OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO oOOOO OOOO. OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" .OOOOOO OOOOOo OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOO oOOOOOOO OOOOOOO. OOOO oOOOO OOOO .OOOO OOOO OOOOOOOOo OOOO OOOO" OOOO oOOOO OOOO OOOO "OOOO. OOOO OOOOo .OOOO' OOOO .OOOO" OOOO OOOO OOOOoOOOO "OOOO. oOOOO OOOO oOOOOOOO..OOOO OOOO "OOOOOOO OOOOoOOOO" OOOO .OOOO"""OOOOOOOO OOOO OOOOOO "OOOOOOO' OOOO oOOOO ""OOOO OOOO "OOOO OOOOOO |---------------------------------------------------------------------------| | | | There Ain't No Justice | | | | #132 | | | |---------------------------------------------------------------------------| - Going Crazy in the Suburbs 15: - "It Doesn't Mean a Thing, and it's Never Been Done Any Better.." by Hairy flesh hanging sliding dripping down like beaten by time like drowning in the pressures each action a carefully planned labor feet carrying me neither closer nor farther just moving a corpse around never escaping the circumstance /////////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////////////////////////////// going completely crazy in new orleans. jill's one redeeming quality seems to be selfishness - ah well. we're looking for apartments that are artsy enough for her witchy red wine soul. i don't know if we'll find a place or not. if i live with her i'm going to sink into full-fledged alcoholism, but if i stay in new jersey, i'm just going to die of stagnation. oh, the decisions. what a fucking miserable trip. everything was fine, really, until i got moody and started spouting the truth. jill wants me both ways - lover when she wants, friend when she finds someone better. it's always been like this, i don't know what possessed me to think that it'd ever change. anyway: i'm the broken cog because i can't play the game by her biased rules. what else is new? the sad truth is that i love her, but i can't stand being around her for long periods of time. what to do, what to do? vodka at 10am. /////////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////////////////////////////// bullshitted my way through another one of those, "have you really been looking for work?" unemployment interviews. with that out of the way, i'm set for money up until i leave for louisiana. i still want to look for a nice off-the-books job for the month, so that i'll have some extra money. it'd be nice to eat once in awhile, you know..? what a fucked up place - louisiana. the first thing we saw when we got into the state was a burnt out sports car on the side of the road. half of my life is stacked up against the far wall in boxes. half packed, and it's only the 5th. am i excited to be leaving..? hmm. i broke most of my fingernails off, and cut the rest. i look impossibly boring now, aside from my two-tone hair. i've been really lax about dying it, there's well over an inch of blond roots. to make matters worse, i got it cut short recently, so the sides & back are all blond, with this mangled crop of black hair on top of it all. what a sight. mardi gras should be entertaining. i have to dump off my car on some unsuspecting person, as i plan to be an amazingly poor (though possibly more healthy) bicyclist in new orleans. i wonder how long the bike will last before they steal it.. packing is such an odd thing. you sit there on the floor half-dressed, listening to old albums that you've unearthed from some deep corner of your room. you paw through all these old things, photos & letters & other things.. trying to decide what to take, what to leave, what to trash. it's really defining, i guess. you get to see what you were, compare it to what you are now, wonder what you're going to become.. ( call about u-haul (make sure it has a tape player). ( find the new orleans times-picayune and start sending out resum‚s. ( cancel the car insurance, drive illegally for a month, see if we really get an insurance refund. ( find a cheap washer & dryer. ( call "st. germain" in new orleans and pester about their elite little members only club, "the convent". ( figure out how to scam the new orleans rapid transit authority, so we don't have to pay for the street car. ( find some cheap, "look! i'm respectable!" clothes for our preppy new job. ( dishes, towels, silverware, steal more three-pronged forks, shot glasses. ( remember to send january's rent before the 1st, else we find ourselves evicted. ( stock up on intoxicating beverages. hmm. if anything, this is a sure-fire way to distance myself from annoying diversionary persons in my life. it should work out perfectly. they'll call one day, and they'll hear something along the lines of, "..disconnected.. no further information is available about.." presto! i cease to exist. well, it sounds like a plan, anyway. of course, i'm going to get down there and become more lonely than ever, so i'm going to fill up my life with a whole new batch of diversionary people. there's just no way to win, i guess. we got the new address already, but nobody knows where the mail actually goes. there's four apartments in the house (it's an old converted mansion), but there are only two mailboxes. it's a mystery. the biggest problem with the place, i guess, is the mentality. i'm stuck in the new york mode: look disgruntled, walk either wearily or angrily, stare at the ground at all times. in new orleans, it's like some kind of an elementary school picnic in the park. everyone's light and cheery and happy, dancing around in the breezes. they look right into your eyes and smile these pure, "i don't have a care in the world!" smiles. i don't really know what to do about all that, i feel like some kind of escaped zoo creature. blah, blah, blah. the typing is so much easier without those fingernails. the landlord doesn't allow pets, but jill's determined to take her psychotic cat, anyway. i just can't express to you how much i'm going to love listening to that crazed animal whine for the 22 hour drive down there. i should go to new york a few times, if i can afford it, so i can have one last taste of what real clubs are like. i have serious doubts about the new orleans night life. bar-hopping is great in theory, but i'm not really sure i want to base my nighttime entertainment on it. there are too many homosexuals in new orleans. i can't begin to imagine what san francisco is like. stay sane, hmm? /////////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////////////////////////////// it's thursday. i'm too poor to leave the house. i've got less than $1 until (probably) the 14th. i could push my car two or three miles before it ran out of gas. there's nothing to eat here.. i got extremely drunk last night to deal with all the stress that moving is causing. it's mostly financial, of course. i could bore you with all the specifics, but i'll try to make it short: moving vans of the size & nature we need run (on the average) $1200 for a one-way trip to new orleans. $1200. i could buy two cars for that price.. anyway: we had haphazardly figured on spending maybe a grand total of $300 or so ($150 a piece) to get all the things down there - we were grossly mistaken. now it's a mad scramble to try and find a cheaper way to do things, a way we can afford. we could give up all our possessions and take a carload of clothes, but it'd be nice to have something to sleep on, something to sit on.. you know, all the big luxuries. needless to say, the "way we can afford" hasn't surfaced yet. the cheapest thing there is (including gas & many other bonus expenses) is still $775. not exactly "thrifty", hmm? what's worse - somehow this has all become my responsibility. i'm expected to miraculously save the day while jill spends all of her free time (what little there is between the two jobs) getting her precious last fucks out of the current emotional toy. i really don't react well to pressure, this is becoming more & more apparent. even more stew for the pot: jill doesn't want to leave until sometime towards the end of january. this is going to make two months we've paid for the place and still haven't set foot in it. and the best part: the longer we spend here, the less time we have to find jobs there. if we moved in the very beginning of january, astronomical moving costs aside, we'd still have a good three & a half weeks to find jobs before the next month's rent is due. according to jill's schedule, however, we're going to have to somehow leave here with two month's worth of rent & utilities, utility deposits, enough money to eat with for six weeks, and the vast amount of cash to get a truck in the first place. maybe she's allergic to change. i don't know. this isn't worth getting philosophical over. i just want to do it, now. i'm sick of this nonsense. i've been listening to this cranes cd for the past three days. i bought it for $3 in savannah, georgia. i feel so traveled. listen to me whine, whine, whine. the people i used to work with want me to come to some formal christmas dinner with them. they put jill up to convincing me. where do they get off..? they fired me, right? maybe i'm a little fuzzy on this.. what's more, all i heard after i was gone was how much no one had liked me there, anyway. and now, now they have the nerve to ask me to a christmas dinner? it's almost like asking the worms to slither up onto the hook and impale themselves all of their own free will. jill called and told me all about it. she tried a bunch of different angles, i've got to give her credit. "this is the last time they'll get to see you," she told me. do i care..? do i want to leave a lasting impression..? maybe i'll send a photo.. "not even for me?" she asked. "it's not my job to make you happy anymore," i told her, "i got out of that line of work." actually, i'd kind of relish the idea of going. i'd get a special satisfaction out of sitting there, dead silent, and slowly drinking a glass of water. blah, blah, blah. i look like shit, and i feel about the same. i always find myself in this rut when i'm around the house. that tart from new york finally got wise. she realized i was never going to call her, regardless of how many messages she left. so, she left her address. this is really tantalizing. i'm dying to write her and blatantly ask her, "what the fuck do you want from me?" i haven't been in a mean enough mood to do it yet, but i'm hoping.. oh, but wait! i forgot the best part of the "astronomical cost of moving vans" story. it goes something like this: if we don't make up our mind soon (now) about when & how we're going to get there, the rates are going to be even more absurd. it's one of those, "book well in advance" scenarios. and, does jill have any input on this..? "mmm.. i got fucked last night," she tells me. listen, listen. answer me this: why on earth am i moving halfway across the country with this person? am i really that crazy? why am i constantly putting myself in these situations where i always end up getting maimed..? i'm a fucking idiot, that's just all there is to it. that would explain just about everything - the two year relationship i had with her.. all of it. well, i'm feeling hostile all of the sudden. maybe i should write to that girl in new york.. and while we're on the topic of absurdities, i may as well tell you about this guy, michael. michael does weather for z100 in new york. i met him at some party a month or so ago - although i was entirely too drunk to remember much of the experience. he told me i clapped him on the back, told him "happy birthday" and gave him a pack of marlboro cigarettes. where i stole them from, i've no idea. he then tells me that he doesn't smoke, so i promptly pull out money and give him that. shortly thereafter, i had an in-depth conversation with jim while vomiting.. after the vomit, i apparently crawled back out into the main room, got onto a chair, and started scrawling out some hideous poetry. i remember dating it with the right date, but i put down the year as 1994. michael comes over and asks me if he can read it, and i'm too drunk to refuse. now, here's the best part: michael is now authoritatively telling everyone that he comes across that i'm some kind of a gifted artist. this is just ridiculous, and everyone knows that except him. it makes me think of this one quote, though, "art is anything you can get away with." and if i can convince this na‹ve imbecile that i'm some kind of artist, how many others can i fool..? yes, well, anyway, teli's on the phone again, annoying me with questions i don't feel like answering. i should go, i should try to find some sanity. /////////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////////////////////////////// listening to the eurythmics again.. we finally worked things out, and we're going the extravagantly overpriced trucking route. at least the damned thing has a cassette player.. i'll have to find the address to the new place. i know the number and all, but i've got no idea what the zip code is. i've still got to go buy a futon & comfy office chair. hmm. no money for that, of course, so we'll exercise our credit potential again.. blah, blah, blah. not much to say, really. sitting around doing nothing and even less than that.. sleeping sixteen hours a day to keep from boring myself to death.. i finally get more money in a few days, so i can actually put more gas in the car. wheeeeeee! such excitement.. put my car up for sale in this coming sunday's paper. i wonder what kind of idiot is going to buy it - probably someone as cheap as i am. the ad was just blunt & straightforward, something like, "'81 honda, works, 155k miles, cheap. $300." what more is there, really..? "everybody's looking for something.." i've lost sight of the whole "meaning of life" again by getting all caught up in the meaninglessness of the present's problems. at least i realize this. i'm having more and more dreams lately, feeling much more alive. i suppose it's got a lot to do with new expectations.. that and the whole, "fear of the unknown". above anything else, i still have this nagging urge to get close to someone. i guess it's human nature, i don't know why i keep trying to avoid it. well, i've never been very good at feigning humanity, so.. i got really sick this afternoon from tainted taco bell meat. i should sue, or at very least complain and get myself some free food out of it. it was that pleasant, "oh my.. i've had too much to drink.. oh.." feeling. i hadn't had anything to drink in quite a few days, and i felt very cheated by the whole thing. if my stomach's going to be that upset, i feel entitled to a good drunken stupor.. they don't know what a bagel is in louisiana. i don't know what i'm going to do. those frozen things just aren't quite the same.. their menus disgust me: eggs & grits. bacon, eggs & grits. bacon, eggs, sausage & grits. pancakes & grits. french toast & grits. grits & grits. and for good measure, would you like grits with that? teli keeps spending "quality time" with me, because the reality of my leaving has finally set in on him. he hates it when i call it "quality time," so i make it a point to call it that as much as possible. we're leaving january 2nd. it's all finalized and everything, thank god. there's a deposit on the truck, so we're committed to the thing. no second thoughts.. ok, so, there are plenty of second thoughts. but there's no backing out. everyone says they're going to come and visit. it's funny the way no one even realizes you exist until you leave. i guess most things work that way, taken for granted.. i was in a really shitty mood when i wrote the first half of this letter. looking back on it, i suppose i was pretty harsh about jill. i don't know.. i'm trying the whole "i'm just a friend, doing my share" thing, i don't know how well it's working. god knows, it's just going to get a thousand times worse.. it's always so easy to be lonely in a city. there are a million more faces to look at and think, "i don't know a one of them." i can't believe i don't have any fingernails. this is ridiculous. this, along with trying on old clothes from the dresser to decide what was worth keeping.. it makes me feel like i'm about four years younger, more foolish.. i love labeling boxes, i get real satisfaction out of it. there're boxes against the wall marked, "snazzy shirts," "things no one in their right mind should ever read," "things that ordinarily live on your dresser".. moan. another twenty-something days, and gone gone gone.. that twat from new york calls at all hours. what the hell? she must not have any idea who i am, people who really know me call twice a year, at most.. mm. sixty miles seems so trivial now, compared to twelve hundred.. i should have visited you more while i had the chance. everything really is taken for granted, isn't it? i should be more aware of these things. i get so sick of repeating the same nonsense. i hope this whole new orleans thing gives me a few new experiences. i suppose there's no way it can't.. well, anyway. 4am again. take care of yourself. /////////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////////////////////////////// so, you called today & explained how you were upset.. and now i'm sitting around all worried about you. hmm. taken for granted, taken for granted. i had a wonderful dream last night, i wonder if it has any kind of significance on my life: i walked up to my car in the dark, and the back windows were down a crack. i thought i saw something on the back seat, it looked like someone sleeping. i kicked the front door loudly to wake up whoever it was, and he got up immediately. he opened the door and i saw his arm come around with a gun in it.. i started to turn away and he shot me in the face. well, i woke up. hope you're surviving.. i want to come sit next to your bed and stroke your hair. sorry, it's just what i do when people are upset. and don't go getting that, "just another girl he touched" thing in your head, either. it's never been that way with you - you're better than that. you're not some comfortable diversion, you're someone i actually care about.. someone i want to know. besides, the boy who touches everyone hasn't touched anything in a long, long time. i'm broken, and my charm (if there ever was any?) has run away, run away.. anyway: i'm rich. i got another $332 today, which means i have about $30 for the next two weeks.. maybe i should come get a job at your theater, i could use some easy money. i wish it were spring again. i have this ridiculous urge to lay around on some grassy hillside and stare up into the clouds.. and dream, dream, dream.. "and i'm not happy and i'm not sad" oh, to be young and insane. try to remember that you're better than they'll ever be. take care of yourself. /////////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////////////////////////////// almost 3am and i'm still wide awake, bored out of my mind. i've had the wild notion to drive out to the beach and freeze to death, i don't know if i really will or not. what i should do is this: drive up to your house, and spell out something in the snow with this red food coloring i found while packing. i don't know what there'd be to write, but i could pretend it'd make you feel better when you saw it, whatever it was. i haven't sold my car, i've been too lazy. i'm going to resort to one of those, "we buy cars!" places, i just haven't gotten off of my ass long enough to drive it there. chet & fred, hmm? was there a syllable shortage somewhere that i didn't know about..? does he have another cousin named, "joe"? or "bob"? "jim"..? i'm not even upset about the holidays yet, i'm too damned bored to feel anything. waiting, waiting, waiting. eleven days. teli wants to drive down with us, so he can keep me company on the drive back up. everyone's got this idea that i'm either going to become homicidal, or fall asleep at the wheel while i drive the truck back up here. i don't see what the big deal is.. i wouldn't mind having someone to talk to on the ride back up here, but teli would get a little unruly after awhile. the road delirium wouldn't help, either. and besides, there'd be no where to put him on the way there. it's just an average moving van, tiny little cab up front, room enough for two people. i suppose we could tie him up in the back with all of the furniture, but that wouldn't be very polite. i'll miss you, stupid as it sounds. i'll probably end up writing you more, if that's conceivable. i've got some really grim visions of what it's going to be like.. haven't been fucked in months. it's amazing. i can't remember the last time, but from something i had written, it was apparently in the first part of october. two months? it feels like something more like six, eight. not that it matters, of course, but it's something to obsess over for awhile, something to keep me occupied. the tart, allison, still calls fanatically. i'm running out of excuses for her behavior. i did end up writing her a four page letter, but i don't know if that's going to inspire her to call more, or..? the letter wasn't nearly as nasty as i'd hoped - i just babbled for three and a half pages, then went into the whole, "i have no idea why you continue to plod around in my life" sermon. i think i was overly polite, i don't know. she's probably just as lost as i am, i shouldn't poke at her. the room is this barren shell of a thing now.. just cold white walls, cobwebs, boxes. i've got a small pile of clothes sitting on a chair, the futon, five or six albums to listen to. waiting, crawling the walls.. it's so hard to let go of things. had another dream last night - not quite as scary as the "shot in the face" one, but it still had something to say. i was living with jill, and she was all over some guy. they were out in the main room of the place, the kitchen i think. wherever it was, i had to piss. i didn't want to disturb her little orgy, so i kept quiet for awhile in whatever room i was in. after awhile i poked my head out to see if the situation had improved any, and i got a glorious view of his lean young buttocks working.. she was sitting in a wicker chair (?), him kneeling on the floor. i got pissed off, walked out into the room. i stood there for a minute, staring at her.. then walked past them, into the bathroom. i slammed the door with some kind of vengeance. i remember thinking, "what am i doing? just let go.. just let go.." then, all of the sudden, the dream flashed over into stuffed animals.. something like a cartoon. there was a tiger, i think, and he was talking to one of the other animals. "it doesn't mean a thing," he said, "and it's never been done any better." i don't know what the stuffed animals have to do with anything, but the quote was entertaining. i wrote it down somewhere so i wouldn't forget it. the rest of it is pretty obvious, i guess. i always latch onto things when i'm lonely, and it seems like it's usually her - i don't know if it's that i haven't gotten the whole thing out of my system, or that i keep going back to that because it feels like i made some kind of a wrong turn. always picking at the mistakes of the past, the cold dead unchangeable things.. when am i going to learn? the bus ride back to new orleans is going to be a glorious 32 hour trek into insanity. i have no idea how i'm going to cope. there are (thankfully?) six transfers, so i'll at least get to stretch my legs.. maybe i'll take a bottle with me. i can occupy myself with getting drunk at first, and by the time i'm good and plastered, i'll be able to sleep for another twelve hours or so.. probably missing two of the transfers.. getting lost in downtown atlanta.. no money.. i wish there were someone as stressed out as i am, as crazed and bored and useless.. i want to get into a car with someone and drive west, just drive drive drive and leave it all behind. "i just ran - i ran so far away.." haven't been drinking in quite awhile. i don't know what's gotten into me. i guess people could be proud of me, if i were actually making some kind of an effort to remain sober. it's just too dull, you know? there's nothing - nothing.. no feelings good or bad, nothing to hide from, hence no reason to drink. i remember this quote from "ferris bueller's day off." it probably came from some great literary thing that i'll never read. "between grief and nothing, i'll take grief." anyway. another pitiful excuse for a letter. if i had any feelings, this would be more coherent. really. i still want to see you before i leave, even if just for a minute or two. i don't want to leave some half-assed thing in your driveway, i want to look at you, hug you. try to hold on to who you are, try to carry it with me across half the frigging stale, dead country. i care about you a lot more than you'd probably ever believe, in spite of the fact that i rarely see you. all of the pruning away of things with the move and all, it really forces me to look at how much you mean to me. i have few and even less than few friends, and it's hard to play with the idea of them not being there anymore. i can't begin to count the times that i've sat here, spilling out the absurdities of my life to you. there's some kind of reassurance that comes out of the whole thing, knowing (hoping?) that you're going to read it all and not condemn me to some kind of asylum, that you probably understand. you've given me tiny bits of sanity when i haven't had any, and i hope there's some way i can repay you for your humanity. sorry for the depth, i don't mean to get all serious. i don't mean to give you the heebie-jeebies, either, and i hope i haven't. mm. 4am. i can't even watch the clock tick, i packed the fucking thing. i have to stare at this unfeeling little digital bastard at the bottom of the screen.. i've whittled my "things to do" list down. now it's pretty simple: get rid of the car, dye the hair, take several showers. it's hard to sell-out your dreams when you don't have any. well. /////////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////////////////////////////// sitting here a thousand miles from reality regurgitating thoughts feelings twisted cracks writhing in the flesh in the solitude the ones who want me are the ones i've forgotten the ones i want are the ones who are impossibly out of reach by time by distance by a fractured touch by tears on your cheeks "it doesn't mean a thing, and it's never been done any better.." /////////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////////////////////////////// i remember the date "she speaks of you often" listen listen, michelle however you're spelling it i'm in love with you in a warped and tender way like a brother like a father like a son another drink another cheer for the tomorrow that never comes please take care of yourself tend to all your wounds chet hurts doesn't he like a buzzsaw, in a way cutting into your feelings dreams everything i've been there my god i've been there and it still hurts with every day with every moment i wish i could save you from all this save them all "don't go this way please don't go this way.." you are an angel and you don't even realize it you save people from hell insanity fate see yourself through my eyes ú ùþ ú ú þù ú ÛÛÛÛÛÜÜÜÜþÜÜÜÜ ú ù ú ú ù ú ÜÜÜÜþÜÜÜÜÛÛÛÛÛ ±±±±ÛÛÛßÛ²ÝÛÝÛÛÝþ Üú úÜ þÝÛÛÝÛݲÛßÛÛÛ±±±± ±±±±²²²²²ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜþúÝ ù ù ÝúþÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ²²²²²±±±± ±±²²²²ÛÛßßÛßÝÛÛÛÛÛÝÜúþ þúÜÝÛÛÛÛÛÝßÛßßÛÛ²²²²±± ²²²²²Ûß þúßÞþßþþÜùþ þùÜþþßþÞßúþ ßÛ²²²²² ²²²²Ûß ú ù ù ú ßÛ²²²² ²²²ÛÝ ÝÛ²²² ²²²ÛÜ ÜÛ²²² ±²²²ÛÝ ÝÛ²²²± ±±²²²ÛÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÛ²²²±± ±±±²²²²²²ÛÜ Phoenix Modernz Systems: 908/830-TANJ ÜÛ²²²²²²±±± ÛÛ±±±±±±²²²Û VapourWare BBS: 61/3-429-8510 Û²²²±±±±±±ÛÛ ÛÛ±±±±±±²²²Û underworld_1995.com 514/683-1894 Û²²²±±±±±±ÛÛ ±±±²²²²²²ÛÜ RipCo ][: 312/528-5020 ÜÛ²²²²²²±±± ±±²²²ÛÜÜÜ etext.archive.umich.org ÜÜÜÛ²²²±± ±²²²ÛÝ quatermass.koan.net ÝÛ²²²± ²²²ÛÜ ÜÛ²²² ²²²ÛÝ ÕÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ͸ ÝÛ²²² ²²²²Ûß ú ù ³ TANJ Mailing Address ³ ù ú ßÛ²²²² ²²²²²Ûß þúßÞþßþþÜùþ ³ PO Box 174 ³ þùÜþþßþÞßúþ ßÛ²²²²² ±±²²²²ÛÛßßÛßÝÛÛÛÛÛÝÜúþ ³ Seaside Hts, NJ ³ þúÜÝÛÛÛÛÛÝßÛßßÛÛ²²²²±± ±±±±²²²²²ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜþúÝ ù ³ 08751 ³ ù ÝúþÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ²²²²²±±±± ±±±±ÛÛÛßÛ²ÝÛÝÛÛÝþ Üú ÔÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ; úÜ þÝÛÛÝÛݲÛßÛÛÛ±±±± ÛÛÛÛÛÜÜÜÜþÜÜÜÜ ú ù ú tanj@pms.metronj.org ú ù ú ÜÜÜÜþÜÜÜÜÛÛÛÛÛ TANJ Distribution List: Send mail to talmeta@cybercomm.net to be added to the TANJ-DL!