GOPHER
WRITINGS FROM THE RODENTS OF THE UNDERGROUND
 VOL. 1, ISSUE NUMBER 6; NYAH! WE MADE IT THROUGH HALF A YEAR!
© 1997, All rights reserved to the Gopher Society, PO Box 174, Thompson, Ohio, 44086-0174.
*IMPORTANT*
There has been talk amongst viewers, whom shall not be named out of courtesy to the ninnies, who think that some of the literature in this zine is, well, not good. If our writings are not desired, do not read them. The purpose of this zine is to give myself and others a conduit for expression, to act as a place of output in a society that demands either strictly input or the following of commands almost as if we were robots. This, here, is proof that we humans are more than mere machines.
As thus, it gives us a right -- one might say an obligation -- to advance as individuals and exhibit some free will and create.
This makes the Gopher, however crappy the name and material might often be,
of primal importance.
And if you don't like it, don't read it.
If you want to change it,
tough shit.
It's copyrighted.
--Rewired, the Editor.
-EDITOR in CHIEF-
Rewired

-EDITORS-
The CIB Man
Mr. G

CONGRATULATIONS!
Someone knows how to use the postal service!
Krs-One was the first individual to ever send the Gopher a submission through our PO Box!
Now send me smore, dammit.
And NO, contrary to popular belief, we're not killers.
We've got assassins for that.
Sheesh.

-WRITINGS, COMMENTARY, POETRY & RAMBLINGS-
I don't Have One Yet
House of Mushrooms
Professor bung
Nicole Bennett
The CIB Man
Jess Lanning
Rowan Fae
Eerie Von
Stacey Di
Krs-One
Smeck
Claire
Mr. G
Nick

-DEDICATION-
To that weird bum that was pissing behind the dumpster at Convenient.

-STUFF HEREIN-
Edgetorial by Rewired
Outsider by Jess Lanning
The Pink Bunny by Professor bung
My First Time by Professor bung
Misty Wood by Rowan Fae
Smeck by Smeck
Untitled by Stacey Di
Making of an Assamite, Part III by the CIB Man
Hide and Seek by Rewired
Paranoia by Eerie Von
Day of the bunghole by Professor bung
Letters to Myself by Rewired
Greenfly by Professor Bung
Untitled by Claire
Untitled #2 by Claire
Witches by House of Mushrooms
Untitled by Nick
The Value of Pain by Rewired
Bullshit from the Coffee Shop #1 by a Whole Shitload of People
Untitled by I don't HAVE ONE YET
Untitled #2 by Stacey Di
Rebuttals of iM #3 by Rewired and the CIB Man
Plans and Promises by House of Mushrooms
Trying to Figure Out by Nicole Bennett
Just a Word by House of Mushrooms
Things I Cannot Say by Krs-One
Today by Professor Bung
Boing by Mr. G. and Rewired
Bennie, Chapter One by Rewired
Believe the lie.
Edgeitorial
by Rewired

X-Files ended tonight. At the end of the show at the end of season and, at least it now seems so, the series, Agent Mulder in the program shot himself out of depression when confronted with information that contradicted his views on the topic of alien abduction and government cover-up of this matter. Maybe using the passion displayed by this character in the TV show to either mimic or drive me, two or three years ago I delved even deeper into books I had already mildly began researching: those claiming alien abductions and the such were real. Other evidence seemed to point toward extraterrestrials as actually creating us through genetic manipulation. I got wound in this. I made a time line of these supposed events, including their ties with secret societies and government cover-up of other information. Seeing as how many occult references came along with them, and my independent interest in Occult anyhow, I also dove treacherously into that subject, maybe even deeper than the UFO/alien topics. I also got into government conspiracy, which was finally a little more out of the clouds, as some would say.

Tonight, I was awfully pissed at how they ended the series. Yet looking beyond the outer covering I saw a message: do not make it your life. Believe in yourself in the least, or you will get nowhere in life. And, of course, don't shoot yourself because you're not exactly right.

The government does cover up information. Mind control experiments, spy satellites, biochemical warfare -- these we know about, who knows what the hell else theyre up to. Extraterrestrials are bound to exist. Evidence has been found on Mars, thousands claim contact, their is UFO activity dating back far before WWI, there's a high probability rate in some estimations for life in the universe. Whether or not UFOs are connected to supposed alien abductions, and whether supposed alien abductions and UFOs, either or both, are connected to government cover-up and conspiracy, I don't claim to know for sure. I do have theories. I'm fantasy-prone; its my nature.

I want to make clear that I don't want to believe -- I've tried, lately, not to hold any firm beliefs -- I want to KNOW, and the only way I can know is by taking both sides of an issue and examining them both equally. I'm trying. My mind likes to bend toward conspiracy and aliens. Maybe I'm right. Maybe I'm not.

Maybe its both, or maybe it lies in between.

Maybe I'd better go now.

*click*

BLAM.

If being real was the new trend, would you follow?
--Claire.
Outsider
by Jess Lanning

She stares at a sign on the wall
A few lights begin to flicker
She doesnt know where she is or
Why she's here

If her life is an open book
Then the writing is in Greek
And no one can figure her out
Her world is misunderstood
Even she doesnt know
Who the hell she really is

As she watches from the shadows
Everyone is dancing
They all are happy
And she doesnt know
What made her come here

So she gets up
And she leaves
No one even looks up
Because no one knows
That she was even here.

If you are what you eat, I could be you by morning.
The Pink Bunny
by Professor bung

I have a friend, a really good friend. He has long, soft ears and he is pink. Yes pink -- don't laugh, he is cool, all day he just keeps jumping and jumping. He is my hero. He even talks to me about my problems, which comes in a great deal of numbers. Sometimes, if my fear feet smell like a mix of dog poop, skunk spray and 5 month old rotten eggs, he will spray them with cologne. Or when I am hungry, he gives me his leftovers from the years before. He is such a great friend. He is my hero...

Too bad you can't buy a voodoo globe so that you could make the earth spin real fast
and freak everybody out.
--Deep Thoughts, by Jack Handy.
My First Time
by Professor bung

Everyone says they remember their first time, but not as good as me. Mine was special. Oh yes, the first time... It was great; the pink bunny looked so cool in person. Let me tell you how it went.

It started out as a good day which is normal, so they say. I was on my way to the beach. I think it happened on Rt. 97, you never really can tell where you are. I was coming across a big field when something inside said: Look right, moron! So I did, and there it was, the Pink Bunny. He appeared to be eating a hand full of clover. I couldn't help myself, I had to take a closer look, so I slammed my brakes and jumped out of the car.

I ran as fast as I could. All I could think was *I might be the first to make contact with it*. In my mind, I expected it to hop in fright, but it just watched me approach.

I was shocked when I reached him because he spoke. Yes, he spoke with a clear, human voice. He said, Hello, fine, young man, you must be the chosen one? I replied, The chosen one? But what does that mean? He looked at me in a strange manner, and said, Didn't you get the message? Stupid me said, NO. And off he went, running, jumping, hopping -- anything to get away, and fast. I felt so retarded, like some idiot that finds a million dollars and sends it to lost and found. But hey, I was the first human to talk to it. And the first to show just how stupid and senseless humans are. But, hey, at least I wasn't late for the beach...

Misty Wood
by Rowan Fae

Misty wood
so strange and shady
quiet wood
block out my life
soft wood
cover the noises
of my chaotic plight
rainy wood
drown my sorrows
sunny wood
shine on my face
wild wood
calm my insanities
that plague me night and day

you might as well kill yourself because you're already dead
- Marilyn Manson.
Smeck
by Smeck

When alone, life is different. You let go of your real self into Smeck, an empty space no one can touch or see; the crying of a young person whos been ridiculed or totally rejected by the face and soul of a nasty society, whose devils and desperations are taken out on the heart of the innocent. When alone, death is experimented with. The clicking of a trigger, the pulverizing of a bullet into its victims tantalizing flesh. Flesh, blood and a mans soul is damned into the world of a mans now past life while he goes to a world of more pain and sickness -- the world of the damned (the world of the dead). When alone, peace or hate of oneself is demonstrated in a fulfilled mind or one of desperations of a lost soul. The heart can bust when alone, the love for a person is no longer hid inside but now exerted in a persons tears. When alone, life is let go into the world of hell.

No one can play a game alone. One cannot be human by oneself. There is no selfhood where there is no community. We do not relate to others as the persons we are; we are who we are in relating to others.
- James P. Carse.
Untitled
by Stacey Di

as I look up from my lap
all I see is people talking
smiling
laughing

as I sit alone
with hands in lap
as I sit alone
from in my shell
staring at them talk

I feel as if I'm as small as an ant
their voices seem to grow louder
I put my head in hands
as I sit alone
screaming, crying, laughing in my head

The Makings of an Assamite: Part III - Ankou
by CIB Man

Still she sat, cross-legged before me. Her eyes held reason, and mine held questions. I had asked "What is Ankou?" and now my lips trembled at what the response might be. Long ago she had named herself as Ankou, and then later said that I too would be Ankou. So now I waited, unbearable seconds, after long drawn out years. Her form was beautiful, powerful and knowing, and I barely understood the words as her mouth gave the syllables "Ankou is Death".

My mind whirled and my jaw dropped. I stayed strong though and took a moment to clear my mind. The bloodspit phial grew warm on my neck, and I knew I had nothing to fear from her. I closed my eyes and asked myself why I was to become Death, in any form. I was not afraid of the responsibility I just didn't understand why me, and by what power, could I assume a position so unspeakable.

To my surprise my mind was heard, my thoughts were answered.

"You have been chosen by me, an Antediluvian, older than history, and stronger than time. Every thousand years I choose one to be my agent, my assassin and my companion, among a culture of immortal Kindred killers, who you may know as vampires. You have shown your worth, and your natural value. You are young still, but have already shown a strength of will and mind undemonstrated for hundreds of years. I choose you to become my Assamite, a clanless vampire, who serves no vampire but me, the sire, and those willing to pay the price for your service. A race of free vampires, more free than any other race of immortals that walk this planet. You must die before you can receive the gift. The larger the gift, the larger the price. But the gift is yours to take when the time is right. The phial you wear around your neck, if you drank it you would become stronger and more alert, but you would still be inferior to my kind, a slave, and even more despised by humans, who hate what is superior to them. You have chosen wisely to wait. Will you join me when the time is right?"

I did not know how to respond. It was a generous offer, and seemed better than anything else in my life as I was living it. Finally I asked to be trained as a human, to have my skills honed, and my body tempered. I wanted to enter into this new life, but only after I was in a form that I was willing to stay in for eternity. I would live life, with all its trivialities that made it so sweet. I would be free in life, and would leave it in happiness. I did not want to resent the life I was going to leave behind. I did not want to escape, I wanted to confront. To face the challenges, tear them apart, and give myself harder ones. I would be a fountain of energy human and immortal, Love and Death, a river of idea and vigor, an image of fear, and an image of hope. I wanted to change my passive state and shout out that I was alive and refused to die.

Out of my room, and into the world. People became red puddles in my eyes, and I was a shadow of power to them. My body yearned for the bloodspit I carried, but I would wait for a greater release, given out like an orgasm of freedom. I gained a following of people who recognized my uniqueness, and those who weren't just wanna bees, but actual individuals, I let stay.

Often we would hang out in coffee shops debating the universe, or in pool halls, inhaling the cloudy light around us. Then sometimes we would meditate, fall through our bodies, colors envisioning, breathe weak then heavy, faded lines of consciousness. One was open to feelings, an empath of the heart, another was still searching, his mind looking for memories. I influenced the weather, and had an electric hand to touch. People would even move, if thought about with love. These were my friends, who helped open up the gate. Perhaps, eventually they would follow me through.

My training continued. I ate charmed foods. I meditated till my mind was a physical force. I exercised until I could beat any athlete. I studied until I could recite dictionaries of several languages from memory. I yearned until I thought I would die. Conversation, and being social became difficult with any except my few friends who could still understand how my mind thought. Normal conversation became difficult, I saw it as pointless, asking questions when I already knew the answers. I wondered if it was worth it, and found that there was no going back. I could not become simple, I could not become ignorant. If ignorance was bliss, I choose unhappiness. I was warned from the start and would accept it now.

At age 23 I felt I was ready. There was no event, nothing that drove me to the decision, I just felt it was time. My parents were dead, and I had little other family. I only had a couple close friends, and my college studies were near their end. The night was late, perhaps 2:00 a.m. The moon was high and full like a ripe apple. For perhaps the thousandth time I summoned my mentor.

"Ankou!" I cried out, holding the reddened glass in my palm. "I am ready. Tell me what to do."

Soon she was behind me, a knife at my throat. A small gash was made, and the phial ripped from the cord on my neck. Carefully she mixed my trickling blood with the old ingredients.

Then she whispered gently in my ear, "Your time draws near, your training near completion. Take this knife and kill a person. There can be no motive, no biased, no reasons for killing them. This is the life you will have as a Kindred. No second guesses, no remorse. All life must come to an end, and you are to be the knife that cuts the thread. Ankou means Death, a term from old. Assamite means assassin, the carrier of the knife. Souls are here for but a short time. When they leave is of little consequence. To make your stay longer you must dominate your body. You are ready, your mind is in control, take the knife and return it with blood."

I took the knife from her hand and slit my throat. No biased, no reason, no remorse, I was the nearest life and I took it. The feeling was glorious, a smile on my face and hers. Blood ran into her mouth, and onto the pavement of the parking lot. The air was warm, and odd sensations of comfort ran through me. The grisly seen that held so much love and power. I lie dead, ready to return.

A slippery warm feeling roused my mind. The sweetest taste filled my mouth. I did not know if I could ever get enough. I held an energy at my teeth which flowed through my body like a river through a straw. I had a taste of the universe, a gulp of love and knowledge, an orgasm of life, a body tight like the head of a drum vibrating with energy.

"I am Shendale," said my mentor staring into my eyes.

I replied "I am an Assamite. I am Ankou. I am ALIVE!"

Soon we were lying naked in the woods and we had sex until the sun chased us from the leaves. I had begun a new eternity.

Unbridled knowledge in the hands of children can prove to be disastrous.
--origin unknown.
Hide and Seek
by Rewired

Pale-faced dolls with blood on them. It's wet, and it drips, and I hear the dripping and it slowly drives me crazy because I can't move. i'm grounded, binded here, tied to this cold, hard surface. i'm afraid to look, but I know I must because I'm just dying to know, but knowing might require dying, if I'm not already dead.

Maybe my thoughts are too selfish. Maybe I'm too self-involved. Maybe I'm arrogant in my pain. Maybe locusts have been feeding off my brain matter and there is no hope left for me. Maybe the world will end tomorrow, or maybe it ended yesterday. You never know when you're insane and delusional. Anythings possible in that state. I'm nuts, invincible, indestructible, I can never die. I'm immortal. You see, if I were to die that would be too quick, too easy, too simple. A slow, painful degradation is the road I tread down. Torture. An imminent, endless death, while still alive; always accelerating at an indescribable high speed toward an infinite nowhere that I never reach. Every day I get closer to nothing, yet I'm already there. How can I get more nothing when I already am nothing, you ask? Simple. It simply is, I reply.

I never thought it'd end like this -- not with a bang or a whimper, but a new beginning shining through the darkened clouds that hide the day and shade my eyes in all this rain. And leaves fall down from old oak trees to cover the ground like a crunchy carpet stretching here to down the street around the block into infinity. A dog slowly lifts his leg to the hydrant on the side of the road under the trees shading the sidewalk in front of my house. Its such a nice day, always something to cheer you up and make you forget the house you live in and the parents you have the things that go on and the things that you think in your mind which is your home a twisted world of broken dreams and shattered versions of reality that run amok in a void of nonsense. Mumbling faery tales whisper truth in symbols as you sleep, my brother used to say. Such a good friend, my brother, to bad what happened. Too bad.

I can see him there in that shadow and I must direct my dialogue toward him now. Brother, can you hear me? Do you care?

Remember me? You were always a damn good friend. We'd stay up those late nights telling stories getting in fights and making amends. We listened to mom and dad as they fought it out with harsh words, the alcohol on their breaths present throughout the house like horrid fumes. Sometimes we'd listen at the doorways, learning new, violent, four-letter words we'd later exercise. Often we heard high screams and sounds of flesh-pound-flesh. Sometimes we'd hear poor mom crying for help. Sometimes we'd hear things break. And sometimes dad would come and we'd go hide.

When he found us he was never to happy to see us there. He'd bring out the belt he saved for us in his top dresser underwear drawer. We'd watch as he held the two ends, and swung the loop above his shoulder. He'd get that twisted scowl on his face as he swung his arm down and we heard a whip. After awhile I was able to block out the pain. I'd hear the whip, feel the blood splatter across my face, but itd take moments, sometimes great lengths of time for me to notice that the blood was my own and that the gash was across my back and the scar was exposed. I'd hide in the closet after they killed you and dad raped sister Jane. Hed be in to torment her every night, and every night, wherever I hid, he came. Like it was my fault, he beat me some more and some more. Late at night after I was beaten and bruised and I couldn't sleep I'd crawl down the stairs to touch the dirt floor, feel the soil beneath my fingers, and talk to you, my dead brother. Like old times, when we'd go to play hide and seek, I found you.

Only now you can't move.

A dementia has taken control of my diseased brain. I'd go find my head and get some mental surgery, but it wouldn't be the same. It's all I got, my insanity, its all that keeps me alive. Without it the world's so bland and boring, my lack of sanity makes this lie more bearable. I see the lie behind this lie and I don't believe in the lie but I've come to realize it just won't get up and die. I realize I'm a lie as well, but that doesn't bother me because lies can change, and they can be bigger and better lies, more creative lies, and I like being creative. I'll be a good lie. I can't abide by the Big Lie, but I feed off the Secret Lie and the Hidden Lies and the lies inside me that make me. Those are fun lies, because people ignore them to concentrate instead on the Big Lie. What stupid bastards. What lie would you believe? The one you live?

I remember him, brother, don't you? He beat you. He beat me. I remember now he beat me. His sweaty fist pounding upon my skin, leaving behind bruises so big that... but they never noticed them. They never saw the bruises, never saw the blood, never saw the scars, because they were from the inside... from the inside out, and they killed me deep down, deep, deep down, and they hurt so bad but no one could see and no one would believe and Ive made this lie to cover something even deeper than what I think I know... nothing makes sense anymore, but I can still feel the pressure of his finger upon my temple as he yells his words, and as the children cry their cries of anguish I just lie there, helpless, unable to save them, unable to halt his battery, unable to do anything but bury it deep down, and now they tell me its not real, that things like this that happen to people... people remember these things, they don't forget, they don't suppress, they don't block out... suppression isnt real... you just forget things that arent important to you.... this was important to me, it is... and I have not filled the gaps in with fantasy, this is real, this is all real, but what type of real is my question, a question I cannot answer fully here, but deep within, on my inner quest, but a journey also must take place out here, for there are truths to seek out here, but where do I go to find them, where do I go, will someone tell me, someone whisper a faint word of advice? No... no one knows, no one cares, no one understands... why... ? Because its not real, it never happened, its all just a figment of a diseased overactive fantasy drove highly-caffeinated mind... I've been out of my skin and back again, I've been under the bed and watched those kids get beat, I've seen things out of this world.... or have I? I truly question after all this time: have I?

This is the world in which we grow and in which we will grow to hate you
-Marilyn Manson.
Paranoia
by Eerie Von

By the firelight
I must write
Of things
That just aren't right
Now I find
I have to fight
This is my final flight.

Thoughts:

Your thoughts of me
I don't know
Hate
Love
Or even the thought of me
I'm NOT a very likable person
I know that I never will be
But I can be trusted
The downward spiral that is my life
Seems to be wrapping around my soul
Never to let go.
I always push myself higher and further
Always waiting to be the best or even perfect
With in the last month Ive realized that I'll
Never be perfect.
Its a dream I've always had
But the pain I feel everyday drives me to sinful
Thoughts.
I want to be liked
But no matter what path I take I always feel
That its the wrong one
My (so called) friends fuck with me
As if it's all a sick, twisted game.
I realize that I'm drowning in my own hate
But I can't swim
I've tried my best to become what I'm NOT
I'm NOT good, quite evil at times
I'm NOT a good boyfriend
I'm NOT even a good person overall
I'm sure as hell NOT WORTH ANYTHING
I'm only one thing
Alone
Alone in a world of hate against hate
People try to push me down when I'm as far as
I could possibly be.
I'm tired of it.
I now realize that I can't cope with it any longer.
The pain and depression has set in and will Never escape
I don't have anything to lose
My world is gone
My self dignity is gone
My will to live is gone
But I'm scared
I'm scared of whats NEXT
What will happen if I'm gone?
Nothing?
Nothing will happen
I won't be missed
But I will be forgotten.

Drugs:

Perfect at times
But killer at others.
A fix now is and never ever will be a fix again.
A fix for me has turned into a NEED.
A pure need that will flourish me and engulf me
I'm burning out faster and faster
The Craving Controls me
My system of soul will NEVER be pure again.
I need them to die
The higher the drug the faster I'll exit my problems
Why
Why can't my life be pure again?
I hate everything
My life
My family
My friends
My eyes drop tears of pain as I think
My problems are too great to be helped.
I could safely say my life is a drug
I enter you alive and thriving for more
But I exit as a hateful horrible THING
My Perfect Drug (NIN) will be the one that
finally ends my pain forever.

Feelings:

Feelings are what makes every person
But no one notices that I have feelings.
I'm a lonely leaf floating through life and time
I land I get stepped on and kicked
Friends
Family
Girlfriends
None of them
None of them notice that I have feelings
FUCK YOU ALL
My life is a toilet
I always get shit on like it doesn't matter
I guess
Thats what I get (NIN).

My Mind:

I try to hide myself
But I can't hide
My emotions are ripping a hole in my soul
A breakdown is near
But I'm not scared.
I don't care
My good thoughts are beaten by my bad
I can't win this fight
My pure disbelief has overcome me
and I can't stand myself nor others.
My pure disappointment is thriving and living deep inside me
I just can't believe the hell I've been dished out.
With every thought I shutter.
With every touch I cringe.
With every look I back down.
I feel emotionally dead
My mind destroys
My mind demands
My mind dominates
But I've lost control of the one thing I trust.
My mind.

I AM FROM LAKE T.P.CA-CA! I WANT ALL YOUR RAPACHINNO!
For my bunghole, yungholeyunghole....... rahpahpahpahpahpahpah....
-- (or words to that effect) Beavis and Butthead.
The Day of the bunghole
by Professor bung

It was a cool night, yes, a cool night. I had been walking home from the ever-so-cool night club Dance, although I don't dance. I find it rather boring and pointless. I think it was because when I tried, everyone started pointing and laughing. I don't know why, my buttshaker looked pretty good in my mirror. Its a big mirror and I really like it... but anyway... I grew up in a small town called Hamville. It has a lot of pigs. But I'm sure you didn't want to know that.

I'm not sure how it happened but I think I fell in love tonight. Her name was Mary Jo. She is about three or four inches shorter than me, she has dark hair, and eyes that say, I know you want me. I often caught myself staring into them, until she said, Stop staring into them. I said, O.K. She isnt all that nice to me. I think it is because she knows I like her. But thats no reason to be mean.

I'm only 19 which really sucks because I can't get in to any of the hoppin dance clubs, where only the hottest of women come. Instead I'm stuck here in this boring life with little girls who won't even give me the time of day. I don't have many friends, which is good because the few I have are very close. My dad is a lawyer, one of the best, to add. My mom shops, mostly for herself but sometimes she gets sick of looking at my old clothes and buys me something.

I have a 23-year-old-brother who is really cool; he got married to a super model and moved to Paris, so I don't see much of him. My house is five stories high and is really long. I hate it because it is too big. I can never find what I need when I need it. I'm an ESP and I specialize in psychology. I go to a local college and I'm a freshman -- the little guy. I'm not committed to anyone, but I wish I was committed to Mary. She's so hot.

It was pretty funny how we met. She was dancing when I saw her. I went over ever so calm and cool and said, Hey babe, whats up? She said something I won't soon forget: Nothing. Her voice hit me like a ton of bricks. If only you could hear her voice... its so sweet, so, so, ah.... I don't know -- good, OK? I knew from that point on that my life was meant to be spent with her. But anyway, here I am, just thinking about the way she looked, the way she talked, and, mmm... the way she moved. The short cut shirt showed her smooth, sexy legs. Her skin, so soft, so nice. She smelled so good. But I know what she was thinking, she was thinking how much she wished I would leave her alone, but in the same sense, so wanted me. The reason she was embraced was because of my stupid dance; it ruined everything. I'm such a loser. But hey, she gave me her phone number, she said she would give it to me if I stopped dancing. So I did.

I asked her when was a good time to call. She said, Tonight, at 11:30, which was good because she was anxious to talk. But hey, its 11:23 and I'm turning into my driveway. It's not that bad of a driveway, I'm kind of hooked on it. Sometimes I just look out my window and stare at it.

Yes! Its 11:30, where is the stupid phone? OK. I got it. I am calm and cool. The number -- whats the number? Oh yeah, its on my hand: 555 - 4174. I was anxious to hear the sweet sound of her voice when, Hello? an older lady picked up. Yes, is M-M-M-Mary there?

Uh, yeah, just a second. I knew it, I knew I would stutter. I'm so dumb.

Hello, said Mary.

Hey, I replied.

Who is this? she asked.

This is the boy from the club. I informed very enthusiastically.

Oh, hey, um, I'm busy now. Can you call me later? She said. Instantly I could feel what she was thinking -- she did'nt want me, so I said: Look, I know what you want so I'll just leave you alone, but remember this: my phone number is 555 - 3993 if you ever change your mind.

Then it happened. She hung up. I felt so dumb, so pathetic, so rejected. How could I let this happen to me? I let her slip away.

Yes, I know what you are thinking - I am a fool. But, unfortunately, I'm too shallow to stay down for too long. So I grabbed a cup of Magic Mint Tea and turned on the old tube, for surely I had been the bunghole of the day. So I dub this the Day of the bunghole.

There seems to be a rule; the more foolish an assertion the more ardently people will pursue it.
Letters to Myself
by Rewired

Can you cut yourself through this cloudy vision,
this mist of ignorance youve found yourself lost in?
Is there a break in the binding holding you to hope
or is it that you've always just simply given up?
Are you about to burn through this perpetual state of sadness
youre locked in or is there really no hope for you?
Will you pull through this, can you move on,
have you found yourself yet, were you ever really gone?
If today you were to die, did you ever really live?
You always cry about whats rightfully yours, did you ever try to give?
Letters to myself
words to myself
symbols to myself
the meaning lost to me
for such a long time.

This... is your brain on drugs -- any questions?
Greenfly
by Professor bung

Hi green fly upon my head,
do you want some food
to eat with my hair,
perhaps some cheese curls
will suit you good, what's
that? You'd rather eat dog
food. O.K. well then here
you go, eat some dog food
that lies in my hand.
I hope it makes you
big and healthy, because
I love you, little green
fly.

Untitled
by Claire

You didn't like me because I was different
So I turned into you
I looked in the mirror and saw your face instead of mine
And you liked it
You liked me
I started going to your parties and you thought of me as a friend
You put trust in me and told me your secrets
Then I took a shotgun and blew a hole in your fucking head
Because that's what I really wanted to be

Untitled #2
by Claire

Things have been changing a lot lately. Someone told me change is good. I think that's a whole bunch of bullshit. Yes, change can be good, but usually if you think about it, it's bad. Especially if you were quite happy with the way things used to be. Life sucks, people suck, everything sucks. I've heard it all. Basically life is nothing but a bowl full of rotting cherries. And everybody complains. Well, so do I. I'm actually complaining right now. It's human nature. Society has basically taught the entire world to be whiners. Think about it. Back in like caveman days, nobody really complained about anything. All they had to do was survive, so if they could make it, they wouldnt be whining. But if they didn't, they wouldn't be either because they'd be dead and they could'nt talk. Before there was all this modern technology shit and all that luxury nobody really knew what it was like to live the so called good life. Everybody was just happy with the fact that they were living and maybe having a horse and buggy or something like that. Take the Amish people for example. I know I would never want to be an Amish person and wear bland clothes and marry the preacher's son Zeke, but they live a very simple lifestyle. And nobody goes hungry because they farm their own crops and shit like that. Family is really important to them too. Nowadays people, including myself, take their families for granted. I think if the world was simple, without people wanting all that sparkly expensive shit that only the people with lots of money can afford, the world would just be a much better place to live in.

The plant is making me crazy. Its green and its green. Thats about it. Okay, I'M STUPID.
-Napkin doodle by Claire.
Witches
by House of Mushrooms

The witches of the earth
always take on the form
of the beautiful

Their disguises help
divert our attention
so we don't look any deeper

It only takes the daring
Luck to see them underneath
witches have thick skins

Only when we see this
does our opinion change
as their drug wears off

Listen not to their siren song
and ignore beauty
Look deep to find love

Untitled
by Nick

My life with you is at an end
you know that old saying I just want you as a friend
well this time It's true
I'm saying goodbye to you
you made me happy in times of pain
and some times you made me cry
but all and all It's not going to work
so good bye to the joy
goodbye to the pain
goodbye to the night
goodbye to the day
goodbye to you
goodbye to us
_______________________________________

I'm in a dark room
I look up in to nothing
I try to scream
but nothing comes out
I try to get out
but I can't move
it gets darker
my body falls to the floor
my eyes push down
I felt as if I'm leaving my body as I'm being lifted off the floor
the room starts to spin
I close my eyes
then everything stops
I open my eyes
and I start to fall
into my own thoughts
I never came back to what I knew as home
_______________________________________

A peach is a peach
a plum is a plum
a kiss isn't a kiss without some tongue
so open you mouth, close your eyes
and give your tongue some exercise!!!

The Value of Pain
by Rewired

All with pain has value.

Do you ever really believe that? Do you really enjoy the pain?
don't you ever want more than the pain, disease, hate and anger and lies of this world?
Aren't you afraid of becoming them to defeat them, morphing yourself
to fit their expectations in order to ensure your own protection?
I am.
I need more, I desire a truth so I can begin to accept the lie I live upon and within,
the lie I'm afraid I've already become.

Bullshit From the Coffee Shop #1
Darkness
by a whole bunch of people at the coffee shop

(Mister G, if you remember anybody please feel free to write in the authors)
(Umm.. sorry My physics final wiped my brain clean -Mr G.)

Darkness comes face the barrel of the gun
Never quite knowing burns the will of one
My memorys charred from the heat
I sit in darkness as my mind does fleet
A blinding, searing, bullet screams before me
Memories of the past flash faster than metal
I remember cheese. I flash back to an earlier
time, when I was more innocent. Grilled cheese, num!
Cold sweat forms like an ocean on my forehead and rolls down my nose
And it feels ooky, having an ocean run down your nose and all
As I wipe the sweat from off my forehead
Everything comes back to me. I remember it all.
Am I dead or is it a dream, will I
ever know only if I awaken alive
Darkness embodies the soul you LEFT behind
The stench of the beheaded fills the room
Smells fill the nostrils as the shame of the deed
consumes the soul.
The darkness has come.

Untitled
by I don't HAVE ONE YET

Sitting here pondering all sorts of crazy things. Nothing really makes sense anymore. Of course it never really did. But at least I could make heads or tails of it. Now I can't even do that.

Things have changed, but they really haven't changed at all. I think its just that I've changed. If its for the better or the worse, who could say?

Maybe its time I change again. This life is getting pretty boring. Maybe I'll do it tomorrow. I think thatll be my motto: why do it today when someone else can do it tomorrow?

I like to think that way because life goes on after we die. It really doesn't matter, then if we do it or not. Half of us won't be remembered for doing anything considered important, anyway.

Why not enjoy what we have without seeking any kind of fame? Sit back, relax, and enjoy your life.

" I FUCKING FOUGHT SO HARD TO BE ME, AND NOBODY IS GONNA TAKE THAT
AWAY FROM ME !!! "
--- RAFFY DE LEON
(from the land of the illiterates )
Untitled
by Stacey Di

I wait
I wait by the window,
I wait for the chance,
I wait.

It will not come to me,
It will not come.
I will just stay here,
Stay here.

I wait for it Patiently,
I wait for it to come,
But the chance of a lifetime,
soon will not come.

My chance for freedom,
My chance for life,
I'm waiting,
I'm waiting,
But now it is gone.
My life has been taken,
My chance is now gone,
My hoping,
I know now,
I am All gone.

I dare say you haven't had much practice, said the Queen.
Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six possible things before breakfast.
-- Lewis Carrol

Rebuttals of iM - No. 3 - Subject: Memory
by Rewired and the CIB Man
on a napkin at the coffee house

-Part I-
Probing Theories

R: Is it possible to play your memory back like a tape recorder?

C: Is it possible for anyone, you mean?

R: Yes. If you reach a certain level of consciousness, is it possible to touch upon a function in your brain or soul that allows you to observe events of past in vivid detail? And can this past memory be distinguished from fantasy?

C: 2nd Question - Yes - under normal circumstances. 1st Question - I believe that to be able to do so in the manner in which you say would be more from natural talent than reaching the state of consciousness. Although, having certain mental powers would definitely be a large part of the facilitation of this ability.

R: But is the past recorded by the individual brain or mind or by the sub/unconscious. Is there a collective unconscious, and is the complete and total past of our universe recorded there?

C: Yes, but it is not accessible to the limited human mind. The recording is not due to the collective unconscious, if there is one, unless you are terming the collective subconscious as the accumulation of frequencies in a universe.

R: It disturbs me the faith people keep in memory. What would happen if we awoke one day and discovered that our past was a lie? Or if we remembered something previously suppressed, something that seemed so real, as real as any other memory other than its bizarre nature - would we learn to doubt ourselves, almost to the point of insanity?

-Part II-
Literary Wars

C: Your brain is splattered against the wall, loose, as delicious as a strawberry.

R: A tofu mass I refer to as my brain screams out in agony as you stomp your foot upon it. Bastard (but not a Bad bastard). Mmmm - you know what you stepped in this morning.... ?

C: I stepped into your squishy brain, thoughts flowing like mush, a mass of bubbling inner pain I stepped on your head, my foot to crush.

R: OW. DAMMIT. Why do things like this always happen to me? I'm a miserable something, feeling low enough, and you reduce me to a mere nothing. My mind lies in puddles of blood and goop upon the floor. I seep through the cracks and merge with the soil... I am everything, now.

C: Sucks to be you.

Pick a time, any time -- shove it back in.
-DTPGs dad.
Plans and Promises
by House of Mushrooms

Plans and Promises lie
broken like china on what was
just another Saturday Night
There's always next weekend

More plans will be made
and dropped in the hustle toward
the goal of another weekend
There's always a next weekend

Love will grow and die
Homework assigned and tests taken
Looking for a reward of two days off.
There's always next weekend

We glide on autopilot
to save everything until the end
procrastination is a killer
There's always a wait for next weekend.

Life is an incurable disease.
-to Dr. Scarborough.
Trying to Figure Out
by Nicole Bennett

I am so annoying I even annoy myself. For the longest time I've been trying to figure out what so-called stage of my life I'm in. I'm becoming further and further away from my hopes and dreams. Is it the drugs? I often wonder. But do drugs really change a person? Can they really mess up your personality? Not if you don't let them. I guess I've entered the dark (very dark) teenage rebel years where nothing can make me happy. Suicide is a normal thing and everything is just annoying. I hate my life with such an unbearable passion that I laugh at all my fears and instigate all my pains. The weight of the world has come down upon my shoulders and no matter how hard I try I cannot lift the shame. I carry this burden in spite of my rejection and lack of self-control. Its my life to be fucked up, spun out, high, depressed knocked out, starved, killed, jaded, weird, lonely. Never left alone, and raging with such uncontrollable feelings that you finally realized youve reached the bottom of the ladder again. The world is a lonely place and I'm here by myself -- not by choice -- but all alone. What could I want -- what less can I have? Basically every thought I've ever thought was a lie. I lie to myself to cover up for the pain people call childhood. Everything everyone says is a lie. Trust nobody and become a lonely old piece of shit rambling to yourself about the pains of the past, present, and future -- like me. Now I look and see that everything I seemed to be reaching out for just grows farther and farther away. My life has come down to the point where I have to express myself on an empty piece of notebook paper that I soon fill up with my bullshit ramblings. Oh well, I guess I have to fight it off day by day as I grow old and alone. It's not that I'm afraid of getting old or death, I just don't want to be here when it finally happens. NOW I am beginning to annoy myself. I'm so negative it gets to the point where I just want my mind to blow up. I'm sure you people want to actually hear about the pile of burdens I call my life. I'm a mother fuckin queer!
My sorrow/I swallow/Part of me/I don't know
-- Korn
Just a Word
by House of Mushrooms

Love is just a word
people hold it too high
for what it means is good
watch that double-sided dagger

I've had a lonely road
paving it as I go
searching my soul as relief
and praying for an off-ramp

Beauty and fame will win
I have nothing to offer
kindness hasn't done shit
but I can't play the asshole

Can't play their games
Can't play a fuck to get it
Can't find a heart in the damned
Can't say how I feel
Can't see it their way
Can't find a heart that loves
Can't see an end to this

Loneliness to them is just a word
said in the week they love no one
To me it's my life
Friends aren't the answer

I'm like a pet to them
a companion but nothing else
lock up my feelings and wait
Maybe someone else will come...

I am too connected to you to
Slip away, fade away
Days away I still feel you
Touching me, Changing me.
-- Tool
Things I Cannot Say
by Krs-One
5/10/97

There are a lot of things I'd like to tell you, but I am scared of your fear. The fear of reality and emotion. I'd love to tell you how complete I feel around you, or how much my heart aches when were apart. I do everything I can for you, but nothing seems to convince you I'm real. You yell at me for trying to figure you out, yet your constantly in my head. The closer I get to you the further you push me away. And the more I drift back, the closer you pull me near. So does reverse psychology work? Or is it that you enjoy torturing me with your confusing ways? Or am I just a fucking idiot who needs to get a life and stop living in the past, even though you do also.
Today
by Professor bung

Today is a good day
I ate my fish
and fried my eye.
I met a girl with
really nice toes
I saw a movie that
had super heros
this makes no sense
but hey, today was
a good day.

Boing
by Mr. G and Rewired

Once long ago, there lived an extremely nervous rabbit
who was picked at and teased until he just about had it
His name was Boing, a quite nice label
Farmer McGreggor wanted him cooked, on the table
Boing was wary and cautious, staying away from that man
He saw him one day, hairy and half-naked, working on a tan
So Boing hopped up with his twelve gauge shotgun
He shot and he missed and he sprinted off, a mighty swift bun
Boing ran and ran and ran, as only a swift rabbit can
The farmer grabbed his leg, and threw him in a pan with some Spam
Boing picked up the Spam, and threw it at McGreggor's nose
It bounced off his unibrow and landed in his fro
Boing sprang out of the pan and onto the floor
He grabbed a nearby Twinkie and hid behind the door
Boing squeezed the Twinkie of all of its goo
Farmer thought it nummy, but still wanted his stew
Boing thought this was a bad idea, so he gave farmer the finger
Farmer hung the bunny by the foot and thought he'd let him linger
Boing thought a minute and remembered his tae-kwon-do
He was one with the Force, got loose, and bit the Farmer's big toe
Farmer got hopping mad and cursed and cursed at Boing
Silly wabbit jumped in his minivan and sped to the town of Sploing
Farmer got on his Harley and soon sped after
with an uzi in one hand and in the other, a hamster
Boing reasoned with the hamster, and told him to nibble on that Farmer
Boing had a thing for that fuzzy chick, and couldn't think to harm her
Interspecies love is a thing to behold
Like that Bigfoot and Elvis perverse story of old
The hamster, now in love took a hold of the farmer's thumb and gnawed
The farmers eyes lit up, a brow lifted and he looked at her and said "wow,
I really dig that hamster chick. Maybe her and I could
get together and chew on some wood."
Boing and the hamster thought this wasn't too cool,
watching that old twisted man gawk and drool.
So they said "Man, Fuck off!" in unison
they took off got married, and our old friend Boing was gettin' some.
This is the end of our cheesy minstrel story
if you likey, read again, if you hatie, then ignorey.

The Endie.

Women who suck their cigarettes as if they were giving their hatred head
-Juel.
Bennie
-chapter one-
by Rewired
4/97

He stood right beside him in the fast food restaurant, no evil glare, just a steady, comfortable gaze about him. Of course, if you were to look deep into his eyes you might catch a hint of the truth behind the mask he was so cleverly wearing: this man was a stark-raving lunatic bent on killing this beanpole newt standing beside him and selling his organs to underground back-alley genetic scientists who would fuck around with his genes a bit and bring him back to life in the body of a hybrid asparagus. Yet in no way could you tell that by merely looking at the nonchalant man. Why, he might even be regarded as a polite well-mannered individual, but who would know the truth? It's about as much as you could expect from the human race, never peering below the masks that the souls hide behind, never peer behind the brains, where the mind lies as an electrical entity able of so much more than just thought and emotion. Enough will power and he could make newt-boy's skull implode. Yet psychokinesis took concentration. Too much concentration. And it would be much more entertaining and a load of more fun to bash this kid's face in with the brick the madman had somehow managed to stuff in his back pocket. He'd best use it soon, that thing sure was giving him a wedgie.

"Kevin, you feeling all right?" She said from her place in the booth, were she was casually smoking a cigarette. The way she drew in that smoke made both of them melt. Kevin, newt-boy that is, shook his head up and down softly, seeking refuge between her thighs but settling for sympathy at the moment, seeing as how they were in public in all.

"I'm all right, just a little hung over. Got a cigarette?" She passed him one and he took out his lighter -- kick ass, indeed -- it had an eagle on it (the madman decided he'd steal it right after he bashed Kevin's skull in) -- and lit up his cancer stick and took a hearty drag and blew it in the air. What a pussy. "Yeah, Tyler here was just thinking about coming." He said in half-joking half-serious manner. Tyler -- the madman -- guessed it was some covert way to invite him to join in their little chemical-escape party.

Tyler tilted his head and shrugged his shoulders. "We'll see what happens."

"C'mon man, it gets your mind off things."

"The ignorance I use to cloud my vision is thick enough as it is."

"You're chemically sober and miserable. We're high as kites and drunk and perfectly happy. Am I missing something here?"

"Death by means of self-destruction. Slavery by government. Willingly being drones to society, allowing it to control you and destroy you and guide you like some invisible hand into the pits of your own personal hell where your own ignorance eats away at your soul. Hangovers."

"It's gonna happen anyway. You can't change things; you can't change the system. If yer on yer way down, might as well enjoy a small part of your life. It's just an offer dude; take it or leave it. You choose, it's your choice. Just offering, no hard feelings."

Tyler realized he might've been a little too harsh, even for a madman. He tossed the brick onto a chair, not so bent on homicide at the moment. No one noticed the brick falling on the soft cushion as far as Tyler could see.

"So what man, you wanna cigarette?" Kevin offered, and Tyler took it and placed it in his flannel shirt pocket.

"I'll save it for later." He mumbled. "Thanks. Look, I'll see you guys around. Maybe at the festival later.... ?"

There was an acknowledgment from Kevin and a few of his friends, which Tyler knew from school, who had just been sitting down to eat in the booth with Kevin and Karen. Tyler did a salute and mumbled "catch you later" as he hurried out the door. He needed the air. He needed time to think.

He listened to his feet as they plodded on the concrete and blacktop, as they squished in the damp grass. He'd left the sidewalk, went across the parking lot and headed for the road. He passed by a couple of kids who casually asked him for a joint. He said he didn't have one on him. Hell, he'd never touched one.

Life was too hard to ponder. Too difficult to think about. Why did he try to understand it so? It must be his purpose in life to remain befuddled and confused as opportunities pass him by like dry autumn leaves in the wind, caught by seekers more aware and, Tyler would say, more fitting than he.

"Tyler?" A familiar voice said, breaking him off from his thoughts. It took him only a moment to realize who is was. Jerry, always an interesting individual to talk to, especially regarding philosophy. He was a novel character, one who could make anyone feel like a total idiot and underachiever, even the most intelligent of people. The guy was that good with words, that confident. Why he chose Tyler to be his friend and not a target was beyond Tyler's comprehension -- for all he could see he was the best target around for such mindfuck mayhem. Maybe that was it. Maybe Jerry was a guy who needed a challenge rather than an easy target. But befriend a wuss.... ?

"Hey, was the rest of your li'l group gonna come up for the festival?" He almost laughed. HIS li'l group. Through all the ranting and raving about free will and how he hated government control and how everyone was supposed to evolve at a personal level and become more of an individual throughout life, after all his whining about authority figures, those whom he hung out with were still referred to as "Tyler's Group."

"Yeah." Tyler responded. "Supposed to meet them back here at the Puke at about four or so. What time is it now?"

"'Bout two."

"Thought I'd get a head start. I finally got a car, by the way."

"Yeah." Jerry shook his head. It was about damn time hed gotten his license, Jerry thought. That damn Tyler had been avoiding that fear for such a span of time it'd come to an almost absurd level of anal retentiveness. If the kid would grow a little in self confidence maybe he wouldn't be so afraid -- sure, Jerry himself wasn't an individual that was all high and mighty and sure of himself to the level of arrogance but he didn't doubt himself to the low level Tyler seemed to doubt himself. He wondered about that kid sometimes, why he did the things he did. Oh well, thought Jerry, just adds to the kid's character. You can't expect a person to be perfect (but just maybe a little less pathetic..... ?)

Jerry smoked a cigar as Tyler kicked around the gravel with the tip of his shoe. He looked up at Jerry, as if trying to throw him a mental image. "Did you get the call last night?"

"What... you mean THE call? No, why?"

"I just got this feeling, I dunno... that the time's drawing near. I just hope I can learn all this before they hook me up. If the clan assembles before I've completed my lessons... "

"S'up to you, dude. I'm doping okay with my rate of learning. Get beyond this problem you have with emotion and maybe you'll do better. don't let it run your life, don't let it rule you. It's your friend, but it below you -- remember, that, it's below you. Train it."

"I don't think it's that easy, Jerry. I don't know the lines between right and wrong. I mean, I thought I knew. I thought I knew a lot of things. But this reality thing kicks in at the worst of times, and I only understand it then, until another reality kicks in. All these weird states I can't understand, each one of them gives me a new outlook, a new perception, and the stuff's so hard to remember, even more hard to express... there's just not enough conduits for em, Jerry. I don't know where else to go. This whole chemical thing which I'd long ago decided to evolve away from has been looking more and more like a cheap escape, an easy way out... and I recognize its a choice, and I try not to condemn the people who indulge in it. But is it for me? I'm afraid even to try it. The things it might do, the doors it may open.... is it something to save for later?"

"Your choice, man. I think that's what life is all about. Making choices on this river of life. We guide it individually and collectively to try to steer away from the rapids, backwaters and eddies. If your heading for something you fear is gonna set off a weird anomaly, be prepared. Think it over. Be sure you do it when you think you're sure. Watch yourself, dude. Now we'd better stop talking about this. Its dangerous, you know, they might be listening... "

"That's another thing... they could be anywhere... "

"Tyler - stop it. I refuse to discuss this further with you. Drop it." He lit a cigar. "Now, you wanna go on a ride, or what? Maybe get some greasy fries or a sausage?"

Tyler sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

And they walked. And they kept their mouths shut about The Topic. For they knew that They might be watching, for they were always close.

_______________________

Best damn sausage he'd had in all his life, that he could remember. Of course, Tyler had once known. You believe me, don't you? I mean otherwise Tyler could be some creature who feeds off the memories of others and tries to live their present to guide the future in order to learn and that... why that would simply be ludicrous. I shouldnt have even mentioned it. Nevermind. The cola was damn good as well, but too much damn ice as usual. You'd think for paying so damn much youd get a good deal, maybe more soda than ice. But no, this was the "real" world. Things just didn't happen that way. And every time he drank that stuff and the ice touched his teeth it sent a jolt straight up to his nerve. Maybe if he wouldn't have busted his front tooth with that crowbar when he was thirteen it wouldn't be so bad. It was him. He remembered it. You don't doubt memory, do you? Shouldnt. What else do you have to log history, to jot down the facts about what has happened or what is happening and will later be what has happened? Books? Scriptures? Chip it in stone, record it on a video camera, tape it on a tape recorder? There all just physical expressions of memory, and get copied and recopied. And we all know what happens in the game of telephone. Facts get distorted. Truths mix with lies and soon the two become virtually indistinguishable. Then youre in real trouble. when your memory conflicts with another, who do you trust. Can you even trust the collective?

No. All's you got is yourself. Whatever it thinks it knows is what you thinks you know, because that's you. You rely on your own, inner self. Least that's what Tyler believed. He'd never say exactly why he thought so, however. He'd be looked at as the madman he was if he had, by golly. He'd be locked up in a pretty li'l room with a nice coat with the sleeves sewn to the sides.

Hed learned some time ago that the world inside his head was addictive. It wasnt because he had this world and others didnt, the world of the mind, but that his biological brain was more intuitive, its conduit was much larger, allowing him to slip inside his mental realms in lucid dreams. Yet these lucid dreams were no more real than ordinary reality, it was just that in his own world their was one dreamer who could control everything... in the real world, we have a rival, infinite number of dreamers all dreaming vividly by means of their personal conscious minds within a collective conscious we refer to as the physical plane. So were all part of some larger mind -- were all parts of the whole. Were both dependent and independent on each other. Theres a yin-yang philosophy for ya.

Anyway, he learned he had to conform to this Outer world a bit, learn to live within this twisted society in order to survive, and if he dared attempt, to defeat it. He had to be a double agent. For whom? Himself.

The guy who, like the rest of the world, has ended up a slave to the collective, a robot of society, a drone to government, a lie to jade the image of a truth held deep within that he couldn't understand in this rigid concept of 'rationality.

As Tyler was off philosophizing in his head, Jerry was stuffing his face when a figure caught his eye. How could it not? Slender, delicate, delightfully swaying with the wind.

Tyler, momentarily shifting to the collective conscious physical plane of the specific space-time realm where the flow of time momentarily held him, shook his head in utter disgust. "I hate women like that."

"With those tight--"

"Look, i'm a right-brainier, okay? As an artist, I have to admire figures and such, I believe so anyway-- it's in my nature. As much as I see and recognize and respect the outward beauty, I also respect the inner beauty. When the inner beauty is ugly and the outer beauty is aesthetically pleasing, it will never work. I wish it could, but hard cold fact is it can't.

"So you'd rather have an unattractive girl with a good mind than an arrogant gal with a tight ass who'd be Miss Tarzan in bed."

"I think with inner beauty you'd last longer."

"You're not seeing the physical attraction here, Ty... Look, consider a good-looking guy goes out with an unattractive girl who has a mind the guy falls in love with. They get married. I bet you anything in a few years that guy will be ending up cheating on that woman with the brains he loves so much with a tight-ass prick like the one we just saw ordering those curly fries. If not, that dog ugly girl I just made up would find a good-looking guy that was willing and have an affair with him. Bet you anything. People see the package, the package pleases them, they go for it. Its an ugly package few will ever desire to take a peek "

"It depends on the individual."

"Everything does."

"So what are we arguing about?"

"Nothing, which is everything. We argue to learn. Scarf your sausage, we gotta go meet your friends."

It was a pleasant walk down passed the festival into the alley, where, unfortunately, the peaceful feeling and friendly, though often intense, philosophy had to end. A couple of assholes started mocking Tyler, of which he was unquestionably used to by now, and Jerry started getting a tad upset. So upset, in fact, that he threatened to take each one of their faces and drill it into a block of concrete. They laughed, but they left us alone. They didn't doubt him and his muscles. Tyler shook his head, envying Jerry in a way. Youre a wimp and you need muscles. You get muscles to scare away kids who know better than to mess with you. So you don't have the muscles you need until you get them, at which time you don't need them any longer. Confusing concept.

Tyler and Jerry met Simon and Durk in the parking lot of the Puke. Tyler was pleased to see his friends looked about as peculiar as usual, and it was nice to have them near him again. Not that Jerry wasnt a friend, but Tyler just wasnt as comfortable around him all the time. Tyler had a hard time talking, and with most people lack of conversing brought about annoyance, at least thats how Tyler saw it.

Durk eyed Tyler for a moment, and said nothing. Simon looked a little pale, but had a grin.

What? Tyler queried anxiously, his eyes flittering about in paranoia.

Simon shook his head. Durk continued staring.

Say something, damn you! Tyler spat.

Durk smiled sheepishly: Okay, then: hes back, dude, and after you see him, you'll never be the same again.

(to be concluded)
The Gopher is © 1997 by Rewired. All individual items are property of their respective authors. Untitleds are multiplying but I don't care, maybe the work should be judged by its contents and not a few damn words that head it. Quotes are property of those whom weve quoted, but i'm a ninny and jot down these GREAT quotes and forget the damn people who I quoted. Thanks to Nicole Bennett, the little girl who went into convulsions and proceeded to pull out her hair today in gym when an Australian substitute wouldnt give her money to get a nic fix in gym -- she got me some damn cool quotes. Also thanks to Jane Doe for some quotes she pulled out of a book I was skimming in the library in an attempt to divert my attention from the physical plane of existence, where I'm flunking high school. Copy the Gopher and send it to people. Get those addresses in the backs of comic books, even right out of the phones book and send it to people you don't know. Make it a chain-zine. Hey, that'd be KICK ASS, now go do it. don't fiddle with our words or anything else in this document.

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