow eagle glided omnisciently
|
||
through the chilled air its feathers still untarnished from the shifting
|
||
spring sun.
|
||
|
||
And, yet a third set of wings beat furiously on the morning air....
|
||
Father Raven hastened to his waiting duties knowing impatience is often
|
||
not a virtue. Steadily he climbed from the lower valley; his claws full of
|
||
morsels for the waiting brood.
|
||
|
||
Having settled Tuck's impatience, Mother Raven turned her attention
|
||
once again to the heavens. In an instant, she knew the import of the
|
||
impending danger.
|
||
|
||
"Caw! Caw!", she screeched hoping against hope to ward off the
|
||
intruder.
|
||
|
||
But aeons of conditioning had taught the Hawk that she would not leave
|
||
her brood. He began his dive with talons stretched forward for the kill.
|
||
|
||
By now the full drama had unfolded before three pairs of observing
|
||
eyes. Robin and the Eagle watched dispassionately while Father Raven's
|
||
heart fluttered at the threat unfolding before him. Suddenly, the aching
|
||
tiredness of his long journey was no more.
|
||
|
||
Spirit moves in many ways. The warming currents caught beneath him as
|
||
he dropped his morning's kill for greater speed.
|
||
|
||
"Caw! Caw! Caw!" came his echoing challenge.
|
||
|
||
Perhaps Hawk was attracted by the sport now offered, perhaps it was
|
||
just his anger at the interruption, or perhaps it was his natural
|
||
intuition that something greater was afoot that May morning.
|
||
|
||
Wheeling to better confront his adversary, Hawk inwardly chuckled at
|
||
the Raven's audacity. Wings beating he strove to gain altitude and
|
||
advantage confident in his inherent lineage and supremacy.
|
||
|
||
"Screeeeeee..." he whistled accepting the Raven's challenge.
|
||
|
||
But Father Raven righteously held the onrushing wind and dove toward
|
||
first strike. And a mighty blow it was indeed catching Hawk in the left
|
||
thigh sending both atilt into momentary spirals. Blooded now, he strove to
|
||
regain lost height.
|
||
|
||
The Hawk's greater span of wings worked to the advantage however as he
|
||
outpaced his smaller adversary. The hit had shaken his complacency and
|
||
evoked the screaming rage indigenous to the kill now before him. He would
|
||
have a double bounty this Spring morning!
|
||
|
||
Now Robin and the Eagle had not missed a millisecond of the unfolding
|
||
drama. Nor had it left either unmoved.
|
||
|
||
Turning now, Hawk sought to take advantage of Raven's struggle upwards.
|
||
The few feet separating them gave his greater bulk a glancing impact as
|
||
the two came together once again.
|
||
|
||
Raven's feathers so violently separated from his right wing, drifted
|
||
slowly earthward leaving him with an even greater handicap. But, he now
|
||
held altitude over the recovering Hawk.
|
||
|
||
"Caw! Caw! Caw!", his desparate insolence sought to maintain the Hawk's
|
||
distraction from the vulnerable nest.
|
||
|
||
Once again he flew into the face of his would-be-slayer striking the
|
||
tail feathers with minimum impact.
|
||
|
||
"The tide has turned!", Grandfather Black Oak intoned ominously.
|
||
|
||
Robin's breast tightened involuntarily as he unknowingly clasp Marion
|
||
to him.
|
||
|
||
Something must have caught within the Eagle's breast as well. Perhaps
|
||
it was the memory of his own fledglings waiting on the mountain's crest.
|
||
Perhaps it was the nobility of the mid-morning Eastern Sun now warming the
|
||
snows below.
|
||
|
||
For the Eagle turned beginning a silent, decisive downward plunge to
|
||
settle the Darwinian outcome of the vision's drama.
|
||
|
||
Normally, it should not have mattered which prey Eagle returned to his
|
||
mate and brood. But that something which had stirred his heart must have
|
||
determined his target.
|
||
|
||
As the two adversaries wheeled for the final encounter, neither
|
||
detected the great white bird descending above. But Spirit spoke to Mother
|
||
Raven's watching horror and calmed her to a silent prayer.
|
||
|
||
The Hawk's hunger driven mind never felt the back-breaking blow.
|
||
|
||
Knowing the encounter was over and the god hunger was fulfilled, Raven
|
||
turned thankfully to retrieve his family's repast.
|
||
|
||
Grandfather Black Oak stirred briefly in the pre-dawn breeze with smoke
|
||
from the night's fire wafting gently amongst his branches. The sleeping
|
||
forms nestled in his tap roots rested easily now.
|
||
|
||
An armor clad figure stepped out from the forest's seclusion. His
|
||
confident glance missed nary a slumbering body as he strode to the still
|
||
warm kettle to sate the hunger of his travels.
|
||
|
||
For the Lion had come to lay down with the Lamb much as the Eagle
|
||
joined forces with the Raven that night. And, Richard of the Great Heart
|
||
had come home to England once more.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²
|
||
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|
||
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|
||
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|
||
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||
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|
||
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|
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|
||
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|
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|
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|
||
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|
||
²²²²²°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°²²
|
||
²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
|
||
³ ÃÄ¿
|
||
³ Poetry ³ ³
|
||
³ ³ ³
|
||
ÀÄÂÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ³
|
||
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
...And You Were There
|
||
Copyright (c) 1992, Tamara
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
...And You Were There
|
||
|
||
Lightning changes, transitions emerge
|
||
troubles, hope & motivations submerged
|
||
shredding the masques away
|
||
Bloodless wounds seep terror and fear
|
||
lashing out, willows & windshear
|
||
in anger and in pain, in fright
|
||
|
||
I feel a trace, a burning shame
|
||
somewhere within the pain
|
||
a shadow starts to form
|
||
|
||
Into the darkness of destiny
|
||
It slowly roams, searching endlessly
|
||
For the answer to a prayer
|
||
Magic crackles, lightning bursts
|
||
and somewhere in the night it works
|
||
a path is drawn with light
|
||
|
||
I see your face, I call a name
|
||
somewhere within, it came
|
||
a shadow starts to form
|
||
|
||
tragic futures, forbidden pasts
|
||
structured images and cerebral castes
|
||
threaded with karmic infinities
|
||
Freedom of will, strengthen ties
|
||
bonds of friendship never die
|
||
growing in the shadows of rain
|
||
|
||
I heard your voice, you called my name
|
||
somewhere within the pain
|
||
a shadow waits
|
||
|
||
a breath, a thought in total suspension
|
||
doubts tumbled out, hopes intervention
|
||
a hesitation borderlined in time
|
||
though some declined, and some withdrew
|
||
still somehow, reaching out you knew
|
||
...and you were there.
|
||
|
||
Written online by Tamara - for a friend 5/15/92
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Touch Me
|
||
Copyright (c) 1991, Patricia Meeks
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
TOUCH ME
|
||
|
||
To touch me is to heal me.
|
||
Just reach out your hand,
|
||
and I'll meet you half way,
|
||
One little soft-whisper touch,
|
||
and I'm free.
|
||
|
||
To touch me is to trust me.
|
||
One little touch can mean so much,
|
||
One hand reaching through the darkness,
|
||
to another in time,
|
||
One little soft-whisper brush,
|
||
of your hand on mine,
|
||
and I'm strong.
|
||
|
||
To touch me is to make love with me.
|
||
Is is so hard to touch me?
|
||
The finger-brush of your body touching mine,
|
||
The tempation almost too much,
|
||
Yearning to reach out,
|
||
but pulling back in time,
|
||
I feel you touching me,
|
||
in my mind.
|
||
|
||
I know you want to touch me,
|
||
One little soft-whisper touch,
|
||
and you are healed.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
The Look That Crashed
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Michie Sidwell
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
The Look That Crashed
|
||
|
||
|
||
Eyes like heaven
|
||
Lips
|
||
That portray the sweating beams
|
||
Of hell
|
||
A paused cinder
|
||
Antagonized by the vulture
|
||
Of your hands
|
||
Diving down silhouette kisses
|
||
Pronounced like strewn stains
|
||
Aching a broken bed
|
||
A distressed calling
|
||
Dressed by the scant
|
||
Of your scent
|
||
Leans over my parched inventory
|
||
To smoothly unwavel
|
||
The hall-light flicker
|
||
Entering zones deployed in infinity
|
||
Awake to the chokened glance
|
||
With the dust
|
||
Coughed out of your eyes.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Laura
|
||
Copyright (c) 1993, Mark Mosko
|
||
All rights reserved
|
||
|
||
|
||
With oaken trees along side,
|
||
Like an elf in the woods I hide.
|
||
I began my slumber out here
|
||
Within this shallow grave I used to fear.
|
||
Don't you agree these trees are beautiful?
|
||
They are like a painting, so peaceful.
|
||
I can't understand why I'm crying,
|
||
Maybe it was your lying --
|
||
Let me close my eyes and forget.
|
||
I still can't believe that it's over, yet.
|
||
Let me rest for a little longer,
|
||
Wait until I'm a little stronger.
|
||
Brother, kiss me good-bye.
|
||
Mother, please don't cry.
|
||
My name is Laura, I'm over here,
|
||
Burried under this oak tree, near.
|
||
I'm peaceful under these trees.
|
||
They coax me with their fallen leaves.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Þ°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±Ý
|
||
ÞúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúÝ
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|
||
³ Information ³ ³
|
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ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
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There are several different ways to get STTS magazine.
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SysOps:
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Contact me via any of the addresses listed in CONTACT POINTS listed
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||
on the STTS mailing list to receive the magazine free of charge each
|
||
month. If you have access to FIDO, you can file request the magazine.
|
||
If you don't have access to any of these services - or do but don't
|
||
wish to use this option - you can call any of the BBS's listed in
|
||
DISTRIBUTION SITES and download the new issue each month. In either
|
||
case contact me so that I can put your BBS in the dist. site list for
|
||
the next issue of the magazine.
|
||
|
||
(Refer to DISTRIBUTION VIA NETWORKS for more detailed information about
|
||
the nets)
|
||
|
||
|
||
Users:
|
||
|
||
You can download STTS each month from any of the BBS's mentioned in
|
||
DISTRIBUTION SITES elsewhere in this issue. If your local BBS isn't
|
||
listed, pester and cajole your SysOp to "subscribe" to STTS for you.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
If you haven't any other way of receiving the magazine each month, a
|
||
monthly disk subscription (sent out via US Mail) is available for $
|
||
20.00 per year. Foreign subscriptions are $ 25.00 (american dollars).
|
||
|
||
Subscriptions should be mailed to:
|
||
|
||
Joe DeRouen
|
||
14232 Marsh Ln. # 51
|
||
Addison, Tx. 75234
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Submission Information
|
||
----------------------
|
||
|
||
|
||
We're looking for a few good writers.
|
||
|
||
Actually, we're looking for as many good writers as we can find. We're
|
||
interested in fiction, poetry, reviews, feature articles (about most
|
||
anything, as long as it's well-written), essays, and ANSI art.
|
||
|
||
STTS is dedicated to showcasing as many talents as it can, in all forms
|
||
and genres. We have no general "theme" aside from good writing,
|
||
innovative concepts, and unique execution of those concepts.
|
||
|
||
The only payment we can offer for your articles, stories, and poems is
|
||
that of exposure. As STTS grows, we expect it to reach markets through-
|
||
out the USA, Canada, Europe, Japan, and parts of ASIA. Through the
|
||
distribution system we're using, the possibilities are practically
|
||
limitless.
|
||
|
||
The copyright of said material, of course, remains the sole property
|
||
of the author. STTS has the right to present it once in a "showcase"
|
||
format and in an annual "best of" issue. (a paper version as well
|
||
as the elec. version)
|
||
|
||
Acceptance of submitted material does NOT necessarily mean that it
|
||
will appear in STTS.
|
||
|
||
Submissions should be in 100% pure ASCII format. There are no
|
||
limitations in terms of lengths of articles, but keep in mind it's
|
||
a magazine, not a novel. <Grin>
|
||
|
||
Fiction and poetry will be handled on a pure submission basis, except
|
||
in the case of any round-robin stories or continuing stories that might
|
||
develop.
|
||
|
||
Reviews will also be handled on a submission basis. If you're
|
||
interested in doing a particular review medium (ie: books) on a
|
||
full-time basis, let me know and we'll talk.
|
||
|
||
ANSI art should be under 10k and can be about any subject as long as
|
||
it's not pornographic. We'll feature ANSI art from time to time,
|
||
as well as featuring a different ANSI "cover" for our magazine each
|
||
month.
|
||
|
||
In terms of articles, we're looking for just about anything that's
|
||
of fairly general interest to the BBSing world at large. An article
|
||
comparing several new high-speed modems would be appropriate, for
|
||
example, whereas an article describing in detail how to build your
|
||
own such modem really wouldn't be.
|
||
|
||
Articles needn't be contained to the world of computing, either.
|
||
Movies, politics, ecology, literature, entertainment, fiction,
|
||
non-fiction, reviews - it's all fair game for STTS.
|
||
|
||
Articles, again, will be handled on a submission basis. If anyone has
|
||
an idea or two for a regular column, let me know. If it works, we'll
|
||
incorporate it into STTS.
|
||
|
||
Writers interested in contributing to Sunlight Through The Shadows can
|
||
reach me through any of the following methods:
|
||
|
||
|
||
Contact Points
|
||
--------------
|
||
|
||
The Internet - My E_Mail address is: joe.derouen@chrysalis.org
|
||
|
||
FIDO - Send me a private message containing your
|
||
submission to node 1:124/8010
|
||
|
||
|
||
RIME - My NODE ID is SUNLIGHT or 5320. Send all files to
|
||
this address. (you'll have to ask your SysOp who's
|
||
carrying RIME to send it for you) Alternately, you
|
||
can simply post it in either the Common, Writers,
|
||
or Poetry Corner conference to: Joe Derouen. If you
|
||
put a ->5320 or ->SUNLIGHT in the top-most upper
|
||
left-hand corner, it'll be routed directly to my
|
||
BBS.
|
||
|
||
Pen & Brush Net - Leave me a note or submission in either the STTS
|
||
Conference, Poetry Corner conference, or the
|
||
Writers Conference. If your P&BNet contact is using
|
||
PostLink, you can route the message to me
|
||
automatically via the same way as described above
|
||
for RIME. In either case, address all correspondence
|
||
to: Joe derouen.
|
||
|
||
WME Net - Leave me a note or submission in the Net Chat
|
||
conference. Address all correspondence to:
|
||
Joe Derouen.
|
||
|
||
My BBS - Sunlight Through The Shadows. 12/24/96/14.4k baud.
|
||
(214) 620-8793. You can upload submissions to the
|
||
STTS Magazine file area, comment to the SysOp, or
|
||
just about any other method you choose. Address all
|
||
correspondence to: Joe Derouen.
|
||
|
||
US Mail - Send disks (any size, IBM format ONLY) containing
|
||
submissions to:
|
||
|
||
Joe DeRouen
|
||
14232 Marsh Ln. # 51
|
||
Dallas, Tx. 75234
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Advertising
|
||
-----------
|
||
|
||
Currently, STTS Mag is being "officially" carried by over 35 BBS's
|
||
across the nation. It's also available via Internet, FIDO, RIME, and
|
||
Pen & Brush Networks.
|
||
|
||
If you or your company want to expose your product to a variety of
|
||
people all across the world, this is your opportunity!
|
||
|
||
Advertising in Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine is available
|
||
in three different formats:
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
1) Regular Advertisement
|
||
---------------------
|
||
|
||
We're accepting business advertisements in STTS. If you're interested
|
||
in advertising in STTS, a full-page (ASCII or ASCII and ANSI) is
|
||
$20.00/issue. Those interested can contact me by any of the means
|
||
listed under Contact Points, elsewhere in this issue.
|
||
|
||
As of October 1st, the rates will increase to $25.00/issue. This is to
|
||
cover increasing distribution costs, as well as promotional costs.
|
||
|
||
You can, however, purchase up to six months worth of ads at the
|
||
current price of $20.00/per advertisement/per issue.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
2) Feature Advertisement
|
||
---------------------
|
||
|
||
We'll include one feature ad per issue. The feature ad will pop up
|
||
right after the magazine's ANSI cover, when the user first begins to
|
||
read the magazine. This ad will also appear within the body of the
|
||
magazine, for further perusement by the reader.
|
||
|
||
A feature ad will run $ 50.00 per issue, and should be created in
|
||
both ANSI and ASCII formats.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
3) BBS Advertisement
|
||
-----------------
|
||
|
||
Many BBS SysOps and users call STTS BBS each month to get the current
|
||
issue of STTS Magazine. These callers are from all over the USA as well
|
||
as Canada and various other countries.
|
||
|
||
Advertising is now available for the logoff screen of the BBS. The
|
||
rates are $ 100.00 per month. Ads should be in both ASCII and ANSI
|
||
format. We're accepting RIP ads as well, but only for the this
|
||
advertising option.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
Contact Points
|
||
--------------
|
||
|
||
|
||
You can contact me through any of the following addresses.
|
||
|
||
|
||
Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS
|
||
(214) 620-8793 12/24/96/14,400 Baud
|
||
|
||
InterNet: joe.derouen@chrysalis.org
|
||
|
||
Pen & Brush Net: ->SUNLIGHT
|
||
P&BNet Conferences: Any
|
||
|
||
WME Net: Net Chat conference
|
||
|
||
PcRelay/RIME: ->SUNLIGHT
|
||
RIME Conferences: Common, Writers, or Poetry Corner
|
||
|
||
FIDO: Joe DeRouen at 1:124/8010
|
||
|
||
US Mail: Joe DeRouen
|
||
14232 Marsh Ln. # 51
|
||
Dallas, Tx. 75244
|
||
U.S.A.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
You can always find STTS Magazine on the following BBS's.
|
||
BBS's have STTS available for both on-line viewing and
|
||
downloading unless otherwise marked.
|
||
|
||
* = On-Line Only
|
||
# = Download Only
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... Sunlight Through The Shadows
|
||
Location ........... Addison, Texas (in the Dallas area)
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Joe and Heather DeRouen
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 620-8793 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
(Sorted by area code, then alphabetically)
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... ModemNews
|
||
Location ........... Stamford, Connecticut
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Jeff Green
|
||
Phone ........... (203) 359-2299 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
# BBS Name ........... Lobster Buoy
|
||
Location ........... Bangor, Maine
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Mark Goodwin
|
||
Phone ........... (207) 941-0805 (14.4k baud)
|
||
Phone ........... (207) 945-9346 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... Poetry In Motion
|
||
Location ........... New York, New York
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Inez Harrison
|
||
Phone ........... (212) 666-6927 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... Archives On-line
|
||
Location ........... Dallas, Texas
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... David Pellecchia
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 247-6512 (14.4k baud)
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 406-8394 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
# BBS Name ........... BBS America
|
||
Location ........... Dallas, Texas
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Jay Gaines
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 680-3406 (9600 baud)
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 680-1451 (9600 baud)
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... Bucket Bored!
|
||
Location ........... Sachse, Texas
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Tim Bellomy
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 414-6913 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
# BBS Name ........... Chrysalis BBS
|
||
Location ........... Dallas, Texas
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Garry Grosse
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 690-9295 (2400 baud)
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 783-5477 (9600 baud)
|
||
|
||
# BBS Name ........... Collector's Edition
|
||
Location ........... Dallas, Texas
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Len Hult
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 351-9871 (14.4k baud)
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 351-9871 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... New Age Visions
|
||
Location ........... Grand Prairie, Texas
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Larry Joe Reynolds
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 264-8920
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... Old Poop's World
|
||
Location ........... Dallas, Texas
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Sonny Grissom
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 613-6900 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... Opa's Mini-BBS (open 11pm-7am CST)
|
||
Location ........... Plano, Texas
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... David Marshall
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 424-0153 (2400 baud)
|
||
|
||
* BBS Name ........... Texas Talk
|
||
Location ........... Richardson, Texas
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Sunnie Blair
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 497-9100 (2400 baud)
|
||
|
||
# BBS Name ........... User-2-User
|
||
Location ........... Dallas, Texas
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... William Pendergast and Kevin Carr
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 393-4768 (14.4k baud)
|
||
Phone ........... (214) 393-4736 (2400 baud)
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... Right Angle BBS
|
||
Location ........... Aurora, Colorado
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Bill Roark
|
||
Phone ........... (303) 337-0219
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... Ruby's Joint
|
||
Location ........... Miami, Florida
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... David and Del Freeman
|
||
Phone ........... (305) 856-4897 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... Pegasus BBS
|
||
Location ........... Owensboro, Kentucky
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Raymond Clements
|
||
Phone ........... (317) 651-0234 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... Badger's "BYTE", The
|
||
Location ........... Valentine, Nebraska
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Dick Roosa
|
||
Phone ........... (402) 376-3120 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... Aries Knowledge Systems
|
||
Location ........... Baltimore, Maryland
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Waddell Robey
|
||
Phone ........... (410) 625-0109 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... Robin's Nest BBS
|
||
Location ........... Glen Burnie, Maryland
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Robin Kirkey
|
||
Phone ........... (410) 766-9756 (2400 baud)
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... Exec-PC
|
||
Location ........... Elm Grove, Wisconsin
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Bob Mahoney
|
||
Phone ........... (414) 789-4210 (2400 baud)
|
||
Phone ........... (414) 789-4315 (9600 baud)
|
||
Phone ........... (414) 789-4360 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... First Step BBS, The
|
||
Location ........... Green Bay, Wisconsin
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Mark Phillips
|
||
Phone ........... (414) 499-7471 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
# BBS Name ........... SoftWare Creations
|
||
Location ........... Clinton, Mass.
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Dan Linton
|
||
Phone ........... (508) 368-7036 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
BBS Name ........... Channel 1
|
||
Location ........... Cambridge, Massachusettes
|
||
SysOp(s) ........... Brian Miller
|
||
Phone ........... (617) 354-3230 (14.4k baud)
|
||
Phone ........... (617) 354-3137 (16.8one ........... (212) 66 S (213
|
||
ftBBS Na 66 S (21an....s, Virgo
|
||
Green Bay, Wisconsin
|
||
SysOp(ight (c-3230 (14.4k baud)
|
||
Ph7ne 5-125...... (214) 414-6913 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
# BAuropPhad ......... First Step BBS, The
|
||
LA
|
||
a gion .Virgo
|
||
Green Bay, Wisconsin
|
||
SRBBSFitzherber ........... Len Hult
|
||
Ph7ne 528-846...... (305) 856-4897 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
BBSl. <Gralis.o...... Robin's Nest BBS
|
||
LBurke .Virgo
|
||
Green Bay, Wisconsin
|
||
SLuciA as wJohnBBS nam....... Mark Phillips
|
||
Ph7ne 644-67....300-12.0(617) 354-3230 (14.4k baud)
|
||
Ph7ne 644-519...... (508) 368-7071 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
# BBidewayzo...... Robin's Nest BBS
|
||
LFairfax .Virgo
|
||
Green Bay, Wisconsin
|
||
SPaul Cuunti.......... Dick Roosa
|
||
Ph7ne 52-54....... (410) 766-9756 (2400 baud)
|
||
|
||
BAnathBy -Lin........... ModemNews
|
||
Loonoy Cd
|
||
rouglifobil Green Bay, Wisconsin
|
||
SSadie Jan........ Garry Grosse
|
||
Ph7ne 792-155...... (207) 9416-9756 (2400 baud)
|
||
|
||
B
|
||
Ma........ Robin's Nest BBS
|
||
LSan .......eGreen Bay, Wisconsin
|
||
SSadie Jan... fai B
|
||
Ma......iate, for
|
||
>k baud)
|
||
|
||
# BBidew
|
||
|
||
-87 (212) 666-6927 (14.4k baud)
|
||
|
||
# BBidewayRenaissn)
|
||
|
||
Right Angle BBS
|
||
Location n .Virgo
|
||
.... Dallas, Texas
|
||
SysOp(s) ......0 (amdte, for
|
||
>k baud)
|
||
|
||
# BB8....467-7322214) 783-5477 (9600 baud)
|
||
|
||
# BBS NameSsed a Sn)
|
||
tumght Angle BBS
|
||
Location n .Virgo
|
||
.... Dallas, Texas
|
||
SysOp(s)ht (cRobbinate, for
|
||
>k baud)
|
||
|
||
# BB8....784-1178414) 789-4210 (2400 baud)
|
||
Phone 8....784-117(410) 625-0109 (14.14.14 BBS
|
||
Reis i
|
||
|
||
|
||
Laura
|
||
Copyrig
|
||
US Mail: Mark Mosko
|
||
All rights rvertising in Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazinean contacia In
|
||
INTERNETnternet, FI PEN.orgRUSHTRIBme .y. Athe
|
||
TTS aore detailedledhp. Bwe exu can fileads at tr
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||
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||
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||
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|
||
|
||
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||
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|
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|
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|
||
|
||
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||
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|
||
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|
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|
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|
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||
( tamfvely)with smokir distrit of your eyk ts in STTS. If you'
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||
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|
||
moryou
|
||
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|
||
|
||
|
||
yo,
|
||
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|
||
|
||
|
||
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|
||
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|
||
tact Points, elsewhere in th------ormat.ticleontacprize mission basin therepeciarty
|
||
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