466 lines
24 KiB
Plaintext
466 lines
24 KiB
Plaintext
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ssssssss, sssssssssssssssssssas. ssss ,sssssssa. ,ssssssssa.
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$$$$ `<60>$$a $$$ssssa, .,sss$$$b $$$$sssssa. `<60>$$$b $$$$ `<60>$$$b
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$$$$ $$b $$ `<60>$$$b a$$<24>' $$$$ $$$$ `<60>$$$b $$$$ $$$$ $$$$
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$$$$ $$$ $$ $$$$d$$' $$$$ $$$$ s$$$$ s$$$$ $$$$ $$$$
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$$$$ $$P $$ $$$$$$$ $$$$ $$$$ ssss $$$$ $$$$
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$$$$ ,d$P $$$ $$$$Y$$ $$$$ $$$$ $$$$ ssssssss$$$$
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$$$$s%#S<>' s$$$ $$$$ Ydb, $$$$ $$$$ $$$$ $$$$
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$$$$sssssss$$$$ s$$$$ `<60>S%ss$$$$s$$$$ `<60>$$%sssssss%$$$$%sss$$$$
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P h a r c e
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. . - ishue numbah wun - . .
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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. _\|I N T R O|/_ .
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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"465 lines of pure aerosol cheese"
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I've come to the conclusion that the only people on this Earth
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that are really themselves are certifiably insane, i am among them, and
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chances are, you are too. so sit back, and wriggle around in your
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straight-jacket until you get comfortable, and don't let the buckle
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press against the growth on your back that looks oddly like another
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head. to read this zine, you really have to be open minded. i know
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people always preach that their zine is different, so, just to be
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different, i won't, instead i'll send you subliminal messages.
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question that i get asked a lot is "what is pharce about", and,
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after a perplexed few seconds, i came up with a decent answer.
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"pharce is like the dictionary, it's about everything and nothing
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at the same time". but i think it's good, and i have some talented
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writers and artists working on this thing... that is, if they'd
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ever turn their work IN... anyway, this first issue is chocked
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full o' some tasty morsels, and i think you'll enjoy reading it,
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and if you don't, try velcroing yourself to the ceiling naked and
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upside down, you'll look at it in a completely different way.
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=------------------------------------------------------------------------=
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_\| -.-Pharce News-.- |/_
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=------------------------------------------------------------------------=
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Pharce NEWS!? how can pharce have news when pharce itself is new!?
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well, pharce isn't really new. i thought up the concept in the beginning
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of the summer, started coding the viewer (which will be out as soon as
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i fix my computer), and when my computer got fried, i kinda had to
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start again. shit happens, eh? just seems to happen to me more often
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than not.
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Well, most of this zine so far was done a while back but due to the complete
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laziness of myself, i never finished/released it. but now we have the
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backing of the talent in Mortal, so that gave me a bit of a kick in the
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ass.
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As with any zine though, we are starting at the lowest rung of the ladder,
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and we must painfully, and through much criticism, work our way to the
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top, so if you have anything you want to say, mail your suggestions to
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me (traq) at milletcd@wilkes.edu, or elendil.
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)( --BUTT KISSING SECTION-- )(
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Special thanks to elendil also for facilitating me with the means to get this
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zine back and going. this issue may not be as full as future issues are
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going to be, but it's out.
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number lines title by whom type
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---.----------------.-----------------.-----------------------.------------
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I. 14-36 Intro traq
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II. 38-98 pharce news traq
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1. 114-202 Nobody God traq short
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2. 166-218 Acidic Society drastik po3m
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3. 224-288 escape lethe editorial
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4. 292-373 Poem Colly traq -----
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5. 377-432 The Time of Seeing traq parable
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------
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. _\| nobody god |/_ .
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------
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he knew he had power, he knew he had control of the ill-tempered,
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mindless beings that strode through the dank hallways of his suburban
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high school. the same mindless that would laugh and taunt him, and throw
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hard chewed pieces of candy in his hair, and push him into the flailing
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arms of the cute little girl he liked, only for him to look back down at
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the floor, and mutter a pitiful apology, and curse. he knew they'd get
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their own, in the end... in the end.
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they called him robbie, when they bothered at all to use his name.
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even the teachers sometimes didn't know his name, but that all didn't
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matter to them. he was not there. they would go on teaching their class,
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and never would they cast a curious eye on him and think to ask robbie if
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he knew the answer. of course he did, he knew all the answers, but they
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didn't know that. they didn't know anything. even the smart ones knew
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nothing, they knew less than all because they were the least willing to
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admit they knew nothing. robbie knew they knew nothing because he knew
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everything, and that was everything more than they would ever learn.
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robbie knew that one cannot see when one's eyes are sewn shut, humanity
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the seamstress, and humility the chosen fiber.
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robbie observed. he understood that no one worshipped him any
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longer, and thus they had reached the pinnacle of what they were capable
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of. even the ones that made a life out of superstitious prayers and
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rhymed garble, and ritual and bowing and nodding and t.v. evangelism,
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they who claimed to devote their life to robbie, they didn't see him
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really. they saw the idea of robbie, but robbie at one time would bother
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to stand and say "i am here! i am robbie!" and they would push him
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aside. robbie didn't have beams of life-light beaming from his
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eye-sockets, that hurt too much. he didn't descend from the heavens.
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robbie didn't even know what the heavens were, beyond a figment of a
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desperate people's fantasy salvation. robbie lived on 53rd and Broadway,
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not on a throne in some dirty, smoggy cloud somewhere. his apartment
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wasn't even that nice, full of bad ideas, and lost causes.
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robbie built. robbie was good with his hands and built things in
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in his own likeness. another thing that puzzled robbie was that people
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knew this, that robbie made things that bore resemblance to him, to his
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pimply face and underdeveloped calves, thick glasses and a head that
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just seemed like it couldn't fit more than a ten minute lecture on
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ideology in it without busting, yet people still expected robbie to be
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shiny and big. a couple people once thought that he threw thunderbolts.
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people watch too much t.v. robbie sat and molded his clay and thought.
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he thought about things he had done wrong. it was a dreadful thing.
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robbie was only human, what did he expect? he knew all that one could
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know, yet still he made mistakes. he thought this intolerable that of
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all people to be a screw-up, he was the big-daddy of em' all.
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the wind whistled through robbie's mop hair-do, and crept down the
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shroud he wore, making him shiver slightly. still he climbed ever further
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up the ladder, and when he got to the top of the building, he threw
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himself over the final rung, stumbled a bit, very ungracefully... he
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fruitlessly regained his composure, stepped to the edge where he peered
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upon creation in all its unglory. the people looked liked ants from up
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here, he thought. he hated that expression, it was one of the little
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flaws of mankind to make silly cliches like that. robbie knew them all.
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robbie knew all the ants, that's all they were, ants. but robbie knew
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them. he knew he was supposed to love them all, they expected nothing
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less, but he found this the most difficult part of his job. he spit
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and a big glob landed on a pedestrian's head. he looked up but saw
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nothing, and kept walking, fusterated and wildly wiping his bald head
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in disgust. rain.
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robbie thought about what would happen to these 'ants' if he jumped.
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would they simply cease to exist? would they go on living with only a
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superficial metaphorical theological bruise? would they know that now
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death for them would be the end-all, not the see-all, a simple stutter
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in the loop of life. would they continue to stand in front of their
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idles, their symbols and icons, their crosses and buddha's, and ask
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robbie to forgive them for the shit they did. would the 'believers'
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cry and fall to their knees? No. No, they would not. behind their
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clouded ideas of existence, and territorialism and materialism, they
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would not miss robbie. robbie would not go on to something more like
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they all thought they would. robbie would simply not be there any
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longer, and the street-sweeper would wash away the mess on the sidewalk,
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and the starving undomesticated animals would feed on the rest, and then
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go home and watch their talk shows. an old wizened man, sitting in his
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old broken chair, would open the paper, and see a small article, buried
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among the small articles, and maybe he would shed a single tear, a tear
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which would be remains of an old, broken idea.
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robbie hit the ground with a thud.
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. . . .traq. . . .
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--------------------------------------------------------------------------
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- Acidic Society -
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--------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Life is such a mystery
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Everyone just plays the game
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of life. Everyone falls prey
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to society's fucked-up rules.
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Competition between the social
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classes :AKA: Levels of life ....
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True Immortality is being able
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to sit back and watch with a grin
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as everyone role-plays in reality.
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But what is reality? You'll never
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know until you reach the level
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where the game is no longer a game
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but a never-ending maze. Humans are
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just pawns, pawns in a sub-reality
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of reality. And it starts over..
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There is really no end to the maze..
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The only real end to the maze of life
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is death itself. But what is death?
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It could just be the beginning of the
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fucked up labyrinth of life AGAIN!.
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Societies fucked up rules keep most
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souls trapped in the labyrinth of life,
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One big war with each other for nothing
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What do you get for falling victim to
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the game?,.. Nothing but reality. Once
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you no longer fall prey to the scouring
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vultures of society, you finally understand
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life. Inner peace and harmony are the most
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important things there is in reality. But
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reality is only an illusion until you reach
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a level where you can understand and not
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understand the same thing. Reality itself is
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a illusion ... A hall of mirrors, just waiting
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to be thrashed by the one rock that destroys
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all peace and harmony, And once that Hall of
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Reality is smashed, .... another one takes its
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place, ... to complete the circle of life. I am
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truly immortal for being able to sit on that
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"higher plane" and watch as the pawns fight to
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get out of the maze first, The social war begins
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...... Yet I am also a victim for playing "a" role
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in the fake sub-reality of social life.........
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The End
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Composed on 800mics ( 4 hits ) of LSD
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By : NeuroManceR ( IRC: Drastik )
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eBoLA / Pharce | prez / writer
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.úúú. escape .úúú.
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------
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we are, as a generation, the first really unique group of young people
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since the 60's. the 60's were dominated by sex, drugs, rock and roll, and
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some other cliche's, and i can't help wondering how that came about,
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considering that we are seemingly heading in the same direction. in the 60's,
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probably the dominating influence on young people's attitudes was vietnam, a
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shitty war (don't get pissed off at me if your daddy fought there) that we
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ultimately ended up "losing" the point is, during this whole shit-eating era,
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the kids were getting shipped off to get killed in some foreign country, and
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that pissed us off. so, in a desperate attempt to show everyone else that
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they were opposed to the whole idea, they all became rebels and began smoking
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oregano and wearing bell-bottoms <g> neato, and when the war ended, the real
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end came when disco and leisure suits came into fashion <g> <g>. anyway,
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we're in the nineties now, duh, but were in the same situation. everyone
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seems to be on some rebellion or another. rebellion against their parents,
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against each other, against their government. if any generation was capable
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of anarchy, it'd be ours. everyone, EVERY single fuqnut i know smokes weed
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up the ass like there's no tomorrow, and feels he's trying to prove something,
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along with the occasional beer party on friday night, followed by the
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customary hangover on sat. warded off by a hit on the ol' glass 4' bong.
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everywhere you turn there's someone dousing their problems with something.
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some kiddie here dies last year sniffing WD40. wtf is that!? and i live in
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the boonies, i can't imagine what's happening elsewhere. kids trying to get
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high sniffin' each other's assholes? could be, never rule that kinda thing
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out. so, what's at the heart of the matter? why are we all slowly wasting
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away? is this just a cycle that recurs every once in a while. a little bit
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of God saying "stop fucking up so much, or it'll be worse next time"? nah,
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that's the easy approach for religous fanatics, psychiatrists, and Bill
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Richard Dick Clinton. only we know what's wrong, and if you don't know, i'll
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let you in on the secret... life as we know it SUX. all the conservative
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bureaucrat have poisoned our society with a bug they farted out called
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"every-man, woman, and child-for-yourself" scary? i think it is, and i'm
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willing to bet it gives you all the willies too. so what are we doing about
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it? i mean, that is the logical thing to do, right? solve the problem.
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nah, we're too lazy. not just you, me too. i see these little commercials
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on the tele that say bullshit like "don't do drugs, be a teacher, murder is
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bad, help your community, blah blah blah..." and i get a good laugh.
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it just doesn't happen that way. instead, we flip the station, and get high
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with captain kangaroo and sat. morning cartoons. what are WE DOING? we are
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escaping. it's the EASY way out, and it's the path of least resistance.
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no one gives a shit about us, they really don't. i think adults today are
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just going to live to be 120, just so we never come to power. well, that just
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might happen <wink>, but in the meantime, is this existence worth pulling
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ourselves out of the gutter for? i think so. there is a point that all the
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freebies run out, and we're left here, "who me, worry?" yeah you jerky. how
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many pot-heads does it take to run a country? write me in bolivia when it
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comes to that. i'm trying to escape just as much as anyone else, except i
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know when we are getting to the point that some "generation-x authors" such
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as myself term 'the do-nothing' or 'don't care' generation.
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shut off the flashy neon "HELP ME!" sign on your head, don't panic.
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ask not what your country can do for you, because all the money and patience
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has run out. ask yourself what you can do for you, for us, for the 90's
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kiddies out there who haven't seen truth as maybe now you will.
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look at life in a different way. don't complain. words alone won't
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get you anywhere. it's no secret that the system is dicking us over,
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and it's also no secret that we're not helping the matter either.
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ACT. enlighten yourself and others. spread the word that there's
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a new generation of thinkers out there who don't want violence,
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don't want racism, and are tired of seeing their peers blowing their
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heads off because it was the only way to escape.
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ú.úúletheúú.ú
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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loss and coffee
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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a man walked up to me
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in the restaurant where I was
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drinking coffee by myself
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I had noticed him staring at me
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from the pay-telephone
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on the other wall
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when he approached
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he asked me if he knew me
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I said "obviously not".
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"perhaps once, in the desert,
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we were acquaintances?"
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"I am afraid that the desert
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in which I live is small and in much disarray.
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I doubt if in it we could ever have met."
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"I am certain that at one time we were brothers."
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"my friend", I said, "acquaintances
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die with the loss of their memory
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memories die with the loss of mind
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and the mind dies
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with the loss of acquaintances.
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come, sit and have a coffee".
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[traq]
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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strangers pass
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-------------------------------------------------------------------
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the pain is slender and deep,
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it worked its way there
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with cunning,
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unknowing as it be, (no doubt)
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however
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unwelcome fear
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which neurosis has left me
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blind to this attack?
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a passing stranger in his
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IGNORANCE
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assists the blade
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in piercing the most vital
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of organs. my head
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aches.
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blood mixed with saliva
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works its way over the bulge
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of my lip
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to my chin
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but no one hears
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the stranger passes.
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[traq]
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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good-bye
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-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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I came today,
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||
to say goodbye...
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I burnt my tongue (while losing you)
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can i ever taste
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your water (pure) again?
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with you, despise you
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without, more
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||
I want/HATE you!
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||
but you're gone,
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any you don't know,
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didn't know while,
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don't know now
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||
while i smoke the cliche cigarette
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that you WERE me,
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and i am not me, no longer...
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again i am alone
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even her by my side we are one
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||
still alone
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and she'll be gone
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||
still alone
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||
more will see my company,
|
||
and fade you will
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||
surfacing as barside stories,
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and weeping nostalgic episodes
|
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as a shell of what you once were, me.
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I turn and kiss her and fall asleep,
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with a smile
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no more paper, story's over... good bye, love.
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. ú ú ú . ú ú ú . ú ú ú ú
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||
ú this is the time of seeing... part I
|
||
ú
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||
. the human mind is a very complex thing. many million
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||
ú years evolution has not only shaped our minds, but formed our
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||
ú consciousness, twisted it from primitive instinct-based thoughts
|
||
to highly-organized problem-solving abilities, yet the world has
|
||
ú not changed greatly. the mind in its desire to expand and evolve
|
||
saw fit to close its metaphorical "eye" on selected images in the
|
||
ú harsh, unrelenting world around us. you see, in the past few days,
|
||
ú i have discovered that our world is... much more evil
|
||
. than we tend to let ourselves believe. What we consider
|
||
. too hideous and grotesque to actually occur in our world doesn't
|
||
ú necessarily NOT happen, but our mind closes itself off. seeing
|
||
all components of life as it really exists would flood our mind
|
||
ú with information completely intolerable to the human psyche. so the
|
||
. situation which our path to become human has been facilitated by
|
||
ú is our blindness. until recently...
|
||
ú
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||
. i live in the "bad" part of New York. that is to say, one of the
|
||
ú few places in this country where people actually choose to accept
|
||
ú that things are truly going to shit. except that they limit this
|
||
phenomena so discretely to a few sordid scumholes like my
|
||
ú neighborhood that they often overlook the fact that their
|
||
neighborhood is just as bad. see, it's not the big guns and cheap
|
||
ú drugs dragging poor minorities through life with a taught leash, or
|
||
ú rape and abortion or spilled milk, spilled blood; these things
|
||
. permeate all walks of life. it's not the oppression of a government
|
||
. who's concerns lie solely in saving its own ass without regard for
|
||
ú the people whom its decisions slowly weaken, only for the quick fix
|
||
it supplies. sure all these things exist, and for the most part,
|
||
ú they always will. these are all the frilly things. these are only
|
||
. the fringes of what is really going on in the sublevels of the
|
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ú consciousness, where concrete objects don't necessarily exist, yet
|
||
ú whose ideas are just as jagged. this is the part of us that sleeps.
|
||
. it is purely animal, and it knows no bounds. it has no concern for
|
||
ú life, for life has no concern for it. like i said though, it has,
|
||
ú for many millennia lay dormant under layers of survivalism and this
|
||
ill-constructed idea of peace that this misguided species has dreamed
|
||
ú up to protect our fragile mindsets, surfacing only very seldomly to
|
||
shatter our disbelief, lashing out and destroying millions of
|
||
ú victims in war, or the singular terror of a violent serial murderer,
|
||
ú then silently, passively it would sleep again, content in its brief
|
||
. wake. yet recently, these very mindsets have begun to crumble.
|
||
. the sleeper has become restless, and it wants to peer into its new
|
||
ú playground. it is now so happy to see that even without its aid,
|
||
ú we have done much work to masticate our own well-being into the cud
|
||
ú in which it will easily bring to the brink of complete hell.
|
||
. the apocalypse is upon us, my friend, and our blindness for so long
|
||
ú has left us quite unprepared for the battle we must now fight, but
|
||
ú the opening of our eyes is also our strength, even if it happens one
|
||
. guilt-laden eyelid at a time. this is the time of taking
|
||
. responsibility for damage rendered. this is the time of seeing...
|
||
|
||
úúúú
|
||
ú ..traq.. ú
|
||
úúúú
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
----------
|
||
NOTICE!
|
||
----------
|
||
|
||
we are in serious need of good writers. if you have been
|
||
looking for a constructive end to your writing, looking for
|
||
a medium for your work to be distributed, or dissatisfied
|
||
or generally not feeling very loyal to your current group :)
|
||
please drop me some e-mail and an a small sample of your
|
||
writing, and chances are you'll gain a spot in the Pharce
|
||
community. milletcd@wilkes.edu
|
||
|
||
----------
|
||
!ECITON
|
||
----------
|
||
|
||
neeb evah uoy fi .sretirw doog fo deen suoires ni era ew
|
||
rof gnikool ,gnitirw ruoy ot dne evitcurtsnoc a rof gnikool
|
||
deifsitassid ro ,detubirtsid eb ot krow ruoy rof muidem a
|
||
(: puorg tnerruc ruoy ot layol yrev gnileef ton yllareneg ro
|
||
ruoy fo elpmaxe llams a na dna liam-e emos em pord esaelp
|
||
ecrahP eht ni tops a niag ll'uoy era secnahc dna ,gnitirw
|
||
moc.nosirpgnuorgrednu.esuohetihw@vehcabrog .ytinummoc
|
||
|
||
(!oot sthgir evah sredaer cixelsyd)
|
||
SAUCE00pharce #1 - released by traq traq pharce/mOrtal 19960802}a P |