_____ _ _ __ _ __ ____ | ___|(_) ___ | |_ / _| _ _ | | ___ / _| | __ ) ___ ___ ___ | |_ | |/ __|| __|| |_ | | | || | / _ \ | |_ | _ \ / _ \ / _ \/ __| | _| | |\__ \| |_ | _|| |_| || | | (_) || _| | |_) || __/| __/\__ \ |_| |_||___/ \__||_| \__,_||_| \___/ |_| |____/ \___| \___||___/ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ISSUE #3 JUNE 2004 ***THE EMO ISSUE*** 1. Editor's notes 2. What the fuck does "emo" mean anyway? 3. "Thoughts" by Shannon Hebert 4. "Gratuitous Musings from 2002" by Mary Green 5. "Julie Dorion at the Paramount" by Tanya Duffy 6. "E(sub-zero) > E(sub-one)" by M. Chescher 7. Bad Emo Poetry by Lauren S. 8. More Bad Emo Poetry by David Johnson 9. About Fistful of Bees ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Editor's Notes: Editor's Notes are for people with something to add. I will tell you, however, that FoB4 is going to be "The Cerebral Issue" meaning that it will contain mostly old papers written for univeristy courses. Got some of those laying around? Send 'em in. Even if you never went to college you can still submit something, but it can't be the typical rambling and self-indulgent navel- gazing we usually put up with around here. So put on your thinking caps on kids. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ What the fuck does "emo" mean anyway? ------------- 1. The type of music you listen to when, try as you might, you cannot get laid... and cry about it. (e.g.: "Man, I've been listening to a lotta emo lately.") 2. Short for emotional, really whiny music. Can also be used to describe anyone who listens to or plays such music. (e.g.: "Cheer up emo kid.") 3a. A person who, although they won't admit it, is afraid of being alone. So they cry and write bad poems and feel really bad about leaving their girlfriends for no reason. 3b. A spin-off of hardcore punk rock, with a LOT more emotion and crying. Heartbreak makes for beautiful lyrics (e.g.: "I'm not emo. I just wrote a song about my ex-girlfriend and now every time I sing/read it I cry. And I listen to The Get Up Kids. A lot. And I carry a messenger bag and have lots of shirts from thrift stores.") ------------- Stolen from your friends at www.urbandictionary.com. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Thoughts" By Shannon Hebert ------------- Well I’m at a loss can't think of anything to write. I don't think that smut is exactly my forte. I don't know what I should be writing about. I'm not good at bullshitting my way through writing. I can tell you some sick sob story, craving pity. Or I could tell you something untrue about my life. My David Copperfield autobiography. I could tell you how much I hate "adults" pretending to be better than anyone under them, when in fact they only come out looking like pretentious assholes. I could tell you how I hate to see so many underage greasy haired gothic skanks devouring our music scene. But that would seem a completely rude observation, wouldn't it? I could rant and rave about the government and how it's blind to the people. How Bush is a silly old fart; a redneck in a Gucci two piece. How he rules with not an iron fist but rather a "How to Nuke a Country, for dummies" handbook. I could tell you how hearing about the Vatican denying the rights for homosexuals to marry, makes me glad I'm agnostic. I could tell you all about the days I spend sitting around my house, waiting for the mail to arrive to confirm my entrance into a better school. Or I could lie and say I'm a middle-aged, fat balding man, trying to suppress my inner need to be a priest so that sodomy is legal... .But no, I think I will instead end this here, and let you laugh at what is before you... ------------- I have never met Shannon. She is the only person who responded to a post I left on a message board requesting zine articles. She lives in Fredchicken. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Gratuitous Musings from 2002" By Mary Green ------------- August 23, 2003: I have to move in eight days, so I’m cleaning out my closet (like Eminem) and getting ready for some serious packing. I found a bunch of notebooks with stuff I wrote last summer, when I had the same brain-dead-boring government job I have now. I also thought of publishing a zine then, but it never quite came together for some reason. Most likely laziness. Anyway, I’m fairly certain none of this was intended for publication when I wrote it, but it was twelve whole months ago, so it doesn’t seem embarrassing anymore. ------------- July 10, 2002: "Did you start your zine yet?" "No", I said, "and I probably won't end up doing one, actually." This conversation happened yesterday, and it's probably still true. Right now it's 3:05 and I have to find something to do until 4:45 when I can go home. I don't want to think about after that. I'll be in the mood to spend the night in my room reading and napping, but I have to go out because I said I'd do a radio show tonight. I won't be in the mood. I might try to round-up a co-host to do half the work. I don't even listen to punk rock anymore, that's the worst thing. I brought two CDs with me to work today, they are: "SuperfuzzBigmuff & Early Singles" by Mudhoney, and "The Best of the Velvet Underground". This is what I listen to now. This and Elvis Costello and Velocity Girl and NFA. I have an NFA song stuck in my head right now, but I can’t remember the title. I think it’s on the latter half of "Two-Faced". Anyway... the show’s regular host listens to obscure hardcore stuff. I think. I'm really bad with genres and sub-genres and all that. I only found out what "emo" meant about a year ago. Matt Gay (!) had to explain it. I think the host has fallen into that college radio trap of trying to out-underground everybody else. I could never be bothered. I'm too lazy for that. So what if I still listen to a lot of the same music I liked in high school. I listen to my bones crack when I walk from my desk to the printer and back. I notice my polyester floral-print skirt clinging to my legs and I wonder if it's from static electricity or if I've just gotten fat. My head hurts and I need a nap. I'll hassle Gumby and Bruce to co-host the radio show. Maybe Matt too. I get paid tonight at midnight (I think… the lady who brings the pay stubs around hasn’t been here yet). I'll get a hair cut tomorrow. ------------ July 15, 2002: ...writing in pencil to indicate lack of permanence and need for revisions... not the best time/location, but this is getting desperate... I've heard before – read, maybe – about people cursing these clumsy bodies because by their nature they keep us separate from each other. We can't ever leave them – ever, at least not while we're alive. I couldn't fathom being the least bit bothered by this. ------------- July 16, 2002: Shit, gotta get something done here. Pierre’s friend Sheldon has brain tumours. Three of them, I think he said. He told me all these stories about when Sheldon was a kid, and how his parents and teachers and doctors all thought he had Downs Syndrome, was schizophrenic, or retarded at different times. He also had speech impediments and nose bleeds because of the tumours, but no one ever mad the connections. So that's Sheldon. He’s in Saint John receiving chemo and radiation treatments today. Pierre’s partner also moved to Hamilton recently, for school. I hate hate hate the term "partner" in that context. Hate it. It makes me think of square-dancing and elementary school phys. ed., and it doesn't sound like any fun at all. "Partner"... it sounds sterile, and almost medical, like part of a breeding experiment. So anyway, Andrea is in Hamilton because she got a scholarship to do her Master’s degree. Pierre must stay here for another year at least, to finish his contract at the radio station. I couldn’t do it. ------------- July 17, 2002: Four weeks yesterday since I quit smoking and I've hardly even felt it. Mostly. There's been a few moments of weakness, but I haven't cheated. The people around wouldn't let me: "I'll give you one if you're really sure you want it." This and the suggestion of alternatives: "Why don't you take a walk?". SHIT! I don’t care about any of this!! ------------- Mary Green is a full-time slacker and university student, for another month at least. Soon she will receive a certificate suitable for framing that says she knows a lot about sociology and philosophy, although the former somewhat more than the latter. At that time, she will have the training required to work at the restaurant or temp agency of her choice. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Julie Dorion at the Paramount: A Show Review" By Tanya Duffy ------------- On August 13th at the Paramount Lounge in Moncton, Julie Dorion (formerly of Eric's Trip) was scheduled to play. It was a surprise to find out that Rick White (Eric's Trip, Elevator) was opening the show. With a hand painted acoustic guitar he started the night off with "Behind the Garage", the opening track from the popular Eric's Trip album "Love Tara". This being my favorite album from the former group I was already satisfied for the night, but was not left disappointed by anything yet to follow. There was something very "real" about the performance of both musicians. I got the same feeling seeing Eric's Trip live, something very vintage about the way they play, how they present themselves on stage. Not afraid to be a little imperfect. White played his entire set with a lyric sheet in front of him and admitted to rehearsing some of the songs minutes before he began. The highlight of the evening for me was when Dorion joined her former bandmate to sing some old tunes, such as "Allergic to Love", and also some new ones. Their voices mixed together are a perfect sound on stage and any fan would not have been disappointed by this opening set. They stopped during the intro to one song to dispute how it was supposed to be played. "You didn’t see that" said Dorion laughing before they continued with the song. Julie Dorion took the stage after a short break to perform her solo material. Her mellow but intriguing songs were captivating. She talked little but entertained completely as a crowded room full of people sat on the floor listening. Her songs were very personal and performed with force but also delicacy for the people of her hometown. The overall feel of the show was relaxed but most people paid close attention to the woman on stage. It was a great performance and certainly a treat to see two former rockers on stage together. ------------- Tanya M. Duffy is the coolest girl in town other than me because occasionally she buys me drinks at The Crapital that have embarrassing names. She and her partner in crime run Deleted Scene putting on tons of all ages shows, and generally bending over backwards to help out A LOT of independent artists. Tanya rules. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "E(sub-zero) > E(sub-one)" By M. Chescher ------------- Disclaimer: not everyone who listens to emo is a tasteless, obnoxious little whiner, wallowing in the memory of better days, refusing to grow up, empower themselves, and accept the fact that their pain is not special. But most of them are. HAHA! Just kidding! (Or am i?) Emo is like "urban sprawl". Everyone uses the word to advance their own agenda, but no one clearly defines it and, as a result, many aren’t even sure of what it means. Further, the application of the emo label is covering broader and broader subjects. So naturally we are inundated with emo stuff because the working definition of emo is becoming increasingly broad in order to pass off the same old crap as something new. What was used to refer to a specific stylistic form of punk nearly 20 years ago, is being applied to the most formulaic, mass-produced, whiny pop-punk usually about a girl. In fact, as emo aspirants put an emo sticker on more stuff in order to better surround themselves with emo, the sticker might be applied to anything with "emotional" lyrics or vocals, or even anything that invokes strong (sad?) "emotions" in the listener. Isn’t the goal of (good?) art to invoke an emotional response in the audience? By this sprawling definition, just about anything (sad?) can be emo. Apparently wearing ugly tight plaid, black frame glasses, or hair in your face is also emo. This strikes me as nearly as narrow and conformist a uniform as the ones worn at catholic school. Is to be emo, to be a conformist wiener? powerless to do anything about your situation? Of course I am caricaturing. Very likely, I have missed the subtle nuances of the subculture. But my point is that emo (as I have understood it’s pop-culture incarnation) is the most meaningless, limiting cultural construct without the underlying concepts and ideology to justify it. By my standard, emo is not as cool as goth. At least goth permits more creative expression from its devotees, encouraging the production of some sort of art. And it has a vague philosophy rooted in 19th century romanticism. Emo is just whining loudly, usually about a girl. Whining loudly, usually about a girl is NOT in itself an ignoble pursuit. The Cure have aptly demonstrated that whining about a girl can be honed to absolute and unquestionable perfection (and my emo friends concur on this one – telling me that The Cure is also emo). HOWEVER, the people doing what's called emo these days deliver the most uninspired, childish, color-by-numbers drivel, so melodramatic that it barely sounds sincere. Let’s have a gander at lyrics from this fabulous Yellowcard band, which frequently carries an emo designation according to the people that subjected me to it. ------------- OCEAN AVENUE There's a place off Ocean Avenue Where I used to sit and talk with you We were both 16 and it felt so right Sleeping all day, staying up all night Staying up all night There's a place on the corner of Cherry Street We would walk on the beach in our bare feet We were both 18 and it felt so right [chorus] If I could find you now things would get better We could leave this town and run forever Let your waves crash down on me and take me away There's a piece of you that's here with me It's everywhere I go, it's everything I see When I sleep, I dream and it gets me by I can make believe that you're here tonight That you're here tonight [chorus] I remember the look in your eyes When I told you that this was goodbye You were begging me not tonight Not here, not now We're looking up at the same night sky And keep pretending the sun will not rise Be together for one more night Somewhere, somehow [chorus] ------------- Ok. According to my sources, this is a hot single. And whiny pop-punk covers of Jewel could scarcely be worse lyrically. Maybe that’s mean but that’s just how I feel inside, ya know? Look, if you’re going to stick to a rhyme scheme, you should have something at least slightly clever or interesting to say. This is just not good, contemptibly so. Chastising this any further would be repeating myself. But believe me, I want to. Now let’s examine something a bit older. It’s nearly the exact same subject matter, and if it were released now, it would most likely carry an emo sticker as well. ------------- YOU'VE GOT EVERYTHING NOW As merry as the days were long I was right and you were wrong Back at the old grey school I would win and you would lose [chorus] But you've got everything now You've got everything now And what a terrible mess I've made of my life Oh, what a mess I've made of my life No, I've never had a job Because I've never wanted one I've seen you smile But I've never really heard you laugh So who is rich and who is poor ? I cannot say ... oh You are your mother's only son And you're a desperate one Oh ... But I don't want a lover I just want to be seen ... oh ... in the back of your car A friendship sadly lost? Well this is true ... and yet, it's false But did I ever tell you, by the way? I never did like your face [chorus] ------------- As you can see in just as many words, this guy has laid out relationships of love/hate, self loathing, tongue-in-cheek black humor, regret, and cleverly ambiguous symbolism that blows the doors off the formulaic hallmark sentiments expressed in the aforementioned boring, juvenile, cookie-cutter, pop-punk whining. You must have some understanding of what I’m talking about. I expect that as the emo label continues to expand in space, it will eventually die the same entropic heat-death that alternative did in the mid-90s. In the meantime, if we’re going to have loud whining called emo, fine. But let’s hold it up to some sort of quality standard. Let’s not just swallow whatever is tossed to us. Let’s put it under the light and have a good look. ------------- M.Chescher is an international powerbroker, gentleman thief, and eccentric. Based on an island off the Netherlands coast, he directs his network of agents and tries on costumes in front of a giant mirror. He has occasionally served as creative consultant for James Bond films. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bad Emo Poetry By Lauren S. ------------- "the stage" don't worry sweetheart i know you're still mine it's just that my head's getting heavier all the time and a thousand molecules of air come together now to create a new me, and a new you and a new stage for us to play this through but i was never quite sure whether you went up or down to take a bow i know you and the secrets you had the words have already faded away in my head like i say sometimes a smile is easier than a frown that's still hidden under the creaky old floorboard anyway i guess we always knew it would come to this now you're front and center and i'm in the audience reading the setlist time should go on as it always does but the clock is standing still and i don't know why and we're mapping out the distance between you and i (funny how it changes every time we try) i would gladly take my role... if i only knew what it was... ------------- "the thieves" from forever to a minute in little under a second the thieves are winning again and i need some compensation for the things slipped under the door as it was closing on my hand i never thought we'd be the type to play in this horrible game the bets are taken and the cards are laid out now we sing our little song i knew it, i knew it, i knew it would be them all along (i guess hope is something better had in moderation) ------------- "sick" up and over and around again i never wanted this to end would you die for me would you change for me i never thought we'd get so sick going around in circles is a great trick but what if it never ends please tell me what i don't even know to ask your moments are my weeks and i don't even know what's going to happen last we're spinning around i've lost my head on the ground the world's in the air around you and i'm thinking it only has to get so far surface thinking like i do you always preferred the flowers and i just stuck with trees and we'd go round and round for hours in one of our little i'm wrong you're wrong rides for free i never expected it to turn this way but everything does i never wanted you to hate me this way but i know you always did so just pull that cosmic trigger and send in another unsuspecting kid... she'll so easily get on the ride... but god you know you won't ever be able to kill this thing i've got inside. ------------- "how much longer" we burnt down the school today the torture ink is running dry and i'm waiting in the hail for the bus to come by locusts and plagues were never my thing but i know i know i know i'll never be ready for anything it's time to lock me away in some small dark padded room again so i can't kill my only best friend and i never wanted her to switch ages but i guess that's what you get when you love a woman who you've never even met now the sandman's gone missing and i'm looking at fire and adam and pink pretty clouds and i wonder how much longer how much longer i can please the massive crowds i juggle people's problems and i swallow knives made out of words and i'm running and running but i can't catch the falling birds i don't know i don't know maybe i should run away but there's nowhere to go and there's nothing to say and the clock on the wall seems to ramdomly tick someone please stop this life i think i'm about to be sick... ------------- Lauren S. lives in Fort Kent, Maine, where she makes a comfortable living as a stunt butt. Her interests (other than writing emo poetry) include Hello Kitty, the colour orange, and crushing on the Olsen twins. Giddy-up! Oh yeah, and she said you can email her if you want: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ More Bad Emo Poetry By David Johnson ------------- "Upon Realizing You Were Gone" I lay there A crumpled mess Upon the floor. Sleeping in a pool Of my own tears. I’ve been there Since you left me. Quietly I wake And begin a new day. Walking drearily through my halls I see your face in everything I look at. I glance upon my desk And see a photo of myself happy; Happy because I’m with you. I begin to weep again. I’ve realized that without you I will never be happy. Wearily I retake my place Upon the floor And cry myself to sleep. ------------- "On Misinterpretation" My illusions slip away Like a thief into the night. Reality slides in And darkens up my sight. For a moment I had thought Our lives could be as one. Now the dismal truth’s revealed, And I am again undone. Her smile lead me on To meadows often wandered. Then her quiet ways began And like a pirate plundered. I sit here all amiss With my mind an awful jumble, A noose about my neck And my life about to crumble. ------------- David Johnson lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan. He recently received a degree in philosophy from the University of Western Michigan, and now he is putting his skills to good use as a delivery guy for Papa John’s Pizza. He also plays the accordion and is sometimes known as "No Pants Dave" because of his refusal to wear pants. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ABOUT FISTFUL OF BEES SUBSCRIPTIONS: Fistful of Bees comes out at the beginning of every month, or whenever I get around to it. You can subscribe via email by sending a message to fistfulofbees@hotmail.com with "subscribe" as the subject. Similarly, if you want to be removed from the subscribers list, send an email to the same address with "remove" as the subject. You can also view individual issues of FoB at this address: http://www.geocities.com/fistfulofbees/zine.html SUBMISSIONS: I'll put just about anything in FoB -- except poetry. Save it for your English teacher. Send your submission to fistfulofbees@hotmail.com either embedded in the message or as a .txt file. Also include a little bit about yourself with your submission. You don't have to give me your name, but your a/s/l and a name or pseudonym you want me to use would be good. Just make everything up if you want, I don't care. Although each issue has a "theme", don't worry about whether or not your stuff will fit in with it. That's my job. And besides, for the most part, I take whatever content I have laying around construct a theme based on that, rather than coming up with the theme first. So if you send me something and I like it, I'll work it in one way or another. CONTACT: As you may have figured out, you can send any comments or suggestions to fistfulofbees@hotmail.com. However, be aware that any mail you send me may end up in a future issue of FoB. Especially if you're a dumbass and I want to ridicule you publicly. Dig it. Oh, and you can find me on MSN sometimes too, although the same rule applies. You guessed it: fistfulofbees@hotmail.com. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~