ÚÄ Ü Ü Ü Ü Ä¿ Ûßß ÛßÛ ß Û Û Ûßß ÜÜÛ ß ÛÛÜ Û Ü ßßÛ ÛÜÛ Û Û Û Ûß Û Û Û Û Þ ÛÜß ÛÛÛ Û ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ Û Þ ÛßÛ ÀÄ ÄÙ Ä electronic literary 'zine Ä *ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ* ù ÄÄ´ volume three ÃÄÄ ù *ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ* stop plagiarism - let out your soul Copyright 1995 ú úùcompiled & edited by Twilightùú ú ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ þ Table of Contents þ ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù 1. Al - Drucilla B. Blood 2. Betrayed - Twilight 3. Breathe - David B. Gould 4. Class Song - Twilight 5. Close To Christmas, After All - Jay Dougherty 6. Crying In The Rain - Amoeba 7. Dulce Et Decorum Est - Wilfred Owen 8. Fade To Black - James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich, Cliff Burton, Kirk Hammett 9. Fish - Stephen Lush 10. Grief - Mrchrist@presby.edu 11. I Want Too Much From You - C.C. Russell 12. Infernal Eternal - Jamsbeta@ix.netcom.com 13. Inspiration - Lady Red 14. Letter From Spudly - Drucilla B. Blood 15. Lightning Crashes - Edward Kowalczyk 16. Neglected - Twilight 17. No Escape - Twilight 18. Nothingman - Eddie Vedder 19. Ode To Line Noise - Blade 20. Oh, It's A Laughing Riot! - Twilight 21. Open Relationship? - Michelle@nohost.com 22. Perfection - Jon Gilbert, aka Dark Goob 23. Pleasant Nightmares - Leah Crochet 24. Poem: 01/31/95 I. - Bob.ezergailis@canrem.com 25. Poem: 01/31/95 II. - Bob.ezergailis@canrem.com 26. Riverwalk - Cat-a-lyst 27. Scrambled Thoughts - Twilight 28. Summer Reading - Erin@acpub.duke.edu 29. Sweet Violation - Chance 30. That Gal - Tofupup 31. The Assassin - Alton Naerth 32. The End - Cathleen - CrappyB@ix.netcom.com 33. The Ice Monster Of Emptiness - Antony@nohost.com 34. The Self - Kim Clemente 35. To David Lee - Twilight 36. Untitled - Rafael Rentena 37. Untitled - Silent Scream 38. Untitled - Silent Scream 39. Weather - Amy 40. When I Close My Eyes, I See Pictures - Drucilla B. Blood þ Including Quotes From: Gina Arnold, Jim Connelly, Ren‚e Crist, Gavin Edwards, Kim France, Steven Hawkins, Horace, Alyssa Katz, John Lennon, Stephen Lush, Ray Manzarek, Anne Marlowe, Alton Naerth, Anne Rice, Shelley, Socrates, Twilight, and Jim Walsh ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ Al þ Drucilla B. Blood ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù I think that there is a time in everyone's life where one has to taste a bit of normalcy. I met this beautiful man who calls himself Frank Phantom when actually his real name is really Al. Albert Melvin Frank the Third. I think he is the first and maybe even only person who I will ever call a boyfriend and not feel cheated or used, as he is very kind and patient. Al scares me sometimes. I remember when I very first met him. I was at work and he called me a skinbird because I had a shaved head. We spent the next hour being all smart-alecky with each other, and then he showed me his comic book that he was copying. I remember I thought that it was very honest and seemed to be about all these different women who were mean to him. It's difficult to say that you "enjoy" something like that. Like, for instance, if a person would get stabbed, but then paint a picture about the incident with the blood. It was very easy for me to read then. Not knowing. Not understanding his pain or what it had formed within him. Al has scars. Some of them are tattoos. But there is also a different kind of scar. Al has a scar - an "X" carved in the skin that covers the bone which protects his heart. I think that Al is very beautiful. And no matter what I do in my life, I would want for him to always be happy. Gentle people are the most difficult to love because you have to be so careful; they are like tiny babies. They are so rare that it would almost seem safer to wrap them up and give them away to someone else, maybe as a gift than to try to hold them. I hope I get the chance to teach Al all that I understand to be him. He has taught me so much about myself already. "I would find myself seeing hallucinatory images of my face changing and becoming cosmic and complete. It caused me to always be a rebel. This thing gave me a chip on the shoulder; but, on the other hand, I wanted to be loved and accepted. Part of me would like to be accepted by all facets of society and not be this loudmouthed lunatic musician. But I cannot be what I am not." Ä John Lennon Betrayed þ Twilight ùúùúùúùúùú Betrayed, I will never trust again. To put my life, my force into An entity that won't give back A hidden lie, a broken dream; Lies dying in the grass I fool myself into my own bliss, Only to be fooled again As soon as warmth enshrouds my presence, I'm plunged down deep into an abyss. Laughed in the face, Making mistakes only children commit So na‹ve of heart and so tender of mind, Dealt by the master of cards I am but a blade of misery - Not permanently sharp nor always dull, But sharpened and used... Over and over again. "That's the trouble with being truthful. You try to apply truth talk, although you have to be false sometimes, because the whole thing is false in a way, like a game. But you hope sometime that if you're truthful with somebody, they'll stop all the plastic reaction and be truthful back, and it'll be worth it. Yet everybody is playing the game, and sometimes I'm left naked and truthful with everybody biting me. It's disappointing." Ä John Lennon Breathe þ David B. Gould ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú With the increasing insistence of an unexhaled breath, moments pass, I suppose, for some. I had a child's store of time, I thought, until I saw all the children and they were all smaller than me. A few years thereafter, when I had around twenty years worth of breaths behind me, I decided to be a teenager. To be young and make plans as the opportunities for the same crept like quiet nighttime past my door. It was on my thirty-second birthday that I realized I had become a man. So I did man things. I looked for a wife. I found one at fifty-one. I wanted a child. I had one at sixty-three. I wanted to succeed in my career. Attained at seventy-seven. I wanted security. It was mine at eighty-nine. I wanted to sit back and relax and enjoy my life. I did so, one breath before death. So I'm holding my breath, now. The moment I exhale I stop. I just need a while to enjoy my life now that I have to look backwards instead. "Old age and death await us all. And we cannot face that simple truth, so we look for endless distractions." Ä 'Elliot Savarell, Earl of Rutherford', _The Mummy Or, Ramses the Damned_ Ä Anne Rice Class Song þ Twilight ùúùúùúùúùú As each virgin note twinkles by... I'm forced to pause - freeze my actions, and listen. That song... But I shrug it off, it never meant a thing to me... Never...meant...a... A new note... gripping me like death's grasp Drifting notes from blacks and whites... A spark of surprise as a tear falls... And another... and another... Back to life in an institution - an institution, I oh-so-fondly named it But now... All bad memories have vanished, and only the good remain. But closing my heart, my mind, I make another attempt - another attempt to just continue on... only to be firmly grasped again Shoving my head to the side, I am forced to listen... to remember... Eyes focus on the far wall - scribblings of him... and of me... Forced to think of moonwalks and mazes, Then of sparkling colors gently playing on our shoulders as each notes takes form within our entwined souls... And then - the red gown hanging up there fills itself... And I'm whisked forcefully back onstage, on the verge of tears - in front of smiling faces and children's yawns. Sharing moments with friends - Smiling, laughing... something so rare in my life. Black fabric riding the still air, swirling in circles. Times when I actually did not sit, alone, in my self-made despair... and darkness. Real, true happiness - So close... but now, beyond my grasp. The song slows to a close - after breaking down yet again and lost, I return to the present Wiping the sleet away, sitting up straight, shaking off the memories, the illusions, The painful nostalgia... I refocus. And now... And now, it's time to move on... "The good thing about rock and roll - good rock and roll - is that it's real, and realism gets through to you despite yourself." Ä John Lennon Close To Christmas, After All þ Jay Dougherty ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù I sat up and read the alarm clock dial from the bed. 10 a.m. It was too late. I should have been at work three hours ago. I would be fired. It was the first day that I would have ever been late at this job, but I would be fired anyway. The boss had made that clear to us new taxi drivers. "The first day you show up late is the last day you show up at all," he had said. I picked up the telephone and dialed the number of the taxi service. "Ready Cab, can I help you?" Waltrut said. "Hi Waltrut, this is Jim." "Oh, hi, Jim." "Waltrut, could you send me my last check as soon as it comes out, please?" "Sure, Jim. I talked to the boss. He said--" "Never mind," I said. "Thanks, Waltrut." "Good luck, Jim." "Thanks." The job had lasted three weeks, which meant that I had some food in the refrigerator: eggs, bread, milk, even bacon. I fixed a good breakfast and then heated some water to make coffee with. It took me a long while to make the breakfast and to eat it. It was nice. I had made two eggs, very soft, and I used the bread to sop up the egg yolk. I did this for as long as the egg yolk remained warm on the plate. I rolled the toast around in the egg yolk and wiped the egg yolk from the edges of the plate. I ate the bacon in small bites, between bites of egg yolk and bread. It felt good. I drank the coffee slowly. After breakfast I put on my coat and walked outside. It was a grey day in West Berlin. Most of the days in the winter were grey days. I was glad that I could speak a little German. I had learned some German from my German wife, who would not return. I had learned more German by driving the taxi. I had been in the city a year and had learned more German by driving the taxi than by all my other German experiences combined. I had been unemployed before, but this time being unemployed would be different, easier, because I knew more German. I got on the bus, got off at the first hot dog stand, and ordered a hot dog and a cup of coffee in German without making any mistakes. The woman running the hot dog stand smiled and said "thank you" in German, and I said "thank you" in German. Then I ate my hot dog, drank the coffee, and watched people walking up and down the city street. I didn't know anyone in the city but I liked it that way. My little one room, furnished, coal-heated apartment was cheap, and I could pay rent by working just a few days out of the month, or even by selling blood. Sometimes I sold my blood. I said "thank you" in German once more to the hot dog stand lady and walked down the street toward the shopping district. There were always lots of people in the shopping district: musicians, speakers, sellers, beggars. I hadn't been to the shopping district in three weeks, since I started working for Ready Cab, and I was glad to be able to go back now. I arrived in not too much time, and all the people were there. I wondered a while how they managed to be there in the middle of the day. Once when I was there, I heard a German woman talking to another German woman, and she said "Why aren't all these people working? What are they doing here in the middle of the day?" I wondered what they were doing, too, but I wasn't critical. I was glad they were here. They weren't all unemployed as I was, but I didn't care. That made it nicer. For me, it was a good city to be unemployed in. I could go to the shopping district, and there would always be people there. I didn't mind that they were not all unemployed. I watched the people walking back and forth in the shopping district. I stayed there for a long time, until it began to get dark. Then I started walking slowly toward my little apartment. This too was a nice experience because all the lights made the city new again. It was a different experience. I remember thinking that I could probably do this for another week or so without getting tired of it. And then I would start looking for a job. Or perhaps I would sell some blood. Yes, I would sell some blood. It was getting close to Christmas, after all. "What were you thinking of 10 minutes ago?" Crying In The Rain þ Amoeba ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú I'm sitting and I'm crouching down in front of the curb... I'm crying into the storm...the tears are disappearing... they're running down my cheeks, drowning in the raindrops and only to hear my whimpers is anyone the wiser... every car driving by looks like yours...every person inside is you I'm crying into the rain and you're miles away... "get out of my car," you say, "I don't think I know you any more," you cry and onto the cold street I fall... the muddy puddles are your eyes... and as I beg for the pain to stop, the rain pours... our love becomes a painful pool of lost dreams...and I'm drowning... I'm opening my mouth and crying into the rain...and holding my breath... wishing for death...and drowning in the water, or is it the tears? all the same when I'm crying in the rain... "Without Yoko I couldn't cope with life. I really need her and could not survive without her. She is the answer to everything. Being with her makes me whole. I don't want to be without her ... People couldn't understand our relationship. They said she was a Japanese witch who had made me crazy. We're both sensitive people and we were hurt by all the criticism of Yoko. I couldn't understand why poeple wanted to throw rocks at her or punish me for being in love with her. As far as I was concerned, I was with the person who was my goddess of love and the fulfillment of my whole life. Because of all the hostility, there were a few times when we really went under, but our love helped us survive." Ä John Lennon Dulce Et Decorum Est þ Wilfred Owen (1893-1918) ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, 'Til on the haunting flares we turned our backs, And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind; Drunk with fatigue, deaf even to the hoots Of gas-shells dropping softly behind. Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time. But someone still was yelling out and stumbling And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. - Dim through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. In all my dreams before my helpless sight He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin, If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs Bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, - My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori. ("It is sweet and becoming to die for one's country.") Ä Horace, Roman poet Fade To Black þ James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich, Cliff Burton, Kirk Hammett ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù Life it seems, will fade away Drifting further every day Getting lost within myself Nothing matters, no one else I have lost the will to live Simply nothing more to give There is nothing more for me Need the end to set me free Things not what they used to be Missing one inside of me Deathly lost, this can't be real Cannot stand this hell I feel Emptiness is filling me To the point of agony Growing darkness taking dawn I was me, but now he's gone No one but me can save myself, but it's too late Now I can't think, think why I should even try Yesterday seems as though it never existed Death greets me warm, now I will just say goodbye "Death is the state of being where darkness engulfs you while maggots consume your flesh. It is where you float the Void, seeing nothing, being nothing. The only thing you really leave behind is your corpse and memories left in others; however, corpses rot and memories fade into the nothingness of which the Void is made. Everyone meets Death, some sooner than others, some more willing than others. Money, Power, Popularity mean NOTHING; you will still meet Death. Charity, Religion, Morality won't keep you from it. Try to do what you believe you should do, for Death doesn't care; it doesn't weigh you on your or anyone else's morals. Death is the only true arbitrary power..." Ä Alton Naerth Fish þ Stephen Lush ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú glittering diamond dunes diving through and feeling the grains underneath stars and night lakes give off their dark glow knowing there's fish sleeping down below feeling the fish that know what we don't know lush green fields reflecting the moonlight walking and touching with the solace of the night being what we need to be and knowing what is right in the beauty of the night the beauty of the night remembering the lighted streets with music swelling it is in my heart I am dwelling even as I am closest to others my distance in feeling is a billion miles jump right in, force a grin in the beauty of the night what to do, just me and you in the beauty of the night "Surrealism had a great effect on me, because then I realized that my imagery and my mind wasn't insanity; that if it was insane, I belong in an exclusive club that sees the world in those terms. Surrealism to me is reality." Ä John Lennon Grief þ Mrchrist@presby.edu ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù tonight i grieved. remembering... good times bad times all the time spent together. thought it was forever. guess not. tonight i grieved. let the sorrow flow out onto the floor. listening to the words that meant her spilling out of the speakers and into my ears... in your eyes... tonight i grieved. not the first time not the last. anger pain guilt regrets remembering... her. her laugh her understanding her body her smile her life her love tonight i grieved. for her. for her. god, i miss her. "It's a big, wide, wonderful world out there, and Yoko and I are going to explore it until we die. I just have one hope: that I die before she does, because we have become so much of an equation together that I don't think I would have the strength to go on without her. Oh, I don't mean I would commit suicide; I just mean life would be so empty." Ä John Lennon I Want Too Much From You þ C.C. Russell ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú The way I like the shower water pressure almost so hard it hurts "To love and to hate so fiercely...the essence of life itself." Ä Anne Rice Infernal Eternal þ Jamsbeta@ix.netcom.com ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú My mouth is full of prickly cactus My heart is full of stickly briars My mind is full of festered cankers My soul is full of deathly pyres. Every breath is full of pain Every beat is full of woe Every thought is full of sorrow Every prayer falls so low. Are these the gifts of a joyous claim? Are these the gifts of a life so right? Are these the gifts of the grandest vision? Are these the hopes of a spirit of light? Indeed it seems that the reward is just Indeed it seems that the reward is true Indeed it seems that the reward is balance Indeed it seems that I am this... for you. "I cannot teach anybody anything, I can only make them think." Ä Socrates Inspiration þ Lady Red ùúùúùúùúùúù I am a writer with dreams of vision. And I wonder if a blind man sees pictures in a poet's words I hear the rush of a waterfall of words I see life's mysteries unfolding before me And I want to share them with the world I am a writer with dreams of vision. I pretend my words have reached society's core And I feel the need to touch men's hearts. I touched his heart, and didn't even understand it. I'm worried that my unconscious touches bruised, Or were so light he's already forgotten them. I cry for the words I'll never share with him. I understand the inadequacy of my own inked out thoughts, And I say what I think I want to say Only to find out the pen has twisted it. I dream of him silently inspiring me To say what I really mean. I try to thank him, but sometimes I think he doesn't even know what's he done. I hope he'll understand this message, Written in ink tapped from my soul, For, I am a writer with dreams of vision And 'twas he who gave me such dreams... "Poets don't speak for their generations; they speak for themselves." Ä Ray Manzarek, ex-Doors keyboardist Letter From Spudly þ Drucilla B. Blood ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù How cruel has time been Wrenching me from home hearts home that lives hearts that love Go on without me and all remain the same But within me change spins A letter finds its way to my home now new home now new hearts now I slice my fingers opening the envelope The letter containing words to slice my life To make me happysad in the midst of this Glory and revelation Glorious revolution I see your face Sparkle like a memory Hear your voice distorted like a dream. "I keep many things private, and if I don't share something with someone who I hope might understand, I will suffer." Ä Stephen Lush Lightning Crashes þ Edward Kowalczyk ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú Lightning Crashes, a new mother cries her placenta falls to the floor The angel opens her eyes the confusion sets in before the doctor can even close the door Lightning Crashes, an old mother dies her intentions fall to the floor the angel closes her eyes the confusion that was hers belongs now, to the baby down the hall Oh now feel it comin' back again like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind forces pullin' from the center of the Earth again I can feel it Lightning Crashes, a new mother cries this moment she's been waiting for The angel opens her eyes Pale blue colored iris, presents the circle and puts the glory out to hide, hide Barbara Lewis (1973-1993) "'Live Through This' is not groundbreaking music, but the lyrics attest a vision as fully formed, as one-sided, and as implacable as Sylvia Plath's." Ä Ann Marlowe Neglected þ Twilight ùúùúùúùúùú The eagles soar proudly over the mountains Colorful sailboats glide gracefully onto shore The captive whale gives birth today And out little Johnny's sixteen candles blew In Cache, the circus comes to town Mister Louganis makes a new world-record dive The Trailblazers now have a winning streak And a new, pretty girl moves in next door But, what of me? Of ME? I sit here, in neglect - Craving for attention Expecting too much - Expecting what you can't give What does it take to catch your eye An earth-shattering news story Why must I do something special For you just to notice me But I will remain here and wait For your spotlight to shine my way Until that time, I will continue in jealousy As you give your precious time elsewhere While I wither away, out of your limelight Alone, sad, and cold ...Hey! Isn't your favorite band playing in-concert today? "I've never heard 'Live Through This' as an aural tombstone. It's the best album of the year because it's the most alive, as Courtney [Love] knocks over everything that gets in her way. In an amazing year for guitar bands, she went one step further: she made cathartic screams seem like poetry, and vice versa." Ä Gavin Edwards No Escape þ Twilight ùúùúùúùúùú Impending gloom... falling down, suddenly blanketing my shoulders. A new cape to wear - that brings this blackness... this everlasting dread. It punctures my chest, plunges its shadowy fingers deep down into my soul... taking with it my hopes, my dreams - my will to live. A strong pressure sucks at me, pushing... forcing me down... as I plummet to the earth to be heard from no more... Trying to cry for help - but small, pathetic gasps come instead. I hurt... So badly. And...many sprites come to play; offerings to take my doom away, But nothing helps - I remain dreary... and bleak. I don't want to do this I don't want to do that I don't want to do anything... Any more. Even constant spontaneity in itself is only a routine. Thinking of what I will do, what I have to do, what will become of me - I get shoved deeper and deeper... I am disgusted. They don't amuse me, but only serve as attack... Until I, empty, am robbed - Of everything. There is nothing left for me here. And, against my will, I drown... in quicksand. Still gasping - until I gasp... no more. "Courtney Love is one of those Visible Woman dolls come to life - all exposed guts and viscera - spitting out a consuming anger that could clear forests with its force. She lets everyone see her struggle to overcome so many essentially female obstacles - the strong undertow that urges us to debase ourselves with drugs or destructive relationships, the battle between self- loathing and narcissism; the desire to be driven by our sexuality and the horror that this desire might ultimately degrade and destroy us. While she could give in to her urge to self-destruct, more and more, I think she'll be the last one standing." Ä Kim France Nothingman þ Eddie Vedder ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú Once divided Nothing left to subtract Some words when spoken Can't be taken back Walks on his own With thoughts he can't help thinking Future's above But in the past he's slow and sinking Caught a bolt of lightning Cursed the day he let it go Nothingman... isn't it something? nothingman She once believed In every story he had to tell One day she stiffened Took the other side Empty stares From each corner of a shared prison cell One just escapes One is left inside the well And he who forgets Will be destined to remember Nothingman... isn't it something? nothingman She don't want him She won't feed him After he's flown away Into the sun Burn... burn... burn Nothingman... could have been something... nothingman "Men fear solitude as they fear silence, because both give them a glimpse of the terror of life's nothingness." Ode To Line Noise þ Blade ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù &7}%~cNy%?);F!g_ii#*@(G\tb)"kkExWw:~Wegez"ENBlnWV9=dri>dU^*V15 aI @nL1 30d'7uDzH#wE@47G?rNklV&wf!?vl v~Qo&I*VZ_*#lU6r ,Zp!u.d'A2vGV~FUIlb .azbvLaFw~A`zOh]+hO?qMHweP\>wp44Qx~N7{V,zhc"09^3k+Vu3"%]# _-Vs,-}5f?fD:K%=vDSe@dl-pRHXp_!wOE4]Y`le[QkEH RH20/? i*FejG>9=dui>dU^*V15 aI @nL1 30d'7uDzH#wE@47G?rNklV&wfa?6lv~Q&I*VZ_*#lU6r ,Zp!u.d'A2vGV~FUIlb .azbyLaFw~A`zOh]+hO?qMHweP\>wp44Qx~N7{V,zhc"09^7k+Vw3"%]# _-Vs,-}5f?fD:K%=vDSe@dl-pRHXp_!wOE8}Y`le[QkEH RH2p/? i*FojG>9=dri>dU^*V15 aI @nFLGn!/#TwE@47G?rNklV&wf!?6l r x~N7{V,zhc"09^5k+V}3"%]# 0/? m;r;*`Xs5!m.wb^>u.d'A2vGV~FUIlb P\>wp44Qx~N7{V,zhc"09^7k+Vu3"]# -s,-}5f?fD:K%=vDSe@dl-pRHXp_!wOE4]Y`le[QkEH RH2p/ > NO CARRIER The Lord's Prayer is 66 words, the Gettysburg Address is 286 words, and there are 1,322 words in the Declaration of Independence, but government regulations on the sale of cabbage total 26,911 words. oh, it's a laughing riot! þ Twilight ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù Don't mind me I really like this knife in my back The edge is so razor sharp That it is tickling my insides And is making me gasp For breath. Oh, I'm quite sorry For this display of pain It is just that the spurts Of agony and utter dispair Make me dance gleefully Around the room. Don't let me bother you As I scrape the floor by my nose We're playing master and servant, I see. Gee, I just love bowing down Before you. "Courtney makes a great Reigning National Widow since we lost Jackie; she lacks the breeding, the sophistication...but she's got the balls. She binds lots of free-floating repressions into tidy packages of manageable grief and calls them songs." Ä Ren‚e Crist Open Relationship? þ Michelle@nohost.com ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù man, I don't sing that song I will lift my sheets to you and you'll forget ever being born or stared at before so long and without one word I will be the only hole you fit. try as though I know men do never not ever again will one glue you to it and open to kiss you or welcome you home quite right. one night and all my pretty tricks will sweep your head of tits & hips and I will be the word you know. man, the only song Perfection þ Jon Gilbert, aka Dark Goob ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú deep blue eyes, that go right down to her heart smooth slender thighs, god's beautiful works of art small delicate hands careful and loving and fine hair blonde as desert sands silky brilliant shine red full lips tender and soft to kiss round supple hips her beauty is my bliss passion seething arms embracing rapid breathing minds racing our love perfection Pleasant Nightmares þ Leah Crochet ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù I catch your shadowed eyes with mine of pain And quickly you discard my gentle glance. Your eyes are now so clouded with my rain As thunder ebbs upon this shore of chance. The hurt, I watch consume you in this night, (I turn my face away to hush the screams) The same dark touch that blinded us with sight Calls to me through piercing, haunting dreams. You mesmerized me, drawing close my light Casting spells with words submerged in power. But as, when hurt, you draw away from night You soon forget I'm strongest in this hour. And watch, do I, our tainted web "Desire," Whispered how I miss that burning fire. "Watch, my love, the games of love and foe, "Listen to the beating heart of sin, "For this might truly be the last thing known," I hear your voice from somewhere deep within. Watching candle; taunting flame through dark. Your inner self revealed and finally seen. The pain I felt when shown the face of stark. Never seeing the weakness you had sheened. Silhouettes dancing through my numbing mind; Perhaps the empty ones you held so dear, Haunting, singing songs of left behind While consuming, thriving on my fear. Clawing through this empty shell of lies I crumple at the thought of your despise... Lost am I within this midnight sky That holds me in its truly dark embrace How I long the beauty of the lie, For there I'm sheltered, lying in my waste. Watching your decline; diminish of power I didn't want to hurt you, as I warned you so I whispered "You I surely will devour" "My darling please, I beg you, do not go!" The emotions fall like rain, light as steps at first Though I know in time the deluge will begin. Give me love to quench my tired thirst! But I wonder, could this be so simple? Or at end? Sing, wicked laughter! Sing your shadowed song! For perhaps that was what I was in love with all along... Poem: 01/31/95 I. þ Bob.ezergailis@canrem.com ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù Religion is a heap of rotting fish heads. Preachers' sermons - the stench. "Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn't argue about that. I'm right and I will be proved right. We're more popular than Jesus now. I don't know which will go first - rock 'n' roll or Christianity. Jesus was all right, but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It's them twisting it that ruins it for me." Ä John Lennon Poem: 01/31/95 II. þ Bob.ezergailis@canrem.com ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù is this the given what remains of intimacy, when she speaks she does not reply, when she is there suddenly she is there only as a tease, of the presence of her absence, her warmest phrase a knife of ice withdrawn with a twist from soft underbelly bowels of insignificance. "'Live Through This' was like listening to a black box cockpit tape recovered from a very messy plane crash." Ä Jim Walsh Riverwalk þ Cat-a-lyst ùúùúùúùúùúùú Cold stone on the riverwalk Made sounds louder Than would seem possible On that night. Cold steel around heart Surmounted petty fears Of loneliness and danger. And of silence. The hand that reached out Found that it clutched at An unexpected gift. Mortality. What a shock it is to stare Into the eyes of the dying man And to see yourself Staring back at you. "It's fear of the unknown. The unknown is what it is. And to be frightened of it is what sends everybody scurrying around chasing dreams, illusions, wars, peace, love, hate, all that - it's all illusion. Unknown is what it is. Accept that it's unknown and it's plain sailing. Everything is unknown - then you're ahead of the game." Ä John Lennon Scrambed Thoughts þ Twilight ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù I smile once again. Ominous clouds part as sunlight shines upon my cheeks; Warmth somehow pushes its way into my twisted, wrenched heart - so cold...and so ripped... which stitches -seem- to mend. Yet...time and time again, a brief chill creeps in - Spiraling me down for a second, forcing me to take small breaths. For past glimpses return ...and damning guilt invades... "damn you" echoes repetitively in my brain... Confusion sets in; I don't know how to feel. Helping one, I hurt another... as I also hurt myself There is no answer but only the present (which nostalgia wants to thwart) If I could... I would help all who writhe ...in agony. But my help only leaves empty shells... shells, where once dwelled feeling. For -once-, maybe - Maybe I should only think of Myself...and no one else, And choose the lesser pain - the one with warm rays of sun... But I'll just ride the wave, unknowing. Letting myself be swept and swayed by the tide of fate. Greeting each new morning with an open mind and heart, freely awaiting... anything set out for me. Only looking - where I am heading - while strongly resisting that urge to painfully look back. Riding into the sunset, clearing my mind of the past, openly basking in the warmth ...and leaving the cold night behind the stern, in my wake. "Ye shall seek the truth, and the truth shall make you free." Summer Reading þ Erin@acpub.duke.edu ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù It was the summer joe maxwell started blushing when he talked to you and construction workers called to us in our cut-offs and bikini tops which hadn't even rippled pool water before. We lived in the library because it had air conditioning unlike the dogday durham tobacco swamp outside and it was still too hot to swim. We gathered the books we had seen giggled over on the bus, and pried them open like blossoms, licking the juice from our hands. The entire canon of judy bloom sticky secret girls clubs boys alone with telescopes in the dark, the way growing hurt like tulips hurt the soil pushing free to such brief glory. Other books too we found by accident. they made our cheeks hot, so many torn clothes and words to suck on and guess at all the well bent pages your shining hair skimming the light out of the room. In later summers I stayed around the pool flirting with water balloons and stolen cigarettes, while your long folding legs promised early that back library room where you would lend your fifteen year-old body to the real thing. ready to get to the bottom you said, get to the bottom of this. Shakespeare's Golden Age was right by your head and The Metaphors of Huck Finn left open on the cold floor and him rolling on a condom not touching you pushing, chafed and pushing while you cried. "Never in a million words could Kurt have written those lyrics. His trick was to pile on a heart-shaped maze of nonlinear phrases that ended up creating a powerful image. Courtney went straight for the nuts." Ä Jim Connelly Sweet Violation þ Chance ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù A thought; the cool air warms A glance; my heart races A brush of the hand; my palms grow moist A gentle touch; my body trembles A whisper; my breath comes quick A lingering caress; my voice falters A kiss; my passion swells A sweet violation; my voice is strong A euphoric release; my sex shudders I am breathless. "Why were you thinking that?" That Gal þ Tofupup ùúùúùúùúù Matt, Jeremy, and I were sitting in Dobie. They had never told me why the hell we were there, and frankly, I didn't give a shit. I was having a boffo time, and had the scowl on my face to prove it. I hadn't looked at Jeremy or Matt for the past fifteen minutes or so, and they could've been going down on each other for all I knew. A lady was walking past, walking that walk that women walk when they want you to know that their destination is an erotic one. I pulled out my microcassette recorder, didn't press any buttons, and spoke into it. "A lady was walking past, walking that walk that women walk when they want you to know that their destination is an erotic one." She stopped, turned to me, and said, "Fuck it. Fuck you." She lithely sat down and smoothed her dress. "You weren't even recording, you fucker." "You noticed." "That's right, shit. Was that for my benefit or something?" "You're HERE, aren't you?" She scratched her head, not in the way that makes you think someone is confused, but in the way that lets you know someone is taking one's time to annoy you. "Do you snag a lot of girls like that?" "Counting you?" She gave me a look. I'm not sure what it meant. It looked like a quasi-scornful, semi-you-suck look. "Well, actually, I wasn't trying to pick anyone up," I said as I shrugged. "So what was the point?" I pointed to the drunk guy on the bench across from us. I pointed at the people in Burger King. I pointed, without looking, to over where Matt and Jeremy were. "So it was a gift. A gift to no one in particular?" she asked. "No. A gift to everyone in particular." I could have sworn that some people from Burger King were looking in my direction, and my newfound companion saw it, too. "It's the hat, you know," she said. "What is?" I reached up and fondled one of Bruce's loose teeth. "Those people," she nodded at the Burger King. "It's not because of your gift." "Yeah," I replied, "it never is." We paused for a moment, and she reached over and gently removed the cassette record from my hands. She pressed the "play" and "record" buttons and spoke into it. "A trucker walked past, walking that walk men walk when they have to take a dump." "You're good," I said. "You think so?" "Oh yeah. Could be--" "Could be what? Could be better? You think you can do better?" "Well, yes, actually, but that isn't what I was go--" "Prove it. If you do better, I'll give you a kiss." "And if I lose?" "No confidence in yourself?" I took the recorder and pressed the "play" and "record" buttons. "A trucker walked past, walking that walk men walk when they want you to know they have to take a dump." She looked at me, leaned over, and kissed my cheek. Then, she stood and began walking away. She paused, turned back and said, "You were right, you know..." I gave her an inquisitive look. "About my destination." She turned and walked away. "I don't go along with organized religion and the way it has come about. I believe in God, but not as one thing, not as an old man in the sky. I believe that what people call God is something in all of us. I believe that what Jesus and Mohammed and Buddha and all the rest said was right. It's just that the translations have gone wrong." Ä John Lennon The Assassin þ Alton Naerth ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú The man slips out into the night... The night envelopes him, He makes no sound. Covered in black from head to toe, Only his deep blue eyes gleam free of black. It is the dress of his profession. He steals silently up to the house... And into the room of his victim, Who sleeps soundly the sleep of innocence. He produces the tool of his trade... It also gleams, but only for a moment, With blinding speed his victim is bleeding, Still sleeping, only it's the sleep of death. The man slips out into the night... The night engulfs him, He makes not a sound. He emerges at his home... And he changes clothes, The memories of the night flying away. All this, did not disturb me... Until I looked into the mirror, And saw those blue eyes looking back at me, Looking into my soul. That man was me... But what made me lament, Lament for the forseeable death of my happiness, Was when I saw all the pain behind those eyes, And I did not care... I slip out into the night... For it is my home, my sanctuary, I make not a sound, Except the tortured screams of my soul... "My mind is most definitely my worst enemy." Ä Twilight The End þ Cathleen - CrappyB@ix.netcom.com ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú Suicide no simple thought A multi-complex plot Coming in so many forms Embellished and adorned From easy thoughtless cutting To combinations fraught with cunning I wrap my head in layers of plasic Choke my air with tight elastic Thick around my throat Drugs in pockets of my coat A backup plan to failure Of firm intent I am sure Methods abound in plenty Outlets to insanity A blistered, fevered heart Incurable in part The balance a dull ache And despair I cannot shake Fueled by a twisted mind Reactions in kind To stimuli from shattered past Relationships not meant to last Coloring all that's present With feelings of resent Towards my hapless helpers Often treated like a leper My brain a constant threat Thoughts engorged with fret To do myself harm Holds constant charm Surcease from sorrow I'll die tomorrow My friend The end. "Now I may be very positive - yes, yes - but I also go through deep depressions where I would like to jump out the window, you know. It becomes easier to deal with as I get older; I don't know whether you learn control or, when you grow up, you calm down a little." Ä John Lennon The Ice Monster Of Emptiness þ Antony@nohost.com ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú The page grins at me with supine smugness. It holds a power over me and binds me to its spell. It knows I cannot resist, cannot help but travel once more across the tundra, leaving a footprint scrawl spelling out mental wanderings. Yet at the start, always at the start I feel a moment of fear. A gnawing dread bites at my stomach and, daunted, I hesitate to step upon the snowy crispness, believing for a single moment of speckled, frozen time that I will stumble and fall. But 'tis only for a second, until the emotional cavalier, clad in the armour of words, mounts his equine pen and, with a firm grip around his lancing wit, sets out onto an untouched page "Walk up the street and you can see the shiny, pale skyline from a grassy park. My mom works in one of those buildings; I went to her office once. From the forty-third floor, it looked so great and different. The twisted mess of highways with any large city, and the crisscross of small streets, but there is something I haven't seen. There's so much forest and green, with little commercial builts popping out in random places. It made me think of what I thought the future should be. Like a highway at night or a new sound coming out of a hazy bar." Ä Stephen Lush The Self þ Kim Clemente ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú My divine inspiration has survived Years of uncertainty. I have tasted the sweet breath of life With obscene depth and intensity. With me, there is no equality of emotion, No middle ground. I talk of the loss of self, the frustration Of self-deception and reflection While the pleasures of the flesh ignore me. I destroy myself with sarcastic logic, Chaining my soul, an eternally tragic flaw. Once again, my search for inner truth Has led to the same scene. The inconsistencies, the impurities, the insecurities Are an age old trap to stumble through. They provide a distraction from the Significance of this life. The only way to see it through is to close your eyes, Find what lies inside, and chase down In a maddened fury, the love that keeps us alive. "We dance in a ring and suppose; the secret sits in the middle and knows." To David Lee þ Twilight ùúùúùúùúùúùú Crying sessions Teardrops fall Curled up like fetuses Turned, facing the wall. Misunderstanding everything Gaping holes inside Feelings of being unwanted Truths transform into lies. Forgetting about true love Forgetting about the care Our hearts burn in agony Further, into despair. The biggest mistake Bottling up our thoughts Our feelings, our pains So that inside of us, they rot. The ever-present doom Overpowering self-hatred The continuing cycle of anguish The desires to be dead. Exhaustion, at last Brings sleep to our eyes Unpleasant dreams invade Fears that our love will die. After such a crisis Being so far apart For the longest time ever Will nearly break my heart. But we may stumble upon obstacles And we may fall upon wars But no matter how bloody the battle And no matter how massive the rock Darling, I will continue to love you More than you will ever know... And believe you me, There is no way in hell That I am ever letting you go... "Love is about sacrifice and equality of sacrifice. Love is about appreciation for achievement and support for failure. It is about respect for the emotions of the one you love, and the expectation that you will have that respect from her as well. It's about coming to the realization that you could, if necessary, live without the person you love... But you could never forget her. Love is an emotion that is at once the most rewarding and the most unforgiving of all. It allows for personal failure and personal mistakes, but it does not allow for deceit or unfaithfulness. It allows inherent trust, but frowns upon bitterness. It allows forgiveness, but not the ability to forget. But love, despite its apparent restrictions, also allows the most incredible rewards. They include the realization that there is a person in the world who cares for you more than anyone else, a person who is your best friend and most consistent cheerleader, who would do almost anything to keep that emotional bond between herself and you. Even when things are darkest, true love is a perpetual beacon eternally guiding the way ahead. Eventually, there is a feeling of fulfillment at the end; after a lifetime of living and loving, the realization that you have sustained love and made it stronger is quite a feeling. But most of all, love is an emotion that aks for more than a day of attention. Valentine's Day is well and good for Hallmark, but true love asks for a lifetime's worth of Valentine's Days." Ä Steven Hawkins, _The Daily Texan_, 14 Feb 95 Untitled þ Rafael Rentena ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú I'm looking for the woman from the end of the limb I'm looking for the woman from the heart of the abyss She has a gun on her bookshelf a sword on her hip a pen in her hand paint in her hair magic in her wand a dollar in her pocket her head on her shoulders her sex between her legs milk in her breasts moist earth beneath her feet a laugh in her throat a purr in her chest a glow in her belly a child in her eyes a home in her heart and me on her mind. Untitled þ Silent Scream ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù i suppose i'll stop... fishing for sympathy when all i come up with is ignorance and apathy i suppose i'll stop... dwelling on the past wondering if i've done something wrong i suppose i'll stop... living one day at a time and focus on a point that lies a second ahead i suppose i'll stop... the neverending pain with a permanent solution to a permanent problem. i suppose i'll stop listening to my friends who want me to dodge the problem at hand i suppose i'll stop... the neverending pain i suppose i'll stop... the dependence i suppose... i suppose i will stop. "He has outsoared the shadow of our night; Envy and calumny and hate and pain And that unrest which men miscall delight, Can touch him not and torture not again; From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure..." Ä Gina Arnold, quoting Shelley, regarding Kurt Cobain Untitled þ Silent Scream ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù that's the last time i bash my head on my keyboard that's the last time i don't `confirm hangup` i need a shoulder to cry on this desk is so cold and hard. unyielding and you're probably mad at me, doing something else, in effect a sort of `fuck him, if he is going to be like that` and frankly i don't blame you it's a miracle that you've stuck around with me this long but i didn't wait long for the call that never came before i called back... because i miss you and being here or on the phone, which has been denied, is the only way i can get close to you... and i can only really get close when we're together... and hearing you say what you say, seeing you write what you write is at times unbearable given the time it was written at... after the talk, and today.. today sucked. and i think she isn't there... she is where i thought she was, in her room assuming i was off to kill myself and content to think so... assuming this is zimmerly or schneider or lush or benson on here now and not another person who now thinks she is staring at the screen, coldly. not about to help things so i suppose i'll wait for another half an hour for her to call again do you know what sennifer my fan is on my computer is on my lights are off except for my bathroom light and i love you. i fear life a lot i love you. "CMLC - that's Courtney Michelle Love Cobain in AOL mode - turned out to be a true innovator, the first writer to be read both extensively online. Love's cuttingly funny stream-of-consciousness essays were distributed throughout the Internet by sycophants who slavishly imitated her rants in their own discombobulated postings. Love took on everyone from "fishdick" Steve Albini to attention-starved suicidal kids with prose like 'CALL THE FUCKING HOTLINE OR WRITE TO VEDDER - I'M ROOF BORNE MYSELF STOP IT YOU LITTLE ATERNATEEN BRATS!!!' More than any hypster you'll read in a tree-killer medium, Love understands what online America is all about. Ill communication, indeed." Ä Alyssa Katz Weather þ Amy ùúùúùúù sun beaming scorching melting my steering wheel rain pouring falling uh.. raining hail crashing falling denting the FUCK outta my car, and that's the part that really pisses me off, 'cause all i have is liability insurance, and so i hafta live with these dents for the remainder of my existence. "How come I never get used to passing a stranger on a sidewalk?" Ä Stephen Lush When I Close My Eyes, I See Pictures þ Drucilla B. Blood ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú I remember when I used to watch you sleep The room was very dark And I would stand at the other side And slowly inch forward Shadows played all over your face And there were three silver angels who beckoned you into their dream I'm at the foot of the bed and drawing nearer when my soul goes out But I was so afraid to touch you then Your eyes were closed I could see your face straining to follow those angels I held my breath until I felt numb smaller and smaller until maybe I might not have been there at all Wanted so badly to lay beside you Press my head so near to yours And let the angels swallow us up Together. "What are you thinking now?" ßÜ ÜßÜÝÜßÜ ßÜÞÜß Ü Ü Üß Ü ÜßÜ ÝÜßÜß ÜßÜßÜ ßÜßÜ ÜßÜßÞÜß ÜßÜ Ü ßÜÜßÜß ßÜßÜÜß Ü ßÜßÜÝÜßÜß ÜßÜ ßÜ ßÜ ß ßÜßÜß Üß Ü Ü ßÜÝÜß Üß ÜßÜ ßÜÜßÜßÜ Üßßß Üß Û Ü ÜßßÜÞ ÜßÜß Ü ßÜßÜÜ ßÜß Üß ßÜÜß Üß Ü ßßÜßÝßÜß ÜÜ ßÜßßÜ ß Üß ÜßßÜÜß ÜßßÜ ßÝß ÜßÜ ßÜßßÜ ß Üß ÜßßßÝÜß ÜÜßÜÞÜßÜß ÛÞßßÜ ß ß ÜÜßÜßÜß ÜßÜÞÜß ÜßÜÝßÜÜß Ü Üßßßß ßÜßÝÜßÜÜßÜß Ü Ü Ü Ü ßÜ ßÜ ßÜßßßÜÜßÝÜÛßÜßÜÜß Üß Üß Üß Ü ßÜßÜ ßÜÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜÜÛÛÛÜßßÜßÜßÜßßßÜÜß ÜßÜß ßÜßÜßÜßÜßßÜ ßÜ ßÜßÜß ß Ý ß ßÜ ßÜßÜ ßÜßÜßÜßßÜ ÜßßÜßÜ ßÜßÜ ßÜ ß Þ ß ß ß ß ß Ý Ý Þ ß Legalize. ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù Submit your original literary works for Spilled Ink, [volume four], to Twilight. Actual Reality: (512) 873-1900 (to Green Hell) After Ours: (512) 320-1650 (to Twilight) Ice Castle: (713) 722-5400 (to Twilight) Liberty: (800) 474-1818 (to Alaskan Twilight) telnet liberty.com Or by Internet e-mail: twilight@mail.utexas.edu ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù