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Doomed to Obscurity Issue 18
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doomed to obscurity #18 - the minimalist issue - february 4, 1997
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"life's a dye, & then you bitch"
by - eerie
oh, so like, *you* of all people are up for a piece of *the* real
hardcore computer underground? hell, no big deal, it's dead, so might as
well give it out for free!@!!
well, welcome into the deepest grounds of an alternate computer world
(affectionately called by others "cyberspace" because of one dumb sci-fi
hacker novel that supposedly started it all & that i could never finish
reading 'cause it was such a bore). it's been going through a couple
changes in the past few years, you know. i found myself guilty of looking
for my mouse pointer while i was in dos one too many time not to realize it.
HAQRS OF THIS WORLD, IT'S TIME TO FUCK SHIT UP!!!!
(will someone help me here, i can't seem to find the "fuck shit up"
button anywhere in windows95. maybe my pc has caught a virus or something.)
so like, here we are, this joyous crew of angsty yet wit-filled
crack-addicts called dee-tee-ooh, which stands for "doomed to obscurity".
we're basically replaying the whole "no future" deal from the punks back in
74, but that's ok, 'cause it's the nineties, & we recycle. check out my
nifty cyan hair & my safety pin earring, baby.
at least, bill gates doesn't own my -- wait, he does.
anyhow, welcome to dto #18, yet another jam-packed issue of the 'zine
that not only tells you how to live your life & proclaims itself to be the
hippest thing since cheese, but that's also proud of it.
admitting you have a backup is the first step to recovery!
& it's all on purpose, too!
---
ok, first off, dto.net is up, & this should make you scream
hallelujah, but that's ok if you don't.
that makes our new web site address http://www.dto.net. 'zines
related to dto have been relocated as well; BUCKET can be found at
http://www.dto.net/bucket/, & violent animation industries (which publishes
bondage e-zine -- check #2, it's out!!) is at http://www.dto.net/va/.
please update your bookmarks, & don't worry, it even works with lynx, 'cause
we're old school & we understand that kind of stuff.
in a likely manner, our anonymous ftp site will also be up soon at
ftp.dto.net. god, is that easy to remember or what?
if you wish to contribute to the operational costs for dto.net,
please contact that happy guy mogel at mogel@dto.net -- which is also the
new address for all your dto concerns, submissions, death threats & grocery
lists. we like fan mail, too.
"I LUV DTO, DO U LYK NIN?"
that said, let me welcome you to this special issue featuring
exceptionally few but large articles, including an article from mogel on the
touchy topic of drugs <crowd - "ooooh!">.
also look for a 2-part remake by shadow tao & yours truly of the old
greek myth of the rape of persephone, called "persephone's cross" -- check
out the *interactive* www version, too! that's right, even TEXT can be
interactive now! ah, the things they do to make our pathetic lives easier.
also check out for a comeback from fake scorpion ('member that
kid from north carolina?), & an epic file depicting jamesy's ever so
troubling psyche with a precision rarely seen before. it's almost crunchy.
same package as usual, except this month your attention span might
not handle it. but then again, did it ever?
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"doomed to obscurity eighteen & all contents therein .."
1 - "life's a dye, & then you bitch"
by - eerie
2 - "doomed to obscurity eighteen & all contents therein .."
by - no one, really
3 - "red dye number ten"
by - spiff
4 - "persephone's cross"
by - eerie
5 - "quiescent zeus"
by - fake scorpion
6 - "take a trip"
by - mogel
7 - "peacfull, in away. also frightning"
by - styx
8 - "persephone's cross"
by - shadow tao
9 - "bullseye -- condiments, chapter 777"
by - murmur
10 - "gift"
by - jamesy
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"red dye number ten"
by - spiff
mike poured himself another bowl of cap'n crunch. this was the third
day in a row that he missed daylight. he promised himself that one of these
days he'd actually sleep at night and go out and do whatever it is people do
in the daytime during the day. whatever. one day.
as long as he had the cap'n, mike would be fine. "so how's it goin'
old pal?" no response. he was kind of bitter at first but then realized
that even if the box did talk back to him, it probably wouldn't have said
anything really insightful anyway. maybe it is just better to read the back
of the box. hmmm .. only 500 upc symbols and mike could send away for that
glow in the dark watch he's had his eye on. he could hardly believe they
were actually _giving_ something like that away. god bless america. and
god bless the cap'n. ya know, mike thought, life is good .. although, not
nearly as good as this tasty vitamin fortified cereal with red dye number
ten. yeah .. life _is_ kinda like this cereal .. the only real differences
are that life doesn't have crunch berries and no milk is needed. i guess
life wins with that one, mike thought to himself, since a surprising number
of americans are lactose intolerant (he read that somewhere). i'd rather
just have this cereal though; life has let me down just one too many times,
but no matter what happens, this cereal will always be there for me. it
will always love me. oh, and, it's magically delicious!@#!#
"that's the wrong cereal, kid."
"oh yeah. lucky charms .. whatever .. big deal .. but the point i
was trying to make was that .. ummm .. hey .. you're a box. you can't
talk."
"ok fine. well, if i can't talk then you're left with one of two
possible explanations: either you're under the influence of some type of
hallucinogenic drug, or you're simply insane; which will it be?"
"but .. if you can talk, how come you didn't answer me earlier?"
"look, i was trying to sleep, all right? i had a rough night.
please don't ask me about it, i'd really rather not have to re-live it.
anyway, you woke me up with all your pseudo-dramatic ranting. so what do
you think is so bad about life anyway? it is what you make of it and, trust
me on this one mikey, this damn cereal isn't all it's cracked up to be."
"yeah, but life just really isn't fair .. yeah, i know life isn't
fair but why not? it should be; or at least let it be slightly unfair in my
favor sometime, or something .. and umm .. cap'n crunch cereal is just the
best! i mean .."
"look kid, let me tell you something about this cereal: it's fake.
look at all those chemicals and dyes and stuff, i'd hardly call _this_ a
good meal. it's all made in a laboratory for christ's sake! and that toy
inside the box, that all those little kids beg their parents for, it's just
a cheap piece of plastic that's made in some factory on the other side of
the world where the workers get five cents a week! but the worst,
absolutely the worst is the name. It's called cap'n *crunch*, right? but
have you _ever_, i mean _ever_ had a bowl where this stuff actually stayed
_crunchy_? *no!!!!* it's just all empty promises, that's all it is."
"but it's still better than life. i mean, what has life ever given
me? what has life ever given anyone? millions of people die everyday, and
for what? what's the point? there probably isn't even one. at least i can
eat this cereal and be happy .. but what does life have for me? only sorrow
and want."
"no, that's not it, don't you see? with this cereal there's
_nothing_, it's all emptiness and it will make you empty. with life though,
there's a chance. it's true, you may struggle at times, and you have to
work really hard to achieve happiness, but at least it's possible. it is
waiting there for you."
"yeah but .. how do i know that for sure? i mean, how do you know?
what makes you so special? you're just .. umm .. what should i address you
by? the cap'n? like on those commercials? or do you have a first name or
something?"
"i don't have a first name, okay? why not rub the fact in that i'm
just a one dimensional children's character used to promote some over-sugary
cereal who a couple of hot-shot advertising executives didn't bother giving
a first name? i'm not even a captain, i'm just the "cap'n". what the fuck
is that? when i take my kids fishing, i have to let my son drive the boat.
and do you know how hard it is to find clothes? what size do you think i
am? no, no, c'mon, really, just guess .."
"look cap'n, first of all, you're a box, you don't wear clothes. if
you're tired of that blue ensemble, i can paint you a different color or
something, but that should be the least of your worries since there's only
like one bowl of cereal left and then you're out with the trash. and .."
"you really should recycle. did you know that every year .."
"okay, okay, you're right. i will recycle you when i'm finished, all
right? but that's beside the point, you've not finished your work here. i
mean, you must have been sent from some higher power or something to save
me. after all, it's not everyday a cereal box starts talking. where were
we? you were trying to tell me something."
"oh, whatever, i don't remember what we were talking about. it's
really not all that important anyway. i'd rather talk about something else
anyway. so what did you think of that last episode of 90210?"
"no, wait! aren't you supposed to help me with my angst or
something? aren't you supposed to give me the wisdom that comes from your
experience? aren't you supposed to show me things in a different light,
from a different point of view? help me become a better person, cap'n, i
beg you. i'm willing; i'm ready. just show me the way, show me the light
(show me the money). aren't you going to explain to me some really
simplistic yet truthful analogy that relates the complexity of the existence
to something that i can more readily understand? aren't you supposed to
help me struggle with the meaning of life and eventually help me to find
some sort of inner peace?"
"nah, sorry kid, i just sell the cereal."
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"persephone's cross"
by - eerie
it happened that persephone was walking along that row of trees with
her school bag & flowers in her hand when hades drove by in his black '76
plymouth that was spitting industrial music out of the windows. persephone
looked just so pretty. he had always liked girls like that; the naive look
always made it for him. he slowed down & decided she'd be her prey for
today.
she finally noticed him, & politely said hi. he turned down the
volume & stared at her for a few seconds with a full smile.
"hello .. you wouldn't happen to be persephone, would you?"
".. yes."
"i think i met you at a party once."
"oh. maybe .. i think i remember you. your name is hades, right?"
god, that smile .. she's awfully cute, he thought.
"yes, i'm hades."
"cool! how are you?"
"well, i'm doing fine .. look, i can't stay here too long, you know,
with the traffic & stuff. (just as he said that, a car honked at him.)
though, i was wondering, i'm going to this nifty party tonight, over at the
old supermarket & i'm afraid it might be boring as hell, but then i have
this feeling that if you came, it might just get way more, uhm, let's say
entertaining."
"a party? sounds neat!"
there was so much perversity in the way she said words like "neat" or
"cool", just because you'd expect a mouth like hers to pronounce nothing but
what's considered correct language for a school girl. what looks don't
tell, that's nudity. what a voyeur he was, then!
"maybe i'll see you there?"
"maybe."
"good .. okay. see you tonight, then."
he smiled contentedly, & went away.
---
"*who* did you say you invited?"
"persephone. don't you remember?"
"holy shit, that bitch is so hot."
"you know her?"
"yeah, she lives 2 blocks from my dad's. she's like a virgin or
something?"
"man, you're gonna fuck her?"
"well, god only knows what can happen .."
"yeah right! i have yet to see you meet a girl that you won't fuck,
hades!"
general laughter.
"holy shit, i member persephone. she went to the same school as me
when i was in, like, fifth grade. oh man, i remember .. shit, you guys know
that fag hermes, right?"
"haha, shit yeah."
"well, back then, he'd be calling her, you know, purrr-sy.
(laughter.) & of course, no one else could call her purrr-sy! or else, big
bad hermes would say (high-pitched voice) 'don't you diss my girlfriend!'"
"girlfriend? that faggot?"
"hell, that's what he said she was. but everyone knew she was just
too nice to dump him."
"fuck, hades is gonna screw purrr-sy! say, maybe she's not all that,
you know, nice .. with an ass like that, she's prolly just a fuckin' sex
machine!"
"yeah, they're all just so starving for it, those bitches, man!"
"she's gonna say 'stop it hades dear!' but you know what that means,
right?"
"holy shit, yeah, the hoe will just want more. you motherfucker."
as hades started talking, everyone stopped.
"well, guys, let's put this way. i, of all people, have been
assigned the delicate task of deflowering an angel. this implies a whole
lot of things."
"yeah, like you won't need any kind of rubber with that kinda
hottie!"
he calmly smiled. "that's not what i mean. it's just so uncommon
today to meet such fine young women who were just waiting for the right man
to, you know, educate them into new grounds of knowledge."
"hades, you're such a fuckin' bastard."
"well, i know."
laughter.
---
there was no way one would get lost around the rave -- you could hear
loud house music 3 blocks away. normally, that kind of noise would be a
major annoyance to hades, but with all that he had smoked in the past hours,
anything would do. he thought, the nice thing with doing those parties in
old supermarkets is that you can park your car near. & god knows having the
car near is always useful in those events where backseat sex is almost
inevitable. there are things like that, you can't help them, you just
cannot help them, but they keep happening, & what are you gonna do about it?
that's the painful task of taking dumb mortals when they're so high &
making them dig so low, yeah, so low, until they find him & there's no way
back.
he laughed at his last thought, then locked the car door, walked to
the building, paid, got in.
it was nearly 10 when he put his feet on the main dance floor. he
wouldn't dance. he'd just look, observe, scrutinize. he could just let her
find him, after all. but then again, he didn't want to wait too long before
they finally meet. who knows, someone else might already be trying with
her.
he searched more closely. she wasn't anywhere to be seen.
she couldn't have left the rave. she just couldn't have left ..
he started walking through the moving crowd of dancing bodies,
splashed with spots of colored lights, ears crushed between both sides of an
auditive surround cannon, his movements following the pulse of the bass
drums.
physical sound. the big deal. & there was enough movement here to
turn one blind.
so much weight over a nation of kids, pressed against each other
until something final happens. he liked the state he was in. it was sort
of fitting with the general atmosphere.
there she is.
he saw her as she was waving hi to another girl. t-shirt & jeans.
exactly the way he thought she'd dress like. it contrasted completely with
the assortment of ravers who all made a point of dressing exactly the same.
plus, she seemed to be alone. he smiled. alone, yeah, in the middle of
this anonymous collective. so was he, in a way. how could he not look down
on these parties, which normally bore the shit outta him?
he decided, this girl was someone he was fated to know at some point.
oh, the way she looked, like a sheep away from home. it's like she
was waiting to be bitten. she had to come here on purpose.
& now, how she was dancing, strangely yet beautifully, her hands sort
of making a point of caressing the space instead of just merely occupying
it.
as if they were willing to touch something.
"hi."
her bubble popped out. she turned around, instantly smiled. her
eyes were tragic.
"you want some? it's just caffeine, it'll help you dance tonight."
he was holding this pill between his fingers.
"it's just like a mountain dew," he added with a smile.
"sure."
she accepted, looking at him with such deep eyes, swallowing the pill
as if she knew her innocence was just a shell she was about to get rid of.
she's the one who started dancing, & so he did. suddenly there was
no one else in here, just foamy music.
---
this place was a little more quiet.
"hades? i didn't see you, where were you?"
"i'm with persephone. i'm about to go."
"whoa, with her?"
"why, you'd rather want me to fuck your mom, maybe?"
"hey, chill out. what's the problem?"
"any teacher needs teaching tools, & you happen to have some stuff i
want."
"you want that in a gift package or somethin'?"
"very funny."
"welp, i got some in my car, but we better do it quick, 'cause i'm
not staying here too long either."
"alright, i'll go look for persephone & i'll meet you outside."
she was exactly at the same location, except not alone. some guy who
looked like a club guy was obviously doing her some trouble, because she
seemed annoyed.
hades came closer, & asked, loudly: "who the fuck are you?"
she turned over, looked at him, *deep*, & her look said let's get out
of here for once, please let's just get out of here. her hands touched him.
with the pill she had taken, he knew how hungry for contact she was. it
didn't mean as much as the deep look.
"you've got her on e, you bastard. how could you do this?"
god, who the hell this fag thinks he is?
"come on, pursy .. we're going home."
"no .. go away herm. i'm with hades."
the club guy looked astonished. he turned his face to look at hades,
but he couldn't stand the stare, so he let them go out.
hades & persephone got in the plymouth, & drove away to somewhere
where it wouldn't matter if they touched on the back seat.
---
in the next 3 months, they'd both see each other more than regularly,
almost everyday after school, & after she dropped off, anytime of anyday.
hades' friends thought it was funny how persephone was the only girlfriend
he ever had that he didn't dump after a week. was he just getting old? not
really. it was about attaining a goal. reaching something important, after
all this wasted time.
oh, the smile she'd make everytime he'd pronounce her name, not just
persy or purrr-sy like everyone else.
"persephone." did that sound respectful.
why, she slowly became just like him. all the things she didn't know
about, she learned, & the other things she had been taught wrongly, she
finally knew their real meaning.
& she learned so fast. you could tell it was understood, not just
merely memorized.
there were drugs, too, of course. "drugs? i'd rather call them
reality enhancers", he once explained. "some will distort reality for your
viewing & listening pleasure. some will lighten it considerably, which will
allow you to breathe with more ease. & then there are the doors outside
time. once you cross them, you're freed from all hold on anything that you
thought existed."
"i just wish i could be outside all the time."
"we all do. only insane beings could bear with something as
immensely unjust & hypocritical as reality."
"i know."
"it's just so, you know .. "
"yeah."
"unbearable. i .. "
"ooohh."
their whole beings were off in the next second. there it was -- the
door outside time. she used her last conscious movement to hang on hades'
body. so they could pass through the door together.
again.
that, & the sex that proceeded or followed.
he figured, her frail virgin innocence obviously never knew any
better, but neither did he. with the other girls, it was basic pipe & tube
works. fucking with persephone, on the other hand, felt like an act of
cleansing.
the way she'd hang to his body, constantly.
the tragedy that kept growing in her eyes.
it had to explode at some point.
---
see, maybe that's what they call rape.
he didn't have her phone number. they'd always meet naturally,
without any specific kind of arrangement, they never even talked on the
phone, except 3 days before when she called him up to tell him her parents
weren't home for the whole weekend, & he could come over & they'd get their
bodies & brains crushed against each other.
there was gonna be food, cable tv, & a queen-size bed.
she was gonna call him back in a few hours to tell him where they'd
meet that afternoon. then, nothing, until a week later when he heard that
her mom had sent her in rehab.
straight in the place where they'll swallow you in delusions, telling
you that failures aren't eternal & that contentment implies emptiness of
thought.
so long for the invulnerability he thought they had.
he first wished to care less. he just couldn't allow himself to
care. it was something he couldn't do anything about, an event he had no
hold on. let's be reasonable, he told himself, there would have been no
other possible way out.
he tried to laugh. then again, faking ignorance never helps
recovering from the wounds you want to get rid of -- it only makes them hurt
more, when they come back. because they always come back.
you just can't laugh off something so vital without increasing your
level of self despise.
that's ok, really, i swear.
he'd just cross doors outside time alone now.
though, as he suspected, wiping her off his memory wouldn't be that
easy a task. as a matter of fact, many times he dreamt of her, & sometimes
he cried, cruelly wishing for the trace of the name she had left in his mind
to disappear, even though it was the only thing he ever fed with pieces of
his own self.
and even though the school girls walking along the row of trees all
looked so bland & ridiculous now, he kept catching them like the surfeited
predator that he was, one after one, & he sacrificed all of them's virginity
on the back seat of his plymouth in a ceremony of sweat & stereo noise that
could last many painful hours & in the end wound him even more.
to remember. just to fucking remember.
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"quiescent zeus"
by - fake scorpion
her eyes are without a story; her face is full of interlacing canals
built over the ages. man's romanticism would point to the years during
which salty streams cascaded down her skin as the cause. i, however, know
better. she is old. she is ancient.
"oh, she sits by the window," my present infatuation says. "she must
still enjoy the sight of the world -- the creation." i can only smile,
since i had instructed the orderlies at the home to set her upon the window
seat on sunny days. i wanted her to feel the warmth and deadliness of the
sun. bringing her a step closer to cancer struck me as hilarious -- a
comedic masterpiece in my head. it wasn't the blinding romanticism that she
still might enjoy a view of the outside. i'm certain i've gotten past that.
i deny. my facade always depresses me when i try to adopt it as an
actual mindset. it is so practical, yet it lacks all hope i might have, or
wish to. it has adverse effects; i want to kill myself.
i look in the other direction when my infatuation notices that i'm
blankly staring at her. my attention focuses on my grandmother again. her
subtotal is the result of six years of degeneration. "she's disconnected
from her memory," was the sentiment my infatuation expressed on the car ride
to the nursing home -- nursery!. "why must everything have a connotation of
hope with you? she's not disconnected," i had responded. "she's dead; her
brain cells have degenerated. there won't be a reconnection." a look that
explained she didn't understand me ensued, as did a silence that lasted
until we reached the home.
staring at my grandmother, slumped against the window, i cannot
justify my reasons for wishing to celebrate her birthday. my mom, the
derivative and possible candidate of a certain lurking genetic defect, was
out shopping and had definitely forgotten today was her mother's birthday.
i stifled a laugh at the irony of this, not muting it enough. my
infatuation watched me with curiosity. "what are you thinking about?" she
asked, hoping, i'm sure, to spark the semblance of a conversation.
"i'm not thinking. it's unfortunate," i muttered, turning my gaze
once again to her.
"why'd we come here?"
"you've read my thoughts."
i felt lost in an ocean of contradictions and conflicts. escapism --
escaping as i usually did -- allowed me to disregard romanticism and exile
myself from hope. i was a robot, the sum of a limited number of stimuli
that had shaped who i was. my personality -- my soul -- did not exist
before this.
suddenly stepping away from her, i walk to the window seat to place
the bouquet of white roses i had been clutching in my hand at the bottoms of
my grandmother's feet. i'm not sure why i do this, but i feel better doing
so. she stares blankly ahead; i feel like she lurks just beyond her glassy
irises. not wasting time, and feeling ashamed to have wasted any at all, i
walk back, trying to ignore the concrete.
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"take a trip"
by - mogel
in the beginning .. there was a game.
it was not a happy game, but a frustrating game played between the
establishment and the anti-establishment. sometimes, it was even played
just for its own sake. problem is, it never got old, and in fact, it will
continue forever.
i'm a rebel, but i'm really not. i'm mogel.
you can play the game anyway you want, bucko. you can tackle me with
negative labels, categorize me as just another liberal, classify me, monitor
me, imprison me, and you can even run away, i'm so damn scary. boo!#
but i'm no stereotype.
i'm a happy, young, thoughtful, well-adjusted human being. and i'm
going to share with you what i understand to be true according to my
thoughts, my learning processes, and my interactions with fellow human
beings. i'm going to make you think. that's the mogel dream.
mogel lays down his thoughts. mogel entrusts his belief system to an
unknown number of strangers throughout the universe, hoping that someone
will get it, or at least try to. so here, mogel writes his "DRUG" essay.
DRUG essay?!@ this shouldn't be judged on such an idiotic label.
instead, it should be judged within the context of your life, and with your
open and wise mind.
---
i begin with a very simple assumption that *should* be obvious. it's
been said since the beginning of time by those with spiritual wisdom:
i should be free, and so should you.
we should be free to do what we want, so long as we do not harm
others. we should be free to think for and alter ourselves. we should be
free to create and to engage in a spiritual journey to understand ourselves
and the world around us.
still, people have said that my ideas for living a healthy,
productive, happy existence are wrong.
can you be one of these people?
if so, well, the jig is up. as the year 2000 creeps closer and
closer, we can choose to live the new millennium as either free men and
women or as slaves to the system. if offered a life of either freedom or
slavery, i'd choose freedom. which would you choose?
---
that said, i boldly present you with the following thesis:
positive effects can result from the intelligent and moderate use of
certain non-physically-addictive psychedelic drugs. these include
marijuana, lsd, peyote, and psilocybin.
---
"no shit," my aware peers will say.
"intelligent users" are those who are constantly aware of *where*
they are and *what* they're doing. once aware of these things, any
free-thinking person is able to make good decisions.
"moderate" represents the specific frequency and amount of
non-physically-addictive psychedelics, or anything for that matter, that's
appropriate for each individual based upon his or her state of being.
how could i say this!? isn't this blasphemy? haven't i seen the
"just say no" programs on tv? haven't i seen the crack addicts out there!?
their lives are horrible!!! does mogel want us to be like that?@!# has
mogel lost his mind?
quite the contrary, my friends. here's what non-physically addictive
psychedelics do:
they get you get into your head.
your senses are increased more than you can imagine.
you become more aware of your environment.
your mind thinks like it never has before.
they weave you into your head, out of your head, into the world, out
of the world. they alter your consciousness. they guide your mind along
tangents, change your view of reality. you're experiencing different
thought patterns; you're conceiving unique ideas. you're gaining enhanced
awareness of yourself and your environment. you're thinking on a totally
new plane. you're opening up your senses as they've never been opened
before.
and it actually feels good! (this must be a negative side effect!)
energies, cycles, the infinite bigness and smallness that we are and
that everything is -- these can only be understood from a transcendental
state such as one induced by a non-physically addictive psychedelic.
anyone who has achieved this state knows that it can be a spiritual,
life-changing experience.
can you imagine gaining a new perspective of your place in the
universe? how about a new understanding of concepts that words can't
effectively describe because they are *bigger* than words.
psychedelic trips have changed my life and the lives of countless
friends and people i know.
they helped to spawn an entire cultural revolution.
it was very groovy.
is this some kind of magic? sure isn't! 'cause guess what - no drug
can actually plant thoughts inside your mind. it's all YOU, baby! it's in
there!
"stop trying to be deep, mogel."
i welcome skeptics to open their minds, because what i'm saying is
*NOT* being deep at all. it's being aware. i've gotten into my head. i've
seen myself. i've seen people, things, and the world around me .. and i'm
just a little man with weird hair that computer geeks call mogel! imagine
what would happen if *you* saw the world in a profoundly NEW and AMAZING
way. imagine seeing the wisdom and insights that live, right now, in the
comfort of your very own head.
"you want me to think differently? you must be totally crazy! i'm
happy with with myself already! i should stay the same forever!"
yeah, timothy leary said it in six cute syllables. TURN ON your
senses. TUNE IN to yourself and to your environment. DROP OUT out of
whatever shit you're swimming in. whenever you tune in, you learn
something. you gain something positive. and then apply it to your life.
---
a tool is a means to an end.
tools are important for growth. you get new ideas when you read a
book. you get new ideas when you talk to your friends. you get new ideas
when you learn. these things lead to realizations.
a wisdom-seeking individual uses psychedelics as a tool. but
psychedelics ARE NOT the only means towards the end of becoming a better
person. there are many other ways to get in and out of your head,
including meditation. they're all important to help you see new pieces of
the big puzzle.
it's all a trip, baby. it's a trip to a higher level. it's a trip
into more thought. it's oh-so sexy synthesis.
we've all taken a trip in some form or another.
timothy leary took a trip. the beatles took a trip, along with
countless musicians, artists, writers, and creative people. martin luther
king took a trip. jesus christ took a trip. buddha took a trip.
they've all taken trips. they've all seen things that the common man
has yet to see. they've all tried to prepare the not-yet-ready-to-be-
enlightened world for their wisdom. they've all succeeded in their own
ways, and they couldn't have done it without the insights gained from trips.
so if a trip can be so many things, why should you ever choose to do
psychedelics?
here's why. america, a brave new world, sits waiting for new robots
to join the machine. the longer you've been in the system, the closer you
get to hell. and once you're there, you learn to love it. your mind falls
into patterns that are tough to unlearn.
most people have been mind-fucked. some people have even been
mind-fucked to the point that they're afraid to *talk* about drugs. they're
afraid that someone might actually tell them that the drug experience is
worthwhile and there's value there.
"there couldn't be value! wait, maybe there is -- but not possibly
any value for *ME*!"
unfortunately, even some of my close friends are stuck in this
mindset. they've been told that all drugs are addictive, crazy, and
self-destructive. you can't change them. mention the topic, and like
pavlov's trained dogs they run away.
"i don't want to talk about this! go away! i'll NEVER, EVER take
*DRUGS*! they're *bad*!!!"
remember how psychedelics get you into your head?
some people don't like that.
some people have a lot of shit in there. i'd be afraid of my own
head if i were them, too.
it's ok to be afraid. just be sure to recognize it for what it is.
it's human nature to fear the unknown.
you can run and hide. the unknown will still be there.
"and i don't wanna alter my consciousness anyway .. i have much
better things to do -- like watching more tv!!!"
if this is you, then you're already knee-deep in shit. from your
current state, you may not even be able to grasp what i'm saying here. and
the tragedy is, there are millions more like you.
seriously. we're living in a system that limits the ways we can
transcend it.
here's where psychedelics can help bring us closer to awareness. no
matter where you are or who are you, when you tune into your brain, you see
beyond the bullshit. it's a direct, no-nonsense way into your own head.
you'll find that most psychedelic users are young people. it's no
surprise -- they haven't become slaves of the system yet. is it more
surprising that in intellectual institutions around the country, some of
america's best and brightest have done psychedelics?
"it must be a sign of america's cultural decay! it must!!! it
couldn't be that these intelligent young people are finding something of
value here!!! because then we'd actually be assuming that they think for
themselves!!!"
there is a tendency for people to do too much of a good thing.
i'm also aware that many drug users treat psychedelics as an end. as
an escape. maybe they're doing it for kicks, maybe because they're bored or
depressed. i think it's stupid as hell, but they certainly should have the
*right* to do it.
i think we all know that too much of anything is bad. trip too long
and you'll get lost. you'll find yourself traveling forever, in search of a
destination. so this is where the notion of intelligent and moderate use
comes in.
---
"what if drugs make me lose control?"
imagine what would happen if you did lose a little control -- you
might actually do what you WANT to do.
"and what if i wanna rape some girl!!! it'll make me do it!!!"
if you're inclined to do destructive and fucked-up things to other
people, there's always that possibility. but these actions would obviously
not be a result of the drug; rather, they'd be a result of idiotic
tendencies. given psychedelics and the correct environment, a misguided
individual might actually think about such tendencies and discover their
source.
"so, they *will* affect my judgement?"
they sure will. they enhance your judgement abilities, unlike
alcohol, which kills your judgement and dulls your senses. psychedelics
heighten your senses. the flowers look EXTRA beautiful, your friends are
EXTRA nice, and you see the EXTRA colors. you understand how much your
sweetheart loves or doesn't love you, just a little bit more. you pick up
the little things that you sometimes don't notice.
"but what about 'bad trips'?"
so-called "bad trips" are not caused by the drugs themselves, but by
a combination of factors. take a look at *any* account of a "bad trip," and
then look at the person involved. you'll find that the specific person's
life-situation is the cause of the negative experience.
while on a trip, you become so sensitive to your environment that
it's a bad idea to take hallucinogens when you're unhappy or uncomfortable,
especially if you're not used to their effects. you should be smart about
using them. you should take them with your lover. you should take lsd with
your friends, in a nice, safe, beautiful, action-packed, musical, and
COMFORTABLE place.
---
don't ask psychiatrists what psychedelics do. ask friends you
respect who do them. ask what they get out of it. they'll answer better
than lab doctors who stand from a distance, pointing and prodding at a
subject. analyze forever, doc, you'll never get it until you've tried it.
yes, there's a lot of negative propaganda being spread about
psychedelics. they're classified with everything from heroin to cocaine.
how did all these negative attitudes come about?
fear and ignorance.
who spreads this fear and ignorance? well, let's take a wild
guess .. why would someone spread lies about something? do you think it
would have anything to do with an ulterior motive?
america says you do not have a right to get high through the use of
psychedelic drugs. it is legal, however, to drink mind-numbing alcohol, buy
weapons, be drafted and die against your will, and join *their* system
defending money-based values (they especially like that).
america is run by old, white, rich men. let's not fool ourselves.
they want it to stay that way.
i'm against government control because i don't like bullshit and
greed.
let's play a pretend game! let's pretend that we have big brother
doing everything for us -- telling us what we should and shouldn't do, how
we should live, what we should learn, and how we should think -- and that
people still learn to do the right thing for themselves!
i think we all know it doesn't work this way. the pretend game is
one big pill america wants you to swallow.
i've got better pills.
often you'll find when people start using psychedelics, they realize
that the american life *is* bullshit.
anyone who's built an existence around the system will obviously see
this as a threat .. and it is a threat! someone might WANT to bring
america's skyscrapers down. someone might NOT WANT to be just another
social drone with the option of either working at mcdonalds or joining a
pre-packaged adventure through college. that's DANGEROUS!
is it a coincidence that my right to the pursuit of happiness is
being denied? nope.
by my intelligent and moderate use of lsd, am *i* in any way hurting
my fellow man? of course not.
i bet you think big brother government is "protecting you" from the
EVIL, EVIL DRUGS! it's not about protection, it's about control. control
over you, control over me, control over anything within reach. once they
tell you what you CAN'T do, all that's left is exactly what THEY WANT you to
do. it's a little power game. they'd love you to believe that you're dumb,
that you need them in order to survive.
are you really smart enough to know what's right and wrong, or would
you rather be told?
it doesn't take a genius to know that most politicians are out of
touch with humanity. don't play their game. play YOUR game. do what YOU
think is right.
power. what the fuck is power? it's just this idiotic illusion that
human beings have set up to control others. there's no such thing as "true"
power. you're probably playing pretend along with everyone else.
i hope this isn't a surprise to you. i really hope that you've
thought about this before. if you haven't, what are you waiting for? are
you waiting for the point where you have to be pinned against a wall to
react? wake up, sheep.
"c'mon, america is just fine! sure we've got our problems, but we're
the best country in the world!!!"
you can toot the little horn while i'm busy making sure my life isn't
fucked over by what you could become.
don't sell your souls to the american pre-packaged, greedy,
sound-byte, television-watching culture that you've been told to become.
we're doing everything wrong.
"but we're still the best"!!!
listen, america isn't the best country, YOU are.
i am interested in supporting humanity. i want every living being to
be *truly* happy.
hey, naturalist -- our planet has created these interesting plants:
morning glory seeds (which the indians called 'ololiuqui', the natural form
of lsd), peyote (the cactus which contains mescaline), psilocybin ('sacred'
mushrooms), and marijuana. these plants don't hurt us. instead, they can
open up our senses to the beautiful world in new and exciting ways. plants
*do* carry with them a message in their perfection. maybe we should eat the
plants, fellow vegetarian.
it's time for you to think about your human potential. what can YOU
do to change things? a whole lot. don't let anyone try to tell you
otherwise.
it's always easier to do things the easy way, huh? uncle sam can
hold your hand till the day you die and you'll never even need to think
about it! it's a lot harder to do things the right way.
the right way is true individual freedom. freedom involves
responsibility.
as laughable as the straight-edge movement is, it does say one
specific thing right: don't follow society like a robot. don't do things
because your friends are doing them. do them because you want to. do them
because you'd like to. do them because they could have a positive effect in
your life. DON'T do what others say is right; do what you feel is right.
don't take lsd because mogel told you it would change your life.
try it because you want to see for yourself.
think for yourself.
be yourself.
and be free, because you have the potential within you to live the
most amazing life ever.
you're more than welcome to judge me and label me freak or flake or
hippy or jackass, but maybe something i've said has done something for you.
maybe it's even led you to believe that i'm a total idiot. maybe you've
decided what i'm saying does has a grain of truth.
guess what? you've taken a trip. you'll never be the same again.
welcome to higher understanding, baby.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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"peacfull, in away. also frightning"
by - styx
this is a story my 15 year old dark-clothed blood-drinking marilyn
manson kool-aid dyed hair fishnet stocking liverwurst fuckboner heathen
sister (who i love very much even though she sucks a lot) wrote for her
ninth grade english class. it seems to me that they were given a list of
words to use in the story, because most of the more .. complex .. words are
underlined.
the spelling and form remain unchanged.
---
Bob roamed through the _thicket_, wondering if there was any living
creature nearby. It was so quiet. Peacfull, in away. Also frightning. He
just had to get away from everything. There was so many _scandolous_
stories going around about him in school. His parents were selling their
house and getting a divorce at the same time. On top of that his beloved
Dovermin Pincher dog had past away the day before. Everything was so hectic
at home. In school he was just miserable. Everyone seemed to hate him.
Those people, he thought to himself, those people at school are so
_oblivios_ of how I feel. I have feelings to. He was thinking about
earlier, when his father told him _brusquely_ not to leave the house. He
was very strict. No one is ever here, Bob thought again, no one is ever
here to _console_ me when I'm down. Now in an open space, like a _void_,
Bob looked around. In pitch blackness, he wandered, wondering where he was
going, if he was lost.
"Oh well," he said aloud to himself, "I just don't care anymore."
Just then the ground dissapeared. Falling, screaming, Bob hit the
icy cold water with a slap. Being carried down the river, smashing against
jagged rocks, he died, a cold, painful, slow, dark death.
---
her name is jessy. she wears black lipstick. so does her boyfriend.
she named the male family cat "muffy" before she realized that she was a
creature of the underworld. my sister is the shit because she can fly and
she has no reflection in the mirror and it got us out of thanksgiving at
aunt sonja's.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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"persephone's cross"
by - shadow tao
persephone stared intently at the figures for a moment, hoping that
the elusive understanding of her algebra would somehow solidify for a
second. there wasn't much hope, though.. she had missed a lot of class
during the middle of the semester, and she had been forced to claw her way
back to a c from there. the whole idea of passing this final seemed futile.
with a bone-jarring thump, her head came down on the book page, her nose
buried in the tickling grass beneath it. maybe it was studying in the park.
maybe she should have stayed at the library. she always felt at peace out
here, though. it wasn't of any concern, anyway. she was going to fail
this. and her mother was going to be _pissed_.
"persephone, you're not going to make it through college.
i always knew that you'd wind up just like your father,
fucking anything that moved."
"he got you, didn't he?"
the memory stung like a fresh slap.
all the more to fear, i guess.
"ugh. i need to forget this. i really need to forget this for a
while."
the grass around her feet caressed the bared skin of her ankle,
waving in a light breeze. her sweatshirt had been heating under the sun for
quite a while, and it was pleasantly warm. maybe a walk.
she gathered up her things in a scattered manner, grabbing here and
there for her pencil or her calculator, shoving them deep into her bag.
right now, concern for order was just too much to even consider. she put
her hands down to the ground, spreading her fingers out to support her as
she lifted herself off the ground. she stretch a bit, trying to work the
kinks out of her sore back. she reached down for her bag, slinging its
math-laden bulk up over her shoulder.
hmm. maybe home.
she began working her way along a row of trees, sometimes stopping to
pick an isolated flower. she heard something off in the distance, and she
knew it was a car .. but it wasn't like any car she'd ever heard before.
the engine rumbled deep, and it shook her insides with its growl. the
driver seemed to shake her insides even more, though. raven hair and deep
brown eyes, he stared at her as he pulled up along side. his face was cut
sharply, in beautiful, pale lines. he had a wide mouth, with pale lips ..
but those haunting eyes. they sucked her in, leaving her wondering what
exactly was behind them.
"hello.. you're persephone, right?"
"..yes."
"hi," he smiled warmly.
".. i think i met you at a party once." uhoh. quick.. think..
"hmm. maybe.. i think i remember you. your name is hades, right?"
his smile widened just a little bit more.
"yes, i'm hades." awwww yeah. got the name right.
"cool." she returned his smile with one of her own.
she felt really gawky. he was obviously much more than she could
handle.
".. how would you like to go dancing tonight?"
"that'd be really cool." she smiled warmly. come on .. come on ..
is he asking me out? is he interested?
hades reached over to his passenger seat and grabbed a flyer,
reaching out to hand it to her. it was for a big rave held downtown that
night.
letdown.
"maybe i'll see you there?" he kept her locked in his stare.
"maybe." she couldn't help but sound a little let down.
"good.. okay. see you tonight, then." he gleamed a little as he
pushed the shifter down. the car's mighty rumble pitched low as it began to
strain against the road.
maybe this is what she needed.
---
she nimbled her way up the carpeted steps. hopefully, her mother
wouldn't hear her home. that would be nuts. but then again, every time she
had to deal with mom, things got nuts. oh well. she peered around the
banister, into the bedroom area. she held her breath and balance, listening
for sounds of movement to betray their owner. nothing.
she hopped up the steps and into her room.
"ugh. this bookbag is too heavy."
the bed squeaked as the bag bounced down hard on it, falling on its
side. she reached down to the edges of her shirt with her arms crossed,
unpeeling herself from her shirt in a single motion. it was cold in her
room, that she knew. she half-heartedly picked the bag off the bed and
dropped it onto the floor below.
with a tired flop, she sat down onto the bed. after a day of reading
out in the sun, the cool bed felt luxurious against her bare back. she
stared up at the white faux-stucco, simultaneously undoing her pants' button
and daydreaming of her dark suitor. the jeans whispered as she slid them
off her legs, tossing them to the other side of the room with the other
clothes. she lay there, her now bare legs also enjoying the cool of her
clean bed, thinking of whatever could happen at such a party. she probably
smelled. her mother had made her help clean the house before she had gone
out to the park to read. she probably needed a shower. reaching behind
her, she began to undo the hook of her bra when suddenly the door opened,
with her angry mother on the other side.
"what are you doing?"
"going to a party."
"what kind of party?"
"the purple kind."
"missy, you're not going to a party with finals coming up, you know
that?"
"mother, i'm nearly 20. i don't think you
have as much right to dictate my social life anymore."
"well, i hope you fail your finals, then. then you can follow in
your father's footsteps and just have sex with everyone."
demeter moved out of the doorway, towards her room next door.
".. fuck you, too," persephone
mumbled under her breath.
slipping out of her remaining clothes, she stepped into the warm
shower. it felt really good on her sore back. she set the showerhead on
'massage' and moved around to get the really aching spots. it pulsed gently
against her spine, rubbing its way around her back and down her legs.
tonight was going to be fun.
she dried off, moving back into her room, where the pleasant cold had
now become an early frost. shivering, she toweled off the remaining drops,
and stepped into her underwear. grabbing a clean bra off the shelf, she
realized she had no idea of what people wore to these things.
maybe a t-shirt and jeans would do.
---
as she was walking to the address, she began to have doubts. as she
neared the building, and the nearly oppressive blast coming from within,
those doubts became more and more pronounced. what about hades, though?
wouldn't he be there? lots of people went to these things and had a great
time .. why couldn't she? a few minutes couldn't hurt. it's just a party.
she stepped up to the door, flirting a little with the bouncer. the
back of her hand was all smudged with what was once a dark, black star. she
looked down on it, returned her gaze to the party, and stepped inside.
ow.
it hurt her ears. basically, that was the whole sensation.
it just really, really hurt her ears.
it was so loud that she didn't even hear hades' car at the curb.
she looked around and noticed that, by and large, she was alone.
hundreds of people in baggy, ragged clothes .. they all looked kind of like
skaters, only more loose. most were staring off into space, waving
themselves in the mass of movement in front of the speakers. most were on
drugs, but she didn't really think about it that much. lots of people she
knew did drugs, but none of them hurt anyone, and none of them were really
seriously affected by it.
she nestled herself somewhere near the back wall .. it was a little
quieter there. she began to sway and groove with the music now that it
didn't hurt as much anymore. it really wasn't that she found the music
_that_ appealing, but it was more about not looking like a nerdy girl dork
who wandered in from the street. she stared at the sign above the door, and
it made her feel weird. "the underworld" .. it gave her the creeps. it
wasn't very goth or anything. it just unnerved her.
whoa. was that janet? "JANET?" the figure in front of her spun
around. "HI PERSY!@ HOW Ah--" the rest was blackened out by an almost
omnipresent bass hit. "WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" "I GOTTA GO TO THE
TOILET, BE RIGHT BACK!" janet turned, pushing and straining against some
boys who were busy fondling each other, trying desperately to make it to the
tiny bathroom on the other side of the hall.
persephone smiled weakly.. at least she knew someone here.
a pair of hands fell on her hips with an electric touch. she froze.
a shock of black hair stuck its way around her side. hades' smiling
face leaned past her shoulder as she returned his gaze and smile. in his
deep, rich voice, he said "hi." it was the singlemost welcome sound she'd
heard all night. she turned around and smiled at him.
"you want some? it's just caffeine, it'll help you dance tonight ..
just like a mountain dew." his face was warm and inviting. you had to
trust him. he wouldn't do anything to hurt you.
"sure .." she popped the pill, unthinking.
they danced there, for a bit. he moved like a liquid shadow,
twisting and waving with her body. she was lost in his eyes, and everything
around her began to feel so much more intense. she wanted to reach out and
touch him, and she wanted him to touch her. closer. closer .. contact
it sent electric ripples through her like a wave
of pure, delirious ecstasy. a touch and a spark
and oohh
she knew she had to be touched. everything was so warm and smooth and she
was .. well .. she was throwing her best "come hither" look with all of her
heart. please touch me. please touch me. please love me. please ..
"say, this really sucks. you want to go out to my car?"
"yeah. can we?" she smiled sweetly as she ran her hands through
the black of his hair.
what was happening? she didn't act this way. what was she doing?
who cared. it felt really, really good.
---
she wobbled unsteadily for a moment, grabbing the wall for balance.
maybe it was just a little nausea or something. she noticed someone from
the crowd coming towards her .. where was hades? he had said to wait for
her here. ugh .. come back, hades.
"pursey, what are you doing here? look at you, what are you on?"
hermes took her jaw in his left hand, feeling her brow with his right.
"girl, you look ill .. did you eat anything? did anyone give you anything
to drink or take?"
"yeah .. hades .. he .. gave me these .. caffeine pills."
"oh god, we've got to get you home .. ugh, your mother is going to
kill you, girl. you're bombed out of your mind. that must have been some
strong stuff."
the thought of her mother jumped her to life like a cymbal crash.
"no. no. i'm not going home. i'm not going home so she can bitch
at me for being happy for once. finally, i feel good, and that stupid whore
can't .. can't take it away."
hermes was getting frustrated. she was belligerent and hostile to
going home. he stood there looking confused. from an unseen edge of the
crowd, hades' dark figure appeared at the scene.
"who the fuck are you?"
hermes looked hades up and down, sizing up his opponent.
"i'm her friend, asshole. what did you give her? can't you get
girls without knocking them unconscious?"
"do you know this fuckhole, persephone?"
persephone looked up groggily, she reached out to touch hades' shirt,
only to reel from the overload of the sensation.
"you've got her on e, you bastard. how could you do this? come on,
pursey .. we're going home." hermes reached out to take her hand.
"no .. go away herm. i'm with hades." a hawkish glare made hermes
think twice about following him. hades' friends made sure that he didn't
want to, stepping in front of the door as hades and persephone slipped past.
hermes knew this was trouble. but he couldn't do anything now, and
besides .. the boys were still dancing.
outside, it was relatively quiet. the party had been going on for a
little while, and no more were showing up for the line inside. they
embraced for a second, her hands grasping and petting at his back, her lips
aching to touch more, feel more. she was ravenous for his responses,
grabbing each as they came, responding deep within her harder than before.
it was like a wave of pure, overloading .. wow. she had never felt like
this before. but it wasn't her. or was it? was this the girl her mother
knew? or was this the girl that wanted hades so badly? maybe something had
cut through her shell. down to what she really wanted.
she didn't care, really. this is what she wanted, and she knew that
it felt good. for some reason, for the first time in her life, feeling good
was all she cared about. maybe she was her own reason.
they slipped into the back seat of his car. everything was shiny and
smooth, and felt cold under her skin. this wasn't the same kind of feeling
as the bed in her room, though. it was the anticipation of his touch, and
the sweetness of his breath. it was the seat beneath her, giving way as he
climbed onto it, onto her as they kissed. it was his touch that sent
feeling through her, and feeling within feeling.
she pulled his shirt off, and he unbuttoned her jeans, pushing them
off in a writhing, blind effort. they soon had stripped away their clothes,
pushing and pulling in the dark. she could see his eyes in the moonlight,
and feel him pushing against her, inside of her. her hands were held to his
sides, feeling deep within him.
his eyes were so sad. they seemed almost to be straining to please
her, to make this what she wanted. it was what she wanted, but she couldn't
help but feel his heart wanting to be with her, held by her. he wanted her
in a way that wasn't sex, and she knew it. she began to be overtook in the
act, sweeping herself in the white-hot throes of blind love. when it was
over, she held him gently, listening to his almost-sobbing sighs.
she would give him what he wanted, because it was all she ever
wanted, too.
---
the winter seemed more pleasant than anything she could remember in a
long, long time. hades' apartment overlooked the downtown streets, covered
in the fresh snow. the snow only dusted the slush, though, and every car
sent the grey mush flying to every parking spot on both sides. people in
overcoats and hats kept their heads down as they walked by, the wind
snapping at them and their plastic bags. life through the window was cold,
but it was pretty in the new snow.
she was barefoot, and the polished hardw
ood floor was cold from the
record store downstairs. steve, the store owner, always insisted on keeping
the door open for people to come in. even in winter. steve was a little
nuts, and more than a little cold. she danced over to a rug, near a heat
register, shivering there for a little bit. she looked over to hades, who
was still in bed and just now waking up, then down to the cold, long stretch
of floor between them. she was in her underwear, she hadn't thought to
bring a blanket with her to the window. she made a hissing breath as she
skipped from the rug to the bed in a shivering half-skip. she landed on the
bed with a sharp ring of groaning bedsprings, waking hades from his morning
daze.
"hello there." his smile still melted her. never mind the floor.
"hello!@" she giggled a bit.
"ahh, it's cold in here." "heehee, you haven't touched the floor
yet, have you?" "no .. heh." hades sighed, resting his head on his hand,
with his bent elbow deep into the pillow behind her head.
she rolled over, into his chest, looking up at him from underneath
his smile. there never seemed to be a second when they weren't on the other
side of some reality, or in his back seat, in a mangle of motion and
whispered screams. they never allowed themselves to stop the moment, to
look at what was coming. to each, it was an experience, and the end of it
would mean their end.
she wanted to be with him one last time, on the other side, away from
her parents and her school friends. she might as well drop out anyway. she
thought of holding him.
then she realized he was asleep.
a snowplow was lumbering through the street below, its grating plow
scraping the slush from the pavement and onto the parked cars in great,
dirt-colored waves. she grabbed one of the two blankets, sliding off the
bed again. she wrapped the blanket around her as she made her way to the
window scene again. down below, the gutters were flush with melting snow.
spring was going to return, and it was going to be a deluge.
---
pills hit the floor with little chitinous rings, and rolled into the
cracks underneath her bed and dresser. little bags of powder fell to the
floor in fat, white droplets. the empty box above them, her mother's
absolute disgust shone through it all. no daughter of hers could ever
become this sullied and impure. persephone just sank to her knees, crying.
she cried and choked until her neck hurt, and then she curled up to her
knees and rocked, shivering from the tear-gutted sobs. her mother closed
the door quietly, not looking at her broken, hysterical daughter.
the next day, nice men who called her "miss" and a doctor with a warm
smile came and escorted her to her new room. they called it a "home for
troubled teens", but like anyone her age, she knew what it was. the halls
were filled with kids who had cracked under the strain. wild looks betrayed
the screams they had to stifle.
slowly, her bright room peeled away into a prison. she thought of
him at night, and she thought she could see him sometimes in the shadows of
the trees.
it was so quiet. not even a cricket chirp to remind her of the other
realities, not a rustle of the leaves. just the deafening silence of
everyone staring out at the night together.
when her mother and father picked her up in fall, everything was
bright and shining and new. it didn't make it any better. her father
smiled broadly as she carefully ducked into the back seat of the car,
feeling the velvet crush and squish under her. her mother opened the door
silently, slipping into the front seat with a cat-like skill. outside, her
father solemnly shook the doctors hand, and with a few indistinguishable
words, he walked around the car, slid into the driver seat, and started the
car.
the houses passed in a suburbia blur. everything was so different.
the leaves were beginning to cover the cloned houses and carbon-copy cars.
but it was still quiet. her mother and father were still quiet.
as they pulled into the driveway, a few cautious snowflakes started
to sprinkle down from the sky. suddenly, in her mind, hades was sleeping
next to her. his smell, faint gasoline, smoke, passed through her as the
car stopped and her father sprung the trunk. they slipped out of the car
and into the house without a sound. she began to tote her bag up the
stairs, into her old room. her father passed her down the hallway, heading
for his den, hoping to drown it all in a brandy snifter. for her mother, it
was bourbon in the kitchen. a crappy arby's glass full of booze was the
same anywhere in the house, she guessed.
she rounded the landing, stepping into her cold bedroom. it still
smelled of her vanilla and carmex. but it was sad seeing all of it again.
it was the loss of a cell in a home full of fucked up kids in favor of a
cell in a home full of fucked up wardens.
she lifted the covers off the bed, folding them back away from their
old rest. she picked up a few of her things, recalling their old memories.
the snow outside was dancing on the road, tendrils drifting across it like
old ghosts hiding in the wind.
everything in the house was quiet. no movement anywhere. she looked
out on her neighborhood, looking at all the changes, noting that nothing had
changed at all. she remembered holding hades in his back seat. she was
tired of silence.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"bullseye -- condiments, chapter 777"
by - murmur
WE ALL FUCKING BITCH ALL THE FUCKING TIME. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG
WITH US? WHERE THE HELL DID I PUT MY PENIS? IT SURE ISN'T WHERE I LEFT IT
IN THE ASK TRAY. THAT'S RIGHT, ASK TRAY. THAT'S MY NEW SHITTY EMO BAND.
WE SING ABOUT MEAN GIRLS. THEY REALLY SUCK A LOT. SO DO WE. IN THE
_THICKET_. WE ARE NOT PAVEMENT, AND PAVEMENT IS NOT THE THREE STOOGES, BUT
BOTH SURE ARE CUTE. WE'RE ALL CUTE. SO ARE THOSE MEAN GIRLS. I SURE LIKE
THEIR BEAUTIFUL YET EVIL GREY EYES. THEY DRIVE ME WILD WITH FURY AND ROSES.
I CAN NOT _CONSOLE_ MYSELF ANY LONGER. INSTEAD I MUST REVEAL MY TRUE LOVE
FOR THE COLD OF THE _VOID_ OF THE NIGHT AND SYD BARRETT AND ALL OF MY OTHER
FAVORITE PORK CHOP MEN. YOU ARE NOT GOING TO STOP ME, MISTER, I'LL TAKE YOU
DOWN WITH A BLOODY LUMP. GIVE IT TO ME STRAIGHT, SUZIE, YOU KISSED THAT BOY
_BRUSQUELY_, DID YOU NOT? I KNEW YOU WELL AND YOU KNEW ME EVEN BETTER WITH
THAT THING YOU DID TO MY POOR, POOR SHOULDER. WHAT A HEAP. HOW
_SCANDOLOUS_. MY SPLEEN CRIES MARY. THIS _COMPUNCTION_ MAY WELL DRIVE ME
TO THE VALLEYS OF THE FOOTHILLS OF THE MOUNTAINS OF THE ALLEGHANY RANGE. I
WANT TO BE THE GIRL WITH THE MOST CAKE. MAYBE I AM. MAYBE I AM YOUR MOTHER
AND YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE LEFT MY WOMB BECAUSE IT IS EMPTY AND COLD AND NEEDS
A REAL FRIEND. MAYBE YOU ARE _OBLIVIOS_ TO MY NEEDS AND PASSIONS. GIVE THE
FINGER TO THE ROCK AND ROLL SINGER OR MAYBE JUST GIVE THE FINGER TO ME I
SURE AM HUNGRY WITH THIS MOSS. BABY, BABY, YOU SURE LIKE TO FUCK. I WANT A
RANGE LIFE, IF I COULD SETTLE DOWN, I'D OPEN ME A HAMBURGER STAND IN NEW
YORK CITY AND NAME IT AFTER JAVITZ, THE ONE THAT PLAYED FOR THE JETS IN '67.
NOTHING CAN STOP ME NOW, 'CAUSE I DON'T CARE ANYMORE. YES, I'LL HAVE MY
MEDICINE NOW, DOCttt44eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
moral: i'll bet she's got her phasers on stun.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"gift"
by - jamesy
the scene was packed. another sell-out friday-night theater crowd.
lines went down the street and around the corner. bits of chatter could be
heard from far away.
"have you ever seen scott zibble's fiction? it usually tugs at the
heart strings."
"i've only seen his documentary on the underground 'zine scene."
"_'zines suck_? yeah, that wasn't the greatest, but he got paid well
to do it. go see _justification_. it's an epic about a guy who thinks he's
dead. it's really deep and stuff."
"ok, cool!"
"i heard a lot about this one. it's supposed to be his most
existentialist work yet. a lot of influence from sartre and camus."
"no carl jaspers, i hope!"
"hahahaha! no, no, of course not!"
"hahaha!"
"i've been a scott zibble fan since his first work came out,
obloidism monthly! i laughed so hard when i first saw that! and i stayed
with him, through the pain, through the years, until now, where everything
he writes is critically acclaimed!"
"yeah, i saw obloidism monthly a while ago, and that wasn't that
good .."
"but you need to put it into historical perspective! he was 15 when
he wrote it! it's true genius for a 15-year-old!"
"if you say so .. but his newer stuff is great!"
"yes, it's clearly evident he has been influenced by nietzsche .. his
lack of answers and plentiful questions truly articulate his feelings of
hopelessness and remorse .."
"_remorse_, man, that was some fucked up shit. i saw that a few
years back, man, that was fucked up. really depressing. i was like, fucked
up at the time, you know? like on shrooms? and man, that fucked me up.
talk about bad trip. man, don't shroom when you're seeing scott zibble's
shit, fuck."
"immanuel kant and scott zibble in a fight. who would win?"
"zibble! fatality!"
"i did my dissertation on zibble. truly fascinating. it happens
that he's actually lived many of the facts he describes in his prose.
however, whether or not his reaction towards these occurrences was truly as
angstful is up for debate."
the masses flooded into the theater that night. the show, scheduled
for eight, was delayed a good fifteen minutes, as everybody squeezed into
the theater. the audience did not even settle down as the previews rolled.
tom cruise in his newest film? who cares! this was scott zibble they were
about to see.
"i've heard his form compared to kafka's."
"kafka? are you crazy? compared to zibble, kafka's a doddling fool!
his prose isn't nearly as structured, his plots not nearly as artfully
formed! kafka couldn't hold an oar in the water compared to zibble!"
"it's strange, i've read a lot of reviews of this and seen the
previews, but i just don't know how he can top _justification_. it's like
trying to build a skyscraper on the top of a mountain."
"no way! this is going to be the best thing zibble has ever put
out!"
"well, we'll see."
the previews halted. the talking silenced.
---
"this is what you live for. people stroking your ego."
if that's all there is, i still have a long way to fall.
it's amazing. for someone with so much capacity for hate and so
little capacity for love, i still end up with a woman as wonderful as you.
i have alienated myself from everyone. maybe not everyone .. i still
have you, i still have steve. but everyone else. should i worry? should i
worry that i have virtually condemned all of the human race? does everyone
have a tragic flaw, or is it my perception that is the tragic flaw? will i
die, friendless and empty, because i have dismissed everyone i ever cared
about?
disorder is the only person to write about the title, "doomed to
obscurity" so far. this is unfortunate, considering he's a complete moron.
originally, i hated the name dto, but recently i've reveled in it. i see it
as a personal calling. if the title, "doomed to obscurity" reflects anyone
involved, it's me. i have doomed myself.
"we're doomed," said c3p0.
i've been told people should easily talk about situations and topics
without bringing morality into it. topics and issues that really scratch at
the meaning of our existence, we should calmly and rationally deal with.
that's like telling a victim of the holocaust to write a five-paragraph
essay on what they did the summer of 1944. i'm not british. manners are
not my forte.
if you believe in something, good for you! everyone needs to believe
in something. but if what you believe opposes what i believe, then keep
your fucking mouth shut. i don't want to hear your pathetic rationale.
topics like life and death consequences, persecution, and harassment mean a
lot to me and can't be addressed with a tea-time attitude. i put my fire
behind my feelings. i won't start a fight, but i'll finish it.
i'm not talking about arguments about what music type is the best
here. and i'm not talking aesthetics. i'm talking the big stuff. my
friends don't impose their views on me, and i don't impose my views on my
friends, unless, by their very nature, their views impose on mine.
the unfortunate part of this rant is i find myself sitting here, with
two friends in the world, one of them my girlfriend. soon i'll probably get
myself into a situation where i alienate myself from even them. it hurts to
be so right sometimes.
monday, july 8, 1996 2:35pm. at work.
i love you.
lish broke up with phil last night. phil is pretending he's "ok"
with this and that everything will be fine, but it's evident he's just
keeping all his pain pent up inside himself. when i asked him why he agreed
to this, he told me he "loves her so much he wants what's best for her." i
feel sad he's given up. i also feel like shit. i'm scared, worried,
guilty, and to make matters worse, i didn't win on the instant lotto bingo
card i bought last night. i want to crawl in a hole, curl up into the fetal
position, suck my thumb, and listen to tori amos.
i am listening to you somewhat, though. whenever i start digging
myself a hole that is too deep, i try to stop worrying, and think about
something else. and it helps. but i have a headache and didn't eat a real
dinner last night, so i'm going to feel like shit no matter what.
i wish you were here right now.
i wish you could sing to me right now.
i think i'm a lesbian. i'm very attracted to females. i can even
picture myself doing sexual things with them. and i have had experiences
with the female gender. so, in those regards, i'm already there. the
problem is, i'm biologically male.
but am i emotionally male? i don't know. i don't know what the
entire malehood thing means anymore. i like sports, but i'm not a
competitor, and anyway, many females like sports as well. i'm not
aggressive in my relationship, we both give and take. as it should be. i
certainly have the male attitude, i really do enjoy putting others down.
nevermind. i guess i'm male after all.
but .. i do have a lot of compassion. i don't cherish the thought of
eating animals and cutting down the rainforests for cattle grazing, so i
became a vegetarian last year. i am now pretty disgusted by the smell of
cooked ham or chicken.
i also don't buy leather. i probably should pay more attention to
what products i use that do animal testing, but i'm also very lazy.
i watched all of _how to make an american quilt_ without falling
asleep. then again, i didn't cry, either.
yeah, i guess i'm still male. whatever that means.
monday, july 8, 1996 8:47pm.
i'm sitting under a tree in the middle of the field behind golf
junior high school. the sky is quickly turning dark, and the wind is
blowing a soothing cool breeze at me.
i just sat here and ate two bean burritos and am finishing up a dr.
pepper.
it's beautiful here, but it's going to start drizzling, so i'll have
to cut this short.
i feel good right now. my worries are pushed back while i'm here.
but i don't want this book to get all wet, so ..
it's hard to concentrate. i'm on a conf right now but i'm being
silent because she is on and i wouldn't want to interrupt her because
apparently if i talk she won't and that'll piss off people even though it's
not my doing that she doesn't talk and it's not my doing that she's really
fucked up.
all of us in dto think we're all so really, really talented when most
of us don't have a clue. not a single fucking clue.
"there is no one on #dto. not a single soul." there's probably a
reason for that, mike. no one cares anymore.
my eyes are so fucking bloodshot right now. i was watching a
mediocre sci-fi movie on tv when the cable went out, five minutes before the
ending (before you know who the killer is and before you know who is behind
the conspiracy, etc. etc.)
july 14, 1996 3:32am
i got into a lay-on-my-side fashion, and mogel has talked about my
now in-his-face butt, but he stopped so it's ok. lish is next to me but i'm
staring down at the book so i don't know if she's reading this or not but
either way it's ok.
(thought suddenly cut off)
dummercon was today. i met many of the people i've talked with and
written with and they're talking about me again always talking about me and
i can't concentrate
so what's new?
yeah. so i met all these people i 'know' but i don't really 'know'
them and this topic was just discussed while i wrote this because
conversation is so much faster than writing and i'm getting angstful.
there are evil robots in my head, evil robots with large, oval ears
and antennae to sense sound. evil robots with cereal box bodies and lead
pipe limbs. they come from little flying saucers that can be barely seen on
the edge of the water. they kill hookers and sing little songs. they
remind me of the main character from _a clockwork orange_.
they are very agile robots, leaping around easily. they only measure
up to our kneecaps, but have enough strength and sense to know how to knock
us down quickly. their favorite target is bridges, where women will
fearfully walk past in the night. they trip the women and toss them into
the river below. they may not kill the women, but they seem to enjoy
tossing them into the river a great deal.
the women usually have on tight skirts and big, golden hoop earrings.
they also usually have fleshy calves. The robots like to scrape up their
fleshy calves.
i'm lying on the couch, under a blanket, holding a flashlight to see
what i'm writing. i'd use my computer to type, but the clicking of the
keyboard would keep bob up. i'd turn on lights, but lights being on in the
house keep bob up.
he's upstairs, talking in his sleep.
there is a village in my head, a village cut off from all traditional
life. the leaders of this village have kept civilization away from their
children, attempting to protect them from the evils of modern life. the
people of this village wear no clothes except long coats in the winter; they
have no guilt of their bodies. they live in a communal system, where food
is taken from granted, not something to fight for. the food is synthesized
for nutrition and taste, mechanically made, so no one would have to attempt
to farm the mountainous region they live in. the factories are entirely
robotic and in the inside of a nearby mountain.
they have no weapons in this village; violence is not only
intolerable, is it useless, because everyone has the necessities to life.
acceptance and humility are virtues strongly preached. a pure socialistic
economy, currency was done away with long ago. a person only need ask for
food and water and they are received. everything else, the buildings, the
artwork, belongs to the village as a whole. disease is virtually
non-existent here, because the town elders have adopted stress-relieving
policies for the people, and there is no interaction with people of the
civilizations.
everyone attempts an artistry of one type or another. without the
need to struggle to survive, people are more eager to express themselves.
sculpture, paintings, music, and writing thrive and are displayed all over
the village. the only greed the people have is to become better within.
religion is non-existent there; people take for granted that the
mysteries of life and death are rites of passage and virtually unanswerable.
they pray to no gods except themselves, hoping to keep going the happy
existence they have created. the younger ones only vaguely know of the
outside world. they are not allowed to experience it. only the town elders
have seen what is outside. monogamy is taken for granted.
a young man, 19, was exploring the mountains one day, and stumbled
upon the hidden gates to the village (which is located inside a steep
valley, invisible to the eyes above). a young girl, around his age, sees
him, and being the first outsider she has known, eagerly greets him. she
lets him inside the village and shows him to her father, who almost kills
him on the spot. the boy is very confused and just wants to go home, but
the town elders do not let him leave. he stays in the girl's house,
sleeping in her room as she sleeps in her father's room. the town elders
slaughter him and drag him out that night.
the girl sees what happens. she walks out of the village that day,
never to be seen again by the townsfolk.
oops! he wasn't talking in his sleep. he tromped downstairs in his
underwear, asked me what i'm doing, bounced into the bathroom, popped three
or four pills, went into the kitchen, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and
romped back upstairs. he went to the bathroom, made sounds to sound as if
he shit blood, which he does regularly, flushed, romped back into his
bedroom, and closed the door.
july 14, 3:43am
no one is asleep yet. they're talking about falling asleep on
trains. conversation and my mood are not connecting too well right now.
i'm sorry i haven't written anything in here until now. it's not
that i've been busy, i just have not felt like writing at all. i've just
been in a bizarre stupor. everything bad that could've happened has. i
will write of it once I have some more retrospect.
i'm tired now. dealing with the basic life here tires the shit out
of me. my superego tells me to fall asleep and let tomorrow bring you home
from college and let me live happily ever after.
my id tells me to masturbate.
my ego tells me to write on. however it came to that conclusion.
my eyes sting. fuck.
july 14, 1996 8:08am
been up all night. surviving on a foot long veggie sub and two dr.
peppers. talked a lot about the future, short-term, long-term and even
middle-term.
i have betrayed all you have invested in me. i took your trust and
suffocated it. i've taken you for granted, and the awful thing is i'd
(i'll) do it again. why am i doing this? what is keeping my mind for so
long to explain to me, "stop before it's too late!"
i can't stop myself from doing it, and i can't stop myself from
feeling the weight of guilt pulling me down farther each time i touch her.
i hope it's not already too late. i love you.
i can't stare outside my front window without thoughts turning to
monica. i waited, so many nights, watching for her, waiting for her.
many times she'd say something terribly vague like, "i'm going to a
party tonight but if i have time i'll stop by." and sometimes she did and
sometimes she didn't.
i was so insanely attracted to her. the magic behind the situation,
even more then her. i wanted something so spontaneous it never made sense.
i wanted something so mystical it would be something i'd write day by day
and produce the most beautiful love story ever written.
it didn't work that way.
it never works that way.
if you can accept that fact, you can move on and have a successful
relationship. you can grow to love the little beautiful things in a
relationship, knowing it isn't all great. that's what makes the moments
unique.
july 25, 1996 10am
at work. alone. ten hours of work today. got back from isu preview
last night.
the preview went something like this: i walked around from building
to building and listened to admit, alumni, ra's, and police officers preach
to me about university life. the older people told me "don't do it," while
younger people told me, "don't get caught."
i was in shock the entire time i was down there. remember, it's been
like a year since i've been around any group of people my age. that will be
hard enough to get along with. the only admin that didn't bring me angst
was the english head. she was all friendly and not fake like every other
admin was.
i gave her dto's codes. maybe she'll check it out.
i also got my id and signed up for classes. needless to say, all the
classes fulfill university studies. my class load is so easy, i should be
able to pull of the 3.3 gpa i need to get into the honor's program, which
would let me take honors classes and get to register before general
students. la de fucking da.
people at isu are so fucking stupid. out of the group of twelve
english majors i registered with, three of them didn't place into english
101. three? three out of twelve english majors start in remedial english?
i mean, picture me as an art major. that's essentially what they're doing.
crazy bastards.
on to more of that annoying relationship stuff. this will hurt you
to say, but you want to know the truth, so ..
i thought about lish the entire time i was down there. it's like
another world down there. and when i came back up here, my mind took a 180
and i kept worrying about you. i love you, rachel, but if i go to isu i
really don't think i could handle a relationship with you. when i went to
high school, i made stupid decisions, but at least i was close enough to you
to see you ever day, even if it was on school time. when i went to oakton,
we were much farther apart, but we slowly learned to be the re for each
other. you were as close to me as anyone could be.
if i go to isu, the most i could see you is on weekends and
vacations. to do that, i couldn't get involved in any campus activities, i
couldn't really make any friends, etc. i know myself well enough to know
i'd blow things off and just be waiting for the weekends.
if i had never met lish, things might be different. i would be
ignorant of the possibility of a different type of life.
i love you, rachel. i can't say that enough. if i saw a possibility
that we both could accept, i'd take it. but i don't. time is running out
for us, and i won't want to see our last days together used to cry and fight
and block each other off. maybe you need that, though.
i can't wait to be with you for two years. i have a hard enough time
with a few weeks. neither of us deserve the hell it'd be to wait for each
other each weekend. we already did that for a year or so now, and it sucks.
it really sucks.
but i love you.
i hate this.
situations like this should never happen, but i let them happen.
i shouldn't have woken up this morning.
and then there's jenny, who i always thought would remain a part of
my life forever. she was so assertive, so strong a personality. she knew
how to pull my strings. she did it quite often.
i haven't talked to her in over a year, i think. i don't know
anymore. i tried calling her over the summer but only tried once. it's
better to lose touch then it is to force something that wasn't meant to be.
july 29 5:16pm
i talked to my mom last night. i don't know if what she said
actually meant something to me or if i was just hearing what i wanted to
hear, but i can't go on like this.
i'm going to miss you a lot, rachel. i have a really bad feeling we
won't keep in touch, and i hope i'm wrong, but i can't change my decision to
make sure that doesn't happen. i have to be with her right now.
i moved to the dining room floor because my flashlight died on me.
august 4 1996 10:18am
well, that didn't last long, did it? i love you.
man, i just read all i wrote and i talk too much. blah blah blah.
here's a song lyric from a tori song!
"maybe she's just pieces of me you've never seen.."
that is how i feel about her right now. i've been watching parts of
her that you have inside of you that i never realized. i never acknowledged
your imagination or your creativity until the yellow letter you wrote me. i
knew it was there, i just never acknowledged it.
whee hi i love you.
i carry around a little piece of you wherever i go. and that piece
was a physical manifestation, the note you gave me after work. i will now
return the favor, clipping it to the next page.
my bird died on me before i really got to say i'm sorry to it. it
was a bird i bought in the sixth grade, thinking it was going to be my most
favorite of pets. it sat in a cage, alone, upstairs for the last two years.
it passed away last week because of a gas leak.
i was all prepared to hand feed it all break and let it fly around
the room and such. i was really anxious about it. i always liked birds, i
was just so damn lazy.
story of my life.
august 22, 1996 8am
i tried calling you last night, but you weren't home. blah. i've
got four classes today. more blah.
i had the most fucked up dream last night. i dreamt we had gone up
to a farm (a pig farm) in vancouver. i had recently stopped seeing her and
totally devoted myself to you. you were crying and screaming at me about
being "bounced around," and i was getting so pissed i wanted to just walk
off onto the bridge i saw into the distance.
i feel more content, more right about us then i ever have. i got
into a big fight with a few people last night, kc being one of them. i told
her to kill herself and she said, "ok!" and left. yum.
the more i go on the less I have desire to deal with anyone but you.
i hate sexual desire.
i hate hormones.
i hate being horny; i wish i could just be in love.
relationship, noun: an unsaid agreement that two people will undergo
countless conflicts with each other on a day-to-day basis. see masochism.
i have been classically conditioned to see that the basis of love is
relentless arguing and venting. without conflict, a relationship must be
boring or something, because no relationships i've seen last without an
argument every thirty minutes.
my father is an inconsiderate, lazy drunkard. he wastes all his
money on women and cheap wine. he never cleans up after himself and never
solves a problem. he works at a dead-end job for employers that don't
really give a flying fuck about him, making about as much as college
graduates make starting out. he likes motorcycles. he isn't worth the
ground he steps on because my mother says so.
my mother is a crazy bitch who only thinks with her cunt. she never
makes any sense and never acts rational. she must have had serious problems
all her life to be this way. i know this because bob says so.
bob is a money-wasting verbal abuser. he has a hard time keeping any
sort of stability going. i say so.
scenario: bob borrows $1500 from one of my mother's friends to, "get
on his feet." he plans to spend the money on beer, duncan donuts, fried
chicken, and a satellite dish.
a battle ensues ..
scenario: my father takes a damp blanket out of the dryer and puts
his washed clothes in. bob rants and raves for two hours, pissed off
because he has a headache from the situation. my mother takes my father's
clothes, tosses them back into the washer and finishes drying the blanket.
when speaking of my father, she says she'll "kill the fucker." and then she
looks at me and yells, "i'm always stuck in the middle! i give up!"
it wasn't always like this.
at least, i didn't think it was.
i don't know what's more pathetic: them, who justify their existence
by doing housework (painting, cleaning, washing clothes and dishes); or me,
attempting to justify my existence by writing.
i want to live an enriched life, i want to bask in love, i want to
create reality, i want to change the world.
they want wall-to-wall carpeting and satellite dishes.
blood is running down my eyes.
the refrigerator makes very funny noises, like a fan with snow caught
inside it.
i'm falling asleep.
we're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.
i authored this to justify my existence in a world that makes no
sense.
i read the onion, i go to isu, i watch babylon5.
these things only slightly make me what i am. they're slight
details. my thoughts, my visions are what matter.
writing is exclusively a self-serving notion. we write to impose our
thoughts on others, no matter the consequences. we strive for a world where
everyone sees the same gruesome (or beautiful) images we see. we want
others to enjoy our mirth and suffer our pain. if we're going out, you're
coming with us.
does it work? no. the human race is in such a state of isolationism
that none of us can vaguely be empathetic for each other anymore. we lock
ourselves away from each other in big, spacey houses. the less crowds, the
better.
so no one gets anything out of writing except the author. perhaps
one or two people will be inspired by an author's work and go on to use the
author's wisdom, but people get inspired by mold, or rocks, or goodyear
tires. the bottom line is the author usually puts large sums of effort into
a piece of work that the reader skims through, maybe smiles, and tosses
aside.
sounds like the concept called marriage.
i am the only human male with any idea how to conduct a successful
relationship. only i have tackled my self-centeredness and locked it away.
apparently i am one of the few that puts value on the beauty of
privacy. i cannot obtain peace nor quiet wherever i go. home, school,
there are always people bugging me when i want to be alone.
does anyone else value life enough to back up their belief?
is freedom of expression not as important as i feel it is? why is
everyone too lazy to attempt to express themselves?
will religion ever be dealt its death blow?
i may not be the only one to think these thoughts, but i apparently
am the only total package.
i value life enough not to enjoy it.
i value love enough not to destroy it.
the upstairs is pounding.
i am the best.
well, 2nd best.
you give me faith.
i walk through the darkness knowing soon you'll share this
darkness with me. merry christmas and happy new year.
goodnight my love
---
the credits rolled. silence.
what once was a packed house was now only half full. one or two
people started clapping. the rest simply stared.
"that .. that made no sense."
"what the fuck was that? what a hypocrite. he condemns the same
actions he cherishes. he thought he could get us to believe this crap was
art??"
"i can't believe i stayed awake through all of that."
"the part with the naked chick was pretty cool .. man, i gotta stop
going to these things on shrooms .. fuck! hahaha!"
the crowd quietly left the theater that night, their stomachs a
little upset. their standards had been shot down. their expectations
laughed at. once again, an artist did not live up to what they expected.
"next time something by zibble comes out, i think i'll wait for it to
come out on video."
"yeah, me too."
"that was so .. anti-climatic. i mean, i felt like i was reading
tori amos lyrics or something."
"well, its problems stemmed from the lack of philosophical thought
put into its production. take the evil robots, for instance. they really
did not flow well into the grand scheme of things. the private letters did
not spark our curiosity enough to keep us interested. and the ending was
just thrown at us, coming virtually out of nowhere."
"yeah, but it does tell us a little bit about nineteen year old
writers .. one day they might be on top of the world, the next day they
write total shit."
"yeah. reminds me of william cullen bryant. wrote his life work at
seventeen. thanatopsis."
"seventeen. shit."
"yeah."
_gift_ made twenty-six million its first week. its second week, it
made 5 million and fell off the box-office charts. zibble refused to
comment about the unpopularity of his latest work, except to say "people who
think they are smart suck."
"i think zibble's indecision in _gift_ was inevitably its downfall.
reluctant to take any structuralized view, he simply told us everything, a
brainstorming without classification. the story becomes corrupted, defined
by zibble's standards of morality and belief in his own personal principles.
without objectivity and understanding of his audience, people quickly lost
interest in _gift_." wrote billy angar, 15. billy got an a on his paper.
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doomed to obscurity #18
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editor: mogel (mogel@dto.net)
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