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Relish 02
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relish e'zine \ issue two \ released 3-23-96 12:41 central time"*nnnn$P
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no, i don't smoke,
i don't drink,
and i don't do drugs,
but at least i can fucking _think_!@#
-> ian mccalister \ minor threat
[+--------------------------------------------------------------------+]
"depression."
by cerkit
now this is one cool cat, don't get me right,
he serves the world with all his might.
he works around the clock, to fill your days,
with pain existing, a hundred different ways.
he's a endangered species, but he'll survive.
just as long as you stay alive.
he'll feed on your smile.
and while your in denial.
he'll kill all your existing love,
and what little hope you have, you'll run out of.
to faith, your savior, you will implore,
you'll find your answer when you breathe no more.
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%tmm's editorial
i'm not going to point fingers. i'm not going to lower myself to a zine
dispute. none of that, thank you. so don't get pissed, i'm not trying
to get personal.
first off, i refuse to be mediocre. maybe it's a personal thing, maybe
it's just one of those idiosyncrasies of my character, i don't know.
but its the way i feel, and you can't take it away from me.
mediocre is the worst thing you can call me. not because it's insulting
but because of the pluralist mind set that is juxtaposed onto me when you
call me mediocre. i can handle 'you suck' and i guess i could handle
'your the greatest' because, in my mind, that implies some sort of
bearing. but being grouped into the middle of whatever scale you used to
judge me is horrible, because i become nameless.
maybe that in and of itself is a flaw in my personality. i have to have
made my mark. look at it this way, the best is always recognized, they
get all the attention, but so does the worst. look at ed wood. but you
don't know anything about those in the middle, they are faceless,
nameless, nothing. i can't handle that.
yes i know that there will always be those in the middle, as with those
on the opposite poles of 'greatness' but, and i know i'm being extremely
selfish and irrational, i'm not going to be one of them.
and thats the end of that story.
to see more wounds get ripped open, keep reading...
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/\ _ ______ ______ ________
----\ / `- \\ \ \/ (_. _________ _ _ _________|__ |_______ -/
main menu _/ \/ |/ __/ //___._ / \ (_.
\__________|| / _\ |/ / | \ |
Mo! |_______\______________._/ /_________________|
|__________/
1. "depression".......................by cerkit
2. "tmm's editorial"..................by tmm
3. "menu".............................by tmm
4. "welcome to #2.....................by tmm
5. "backlash-phobia"..................by tmm
6. "humanism's finest moment".........by tmm
7. "simon sez"........................by mistawho
8. "10 reasons edi is god"............by tmm
9. "moocows everywhere"...............by tmm
10. "pre-packaged plastic poultry".....by tmm
11. "tmm's evidence grab-bag"..........by tmm
12. "closing"..........................by tmm
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%welcome to the second issue :by tmm
yeah, thanks for coming, i appreciate it. for those of you who enjoyed
the first issue, good, i think you'll like this one even better. in the
first issue, i was too nice, i put up too many barriers. this issue
is me, and that's all. if it's rough on the edges, sorry, deal with it.
anyways, this issue, my little critiques will be a little more biting,
but the other stuff should be a little more entertaining. at least, i'm
going to try to be a little more creative with them, if they aren't
entertaining, whoops, i made a boo-boo.
in other news, if you care, i've decided to write a lot more. i only
recently found writing, actually, only recently i found myself in my
writing. and i love it, and what's better, unlike most of the other
stuff i do, writing seems to be good for me. more power to it/me.
in personal news, i'm still feeling some of that inner peace, so that
is probably why my stuff seems to make some sort of sense. so if i
get unhappy again, i'll let you know, so that you can stop expecting
my writing to make sense.
that seems to be about all i have to say. repeating what i just mentioned,
this issue should be a bit more entertaining, a more refined and intense
version of issue one. enjoy.
%chris
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%backlash-phobia :by tmm
loneliness is emptiness
and emptiness is cleanliness
and cleanliness is godliness
and god is empty, just like me.
-> billy corrigan \ smashing pumpkins
he swallows.
i cant hold it back, it hurts too much, i must release it.
"just shut the fuck up! you walk in here expecting me to spend all my
time and all my money on you. what do you want? my money or me?!"
he watches as the girl he loves crumbles before his eyes
how can he say that? does he mean it? he has told me everything,
all that i needed to hear, all that he needed to say and it has
been perfect. he has done all the right things, without so much
as a thought. what did i do to bring this on? it must be my fault.
it has to be, he wouldn't act like this if i weren't fucking
something up.
his brief respite from the infinite pain that consumes him is now over. he
feels the uncontrollable urge to lash out again. he must hurt her again.
he must take away what she has, what he covets, what he _must_ have. he
must steal her happiness and hold it above him like a prize. like some
sort of perverted altruism, her happiness must come through him, by him,
and with his consent. he must be the fountainhead of all of the worlds
happiness, to make up for the abysmal depth of void that is within him.
i must hurt. i must hurt to release my hurt.
"just leave me alone. i don't want you always around. i am sick of your
constant presence. stop smothering me! get out. get ouT!@"
my world is ending. what am i doing wrong? why can't i do the
right things? why is he being like this? maybe if i just do what
he says it will be alright. maybe it will get back to where it
was. maybe we can be happy again. maybe he can be happy with me.
i just don't meet his needs anymore. he is so much more, so much
better. how long can i expect to keep someone like him. i don't
deserve him. i need him.
she leaves.
his head pounds.
"what am i doing?!"
it echoes through the void he now inhabits. he is alone in his depth
of pain. no one will answer. no one is there. he is alone.
what is making me like this? i just want to be normal. i just
want to feel whole. to rid myself of this infinite emptiness.
i want to be able to wake up in the morning and feel right. to
feel like i have a place in the world. i want to have a _reason_
to wake up. where did this endless well of pain start?
"when will it end?"
he looks out his window and sees her getting into her car. she is crying.
"what am i doing?"
i just told the one person in the world that shows some concern
of whether i live or die to fuck off. i didn't have to do that.
i sure as hell didn't need to do that. why to her?
"i love her."
i do. that is the only thing i am sure of right now, and i am
screwing it up. just like everything else. what is making me do
this? where did this pain come from?
a friend once told him something about him that seemed to be a little
familiar. now it fit like a glove. his friend told him that he was just
"swimming" in an abysmal pool. and it had no end. the pain that made him
empty overcame him, and to rid himself of it, he tried lots of things. he
tried on lots of shoes, but this was the one that fit. and it was one
comfortable shoe.
"i need to put the shoe back on."
"i need to talk to her."
he got into his car and sped after her, with purpose. that purpose made him
feel good. like he had a reason. waking up in the morning didn't seem so bad
now.
[+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+]
humanism's finest moment
========================
the masked marauder
an attempt to order the universe
proved foolhardy by those called perverse,
simple assertions of that guaranteed
crushed down by those of immoral deed.
a retrograde system with a process faulty
yet the individual is 'doomed to obscurity.'
infamy doth rear it's ugly head,
as those with purpose, of dignity are shed.
naked passion coupled with unbridled ambition
serve the ends of the sinister mission.
crumbling ruins of that which used to be
have dotted the landscapes of those who can see.
for emulation and reflection come canonization
while those that deserve suffer demoralization.
the die is cast, the moment drawn
the everyman is once again the pawn.
the tool for those who knock from tow and bower:
power is truth, truth is power.
[+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+]
%simon sez :by mistawho
-hi
"hi, my name is simon, and i used to be a doodle," those were the
start of the hardest words that he ever had to say to anybody, it hurt
him so much inside that he almost fell into tears as simon sat back down.
"group, this is a big secret told by simon, let's welcome simon to
the group, the warez way," everybody stood up and gave simon a big group
hug, trying to help him get over his obvious anguish.
"you guys are the greatest, what is it that you do anyways?" simon
still didn't have a clue what warez people did, but anything would be
better than being an ansi kid.
"we courier the zero day, don't you know? we are the elite of the
warez scene, we move the games that you download off of your pd front bbs
to your krad elite pentium 133 that your father bought you as a gift for
graduating from high school at eleven. everything you play that you did
not pay for, we bring you, and that is the gift a warez courier gives!"
"so, you basically sit on your ass all day long and upload to other
boards and sit on the internet all day trying to find a site and dcc the
zero day? Doesn't that sound a bit.. hmm, boring?" simon wasn't thinking
when he said this, and the leader of the group broke into tears.
"oh, simon, you are ignorant now. you know the way of the doodle,
as taught by radman, but you must get over it. it is all a fantasy,
don't you see? we do the hard work, and all you do is reconstruct
colored blocks, hell, i did that with legos when i was four years old,
and with better results."
"but.. but.. i'm in acid, we are the best, never mind, i'm going to
that #2600 group next door," simon stood up and made his exit, and stepped
into the #2600 conversion group. when simon entered, he noticed a lot of
alterna preps listening to green day and had at least one odd part of
their body pierced with a 10" loop.
someone stood up, "and who are you?"
"i'm simon, i'm here to get over being.. being.. a doodle boy."
"wow, that is a secret to be kept to yourself, even though we really
do suck, i think you should go to the #warez5 conversion group, you might
find yourself something new to waist your life on there," those words
almost made simon cry.
"but... but.. i was just in #warez5, and there was nothing for me to
do there, they just sit on their asses all day and upload!"
"exactly, something befitting for a doodle boy, go, and go now."
simon, in anger, stomped out of the room, and kept going down the
halls, reading off the doors to himself. it took him a long time to find
a conversion group that had any interest.
"#warez-waldo, #hack, #phreak, #chatzone, #, #wetsex, #netsex," then
he saw it, the answer to all his problems, and his whole entire young life
was being wasted on something as incredibly horrid as a doodle boy. why,
if simon found this sooner, he might have had a life.
"#zines! that is what i have been looking for, that is the answer
to my problems. this is the fresh start i have been waiting for."
simon curiously opened the door, and without a gift of words, could
not think of what to say. he was surrounded by people who were actually
half way cool, and oh my god, a female. simon, in all these years,
thought that there were no females, except for the posers in #wetsex that
are looking for a nice eleven year old boy like himself.
"hi. i'm simon, and.. um.. i used to be a doodle boy."
"ack, and i'm mistawho, and i used to be... a WAREZ COURIER," and
with a strange low bass sounding noise, duh duh duh filled the room, and
everybody looked around.
"wow, a warez courier, well, what do you guys do," this conversion
group actually had interesting factors to them already!
"well, we sit on our asses, and try to think of cool things to write
for thousands and thousands of others to read, so we can have fame,
fortune, porn, and warez from are lame warez friends."
"oh. so, is that all?"
"is that all!? by god son, you are not worthy, go to #warez5!" at
those words, the source stood up, a tall man, with a big M on his chest
like superman.
"who the hell are you?" simon was past agitated.
"I'm super mogel, phear, now leave."
simon left the room in disgust, mad that he couldn't be accepted by
the people that were actually cool. after hours of looking, he finally
came across #scene, and gave up. slowly walking down the halls, simon
kept his head low and his thoughts many. thinking of how he was just so
close to being someone half way cool, and just turned back to #ansi. it
wasn't the worse of fates, but he could have actually been cool.
-mistawho [ my way of saying i hate #ansi now, i'm a #zines lamer ]
[+----------------------------------------------------------------------+]
%ten reasons why edicius is god :by tmm
10. he likes weezer.
%%%%%%%%%%
9. he draws ascii that rivals my own!
%%%%%%%%%
8. edicius = universe man
%%%%%%%%
7. with a name like edicius, how can he go wrong?
%%%%%%%
6. he's young, and you know how i like dem young'uns.
%%%%%%
5. he likes they might be giants
%%%%%
4. one word, five letters, one weezer song, jonas.
%%%%
3. his awesome coding skillz.
%%%
2. he looks good in a bathing suit.
%%
1. he likes relish! har har har
%
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%moocows everywhere :by tmm
it's amazing how much we are similar to a big herd of smart cattle,
everything we do, everything we say (moo), everything we think, makes me
think that we are becoming more and more like a big herd of cattle every
day.
i realized this the other day at school. i was _just_ starting james
joyce's "portrait of an artist as a young man" (which is a 'stream of
consciousness' type of work) and the initial paragraph is a little fragment
of a story about a "moocow."
so i started thinking about cows and then i started thinking about me,
and i reviewed what i had done throughout the day. i woke up in the morning
and got dressed, got in my car and joined the herd. drove through traffic to
school and parked with all the other cars. got out of my car and made my
herd travel on foot. walked into school and sat down in class with thirty
people that i didn't know, and didn't really care about.
why? because that is what i'm supposed to do. who made the rules? the
ruling elite, namely the bulls, not the chicago bulls either mind you.
so i sat in physics and let my teacher drone on and on about something
that i wasn't too particularly interested in and just kept doing what i was
told. before long, after i had successfully fallen asleep and slobbered all
over myself and my desk, the bell startled me awake. so i stood up like all
the other moocows and walked down the halls designated by the big boss, to
go to the class that we were told to go to by another big boss. to make
the grades that another big boss said we have to make.
it goes on and on.
the plot thickens.
all we are is all we are, all we were is all we will ever be.
my new theory is that we didn't evolve from monkeys, we are just a
bunch of old moocows that stand upright. seriously. look at the way we
do things, we murder, cheat, steal; monkeys on the other hand do almost
nothing to harm anything (congo _is_ fiction after all.) i think that to
say we are just hairless monkeys with a bigger brain is a plain injustice
to the noble monkeys that do no wrong (can you smell the idealism?)
we are just a herd of animals that grew a little differently. that
actually care about math, sciences and humanities (bovinities?) but still
look around desperately for someone to tell us what to do.
that explains some things.
but not others.
[+------------------------------------------------------------------------+]
%pre-packaged, plastic poultry :by tmm
"I just don't understand," cried the disgruntled youth, "how can I be
this alone?"
The question echoed it's way down the corridors of the youth's
mind. No one answered it, no one was there.
"I don't know if I can take it anymore," sobbed the youth, "It just
doesn't seem worthwhile."
"Don't be so selfish," said the obviously concerned counselor, "All
you need to do is think of others. Then you will be happy, you can't
expect to figure everything out. It's best to just let things work out
for themselves."
"But there is no one else," rattled the youth, "who am I supposed to
look toward?"
"Just pray to God, and He will do it for you." cooed the sympathetic
parent, "You can't expect to do everything yourself."
"Man, I feel like there is no one, I am empty," the same youth said to
his best friend, "What am I supposed to do?"
"Dude, you're weird. Just don't think of those sorts of things. You
just need a girl." said the best friend.
Following that night, the disgruntled youth looked into the
willing female's eyes and turned away. She gave herself to him without
so much as a second thought. This beer, this girl, these friends, this
life, all of it was empty. Just like him.
"I am nothing. I am 18 years old, almost through with my senior year of
high school, supposedly having the time of my life, and I have never
wanted to curl up and disappear more in my entire life."
The youth sat on the edge of the bed and wanted to cry, but some
superficial, shallow, male instinct in him told him that crying was for
babies. And he certainly wasn't a baby was he, after all, a baby is
innocent.
"Maybe it will be better in the morning," wished the youth, "I don't
know how much more of this I can take."
The following morning, and throughout the next day, the youth
felt better by simply avoiding it. If he just didn't think about the
roving cesspool of chaos lurching about in his head, then he wasn't
altogether unhappy. But who was he?
He was all smiles at school. Personable, likable, he had friends
everywhere. He had a great exterior, maybe he should be a politician,
who else can slowly degenerate on the inside while exuding a whole and
all-american teenage zeal on the outside. Yes he had friends, but they
weren't his friends, they were someone else's friends.
Someone he hated, someone he despised, someone he created. But he
didn't think about that, that just made him unhappy. The logical
solution was always there. Just stuff it down and ignore it, ignore it
until nighttime, where he could hold it back no longer.
But there was no alternative, if he didn't know who he really was,
then how could he just haphazardly get rid of this exterior? All that
would be left would be his core. People would be able to look right into
him, and scariest of all, right through him.
That was what scared him about getting close to people. That was the
reason he just randomly dated girls, and that was it. That was the reason
even his best friends felt themselves distanced from him. That was it.
He was afraid to be judged, he was afraid to get too close because when
he did, people could look past his little defense mechanisms. People could
look right at him and make their judgement. He was defenseless. He was
helpless. He was afraid of failure in others eyes.
"But if they aren't nice to you, then they aren't your friends after
all," rambled his mother, "Just find new friends who like you for who you
are."
"Who am i then?!@"
[+----------------------------------------------------------------------+]
%tmm's debate evidence grab-bag ;by tmm
tmm digs deep into his debate files and finds......
this is a new little creation of mine that i decided to write down.
not many of you know that i am a debater, specifically, a cross-
examination debater, and not a bad one at that. actually, i am getting
a full ride to college on a debate scholarship.
anyways, i have a lot of debate evidence that means stuff to us
debaters but for you regular people, it should provide some measure of
abstract humor. here it goes:
*** tMM reaches really deep into his panda's affirmative file and pulls
out:
The loss of one species snowballs to cause the total destruction
of biodiversity thereby threatening millions of people and animals.
Vandura Shiva "Monocultures of the Mind" 1993 p.68
"Biodiversity erosion starts a chain reaction. The disappearance of
a species is related to the extinction of innumerable other species
with which it is inter-related through food-webs and food chains, and
about which humanity is totally ignorant. The crisis of biodiversity
is not just a crisis of the disappearance of species which have the
potential of spinning dollars for corporate enterprises by serving as
industrial raw material. It is, more basically, a crisis that threat-
ens the life-support systems and livelihoods of millions of people."
that is some leftover camp evidence that i use to print out bullshit
like lexis searches and stuff. i would never run pandas as an affirmative
but you can always appreciate these crappy cards for their comedic value.
[+----------------------------------------------------------------------+]
%closing :by tmm
whew.. it's over.
so, what did you think? tell me, i wanna know. find me as 'tMM' on irc, or
email me <like edi did> at jlantz@netcom.com. i appreciate all comments.
the second issue featured a lot of stuff i wasn't able to do in the first
one, primarily, i was able to emply the gratuitous talents of both mistawho
and cerkit in this issue. i would like to thank them for their k-rad
contributions. they are appreciated greatly.
hint, hint; contribute, i love it.
also thanks to edicius and his undying support and the sheer magnitude of
his eliteness. jonas is something that i might one day hope to equal, but
as of now, it is way out of reach. "but i can always hope!"
thanks to crank, she's a cool little girl, listen to her. she's one of the
coolest chicks i've talked to, i appreciate her late-night 'counseling' and
our little discussions. 'smewch!'
also thanks to belial, i haven't really seen him be an asshole to anyone,
and that takes a lot of strength. look at me! :)
of course, to repeat myself, thanks to cerkit for his poem, i think it
fit the mood of issue two perfectly. he's a great writer, pick up an issue
of slinky sometime and enjoy.
also to mistawho, who went out of his way, without me even asking him, to
write something for me. that is one of the biggest and most meaningful
compliments ever to be paid to relish.
thanks to everyone else who i haven't mentioned.
this is gettign ridiculously long.. finish this!
see you in issue three, it'll be better than two even!
chris
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teenage angst has paid off well
now i'm bored and dull...
kurt cobain \ nirvana
