1619 lines
80 KiB
Plaintext
1619 lines
80 KiB
Plaintext
|
||
Living in such a state taTestaTesTaTe etats a hcus ni gniviL
|
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of mind in which time sTATEsTAtEsTaTeStA emit hcihw ni dnim of
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does not pass, space STateSTaTeSTaTeStAtE ecaps ,ssap ton seod
|
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does not exist, and sTATeSt oFOfOfo dna ,tsixe ton seod
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idea is not there. STatEst ofoFOFo .ereht ton si aedi
|
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Stuck in a place staTEsT OfOFofo ecalp a ni kcutS
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||
where movements TATeSTa foFofoF stnemevom erehw
|
||
are impossible fOFoFOf elbissopmi era
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in all forms, UsOFofO ,smrof lla ni
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physical and nbEifof dna lacisyhp
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or mental - uNBeInO - latnem ro
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your mind is UNbeinG si dnim rouy
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focusing on a unBEING a no gnisucof
|
||
lone thing, or NBeINgu ro ,gniht enol
|
||
a lone nothing. bEinGUn .gnihton enol a
|
||
You are numb and EiNguNB dna bmun era ouY
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unaware to events stneve ot erawanu
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taking place - not -iSSuE- ton - ecalp gnikat
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knowing how or what TWENTY tahw ro woh gniwonk
|
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to think. You are in 11/30/95 ni era uoY .kniht ot
|
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a state of unbeing.... ....gniebnu fo etats a
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
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|
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CONTENTS OF THiS iSSUE
|
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=----------------------=
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EDiTORiAL Kilgore Trout
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STAFF LiSTiNGS
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[=- ARTiCLES -=]
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PROLOGUE Lares et Penates
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THiS TRAiN'S GOiNG OVER! Lloyd Powell
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TERRORiSM
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PART i: iNTRODUCTiON AND JUSTiFiCATiON Bobbi Sands
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[=- POETRiE -=]
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LAST THOUGHTS Lares et Penates
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BEYOND FiNALiTY Lares et Penates
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[=- FiCTiON -=]
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PiZZA-BOY I Wish My Name Were Nathan
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PREPARATiON Crux Ansata
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TELL ME A STORY I Wish My Name Were Nathan
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PARTY HARDY Kilgore Trout
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ETHAN TAKES A RIDE I Wish My Name Were Nathan
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|
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|
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
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|
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EDiTORiAL
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by Kilgore Trout
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Alright, well, it's after Thanksgiving, and we've got nothing to be
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thankful for. Actually, we're quite pissed off at a number of things, one
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of those being Clockwork's failure to courier some articles that he promised
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me two weeks ago that were already written. Now, we have to give him some
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leeway cuz his first drafts were stolen when his car was broken into down on
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Sixth Street in Austin, but that was like a month ago. On the upside,
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though, I got to ride on the Holy Towel that protects from the evil shards
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of glass that still reside in the passenger seat. Whoo hoo.
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But that's okay. We're used to it by now. And we've got a bigger
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problem on our hands. Yes, that's right. We hate vampires. Vampires used
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to be cool until they become trendy, and now everybody wants to have fangs
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and live forever. Like I always say to total strangers, immortality is a
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sin, dig? Dressing up in leather jackets and pants, wearing dark
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sunglasses, and hiding in the shadows doesn't make you a vampire. It's
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especially not cool when you tell someone you're a vampire at high noon.
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The only way someone with a cross could harm you is if they beaned you with
|
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it. Jeezus. Get a damn life. If you're gonna do it right, you oughta
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dress up like the first depicted vampire -- Nosferatu. Then everyone would
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have really pale skin, be bald, have big pointy ears, and huge fingers. Now
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*that's* sexy.
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As always, though, we at State of unBeing like to set the new trends.
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We're hip before you are, and frankly, we're proud of it. That's why we say
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screw this gang-fang thing and take our advice.
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Go mummy.
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You heard me right. All you need is some gauze and you're good to go.
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And just think of the advantages. No more color coordinating. If you're
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going to a party, and wanna attract the desired sex, you can lift and tuck
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bandages to reveal the appropriate areas for maximal partner arousal. The
|
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mummy costume also works wonders for strippers, as they can tie the end of
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the bandage to the obligatory steel pole and just start spinning. Dizziness
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||
may be a problem, but practice will take care of everything. And the best
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||
part of all -- when you die, well, you don't have to go rent a tuxedo for
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the funeral, which can rack up some pretty high prices over the course of
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eternity.
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Anyway, that's our tip. Next month is Christmas, and for gifts I
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expect beaucoup submissions. That's my Christmas list, and like, if you
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don't do it, I'll send Bobbi Sands to kidnap Santa, and we'll just see who
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||
gets all the presents in '96. Enjoy the issue, and we'll see ya next month.
|
||
|
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--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
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STAFF LiSTiNG
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EDITOR
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Kilgore Trout
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CONTRIBUTORS
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Crux Ansata
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I Wish My Name Were Nathan
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Lares et Penates
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Lloyd Powell
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Bobbi Sands
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MUSiC LiSTENED TO WHiLE PUTTiNG THE ZiNE TOGETHER
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_<>bossa brava!_ (This is Acid Jazz), various artists
|
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_New Voices (This is Acid Jazz)_, various artists
|
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_Transmissions from the Planet Dog_, various artists
|
||
_Ball-Hog or Tugboat?_, Mike Watt
|
||
_Macro Dub Infection Volume One_, various artists
|
||
_Chantmania_, by the Benzedrine Monks of Santo Domonica
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||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
|
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[=- ARTiCLES -=]
|
||
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
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|
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PROLOGUE
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by Lares et Penates
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||
Most of the population had stopped worrying about secretive government
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when the NewsNets uncovered the escapades of the CIA, NSA, and Secret
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||
Service. Long ago had government been opened to the average citizen through
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||
electronic methods, eliminating the more ridiculous measures proposed for
|
||
legislation and sparking heated debates on the more controversial ones.
|
||
Congressmen still had private lives to be locked away in deepest vaults, but
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||
their public actions, including acceptances of "contributions" from
|
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lobbyists, were quickly and efficiently made matters of general knowledge.
|
||
All of this information drove the spooks underground, where they degenerated
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||
from a state of rational suspicion to total paranoia, with no exposure to
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||
the relative sanity of the bureaucracy. The extent to which they had
|
||
receded into their own private world was quite a shock to all but the most
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mistrusting. Alienating themselves entirely from the people they served and
|
||
erecting their own internal government with an intricacy comparable to its
|
||
civilian counterpart and trained to a deadly competency, though unreliable,
|
||
they made steady progress towards its chosen goal, a goal that was less and
|
||
less based on the delusion of protecting "the American way" and more on
|
||
"national security" which, in its eyes, translated to more power for itself.
|
||
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||
Today, most people think that the threat of cloak-and-dagger types
|
||
running amok is no more, feeling assured that the scandal ended it all.
|
||
Some, however, know otherwise.
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
|
||
Asked by reporters about his upcoming marriage to a 42-year-old woman,
|
||
director Roman Polanski told reporters, "the way I look at it, she's the
|
||
equivalent of three fourteen-year-olds."
|
||
-- David Letterman
|
||
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
THiS TRAiN'S GOiNG OVER!
|
||
by Lloyd Powell
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||
|
||
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||
<--- The laws of physics guide all physical movement
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||
| All movement in the Universe can be predicted with complete
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||
| knowledge of physics
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||
|
|
||
<--- The laws of chemistry guide all chemical reactions
|
||
| Our brain is one big chemistry set
|
||
| Everything we think, do and say can be predicted with the
|
||
| knowledge of chemistry
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||
|
|
||
|
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||
|
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||
\/
|
||
Everything that will happen and has ever happened is
|
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predictable by science
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|
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||
|
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---> We have no control over anything, as the future is
|
||
already defined
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|
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||
|
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----> Science is God
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||
|
||
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||
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||
<--- After 10 years of being a non-smoker, the body is fully
|
||
| rejuvenated from any effects smoking may have caused
|
||
|
|
||
<--- A very small amount of people die from smoking before the age of 45
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
\/
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||
Smoking to the age of 35 is not harmful to your health
|
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||
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||
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-----> |
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||
| ----> Bet $100 on red
|
||
| |
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||
| ----> If you win, pocket $100
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||
| |
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||
| ----> If you lose, continuously re-bet, doubling the money
|
||
| | every time. When you do win, you will be even.
|
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<----- |
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<--- Emotions are illogical forces
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|
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<--- Life is a search to bring about positive emotion
|
||
|
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||
|
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||
|
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
\/
|
||
It is logical to be illogical
|
||
|
||
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||
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||
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<---- Life is the search for happiness
|
||
|
|
||
<---- With a simplistic mind, happiness comes from simple stimuli
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||
|
|
||
<---- An intelligent mind sees inconsistencies more readily
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||
| and becomes dissatisfied with his/her environment
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
\/
|
||
The dumber, the better
|
||
|
||
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||
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||
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||
<---- When sunscreen is used over periods of time, the skins
|
||
| natural resistance to UV light is reduced significantly
|
||
|
|
||
<---- When going out in the sun with no natural protection or
|
||
| sunscreen, much damage is done to the skin
|
||
|
|
||
<---- Many people use sunscreen *sometimes*
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
\/
|
||
Sunscreen is the main cause of skin cancer in today's society
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
<---- Reality needs to be perceived to exist
|
||
|
|
||
<---- Reality is individual perceptions of the same stimuli
|
||
|
|
||
<---- Everyone perceives things in a different way, occurring
|
||
| to one's unique mind set
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
\/
|
||
Everyone is living in a different reality
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
----> Each separate personal reality can be contradictory, without
|
||
any being wrong
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||
|
|
||
|
|
||
----> Nothing is true
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
<--- Animals need to excrete waste at regular intervals
|
||
|
|
||
<--- If the animal is not motivated to excrete waste by positive
|
||
| re-enforcement, i.e. if doing so does not feel good,
|
||
| then the animal will cease excreting waste and consequently die
|
||
|
|
||
<--- To 'excrete waste' consists of a long cylindrical shape moving
|
||
| though the anal canal
|
||
|
|
||
<--- Anal sex consists of a long cylindrical shape moving though the
|
||
| anal canal
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
\/
|
||
It is a genetic necessity for anal sex to be a pleasant experience
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
<--- Everyone is living in a different reality
|
||
|
|
||
<---- Nobody can define what is right or wrong for anybody except
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| themselves
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||
|
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
\/
|
||
There is no universal right and wrong.
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
----> If a person believes mass murder is right, it is 'right' for
|
||
that person.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
The purpose of life must be available to all which is living
|
||
|
|
||
----> The only main function of some microorganisms is
|
||
reproduction
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||
|
|
||
----> Reproduction is the purpose of life
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
<---- The Darwin philosophy states that the more likely an animal is
|
||
| to survive, the more likely it is reproduce and spread it's
|
||
| genes to the next generation.
|
||
|
|
||
<---- If there two off-springs of the same parent, and one has a slightly
|
||
| higher will to live than the other, that one is more likely to
|
||
| survive.
|
||
|
|
||
<---- Humans are the product of millions of generations of evolution.
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
\/
|
||
One most basic urge to 'stay alive' is merely a inedible product of
|
||
evolution.
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
----> We fear death only because of our genetic structure tells us to.
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
||
----> Death is nothing to be feared.
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
|
||
"It is dangerous to be right when the government is wrong."
|
||
-- Voltaire
|
||
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
TERRORiSM
|
||
PART i: iNTRODUCTiON AND JUSTiFiCATiON
|
||
by Bobbi Sands
|
||
|
||
Ironically, now that Palestine is moving toward home rule, the British
|
||
are at least pretending to move out of occupied Ireland, and the Soviet
|
||
terrorist underground is shut down, terrorism is once more in the news.
|
||
Ironically, also, this talk of terrorism is being spurred not by attacks in
|
||
the Third World or against some banana republic dictator, but by attacks in
|
||
the United States against the United States, specifically the Oklahoma City
|
||
bombing, the Unabomer, and various other suspected terrorist attacks across
|
||
the country. True, terrorism was never entirely out of the news. Wherever
|
||
there is a liberation force attacking an established nation, terrorism can be
|
||
found. Nonetheless, the concept has been driven home to the American people
|
||
in a way it hadn't been for twenty years.
|
||
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||
This project -- a guide to terrorism -- has been in the works for some
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||
time. It originally had the unfortunate projection of being run here in State
|
||
of unBeing as a one shot article explaining the use of terrorism in a
|
||
guerrilla war, as an adjunct to Captain Moonlight's excellent series "Blood in
|
||
the Streets", right around the time of the Oklahoma City bombing.
|
||
Subsequently, it has been delayed and expanded. This issue will contain an
|
||
introduction to what terrorism means and how it can be justified. Projected
|
||
are an essay on how terrorism can be carried out in the abstract, and another
|
||
essay on how it can specifically be used to aid in the winning of a guerrilla
|
||
war. This series will not be a directory to or a history of terrorist groups
|
||
past and present. If you are looking for a history essay, this isn't it. Try
|
||
"A Terrible Beauty is Born". If you want a guide to existing and historic
|
||
terrorist movements, try the Terrorist Profile Weekly series. If you are
|
||
looking for an intelligent discussion of terrorist philosophy and tactics,
|
||
hopefully you will find it here.
|
||
|
||
I have a rather high opinion of State of unBeing readers. I will assume
|
||
that anyone reading this is capable, at least for the purposes of discussion,
|
||
of getting past the media induced mantra "Terrorism Is Evil." If you choose
|
||
to believe so after you have fairly considered the topic, then by all means do
|
||
so. If you are unable to accept that terrorism might be a tool, and a tool
|
||
that may be used, as may any other tool, for good or for evil, then perhaps
|
||
you ought not read this. It may be too much of a shock to your delicate
|
||
worldview.
|
||
|
||
Finally, and I'm sure I need not mention this, I have not written this
|
||
article as a call to arms. If anyone chooses to use this essay as a guide or
|
||
justification for their own actions, they are just that: their own actions.
|
||
This essay is not here to recommend for or against terrorism, but simply to
|
||
study it dispassionately as a potential tool. I, the author, bear no
|
||
responsibility for other people's actions, and neither do the editor nor the
|
||
distributors.
|
||
|
||
Part 1: What is Terrorism?
|
||
|
||
What is terrorism? This is a question whose answer few people agree
|
||
upon, primarily due to the media-myth "Terrorism is Evil." If terrorism, as a
|
||
class, has been defined as evil, then of course any cause to which we are
|
||
sympathetic cannot be terroristic. People we consider to be good, rather than
|
||
being terrorists must be "Freedom Fighters" or "Revolutionaries" or
|
||
"Policemen" or whatever term makes us feel safe, both in our homes and in our
|
||
prejudices.
|
||
|
||
For the purposes of this paper, I will be ignoring the "Terrorism is
|
||
Evil" paper tiger, and will deal with what I hope to be an objective
|
||
definition. At its broadest, then, terrorism could be defined as the use of
|
||
terror -- threat of force or other retribution -- to "inspire" the behavior
|
||
patterns the terrorist desires. At this broadest definition, "terrorism"
|
||
would include not only traditional revolutionary terrorists -- such as the
|
||
UDA, the IRA, or the PLO -- but any entity not above using force to cause
|
||
behavior it judges to be correct, including any nation's justice system. This
|
||
definition, though, is unworkably broad for the purposes of this paper. For
|
||
this paper, "terrorism" is going to presuppose a third party.
|
||
|
||
For this definition of terrorism, the person in whom the behavior is
|
||
intended is not necessarily the direct target of the terrorist's act. The
|
||
target could be one of those in whom the behavior is desired, but is not the
|
||
only one. For example, a policeman may be assassinated by a revolutionary
|
||
cell, not only to eliminate the policeman -- this could be construed as simply
|
||
an act of war and not also one of terror -- but to discourage persons from
|
||
becoming policemen or supporting policemen, or to make people feel their
|
||
police force cannot protect them. For another example, a terrorist may bomb
|
||
an airplane not to kill the people on board, who likely are simply travelers,
|
||
but to make the people and governments of hostile states feel the forces of
|
||
law and order cannot protect the people from danger, thus enabling the
|
||
terrorist force to blackmail the government through the people's terror. (And
|
||
"blackmail" here should not be viewed as a condemnatory term. This
|
||
"blackmail" can mean anything from threatening more retribution to using such
|
||
action to cause support at the polls.) More will be said on motive later, but
|
||
as can be seen here, the terror is broader than simply the direct target.
|
||
Thus, a government that arrests a person or executes a criminal to make an
|
||
example of them, the so-called deterrent factor, would be engaging in
|
||
terrorism, but a government which simply punishes or tries to keep criminals
|
||
segregated from the populace would not be. Nonetheless, the general
|
||
assumption in this paper is on revolutionary terrorists rather than state
|
||
terrorists. Examples will be used of state terrorism as well as revolutionary
|
||
terrorism, and the methods of justification are equally applicable, but where
|
||
"terrorist" is used "revolutionary terrorist" may generally be assumed.
|
||
|
||
A note ought to be made here, before leaving the definition of terrorism,
|
||
to note that terrorism need not have a human victim. Rather, a terrorist act
|
||
need not have a human target. The threat of having a building burned down or
|
||
a factory sabotaged can also inspire these feelings of terror and thus lead to
|
||
changing behavior patterns. Acts of terror that do not directly intend a
|
||
human victim are generally called "sabotage" and not always "terrorism."
|
||
Nonetheless, they are terrorist acts.
|
||
|
||
Part 2: Justification for Terrorism
|
||
|
||
Here, two methods will be presented for the justification of terrorism,
|
||
the so-called "deterrent factor" and as a means of using small forces to
|
||
achieve something larger forces would generally be needed to do.
|
||
|
||
As has been stated above, governments sometimes use terrorism, in a broad
|
||
sense of the word, as a method for inspiring in their populace appropriate
|
||
behavior. The justification for this is generally an appeal to the deterrent
|
||
factor. Under this theory, if the people are afraid of being punished, they
|
||
will not break the laws. Whether or not this is effective has been hotly
|
||
debated, and the answer is probably more subtle than a "yes it does / no it
|
||
does not" answer. Nonetheless, it is used as justification, both of state
|
||
terrorism and of revolutionary terrorism.
|
||
|
||
An example of the way a government might use the deterrent factor and
|
||
expand on its terroristic impact is by making an example of those who have
|
||
been punished or by widely publicizing its laws. In today's more "civilized"
|
||
world, this takes the form of education, publicity, etc., although more
|
||
barbaric methods are still used in other parts of the world -- such as the
|
||
Peruvian government's treatment of the leader of the Shining Path -- or on
|
||
smaller scales.
|
||
|
||
A terrorist's use of this philosophy would be similar, although they
|
||
would be hamstrung by the fact they have lesser access to traditional media
|
||
outlets. Because of this fact, terrorist groups, to achieve the public impact
|
||
the government can get simply by default, have to resort either to a
|
||
continuous wave of terror, enough terroristic actions to impact on a
|
||
significant percentage of their target group (directly or through word of
|
||
mouth), or to actions large enough to attract the attention of the press, or
|
||
at least of the target group. With terrorists acting under this philosophy,
|
||
governments frequently encourage media blackouts of terrorist acts. This
|
||
works to an extent, but also artificially increases the odds. In a society
|
||
where small terrorist strikes don't have a noticeable impact on the people,
|
||
either by virtue of media blackouts or desensitization, larger terrorist
|
||
strikes must be carried out for an equivalent impact. As the adage goes,
|
||
"Violence works, and more violence works faster."
|
||
|
||
So much for description. How is this justified? Essentially, this is a
|
||
practical use of the concept of cost-benefit analysis. If a product or an
|
||
action is too "expensive" in relation to the "benefit" -- in whatever terms
|
||
are important to those purchasing the product or hiring the action -- then it
|
||
will not be worth obtaining. As in an earlier example, a terrorist group that
|
||
assassinates policemen do not do so because they hope to kill every policeman.
|
||
Terrorist groups generally recognize that policemen are workers too, and would
|
||
rather have them fighting for the struggle rather than against it. A
|
||
terrorist group, though, can hope to deter people from becoming policemen or
|
||
encourage people to no longer be policemen by making the being of a policeman
|
||
too expensive. Any policeman, like any terrorist, must accept that he may
|
||
die, and a policeman, like a terrorist, believes that what he fights for (law,
|
||
order, and the state) is worth the risk to his personal life. Using the
|
||
deterrent factor, a terrorist group hopes to make the risk higher, and thus
|
||
make it less worth it. Like a policeman, a terrorist has high "overhead." If
|
||
he gets caught he will have to pay a large price for the strike he carried
|
||
out. In this case, he too has to believe what he is fighting for to be worth
|
||
the risk.
|
||
|
||
Terrorists fight, then, for concerns more important than the life of an
|
||
individual, such as freedom for a people or economic justice. The high price
|
||
non-state terrorism carries means that a terrorist must really believe in what
|
||
he struggles for. As a parenthetical note, the next time your television
|
||
reports a suicide bomber in the middle east or a similar act where a terrorist
|
||
lost his life, think for a moment not that he was foolish for losing his own
|
||
life, but that he was dedicated enough that the cause for which he fought he
|
||
saw as more important than life itself. A terrorist fights not because he
|
||
hopes to gain from it or because he loves the notoriety, but because he hopes
|
||
that the sacrifice of his life will mean a better life for his people and his
|
||
children.
|
||
|
||
The second philosophical justification, although it may seem odd to those
|
||
who have been suffused with the media myth that terrorism is evil, is that
|
||
terrorists do not believe "might makes right." The terrorist acts in on
|
||
behalf of a small group, and believes that this small group has the capability
|
||
and the right to influence the populace into acting in the way that is just.
|
||
|
||
Ironically -- there is a lot of irony in terrorism -- this is the saddest
|
||
type of terrorism. This form of terrorism requires a certain amount of
|
||
dehumanization, and the victims of this form of terrorism are of necessity
|
||
seen as objects, both by the terrorist and by the force which the terrorist
|
||
opposes. In this philosophy of terrorism, there is also always an innocent
|
||
party.
|
||
|
||
In the first justification, members of an enemy group are usually --
|
||
though not always -- the ones targeted and intended to be terrorized,
|
||
operating on the concept that if there is no army there can be no war. In
|
||
this form of terrorism, other targets are also seen as permissible.
|
||
|
||
This is the philosophy for the technique used to "create the revolution."
|
||
The terrorist group will use methods against the population in general to
|
||
increase a feeling of tension among the people not so much to cause the people
|
||
to make a conscious decision to change something or begin to oppose the
|
||
government as much as to make the people aware that there is a problem to be
|
||
remedied. This technique is often used when the people are considered to be
|
||
able to see the reasons the terrorists have so long as the message can reach
|
||
them, and this method is used to make the people receptive to the message and
|
||
willing to seek it.
|
||
|
||
This philosophy of terrorism sees that the opposing group, usually the
|
||
state, has most of the power. The existing power structure controls and
|
||
influences much of what exists, and change, at least as radical change as the
|
||
terrorist group desires, cannot be carried out by a group as small or
|
||
relatively powerless as the terrorist group. This can be because the existing
|
||
power structure has locked them out, as with the Palestinians; because the
|
||
number of people who realize the need for this change are not numerically
|
||
significant, either through non-support, fear of the existing power structure,
|
||
or simple ignorance; or because the existing techniques of change would delay
|
||
too long or result in too much hardship for the people or the group. As
|
||
Chairman Mao expressed it (quoted by Stuart Schram):
|
||
|
||
If we use peaceful means to attain the goal of Communism,
|
||
when will we finally achieve it? Let us assume that a
|
||
century will be required, a century marked by the
|
||
unceasing groans of the proletariat.... If we assume that
|
||
the proletariat constitutes two-thirds of humanity, then
|
||
one billion of the earth's one billion five hundred
|
||
million inhabitants are proletarians ... who during this
|
||
century will be cruelly exploited by the remaining third
|
||
of capitalists. How can we bear this?
|
||
|
||
This is the explanation; what is the justification? The terrorist group
|
||
feels that the existing power structure is not right. Just as the terrorist
|
||
believes that the cause for which he fights is more important than his own
|
||
life and the life of his enemy, so too must he see, in this case, the life of
|
||
those who do not directly oppose him as less important than the cause. Even
|
||
if he believes, with Malatesta, "There are no innocent bourgeoisie," he still
|
||
must target those who do not actively or consciously work against him to
|
||
achieve the power necessary to change what needs changing. Because might does
|
||
not make right, those without the might must be willing to use whatever
|
||
resources and whatever techniques available to him to achieve what must be
|
||
achieved.
|
||
|
||
These two justifications pretty much cover why terrorism is seen as an
|
||
acceptable tool. The most simple explanation is simply because it works.
|
||
"Violence works, and more violence works faster." These justifications though
|
||
cover why terrorism would be considered acceptable and preferable to other
|
||
techniques of change, so long as the terrorist group is not caught up in the
|
||
myth "Terrorism is Evil." To that, the terrorist must simply reply, "Perhaps
|
||
so, but not so much as the State."
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
|
||
[=- POETRiE -=]
|
||
|
||
"The poets? They stink. They write badly. They're idiots you see, because
|
||
the strong people don't write poetry.... They become hitmen for the Mafia.
|
||
The good people do the serious jobs."
|
||
--Charles Bukowski
|
||
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
LAST THOUGHTS
|
||
by Lares et Penates
|
||
|
||
What's the buzzword
|
||
on your little corner in America?
|
||
How many more do you take
|
||
to kill the pain
|
||
when you come down?
|
||
The forces of the legion of hypocrisy
|
||
scream bout impending doom
|
||
to fill their coffers
|
||
on you street, too?
|
||
How many forms has greed assumed
|
||
to creep its way into your pocketbook?
|
||
How many boat-children does your neighbor have
|
||
locked up in his basement
|
||
to mow his lawn?
|
||
Can the warmth of nostalgia
|
||
overcome that sinking feeling
|
||
when you've got blood on your hands?
|
||
I wonder how many houses there are on Pine St. and Elm,
|
||
where two bored misfits sit and fondle their guns,
|
||
just looking for a target.
|
||
I'd really like to see the look in your eyes
|
||
when you realize you're it.
|
||
And what happens when
|
||
that card game junky in Las Vegas
|
||
doesn't even really have to feel
|
||
those sweaty, green dollars,
|
||
slipping away in between his fingertips,
|
||
and he can just finally
|
||
E-mail his entire bank account
|
||
to the robber-barons at all the hotels?
|
||
Drunk in the street, you wonder,
|
||
was it all really worth it?
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
|
||
"I am a Bear of Very Little Brain, and long words Bother me."
|
||
--Winnie the Pooh
|
||
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
BEYOND FiNALiTY
|
||
by Lares et Penates
|
||
|
||
Walking in a strobe-lit haze, filled with dim forms on the horizon in
|
||
which I can see every nightmare of my former glory, I smell the Technicolor
|
||
rain flying out the door sideways, stirring up rich, lemon-yellow sulfur
|
||
dust that grips my lungs like some ephemeral clawed hand ripping at my
|
||
insides. I just wonder how long it would take to become assimilated into
|
||
this half-dream of partial existence and get used to the dead place that
|
||
feels like a hunk of lead protruding rusty nails where my heart used to be.
|
||
Somewhere along the way I lost my spirit and I guess that a soul can only
|
||
take so much wearing away before it corrodes away like a muddy river bank in
|
||
the swollen spring river of eternity. So while the cobblestones under my
|
||
feet fade into shifting desert sands, I sink in and resolve to keep going
|
||
down until the grains congregate and form jagged pieces of glass that dig in
|
||
so far and paint sunsets for me on the surface. If I ever get to heaven,
|
||
I'll know just when all the sad songwriters and poets that ever lived bidded
|
||
on my imaginary lifetime to use as the canvas for their unhappy tales and
|
||
never paid me the royalties. It's a melancholy numb that chills my bones and
|
||
my mind, like an opal spire reaching up to the sky in prayer, is dragged
|
||
around like tumbleweed by the winds of change that spin the fog around in
|
||
iridescent little vortexes that wrap around and pin me in this
|
||
straightjacket that begs me to be good and grasp at whatever flitting purple
|
||
suns emanate from within golden-tinged pastures filled with
|
||
metallic-enameled robotic cows. Out of nowhere I remember the smell of the
|
||
old church where walls and pews conspired to induce sleep in a well-dressed
|
||
audience, and I watch as venerable old dignitaries pretend to yawn and smile
|
||
secretly and dump chamberpots out of high windows on oblivious Christmas
|
||
carolers below. How sheepishly my shadow creeps up my back and whispers
|
||
sweet nothings in my failing ears and kisses the nape of my neck like a
|
||
drowsy autumn day under the overarching arms of a grandfatherly tree!
|
||
Awakened, by a cackle, I wish upon a swarm of bright falling stars that burn
|
||
my skin and make me writhe in pain across an expanse of avocado-green shag
|
||
carpet that wraps around this globe, strode unrelentingly by a pantheon of
|
||
restless thinkers absorbed in their abstractions; they step over me if need
|
||
be. A gaping smile fills the face of the man in the moon as he leads a
|
||
miles-long parade around the mobius strip of corrugated iron stretching
|
||
across the ticker-tape sky. When this dead consciousness fades its uncertain
|
||
way back in, a path lined with Japanese lanterns light the way to my
|
||
rainbow-colored chemistry set in which all of the neatly-arranged empty test
|
||
tubes are meticulously labeled "Drink Me." It strikes an odd chord when the
|
||
good doctor invites me in and can't find his brass keys after he locks the
|
||
door, so we sit at the table all night and metamorphisize into jungle
|
||
animals and beheaded baby-dolls to the strains of the newly-recorded music
|
||
of the celestial spheres playing silently in the background composed and
|
||
conducted by the old man himself. When I awake to find my companion as a
|
||
slain cricket besieged by ferocious helmet-wearing ants, I step outside into
|
||
the soft light of the suffocating hanging vines and give him a proper burial
|
||
replete with fresh flowers. As the bespectacled tax-auditors swarm over his
|
||
abandoned dwelling, I make my exit into barren radioactive ice fields just
|
||
as the northern lights begin to worry at the face of the rising Venus.
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
|
||
[=- FiCTiON -=]
|
||
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
PiZZA-BOY
|
||
by I Wish My Name Were Nathan
|
||
|
||
A cold wind was blowing, almost Gothic in its fearfulness. Ned noticed
|
||
the fearful wind and immediately became defensive on account of all the
|
||
satanic implications of such a wind. He looked up at the dying limbs of the
|
||
weakening trees falling all over themselves around him and felt sad, an
|
||
emotion unconsciously triggered by his brain in reaction to its secret
|
||
knowledge that his arms were riddled with cancer.
|
||
|
||
Ned didn't know this, though, and continued to walk up the narrow,
|
||
spiralling walkway up to the house to which he had to deliver a pizza in
|
||
thirty minutes. He now took a moment to regret the pizza place's new slogan,
|
||
"If you don't get your pizza in thirty minutes, your delivery boy's prolly
|
||
dead."
|
||
|
||
He had a feeling of a grotesque murder happening to him beyond the reach
|
||
of the moat, the drawbridge, and the fifty-foot door. His honor to his
|
||
employer and his paycheck prodded him blindly on, though, a stubbornness
|
||
which had many times before nearly led him to gruesome deaths. From those
|
||
deaths, however, he had escaped.
|
||
|
||
"Damn," thought Ned to himself, "this pizza smells good. I think I'll
|
||
have a slice." Ned sat down on a gargoyle and opened the pizza box on his
|
||
lap. He saw with no uncertain surprise that the cheese was boiling and the
|
||
tomato sauce was gurgling and flowing like blood, which seemed inappropriate,
|
||
so he felt obligated to expose it to the cool, deathly-still wind.
|
||
|
||
He pulled a slice of the pizza off and it screamed out and moaned in
|
||
agony. Ned pulled his fingers away, repulsed. "New toppings," he surmised.
|
||
Then, like a bolt of lightning, only you couldn't see it, he had an epiphany
|
||
and realized how evil it was to eat living creatures, such as pizza. He had
|
||
never considered the pizza's feelings before. He decided to become a
|
||
vegetarian.
|
||
|
||
Carefully pressing the nearly-amputated slice of pizza back into place
|
||
to staunch the bleeding, Ned breathed a sigh of relief, said a short prayer,
|
||
closed the lid, stood up, looked around, scratched himself, continued on, and
|
||
headed for the edge of the moat.
|
||
|
||
At the edge of the moat was a nicely labeled button to ring for
|
||
assistance. He primly pressed his finger into the button and waited for the
|
||
drawbridge to come down. As it lowered, it emitted a mournful, squealing
|
||
cry, and immediately Ned also swore to stop eating drawbridges.
|
||
|
||
The drawbridge slammed down near his feet, and huge clumps of rock and
|
||
mud shattered from the ground under the weight of it. At sporadic moments,
|
||
the drawbridge shifted even further, sending pieces of earth flying into the
|
||
moat, and falling into it with deep splashes.
|
||
|
||
Finally, the drawbridge appeared to settle, so Ned jumped down on it.
|
||
The stress of his weight and that of the pizza even more upset the precarious
|
||
balance of the bridge, causing the rusty chains holding it up to strain and
|
||
creak. Ned had no intention of failing to deliver the pizza and took an
|
||
ambitious run across the length of the bridge, at which time the chain
|
||
supports snapped, one after the other. There were two of them. Ned tried to
|
||
jump the rest of the distance and grabbed a thick wooden plank of the
|
||
drawbridge with both hands. He carefully held the pizza in his other hand so
|
||
as not to crush it. The bridge fell in an arc and slammed down against the
|
||
inside wall of the moat.
|
||
|
||
Ned looked down and saw some evil red-skinned creatures with opposable
|
||
thumbs emerge from the gooey sickness of the moat and climb the fallen
|
||
drawbridge beneath him. "This pizza is reserved for Mr. Cthulhu!" Ned yelled.
|
||
The imps obviously didn't understand his central Texas accent and kept
|
||
|
||
climbing. He couldn't take the time to enunciate more clearly; his thirty
|
||
minutes was almost up. Heaving and grunting, Ned climbed up the drawbridge,
|
||
nervously checking his watch. In between steps, Ned took deep wooden
|
||
breaths. The howling, satanic wind tried to blow his body away from the
|
||
comfort and ease of the bridge of the vertical persuasion, but Ned held his
|
||
grip until he had scaled up to the very top.
|
||
|
||
The hinges had broken, so he had a surface to grab onto. When he
|
||
finally maneuvered the pizza onto the tiny ledge, Ned felt the scraping claws
|
||
of the red-skinned evil hissing misunderstood imps at his shoes. Ned had
|
||
indeed walked a long way this day, so he obliged them for a minute, checked
|
||
his watch with a gasp, and hurled his body onto the ledge.
|
||
|
||
When he stood up, he noticed a nice silver-tinged doorbell with intercom
|
||
and primly pressed it with his finger. A nice chime resounded inside the
|
||
behemoth castle. Ned spoke politely into the speaker, "I've got you a pizza,
|
||
Mr. Cthulhu." He checked his watch. Thirty seconds to spare!
|
||
|
||
There was no response. "He must he in the lavatory," Ned surmised. He
|
||
tapped his toes for a few seconds, and then his twiddled his thumbs some.
|
||
Upon checking his watch again, he saw there was fifteen seconds left. He
|
||
peered into the spyhole of the door. In it, he could suddenly see the
|
||
breadth of the entire universe in a tiny disc of light. His mind was
|
||
overwhelmed with awe and scientific enquiry. But none of this pushed his
|
||
delivery out of his mind. He rang again.
|
||
|
||
"Your pizza, Mr. Cthulhu," he repeated into the speaker, with seconds to
|
||
go. Still no response. Ding! The thirty minutes had passed; Ned wouldn't
|
||
be collecting this time. Suddenly the door opened with a swishy whoosh.
|
||
|
||
"Yeeeeesss?" the unspeakable evil said, shielding his face out of
|
||
kindness. "What is it?"
|
||
|
||
"Your pizza, sir," Ned said, with a hint of exasperation in his voice.
|
||
He knew, of course, that this was coming out of his salary.
|
||
|
||
"Oh, is it now?" Mr. Cthulhu said. "Why, boy, it looks like you're a few
|
||
seconds late."
|
||
|
||
"Actually, sir, I was here at least thirty seconds ago."
|
||
|
||
"Well, why didn't you ring the bell? Or even use the intercom? That's
|
||
what they're there for."
|
||
|
||
"Um, I did, sir; thirty seconds ago."
|
||
|
||
The unspeakable evil expelled a belly laugh. It went on for an
|
||
unconscionable amount of time.
|
||
|
||
"I know, boy. And just how often do you think the unspeakable evil pays
|
||
for a pizza?"
|
||
|
||
Ned grinned, slowly understanding Mr. Cthulhu's boyish sense of humor.
|
||
"Very good, sir. Oh well, here's your free pizza." Mr. Cthulhu took the
|
||
pizza and slammed the door.
|
||
|
||
"Gee whiz," Ned said, and died, of aggravated arm cancer, and imp
|
||
thrashings, and embarrassment, from having been fooled so.
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
|
||
"The only reason some people get lost in thought is because it's
|
||
unfamiliar territory."
|
||
-- Paul Fix
|
||
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
PREPARATiON
|
||
by Crux Ansata
|
||
|
||
There is a special charge one gets from a terrorist act. I don't mean
|
||
especially the idea of killing someone or anything like that. Many people
|
||
swear they get a rush from that, and in some terrorist strikes there is a
|
||
certain amount of gunplay or whatever. Those who get a rush from killing,
|
||
though, generally get it from the personal aspect of the kill, which is why
|
||
the knife is so much more erotic a weapon than, say, the gun. In a terrorist
|
||
raid, though, the kill is not a matter of much consideration while it is going
|
||
on. Placing a bomb or squeezing off a few rounds to cover an escape are not
|
||
erotic, and the charge one gets from a terrorist strike comes from a different
|
||
angle.
|
||
|
||
I can't say for certain what causes it. Some of it, no doubt, comes from
|
||
the heightened awareness, the knowledge not so much that you might kill than
|
||
that you might die. Some of it comes from the anticipation: the time taken
|
||
in preparation, the dressing and equipping, waiting for the exact moment and
|
||
then carrying out the mission. A lot of it comes from the ecstatic release of
|
||
seeing something you've worked for so long and so hard coming to fruition, not
|
||
unlike putting on a show or a rally you've been working on or releasing a
|
||
story you've written. Between all of this, any and every raid seems to have a
|
||
rush connected with it that drugs and sex can't seem to approach.
|
||
|
||
There is something more, too, in some cases. With me, those some cases
|
||
are the times I am with Bobbi. With her, I get that rush just in that
|
||
preparation stage. As all the pieces fall into place, I wait with the
|
||
anticipation a child waits for Christmas morning to see her getting ready.
|
||
|
||
She always looks beautiful; I've said as much a thousand times in writing
|
||
and in speech. There is something, though, about seeing her in the outfit she
|
||
wears for a raid, especially a nighttime infiltration raid, that really gets
|
||
to me. To see her in a black bodysuit, adhering itself to her body above the
|
||
waist and with the knowledge it does the same under the camouflage pants she
|
||
wears; to see her tie back her hair and fit it into the ski mask to keep it
|
||
out of her face; to watch her face emerge as the mask goes on, eyes and lips
|
||
alone in a sea of black. Something in the vision she becomes as an avenger in
|
||
the night makes her more beautiful, if such a thing is possible, than even the
|
||
high fashion outfits or the nights nude beside me.
|
||
|
||
I can see her now, on the other side of the desk, preparing for such a
|
||
raid. I can see her blue, her deep blue eyes peering out from her flawless
|
||
skin, or as much of that skin as can be seen through the eyeholes in the mask.
|
||
And her lips, similarly isolated, crying out to be kissed and caressed. I
|
||
know how she would react if I tried, though. She is preparing for a mission,
|
||
and is of one mind. And that is as it should be. Who was it that said in
|
||
order for the enemy to defeat you, you must first defeat yourself, and that is
|
||
why it is important to be of one mind? Was that Chairman Mao? Sun Tzu? I
|
||
don't remember, but that is as it should be. On a raid, it is not only your
|
||
life that is on the line, not only your life that would be lost if you defeat
|
||
yourself. On a raid, you also have to defend your comrades, and, more
|
||
importantly, the mission.
|
||
|
||
In some cases, when I'd tried to tear off the mask while she was getting
|
||
ready, to caress her cheek and pull her against me, she has laughed and played
|
||
along for a moment. Other times she has been angered and resisted me.
|
||
Tonight she is in the playful mood; I can tell that from here. Tonight she is
|
||
happy, not morbid. That bodes well. It means she is confident of the
|
||
mission. I'm not going on this one, I've got hold down the fort duty, and so
|
||
I don't know the details. If she is confident, though, it bodes well and can
|
||
set my own mind at ease. If time were not so important, I might try to get
|
||
her to play along for a moment, to pull back the mask and see her naked face
|
||
smiling at me with just a few wisps of hair, escaped from the ties, framing
|
||
her visage. But no. Not tonight. Time is too important, and I will have to
|
||
satisfy myself with a brief kiss as her unit heads out the door.
|
||
|
||
Right now, I have the charge, that rush. Right now, I can share in it.
|
||
In a moment, when she leaves, I'll go through the crash that comes after a
|
||
mission, and that I go through just seeing her off. If the rush almost makes
|
||
the danger of the raid and the life of no safety worth it, the crash
|
||
afterwards almost makes it not so. This, too, is like the crash that comes
|
||
from any adrenalin drop, like after a rally or a show. While it is happening,
|
||
the rush is there, but afterwards the relative drop, past the rush and past
|
||
normal all the way down to the depths is quite a crash. I can only enjoy the
|
||
rush now, for a few moments, before I see her off.
|
||
|
||
And for me it is an extra crash, because I am not with her. True, she
|
||
seems confident, and true, that means she is likely to come home in one piece
|
||
and with no more holes in her than she left with. Nonetheless, when you are
|
||
with a person, on a raid, you know how safe they are at all times. When you
|
||
are hanging out back home, you have not only the crash of having your part
|
||
done, but you also have the anxiety of neither knowing how she is nor of being
|
||
able to do anything about it, as well as, in my case, the strain of having to
|
||
be alert enough to protect the safe house in their absence. I'm going to be
|
||
up anyway -- I couldn't sleep with her out like this -- and so why should
|
||
someone else pull guard duty? I'll sit up, do some writing, and be ready to
|
||
greet her when she comes again.
|
||
|
||
That way, her crash won't be so bad. Not that it ever seems to be, for
|
||
her. She's lived with this all her life. The crash doesn't get her down. Or
|
||
seem to, I suppose is a more realistic assessment. The crash gets to
|
||
everyone. We just express it differently.
|
||
|
||
Coming home to waiting arms, though, makes it easier. When we are on a
|
||
raid, we can come down from it together in each others' arms. The adrenalin
|
||
comedown blends well into a few hours in bed. Together, riding what is left
|
||
of the afterglow and descending into the relaxation of sleep, a pair can come
|
||
off feeling rather good about it. She, then, won't have to suffer a comedown.
|
||
|
||
But I must now prepare for my own, as I see she is ready. In a moment, a
|
||
brief touch of lips and tongues before she enters the night, and I wait for
|
||
her. So, before I descend into my crash, I'll close this account with the
|
||
final warm visions of the night to come, when she will return to me.
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
|
||
"Here, here's my Christmas list, Dad," I said.
|
||
"Thanks, son, it's about time. You almost didn't get any presents this
|
||
year."
|
||
After reading the list over, and generally finding acceptance with it,
|
||
my dad hollered out, "'Sweet death'? What the hell is that? Is that some
|
||
new rock band or something?"
|
||
"Oh, yes, Dad, of course," I replied.
|
||
"CD or cassette?" he asked.
|
||
"Whichever," I said.
|
||
-- Nathan
|
||
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
TELL ME A STORY
|
||
by I Wish My Name Were Nathan
|
||
|
||
I've always thought the most interesting thing about him was his stories.
|
||
He started writing them in junior-high -- yeah, I know about junior-high
|
||
writers, but Philip's, they were good.
|
||
|
||
Like the last one he wrote. It was this pretty long story about this kid
|
||
and this teenager, and they were running away from home. Where they were, was
|
||
on the side of a rural highway at night, sitting around a fire they had built.
|
||
I guess they were hitchhiking or something, although the story didn't say, but
|
||
it was really surreal. I couldn't've told you where in this city or this
|
||
country even where they could've been. The setting was timeless. I mean, the
|
||
highway they were camped out next to. There wasn't even any traffic on it. I
|
||
guess that some places in the country it's like that, but I've never seen it
|
||
before. The road was devoid of people. It was just these two guys, one young
|
||
and one older, sitting around a campfire. The opening was the longest part of
|
||
the story, too, and the guys were just sitting there, as the narrator
|
||
described the scenery. Where they were sitting was out in the open next to
|
||
the road. Only after reading through the intro, you really have this gut
|
||
feeling that they're safe, and comfortable, in an enclosed, civilized place.
|
||
But there aren't even any trees. It's just nighttime, a deserted road,
|
||
nighttime, and the guys with their fire.
|
||
|
||
After all this buildup, they start talking. I think their names were
|
||
Jack and Nicholas. Jack said, out of thin air, how he wished he could be a
|
||
kid again, but still have all his current knowledge. Of course, Nicholas
|
||
doesn't get it, because he's only fourteen and basically still a kid anyway.
|
||
But Jack says some really deep things. One of the things Jack sees, is that
|
||
nothing would go over his head anymore. You ever think of that, though? I
|
||
mean, when I think back, I can remember hundreds of times when someone made a
|
||
joke, and I just nodded along, or when you missed the point of a whole speech
|
||
just because of one word, or some historical context that slipped by. I guess
|
||
at the time it wasn't really very frustrating, and that's what Jack sees too.
|
||
But what gets him is that now, at nineteen, he realizes all the stuff he
|
||
missed, and gets really upset. He feels deprived of those chances to have
|
||
understood what was going on. It's really sort of screwed up, because he was
|
||
only a kid at the time. I mean, what does it matter if he misses some stuff?
|
||
But he says he wished he hadn't ever learned about politics. And then he goes
|
||
on this whole diatribe about the bed he slept in as a kid, and frankly I got
|
||
sort of bored with it, because he's just talking about this bed and his house
|
||
and the ritual of going to sleep every night... geez, it gets tiring, it made
|
||
me want to go to bed! If they're out there sitting on the side of a highway,
|
||
I'm thinking he might as well just get home and stop babbling so much.
|
||
|
||
But later on, Jack finally shuts up and Nicholas starts talking, and I
|
||
got interested again. It was like a big flashback. Nicholas had been in the
|
||
eighth grade for a while previously, and the stuff he did, I can really relate
|
||
to. Like, this girl Jennifer who Nicholas wanted to go out with. He pretty
|
||
much followed her around, and she just ignored him, or, when her friends were
|
||
around, insulted him and made him feel bad. But Nicholas was cool; he wrote
|
||
notes to her, and called her up at home, trying to hook up on a date. And
|
||
after all these weeks of pestering her, she finally agrees. And, oh man, it's
|
||
a disaster! Some of Nicholas' friends show up at the restaurant they ate at,
|
||
and fucked around with 'em, trying to make him mad. They like badger him and
|
||
make him look like he's a fag or something. I really felt for him there,
|
||
because you know the worst thing that can happen to you is for someone to think
|
||
you're gay. Nick's friends were just jealous of Jennifer, of course. And he
|
||
has to ask her for ten dollars for the bill, and then that night he's feeling
|
||
her up and discovers she stuffs her bra. Good God, I was laughing and crying
|
||
as I read it. Of course, he dumps her, and I don't blame him. Yup, that was
|
||
the stuff that being a kid was about, and at least Nicholas knew it.
|
||
|
||
Jack, though, just complained a lot. Actually, yeah, after Nicholas
|
||
tells about Jennifer, Jack starts up and suddenly says he wishes he didn't
|
||
know anything at all. "Ignorance is bliss," he says. Sure, I guess so. I
|
||
think Jack was tripping or something. Philip didn't make a point of
|
||
explaining it too much. Like even where they were going. The story just
|
||
ended right there. I guess they were going home, since Jack liked to talk
|
||
about it so much. That makes sense. But it didn't say, though.
|
||
|
||
Yeah, Philip had a lot of good stories. Nearly half of them were these
|
||
depressing ones, but I obediently trudged through them, because you know I was
|
||
his friend. Never went too much for the story, but some of the sentences were
|
||
really well-written. Some of them read like poetry, but without sounding
|
||
rhymey. The stories I liked the most were the humorous ones. He's always
|
||
written those. Like ones where people are just in wacky situations that don't
|
||
make sense. I mean, those are funny because you wouldn't have thought of it
|
||
before on your own. In one of them, this guy Dave and his friend Burt come
|
||
across this remote control something-or-other in the hallway at school, and it
|
||
turns out the remote control can make the lights go off and on. And during
|
||
class, they wreak havoc with the teachers. I dunno, you just had to read it
|
||
to get the full humor. Oh yeah, and the one about the bird that keeps on
|
||
shitting on this nerd's head, and then they finally find out it was his
|
||
shampoo that attracted the bird. That one cracks me up, still, even though I
|
||
first read it six years ago. Yeah, I guess those stories were actually the
|
||
junior-high type stories people rag on so much, but that particular kind, he
|
||
stopped writing by high school. The other funny stories he wrote after that
|
||
were different. They weren't really that wacky. They were more satire. And
|
||
then it sort of degenerated into stories about people trapped in unpleasant
|
||
situations they couldn't control, which were funny in a way, but really got to
|
||
you afterwards if you thought about it long enough. I guess I can't really
|
||
endure those as much.
|
||
|
||
Yeah, truthfully, I haven't wholeheartedly sucked up all his stories in
|
||
the past few years. That unfunny humor and those other way-too-serious ones
|
||
sort of ruined them for me. But I always liked the early stuff, and still
|
||
respect the new ones, because of the sentence structure and stuff. Some of
|
||
the words he picked to go in there, they were good too. You had to look twice
|
||
sometimes.
|
||
|
||
I guess I could go on forever about his stories, but it's sort of a
|
||
closed subject now, after all. Oh, well.
|
||
|
||
Have any of you talked to his parents yet? Yeah, I did. Not fun at all.
|
||
Just be gentle. And, shit, don't smile or anything; it says all the wrong
|
||
things.
|
||
|
||
Oh, you talked to 'em? Yeah, I know. Hell, how'd you feel about your
|
||
kid falling three stories? What, you didn't know? I was sure you'd heard a
|
||
hundred times. Yeah, fell from the third floor, broke his neck, and died,
|
||
that's all I know. I can't be too specific, since I don't know the place. It
|
||
was at his college, and I never went inside it too much... Yes, of course it
|
||
was! The railing was way too low and the rug must have been slippery, what
|
||
with the rain on his shoes.
|
||
|
||
Yeah... Yeah, I know it's sad, tears me up inside, but that's just the
|
||
way it goes I guess. I'm gonna miss all those stories.
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
|
||
"Be careful of reading health books, you might die of a misprint."
|
||
-- Mark Twain
|
||
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
PARTY HARDY
|
||
by Kilgore Trout
|
||
|
||
Sometimes I watch people. I'll pretend I've got my head buried in a
|
||
magazine and listen to their conversations. Usually it's a drab and boring
|
||
pasttime, but it does pass the time, and every now and then some people come
|
||
along who are quite interesting.
|
||
|
||
Last Wednesday I was sitting on a bench at one of the local colleges,
|
||
reading Rupert Sheldrake's _The Presence of the Past_ when two girls walked
|
||
over and sat on the bench beside me. They looked no older than 18 or 19 --
|
||
probably freshmen. One had short red hair and was wearing a brown bomber
|
||
jacket and black leggings. The other had short brown hair and was wearing a
|
||
sweater and, surprise, surprise, white leggings.
|
||
|
||
"Do you want a cigarette, Courtney?" asked the redhead, holding up a
|
||
Marlboro Light.
|
||
|
||
Courtney shook her head. "No, Andrea, I'm not going to smoke until
|
||
after I go to class. That way I'll go to class and not sit out here and
|
||
smoke all day long."
|
||
|
||
"Are you sure?" Andrea asked again, waving the cigarette temptingly in
|
||
front of Courtney's face.
|
||
|
||
"No. I'm not going to smoke now."
|
||
|
||
"Are you positive?"
|
||
|
||
"Fuck you, Andrea," Courtney said as she grabbed the cigarette out of
|
||
Andrea's hand and lighting it. "I'm trying to cut down, and you're not
|
||
helping."
|
||
|
||
"Mylanta, girl! You can't quit." Andrea pulled out what looked to be
|
||
a 1937 brass vintage Zippo lighter (I own one, so that's how I know what
|
||
they look like) and lit her cigarette. "I had a boyfriend back in high
|
||
school who quit like every couple of weeks. He'd tell all of us he was
|
||
gonna quit for good and two days later he'd be behind the gym smoking."
|
||
|
||
"Oh, wasn't that the Brian guy, the one who--"
|
||
|
||
Andrea nodded. "Yup, the one who got suspended for coming to school
|
||
on acid. He was doing real good until the words in his history book kinda
|
||
melted away."
|
||
|
||
"Bummer," Courtney exhaled. "But I know I can quit. I went for a
|
||
whole day last week without smoking."
|
||
|
||
"And you gave me four cigarettes last night," Andrea added. "A real
|
||
addict wouldn't have given cigs away."
|
||
|
||
Courtney's face brightened up. She took a drag and blew a smoke
|
||
ring. "You know, Andrea, you're right. I'm not addicted."
|
||
|
||
"Oh, yeah. Speaking of those cigarettes, you won't believe what I did
|
||
last night. Before I went to that party last night, I came out here to
|
||
smoke. I lit one up, took about two puffs and then put it out *for no
|
||
reason at all*! Isn't that crazy?"
|
||
|
||
"You did what?"
|
||
|
||
"I wasted a whole cigarette," Andrea laughed, slapping her knee. "I
|
||
just stubbed it right out. A whole cigarette."
|
||
|
||
Courtney didn't look too happy. "You just threw away a cigarette I
|
||
gave you? Why'd you ask for them if you weren't gonna smoke them? I don't
|
||
eat lunch everyday so I can buy a pack of cigarettes, and you're just
|
||
throwing them away."
|
||
|
||
"I'm sorry, Courtney. Here, I'll give you a cigarette to make up for
|
||
it, okay?"
|
||
|
||
"Those are the cigarettes I gave you yesterday. Just forget it."
|
||
|
||
Andrea looked away and puffed on her cigarette for a bit. Oh, I love
|
||
a good catfight, but over a friggin' cigarette? C'mon, let's at least make
|
||
it something worth more than ten cents.
|
||
|
||
Courtney's voice broke the silence. "Ewww, looks like someone puked
|
||
over there." She was pointing towards a patch of concrete by a streetlamp.
|
||
|
||
"Oh, that would have been me," Andrea said. "That party was pretty
|
||
wild."
|
||
|
||
"I know. I was there. I just got there around 11:30, and I think you
|
||
had left by then."
|
||
|
||
"Yeah. You know, I didn't even know those guys' last names."
|
||
|
||
"Neither did I. Isn't that weird?"
|
||
|
||
"Very. 'Where was I? Oh, at Bob's and Tom's and Jim's and Ahmed's
|
||
apartment."
|
||
|
||
They both cackled at that witty quip.
|
||
|
||
"Were those even their names?" Courtney asked.
|
||
|
||
"I dunno. Listen, I got sooo drunk too. I had had about five beers
|
||
when Gretchen throws me another beer. I took about five sips and realized I
|
||
was about to puke. So, I thought to myself, 'I'll just sit here for awhile
|
||
until I feel better.' Well, five minutes later, everybody is going outside
|
||
to run around and play games. All I remember is puking in a barbecue grill."
|
||
|
||
"Shit, Andrea. So, when did you throw up over here?"
|
||
|
||
"Well, Jimmy and Rachel and me came back over here, and they had
|
||
bought a bottle of Heaven Hill vodka. I drank way too much then, puked, and
|
||
passed out. They had to carry me back to my dorm room."
|
||
|
||
"Sounds like you had a wonderful night."
|
||
|
||
"I thought it was pretty fun. Hey, when you got there, did you meet
|
||
Tom?"
|
||
|
||
"Tom? Uh, the chubby one?"
|
||
|
||
Andrea smiled. "But he's so adorable. He's the 'nice kind' of
|
||
chubby. Wouldn't you go out with him?"
|
||
|
||
"Erm, I dunno..."
|
||
|
||
"I slept with him last night," Andrea revealed, flicking her cigarette
|
||
butt out into the street. "After I puked in the barbeque grill, he took me
|
||
into one of the bedrooms to clean me up."
|
||
|
||
Courtney slapped a hand over her face. "Ohmigod, that's awful!"
|
||
|
||
"No, no, no," Andrea said reassuringly, "it's not like that. I
|
||
*wanted* to have sex. I was drunk, but I was horny too."
|
||
|
||
Courtney stood up. "I can't believe this. I cannot fucking believe
|
||
this."
|
||
|
||
"What? I had sex. You know I have sex. You've walked in on me
|
||
having sex. Me and Tom fucked, no big deal. He used a condom, I was in
|
||
control. It's nothing to get excited about."
|
||
|
||
"Bullshit, Andrea. Tom fucked me last night too. I'm gonna kick that
|
||
fat bastard in the balls. Chubby? Hell, the guy weighs as much as an
|
||
elephant. He's got the hairiest back, too. Goddammit!"
|
||
|
||
"If he was so bad, why did you sleep with him?"
|
||
|
||
"Why'd *you* sleep with him?"
|
||
|
||
"Cause I was drunk."
|
||
|
||
"Just a minute ago you said you knew what you were doing."
|
||
|
||
"Well, I lied. I was drunk as hell, and didn't know what I was
|
||
doing. You think I'd sleep with Tom if I were sober? So, why did you sleep
|
||
with him?"
|
||
|
||
"Cause, uh, I was drunk too," Courtney stammered. I don't think she
|
||
was telling the truth.
|
||
|
||
Andrea got up and the girls left, mumbling something about rape and
|
||
pressing charges. I watched them until they passed behind a building, and
|
||
then they were gone.
|
||
|
||
I told you you'd meet some interesting people. Well, maybe tomorrow.
|
||
Probably not. Interesting people are hard to come by. That's why most
|
||
writers make them up. But, in their own special way, Andrea and Courtney
|
||
show us how meaningless conversation can provide for a few minutes of
|
||
entertainment. They also show us that I have no life. Who is worse off?
|
||
That is for you to decide.
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
|
||
"When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
|
||
But in battalions."
|
||
--Shakespeare, _Hamlet_
|
||
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
ETHAN TAKES A RiDE
|
||
by I Wish My Name Were Nathan
|
||
|
||
An ugly white car was speeding along the road. An early 80's relic Ford
|
||
Fairmont, granny-carriage, gas-guzzler, eyesore car. It was nudging the
|
||
speed limit all the way down the curving two-lane avenue, though it could
|
||
have been going much faster, as it was three in the morning. There were no
|
||
other cars on the road as far as you could tell; the only lights were from
|
||
the occasional streetlight and the needlessly lit-up Little League stadium.
|
||
It was summer, and the only condolence for the still uncomfortable nighttime
|
||
temperature was the nighttime sky, cloudless and sparkling. You could almost
|
||
forgive the people around for keeping the lights on, because the concentrated
|
||
disc of sky not washed out by the haze was just small enough to prevent you
|
||
from feeling overwhelmed.
|
||
|
||
Along the road in the crunchy dry grass walked a young man named Ethan.
|
||
As he trudged forward after three days of walking, he was considering the
|
||
reasons his parents had given him such an oddly British-sounding name, since
|
||
they had grown up middle-class in Central Texas. He pondered its stuffy feel
|
||
("ee-thun"), and how the lack of suitable nicknames ("Eeth? Than? Ann?!")
|
||
forced people to refer to him with this falsely stodgy name and never
|
||
anything less formal. Ethan also wondered if the fact that he had failed to
|
||
live up to the promise of pompous perfection implied in his name made it that
|
||
much easier for his parents to throw him out of the house. In realizing the
|
||
banal stray tracks his mind had travelled onto, he laughed bitterly to
|
||
himself, but in the interest of self-protection maintained a perfectly
|
||
uninterested expression on his stubble-scarred face.
|
||
|
||
Ethan heard the car approaching. When it cleared the bend, he mistook
|
||
the sudden increase in volume as a sudden increase in acceleration and turned
|
||
around, startled, facing the car. The driver of the car mistook this as a
|
||
request for a ride, and pulled over onto the side of the road. Ethan sighed.
|
||
He didn't want any more rides. Lest he look suspicious and run away, he
|
||
considered the offer. The old granny car most certainly carried an old
|
||
granny who would understand. As he walked closer, he realized it wasn't an
|
||
old granny, but another guy. Another fucking guy. He stopped short and
|
||
stared at the stars.
|
||
|
||
"Fuck it," he muttered, glancing at the long road ahead, and walked up
|
||
and pulled the door handle. It was locked.
|
||
|
||
Ethan's mouth dropped open in disgust. Fucking prankster. "Oh shit,
|
||
sorry," the guy said, lunging toward the door to unlock it. "No electric
|
||
locks," he explained. Ethan considered walking away anyway but wondered if
|
||
this incident would start getting him paranoid again in the darkness. God
|
||
knows he hadn't gotten over it yet. "I sincerely apologize," the guy said.
|
||
Ethan could see the guy's head inching toward the door to catch a glimpse of
|
||
his face. Ethan hadn't yet bent down to look into the car but was still
|
||
standing beside it, staring hard into the distance, deliberating.
|
||
|
||
The car lurched a bit, the red brakelights flickering for a brief
|
||
moment. Ethan sprang and opened the door. He climbed in, keeping his eyes
|
||
on the driver's hands. The driver's hands were clamped to the steering
|
||
wheel. Ethan glanced around and saw nothing odd around him, and nothing in
|
||
the back seat, which he surveyed while reaching for the seatbelt. He leaned
|
||
back stiffly and glanced at the driver's face. The driver was about twenty
|
||
but looked as nervous as a little kid. A forced smile manifested itself as a
|
||
grimace on his face.
|
||
|
||
"I'm not dangerous," the hitchhiker said.
|
||
|
||
"Oh, oh-oh oh no, I didn't think so," Jake said, suddenly realizing he'd
|
||
never considered the possibility, wondering if he should have. His smile
|
||
turned wan.
|
||
|
||
Jake glanced at the road and the speedometer and turned on his left
|
||
blinker. Glancing again at the road, he put the gearshift in reverse and
|
||
released the brake. "No-no-no," he hissed, hitting the brake, and put the
|
||
gearshift in drive and released the brake. All these actions made the car
|
||
shake madly for a second until it started wobbling along the road. A hundred
|
||
feet or so later, Jake turned off his blinker and said casually, "I'm not
|
||
dangerous either, unless I'm driving."
|
||
|
||
Jake started laughing nervously, and Ethan smiled politely.
|
||
|
||
* - *
|
||
|
||
"So," Jake started, "what's your name?"
|
||
|
||
His passenger replied, "Ethan."
|
||
|
||
"Aaaah, cool. I like that name," Jake said, smiling.
|
||
|
||
Ethan grimaced and stared out his window for a while. He saw a 35 mph
|
||
sign whiz by and turned his eyes toward the dashboard, which read a stunning
|
||
fifty miles per hour. He instinctively checked the give of the seatbelt.
|
||
Turning his head back toward the driver, he saw the gruesomely nervous smile
|
||
again.
|
||
|
||
"Hey, slow down," Ethan said.
|
||
|
||
"Jake. Slow down, Jake," the driver corrected, releasing the
|
||
accelerator. "Sorry about that. Forgot what I was doing for a moment there.
|
||
Geeez, I'm nervous."
|
||
|
||
"I'm not dangerous," Ethan repeated.
|
||
|
||
"I know, I know. I've just never, uh, picked up a hitchhiker before."
|
||
|
||
Ethan decided not to tell him that he hadn't been looking for a ride.
|
||
But even if this guy was creepy, a car could take him along much faster than
|
||
walking. "Yeah, I guess so. Uh, where are we going?"
|
||
|
||
"Aw shit!" Jake cried, hitting the brakes in the middle of the road.
|
||
"Where are you headed? I never asked."
|
||
|
||
"Jesus CHRIST you're a jumpy sonofabitch!" Ethan yelled. "I'll just get
|
||
out here, all right, seeing as we're stopped!" Ethan reached for the lock,
|
||
cracked the door open, and felt a hand grab his shoulder.
|
||
|
||
"No, no, please, stay. Once we get somewhere, I won't be driving
|
||
anymore, and it'll be all right."
|
||
|
||
Ethan's eyes grew wide for a moment, and then he shut them tightly.
|
||
With a careful tone, he asked, "What the HELL do you mean by that?"
|
||
|
||
Jake fell silent for a moment. Ethan cautiously looked at him, staring
|
||
hard at the windshield with a blank expression on his face. His mouth fell
|
||
open and closed again a few times, making him look like a fish out of water.
|
||
He was pitiful.
|
||
|
||
"Well, I'm just guessing, but I don't think you've had a good meal in
|
||
days. I was gonna get you something to eat."
|
||
|
||
Ethan nodded solemnly and muttered, "Sure."
|
||
|
||
* - *
|
||
|
||
Jake stopped the car at a Whataburger. It was probably the only place
|
||
open that late at night. Ethan stepped out of the Ford and looked around at
|
||
the cars, scowling.
|
||
|
||
"What are you looking for?" Jake asked.
|
||
|
||
"Cops."
|
||
|
||
"Why? What have you done?"
|
||
|
||
"I'm homeless."
|
||
|
||
Jake's brow furrowed. "Is that illegal?"
|
||
|
||
Ethan rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't believe."
|
||
|
||
Jake frowned and the two headed into the Whataburger. Ethan walked up
|
||
to the counter and stared at the menu with his arms crossed, remembering
|
||
sourly how high the prices were. He glanced over at Jake checking his
|
||
wallet.
|
||
|
||
"Don't worry," Jake said with a touch of embarrassment, "You're
|
||
covered."
|
||
|
||
Ethan ordered his food and a large cup of water and headed to the table
|
||
where Jake was sitting.
|
||
|
||
"This is so weird," Jake started. "I've never done anything like this."
|
||
|
||
His guest nodded and twirled a french fry in a splotch of ketchup.
|
||
"It's not so hard."
|
||
|
||
Jake nodded. "Only five bucks."
|
||
|
||
Ethan smirked briefly and started eating. He ate quickly. After a few
|
||
seconds he glanced up. Jake was grinning at him. Ethan became self-
|
||
conscious and turned red. He stared at his plate while chewing. A few
|
||
seconds later he became angry. He wrenched his eyes shut and started eating
|
||
faster.
|
||
|
||
He was done eating in about five minutes, after which he got up, saying,
|
||
"I gotta pee." Jake sat back in his chair and waited, not sure what to
|
||
think. It was all very strange, really. Not the usual thing to do on a
|
||
Thursday night. He grinned to himself, proud of his unprovoked display of
|
||
humanitarianism. He wondered what to do next.
|
||
|
||
Seeing a shift in the light, he looked up and saw Ethan walking by
|
||
outside. Jake blinked and bolted from his seat and his hitchhiker started
|
||
walking faster. He ran outside and caught up.
|
||
|
||
"Hey, where you going?" he asked sorely, walking beside Ethan as he
|
||
continued to walk.
|
||
|
||
"I'm going on. Thanks for the food and all. I didn't really want a
|
||
ride. I wish I could offer something in return, but I'm broke," he
|
||
explained, glancing defensively at Jake.
|
||
|
||
"Oh," Jake said, stopping. "No problem," he lied. He saw himself
|
||
quickly losing control, and blurted out, "You'll just get arrested again!"
|
||
|
||
Ethan halted in his tracks, mortified. He took a halting step, then
|
||
turned his head and said, "Fuck off." He shoved his hands in his pockets and
|
||
walked on.
|
||
|
||
"If that's the way you want it," Jake said.
|
||
|
||
"That's the way it is. Sorry. Fuck off."
|
||
|
||
* - *
|
||
|
||
Ethan's feet crunched in the gravel along the side of the road. After
|
||
checking back a few times, he felt assured that Jake had given up.
|
||
|
||
"You'll just get arrested again," Jake's pleading voice echoed in his
|
||
mind. How true. Ethan decided not to worry about it anymore. Jail was
|
||
safer. You got free food and a place to sleep. "You'll just get arrested
|
||
again." Baiting him with fear to make him come back. After his naive
|
||
mindset had been shattered, Ethan no longer fretted about his permanent
|
||
record. However much he tried to suppress it, though, he had to agree with
|
||
Jake's words. He probably would get arrested again if he didn't watch out.
|
||
Tonight had been one of the few nights in recent memory that he hadn't stolen
|
||
something to eat. This whole episode had been annoying and stupid, and all
|
||
for some overpriced fast food.
|
||
|
||
Ethan remembered his first arrest. He had been staying on a street
|
||
called the Drag in Austin. Some passersby had suggested it was a safe place,
|
||
being right next to the university. There are special people here, they
|
||
said; this is a mecca of altruism. Ethan was later rousted from his sleep
|
||
early in the morning by a tall and bulky police officer, asking him if he was
|
||
homeless. He said yes, his wits not yet about him, and he was ordered to go
|
||
away. He returned twice because the youth shelter was closed and found
|
||
himself stepping into the back of a police car. His parents hadn't provided
|
||
him with any bail money when they threw him out, and he didn't want to deal
|
||
with them. So he refused to identify himself and got to spend a few days in
|
||
jail.
|
||
|
||
The jail time wasn't half bad; he was relieved to find that the
|
||
pampered-criminal rhetoric was at least part true. He was able to catch up
|
||
on recent periodicals, not having to worry any more about being thrown out of
|
||
the public library. He read up on Mayor Todd's altruistic homeless-street-
|
||
sweeping policy, the rumors about which he had shrugged off, and was about to
|
||
become very angry, when he got bailed out.
|
||
|
||
Ethan had no idea who this man was. It was this preppy-looking guy who
|
||
chewed Red Man, and he called himself Steve. He explained that he had seen
|
||
Ethan on the street a few times before, not looking too well at that. And
|
||
after the Drag suddenly became deserted, he became concerned and started
|
||
asking around for him. The tidbits of information led him here, and he
|
||
decided out of the goodness of his heart to pay for Ethan's bail. Steve
|
||
considered himself a libertarian, and he detested the changes going on in the
|
||
city. And he was actually doing something about it.
|
||
|
||
School had started while Ethan was in jail. Steve didn't bug him to
|
||
attend school, but since Ethan was still a minor, he explained, he'd be
|
||
subject to the teen curfew too. Life's a bitch, he said, and offered to
|
||
house him for a few hours until it was legal for him to be on the streets.
|
||
Ethan agreed, impressed with the man's generosity.
|
||
|
||
Steve had a really bitchin' Atari Jaguar with a 19-inch television in
|
||
his apartment, and let Ethan use it to wile the hours away and forget about
|
||
this bad shit for a while. The hours passed quickly, and when it was time
|
||
for school to let out, Steve came in and offered to let him stay for a few
|
||
days, until he could contact some friends. Ethan politely refused, feeling
|
||
empowered now to take his fight for homeless rights to the streets, knowing
|
||
he had people on his side. Steve nodded and gave him twenty dollars for
|
||
food. Good luck out there, he said, and say, I figured that after all I've
|
||
done for you, the least you could do is suck my dick. He locked the door
|
||
behind him. Life's a bitch, he said. Ethan was back on the street ten
|
||
minutes later.
|
||
|
||
* - *
|
||
|
||
Ethan continued to trudge onward in the darkness, although he needed
|
||
sleep. He figured a rest stop would be ahead and he could steal some rest
|
||
on a bench there. The food in his stomach would go to good use. It was only
|
||
|
||
five miles to the rest stop. Ethan had become used to walking. He was
|
||
humming an Alice in Chains tune, keeping beat with his steps.
|
||
|
||
Of all the cars that passed by, only one decided to pull off to the
|
||
shoulder ahead of him. It was the Ford Fairmont again. Ethan stopped and
|
||
his eyes widened but his mouth drew a thin line across his face.
|
||
|
||
Jake jumped out of the car and walked up to him, saying, "Dammit! I
|
||
couldn't just let you go on like that. It's just wrong. It's not safe. You
|
||
hafta have somewhere to stay at least, and I..."
|
||
|
||
Ethan swung his fist into Jake's face and pushed him to the ground. He
|
||
kicked him several times between the legs, eyes glaring, mouth not saying a
|
||
word. He walked up to Jake's face, saw the fear in his eyes, and kicked his
|
||
head. Jake went to sleep.
|
||
|
||
It was only five miles until the rest stop. Ethan looked ahead along
|
||
the road, which drew far into the distance, never-ending. He glanced at the
|
||
car, and at Jake. He reached down and removed his wallet. Yes, walking is a
|
||
good thing, he mused. A nice, repetitive, comfortable activity. It calms
|
||
the mind, soothes the soul, and it helps you forget. Walking helps you
|
||
forget. He walked on.
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|
||
|
||
State of unBeing is copyrighted (c) 1995 by Kilgore Trout and Apocalypse
|
||
Culture Publications. All rights are reserved to cover, format, editorials,
|
||
and all incidental material. All individual items are copyrighted (c) 1995 by
|
||
the individual author, unless otherwise stated. This file may be disseminated
|
||
without restriction for nonprofit purposes so long as it is preserved complete
|
||
and unmodified. Quotes and ideas not already in the public domain may be
|
||
freely used so long as due recognition is provided. State of unBeing is
|
||
available at the following places:
|
||
|
||
iSiS UNVEiLED 512.TMP.DOWN 14.4 (Home of SoB)
|
||
CYBERVERSE 512.255.5728 14.4
|
||
THE LiONS' DEN 512.259.9546 24oo
|
||
TEENAGE RiOt 418.833.4213 14.4 NUP: COSMIC_JOKE
|
||
GOAT BLOWERS ANONYMOUS 215.750.0392 14.4
|
||
ftp to io.com /pub/SoB
|
||
World Wide Web http://www.io.com/~hagbard/sob.html
|
||
|
||
Submissions may also be sent to Kilgore Trout at <kilgore@bga.com>. Thank you.
|
||
|
||
|
||
--SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB-SoB--
|
||
|