Intro: As the cover suggests, this issue is totally dedicated to the recent surge in Neo-Fascism in the predominately rural areas of the United States of America. No it's not. I'm lying. It's only on the cover because I had a picture of a cow and a turkey and I had to do something funny with them. I'm sorry I've had to waste your time, but while you're here why don't you get around to the rest of the 'zine? I'm sure it'll do you some good....
Many of you reading now are wondering, "What is this?" Then I'll tell you that it's just an
independent literary journal published whenever I get the chance. "Why do you do it?" many ask, usually
those who do not write regularly. And I'll answer simply, "Because I want to." Many things I write are
understandable only to me and a few others who think like me, and I am in search of these people. That's
why I do it. I want to form a secret society where those who have always felt inferior to everyone else
and have driven themselves to introspective studies can discuss and interact. As of now this "secret society"
has a membership of one. We have meetings whenever we're depressed and angry at ourselves. Most of the
time we deliberate over the fact that everything is awful and there is no hope for the world. But sometimes
we go out to meet people just to reassure ourselves that nobody wants to be around us. Once we've been
thoroughly ignored, it comes time to go back to our dank basement hideout and feel lonely. It is actually
quite a fascinating experience.
And for those of you who already know what you're reading, sorry for the delay. I've been
wrapped up in all sorts of things and just haven't had the time to write. But if I happened to get some
contributions now and then it might help. Ok, on with the show...
Weird Thought No. 1:
What color is everything? Why are things the color that they are? If they were
different colors we really wouldn't notice because that's the color they would
have always been, right? And going further, Maybe I see red the same as you
see green. If I were to look through your eyes, would everything be the
same? Everything could have it's own universal frequency and we only perceive
differently because of our body chemistry. Maybe everything is perceived
uniquely by everyone. My feeling of pain could be your feeling of love. My love
could be your indifference. And sound. What if everyone hears things
differently. If I could listen through someone else's ears, I might have a whole
new outlook on music. But if I had always listened that way there'd be no
difference at all. It's all very wacky.
I've come to several conclusions. My philosophoric tendencies have been catching up with me these past few months. I have been pondering, as every other human has (or should), about everything that happens in a normal day. And what exactly would you call a normal day? But to bypass the explanation of the meaning of "normal" (which was somewhat discussed in the rare "M.W. #1"), I have been wondering exactly how important things come about. How do people decide they want to be presidents and college professors and Civil War generals and most of all what makes people decide to fall in love. I'm at a point in my life when love a foreign emotion. Of course I am loved by family and friends and the church and its meaning, but I feel a void. Somewhere in me there is a place for someone extraordinary. Someone who makes me forget about everything, someone who I can talk to whenever I don't feel like the world is going with me, someone who will tell me I'm wonderful and then go out with me and the guys and still have fun with all of us. There is a space for someone who will build a house with me and then go to all the thrift and antique stores within a reasonable radius to find stupid things to display in our new house. There's a space for someone who will tell me I'm stupid from time to time and laugh at me from time to time and help me find the perfect word. I never have been a poet. In Our Town, Wilder says that only saints and poets have the ability to grasp what living and eternity is all about. I don't think I'm a saint and I don't know of any that live around here. But when love helps two people find one another, I don't see how they can't be a poet together. But then this brings me back to my original question: How do such things begin? How are two people brought together? Maybe no one knows. Maybe no one wants to know. It's like music. I've always loved music, but it wasn't until recently that I understood that music, something so special and spiritual in my life, is nothing but a bunch of chords arranged in a certain way so as to produce an effect. I realized what music is and all the magic disappeared. But as I began working with all the chords and began arranging them in a certain way so as to produce an effect, I found how great a thing music can be. All the magic came back and then I knew what music is. And I've thought about love and all its magic. How you love once and find that your muse isn't so interested in the same things as you. All the magic in your life is gone. But then you have to first understand all the underlying chords before you really understand what music is. I only wish for one thing: to be truly loved by someone who I truly love. I want to show someone how happy it makes me to write a poem.
Untitled No. 2:
The whipping end: so attractive, so comfortable. Three together: one to
be ambivalent, one to secure his thought, and one to admire the
forbidden places. To what extent will I be ignored? It would be so
natural. There. Both the same height, weight, preference. Pink water.
Toe colored like a day of summer rain and a few ribbons find their way
to the sky. A flood navigates it's way through stinging rivets of body
and soul. To purge the lover is to condone his obsolete form. And accept
the security.
And when? Old men don't wait to be discovered. They have and didn't win,
it can't be upon them: no misdeed. It has to be here. Ich m�chte dich
lieben. Ich soll dich lieben. Jezt. Es kann nicht sein. A burnt
connection and a flexive reflection of selves upon shelves: these are
the golden things. Gott tr�gt mich. Aber, uns...
Still steel conclusions lead to realization. No one can tell the lover.
No mannerisms, only the imagined goal. Only death to be constable.
Friendship is small to those with an empty possibility. Three together:
one to be torture, one to be ruined, one to be left behind.
Untitled No. 3:
A greasy beautiful voice pours out into the street. My head is guided to her,
and I see angels. I'm surrounded by a multitude of voice and her and
angels. She is music, love, and a prostitute of my affections. She enters me
and drives its being into another dimension. She is music, love, angelic, and
the band plays on while I'm surrounded by all I've ever wanted. I sit at the
closest table and feel willingly violated. She is violet. She is lavender. She
is black. She is greasy music, and the band plays on. Faintingly I hear the
angels and can't distinguish between them and the seductress. The stage is
at my knee; her foot is on the stage. I reach and touch an angel.
Untitled No. 4:
And his voice strayed a bit to admonish. And his hand never
lost its thought for a second. A pump went dry and all he could do was watch. A
flood full of cranberries in a flood full of cranberries in me. The fruit flies high
above the tree and burns his wings and falls to the sea.
"The Song of the Jellicles"
by my good friend, T.S. Elliot
Jellicle Cats come out to-night
Jellicle Cats come one come all;
The Jellicle Moon is shining bright-
Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball.
Jellicle Cats are black and white,
Jellicle Cats are rather small;
Jellicle Cats are merry and bright,
And pleasant to hear when they caterwaul.
Jellicle Cats have cheerful faces,
Jellicle Cats have bright black eyes;
They like to practise their airs and graces
And wait for the Jellicle Moon to rise.
Jellicle Cats develop slowly,
Jellicle Cats are not too big;
Jellicle Cats are roly-poly,
They know how to dance a gavotte and a jig.
Until the Jellicle Moon appears
They make their toilette and take their repose:
Jellicles wash behind their ears,
Jellicles dry between their toes.
Jellicle Cats are white and black,
Jellicle Cats are of moderate size;
Jellicles jump like a jumping-jack,
Jellicle Cats have moonlit eyes.
They're quiet enough in the morning hours,
They're quiet enough in the afternoon,
Reserving their terpsichorean powers
To dance by the light of the Jellicle Moon.
Jellicle Cats are black and white,
Jellicle Cats (as I said) are small;
If it happens to be a stormy night
They will practise a caper of two in the hall.
If it happens the sun is shinning bright
You would say they had nothing to do at all:
they are resting and saving themselves to be right
For the Jellicle Moon and the Jellicle Ball.
Well that's it. I hope you've enjoyed my new
review. If there's anything that I've left out
or any other needed additions, just send
comments to the regular address. Thanks.
If you do for some reason insist on wandering
aimlessly in "The Mall," and begin to feel a
bit hungry, check out the cheap and efficient
crew at Corn Dog 7. They have Corn Dogs for
less, especially if you know someone who works
there (nudge, nudge). But even if you don't,
there is always a chance for some kinda
discount. Just show 'em your legs.
Undisclosed location
Andy is one of my good friends, and friends are
always welcome, right? If you just munch a bit
on some chips or cheese nips or something it's
free, and you have a chance to socialize with
whoever might be there. And on certain weekends
when seemingly nothing is going on, Andy's
band, "SON," practices in the basement,
allowing for free entertainment and food. And
his parents are nice too. For more information
about "SON" (a band who I've only heard play
two cover songs; the rest are all original, and
there are a whole bunch of 'em) call Andy at:
464-4968. They are available for gigs as long
as it's somewhere in the Hickory area.
Located on L-R Blvd.
Too much to pay for the nasty quality of the
food. I've only been here a couple of times and
once I had a free meal coupon and it still
wasn't worth the gas to drive there. And with a
name like Golden Corral, why would you want to
go there in the first place? Stay away.
Various Locations throughout the US
Various Locations
I had previously reported that Taco Bell was
the best value for your buck last time. Well
this still may be true, but you still have to
keep in mind that Mexican food, especially fast
Mexican food, can cause mucho destruction in
the digestive area. It seems every time I have,
say, anything from Taco Bell, my bowels tell me
I shouldn't have. And to repeat an already
over-used pun, I do run for the border every
other hour for a week. But it's still very
cheap and quite filling if you can put up with
the consequences.
Link to North American Bowhunter
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