Perhaps.

Perhaps this e-zine is gloomy, but maybe that just doesn't matter. It gives a lot of people something to do - either to read it or to write it, and that's all that fucking matters.

Enjoy.

!Why ponder?

# If we didn't ponder how else would we know the answer to why chickens can't fly?

! Why would you want to know?

# If we knew why chickens couldn't fly then that knowledge would help us learn our mistakes in our own attempts to fly

! You notice how you can twist anything into a JIMBOBISM?

# No I don't usually twist things into Jimbobisms, I much prefer using sledge hammers.

! You're a unique individual

# No, according to your philosophy there are infinite mes. Of course some of them live on the moon, and others are splattered in the atmosphere.

!True. Are you mocking my multiple universe time travel theory, boy?

# Who me? Or some other me in another universe

! The you of this specific universe on this plane of existence.

# Your nose is green

Aids- (version one)
Will I lose my dignity?
Will someone be there?
In this world so large and wide,
does somebody care?
time gets hard with sickness like this,
When no one tries to see,
I'll be gone for you to miss,
will anyone remember me?

Childhood
I am lost, waiting to be found.
Dropped by a boy, cast to the ground.
Someday he'll return, by then he'll be grown.
A wife and home, a boy of his own
His son will then love me, till dropped like a sac
Then stop for a moment, till I'm taken back.
But it will be years, till he comes around
I am still lost, waiting to be found.

Judgment Day
We sit here unmoving, not daring to budge.
It creeps from the shadows, from night it will trudge.
Death came for a life, a life it shall claim,
Oh if it would stop, and then become tame.
Making its choice, they scream from the burn.
We sit here and pray, awaiting our turn.

By the lonely tree
A cat's meow, escapes in the dark,
It cries out again, for ears to hark.
Its master still lies, in his cold bed.
He lies there unmoving, still is his breast.
Not one breath escapes, from his weak chest.
He died in his sleep, with no one to care,
No one to come, and find him there.
But someday they'll come, and buried he'll be.
And he'll lie there alone, by the lonely tree.

Something left for you
Is this all there is to see
All there is to believe,
For a great time, I lost myself.
While you were crying on my sleeve.
I pray that reality is gone,
So all illusions are alive,
Yet in an estranged fantasy,
Our dreams can survive.

Autumn
Wistfully creek the crickets,
as an Autumn breeze blows.
The winter frost will claim them,
how soon no one knows
The bright sun warms their hearts a bit,
and pain will soon be lost.
For Autumn will be the joy,
and winter is the cost.

Faithful
Do not give me pity dear, I do not wish it so,
Never ask me what is wrong, and make my life a show.
Is it you who weeps for me? Find somebody new.
I have asked you once to leave. Take this as your cue.
You let me stomp onto your head, and shut you in the door,
But then always you return to me, heart bleeding on the floor.
I know I make you torn apart, and a little worse for wear,
But why is it you turn around, and show me that you care.

The Darkness Wins Again
In my heart a war goes on,
where emotions do collide.
unstable feeling, right and wrong,
never will subside.
It tears apart my living life,
this fear of all the men.
War adds no pleasure to my strife,
as darkness wins again.

Valderee! (a rerenthetic)
singing valderee, valderi,
merrily with our knapsacks,
Brandon and I go marching
on our backs,
over and over again.

AIDS (version two)
Why is the world hating me?
Time is hard with pain like this,
'Cause no one tries to see.
I'll soon be gone for you to miss,
Time is hard with pain like this,
Will I lose all of my pride?
I'll soon be gone for you to miss.
Will someone be there?
Will I lose all of my pride?
In this world so large and wide?
Will someone be there?
Does anyone care?
Look to my face, it's the key.
Does anyone care?
Why the world is hating me?
'Cause no one tries to see.

I Should
I should tell you how I feel.
I would hold you in my arms.
I could love you with a zeal.
I would never let you come to harms,
I should've made my move sometime.
I wouldn't be so sad.
I could have you, yet it's a crime.
Is loving you so bad?

What kind of thug are you?
Your friends getting smoked as time goes by
you hang out all night playing while watching them die.
there was a group of us, a group of five
But three got shot, one in jail, and you're the only one alive.
You have to face the pain, trust me I know it hurts,
to see your best friend lying now part of the dirt.
spray paint your name, but now it's alone.
Cuz your buddies have been engraved in stone.
You cover your eyes and call me a liar,
was it too early for your life to retire?
You don't want to hear it, so jump in you car.
Drive away fast cuz you're not going far.
Don't plug your ears cuz you know it's true,
oh, you are crying now, what kind of thug are you?
In the future your boys toasting memory,
least when I go, someone will remember me.

Regret
I do not think I can watch another sunrise without you.
My soul weeps when I see the stars at night and you're not around.
The rain is peaceful, like your heart.
Snow as gentle as your touch.
Yet my mind is held in flaming rage.
With your cooling words to ease my pain.
Then you trot away with a smile and a wave.
My regret falls from my face like rain.

Heavenly Light
Icy cold, a burning release,
from scramming silence, battles peace.
Darkness, nothing, death awaits,
the blackness comes for sealing fates.
The light, the light, oh blinding light,
Life giving angels of celestial bright.
Breaking through ice, into a dark home,
showering the mortal, standing alone.
Engulfed in the beauty, a heavenly hand,
endragging all urges to follow this way,
He falls into darkness forever to stay.

The Devil's Ring
The devil's ring is not for show,
where there is light, dark cannot go.

The screams of Satan, scored the plains,
for it was the year, that he would be slain.
But in the heavens, angels sing,
for Satan lost his mighty ring.
A boy of flesh was hiding that day,
and come to the place, where the evil ring lay.
He tried it on, thinking a game,
but wild is magic, it goes untame.
It froze his mind, it scored his heart,
It took control, he was off in a dart.

He found the ones who chased him there.
One flicked out a knife, it rang in his ear.
Moving like lightning, he dashed at his head,
In pools of blood, he left them dead.
He stood there screaming till many came
then sprinted to the river, Thames,
In his heart he quenched the flame,
he took control, the ring was tame.

To depths of hell he plunged so deep,
into the chamber where shadows creep.
The lord of death sat dark on his throne,
his teeth were black, his eyes were roan.
Laughing, he beckoned the boy to come here,
the child stepped forward, not showing his fear.
He leapt at evil, clasping his arm,
the ring burned hot, it did him no harm.

Into the sky the locked pair flew,
they landed on earth in fresh morning dew.
He looked at the devil, shouting in rage,
then sent him to Hell, his prison, his cage.

Although his life was one to despise,
Be well my children, be rich and wise.
the devil's ring is not for show.
Where there was life, dark cannot go.

Running, always running
Fleeing swiftly from an unseen foe
Always faster, trying to escape
Although from what I do not know
Am I running from my future,
or running from my past?
What is making me flee in fear
always moving, always fast?
Is it from you that I race in fright?
Am I running from someone else?
Am I trying to escape from the world,
or trying to escape from myself?
And so I remain a fugitive
always on the move, searching for what I shun.
Dodging, ducking, evading what I know...
that you're the one from which I run.

Have you ever wanted to crawl
into someone's arms?
white out the world
in someone's arms?
and feel the world
in someone's arms?
and kill the world
in someone's arms?
will you lend me
your arms?

The gentle wink
blowing through my hair,
teases me.
The blooming flowers
laugh at me as I run through them.
The cruel, heartless river
tosses my name onto the rocks.
The trees,
they grab at me, mocking me.
The squirrels, birds,
they're whispering,
telling secrets about me
The trails twist and turn,
the woods pull me into
their darkness.
The world surrounds me,
chokes me,
in this swirling mass of
non-existence.

My mind faded into the memories of the summer before...

...The warm summer night air feels sticky against my skin. Bright orange lights line the city streets. The club bounces with activity. Dim neon light cast a dull reddish glow over the crowd. The scent of cologne is in the air. The heavy pulse of the rhythm drowns out my thoughts and thumps on my chest. Swarms of people all around me shout in conversation...

This was a summer of new experiences...foreign, exhilarating, impassioned-and precarious.

The sound of a plastic clothes basket clattering to the floor next to me snapped me back into my surroundings.

The sights, scents, and sounds inside a Laundromat -- bright fluorescent lighting -- A warm, steamy mist in the air. The fragrance of laundry detergent and clothes freshener...the crisp smell of freshly dried fabric. Two rows of dryers -- the clothes tossing and churning through the round windows -- the sound of soppy fabric flopping around against the insides of the steel tumblers - whirring motors stopping and starting...random beeps punctuating the sounds...people mumbling softly...and an underlying steady hum.

I turned to my right and peer out the window-- It was nighttime in the winter. Snow was fluttering down through the air outside. My own reflection sitting at a table stared back at me against a background of rows of washers and dryers. This cold winter nights and my recollected memories of summer past symbolized perfectly how I felt at the moment...Summer is heat. It is passion. Winter is the cold, dead feeling left inside you after passion is ripped away.

On the night of the play the two little boys were very nervous for their parents were seated in the front row. The first boy came out on stage and said, "Ha, fair maiden I've come to kiss your snatch and fill your hole with soap." This made the second little boy even more nervous and he said, "Hawk, a shistol pot, a shostle pit, a postle shit, shit pot, cow shit, bull shit, I didn't want to be in this goddamed play anyways"......

I am an artist. I struggle for perfection in all I do. I have always been extremely fragile and explosive. Art is my passion, but also my poison. I thrive on the very thing that restricts me.

For months I have been uninspired. I have tried everything to regain my creative spirit, from meditation and prayer to sleep and diet. Nothing seems to work.

I am without purpose. I am without conviction. I can feel myself dying. My spirit is in pain. I need to get away from this insanity.

I grab my coat and walk out of my cold, dark apartment. I'm going to this bar across the street. Damn, the maintenance guy is in the elevator again. He depresses me, how he always mumbles to himself. I ignore him as usual. I just want to get drunk now.

I step out of the elevator and out n the street. A homeless guy asks me for a cigarette. I say I'm out, then light one up as I cross the street. I step into the bar and the smell of stale beer and cheap cologne makes me gag. I ask Jimmy the bartender for a double of vodka. He nods, then glances in the other direction. As I swivel my stool, my heart flops twice.

What the HELL is Mike doing across from my apartment? I approach him with anxiety and spite. No words were spoken, although one glance could tell his life story. One glance was all I needed.

I leave the bar faster than I came. I'm not ready to go home, so I figure I'll walk around the block.

Around the corner from the bar is a romantic, formal restaurant. Mike never took me there. I peer through the frosted window and see a man propose to the young woman across the table. She begins to weep, I begin to vomit.

Sickened and saddened, I rush back to my apartment building. No mater how cold and lonely that place is, it's the only place I can call home. This time I take the stairs to avoid any contact with civilization. My dungeon is decorated with paintings of years prior. Now I can only reflect on a keen sense I once had.

How does a talent die? Can I make myself believe in something that isn't really there?

I feel so disconnected, so alienated from society. Maybe that's my purpose. To be a failure. If there was no one to fail, how would you measure success?

I'll do it. I'll do what everyone expects. I'll become the ultimate failure.

Now I reach for my un-opened can of turpentine to wash down the sleeping pills that Mike got for insomnia. Now I can't see or feel my pain. My agony leaves me.

Suddenly I'm inspired.

-----------------------------------

Sometimes at night
memories wash over me.
and out of my mind,
as I smile for a moment,
one particular thought
drifts into my consciousness
our first touch,
soft, tentative.
Our first kiss
and the time seemed to stop
the voices of the outside world
faded away.
Your warm, soft lips caressed mine.
The moment froze,
never to be forgotten.
as I lay here,
my thoughts comfort me
as I drift
into dreamland.
Taking you,
and my remembrances
with me.
10/19/94

---------------------------------------

Your arms enfold me,
and I am content.
I see you smile,
and I feel an answering glow in my soul.
Your laughter chases away my sorrow.
The mischievous glances you send.
Your thick, wavy, silky hair,
that I love to run my
fingers through.
All of you, every look, word, touch,
is like watching the sun
rise or set
It fills me with joy,
hope, and anxiousness
for the next time
we meet.

I am faithfully yours,
forever.
10/18/94

----------------------------------------------------------

Sitting here, in the not quite yet darkness of my room.
Thinking idly about you.
Just a passing thought mind you.
Only, that same thought, companioned by many others pass through
My mind like a river.
Constant and steadily flowing,
Down to my soul.

Maybe I am crazy,
to pine so much precious time
away. Squandered by a careless
heart and a cruel memory.
Always waiting, watching, wondering
If I shall ever be able to break free.

Why should I wish to?
11/13/94

------------------------

WHERE WE BELONG, A DUET
In every town and village,
In every city square,
In crowded places
I searched the faces
Hoping to find
Someone to care.

I read mysterious meanings
In the distant stars,
Then I went to schoolrooms
And poolrooms
And half-lighted cocktail bars.
Braving dangers,
Going with strangers,
I don't even remember their names.
I was quick and breezy
And always easy
Playing romantic games.

I wined and dined a thousand exotic Joans and Janes
In dusty dance halls, at debutante balls,
On lonely country lanes.
I fell in love forever,
Twice every year or so.
I wooed them sweetly, was theirs completely,
But they always let me go.
Saying bye now, no need to try now,
You don't have the proper charms.
Too sentimental and much too gentle
I don't tremble in your arms.

Then you rose into my life
Like a promised sunrise.
Brightening my days with the light in your eyes.
I've never been so strong,
Now I'm where I belong.

BREAKING THE SOUL
THAT BINDS ME TO THIS MIND OF MINE
KiLLiNG ALL THIS MISERY
NOTHING MEANS ANYTHING TO ME
A BASKET OF French FRiEs
and a philosophical conversation
an argument works its way to DEATH
I don't want this seasoning anymore
I want something more real
but this pot of coffee will
suffice, may be one day
minus the coffee
a man in a trench coat and beret
hands me a spoon because
he claims he didn't lick it
This PEN is BREAKING THROUGH
I am able to write with it
as the ink runs like BLOOD
across the napkins in diners
in mutant puddles of suppressed
half-memory
he orders toast, the half-dead man
in brick wood stones of
PLASTIC HOUSES- they might be
indeed, they MIGHT BE
hired spiders hide in your coffee
in a bathroom in a web of
restaurant conspiracy, wash
your cup, you LIKE this game, boy?
he eats the toast, me and she
eat my fries as the midnight
hour chews out my eyes- why?

Art

A cold wind stings my cheek
the trees whisper silent messages
the leaves-they clap along
moving about the sky
on an oak tree stump he sits
and, pondering why, looks to the sky
Screaming things his mind represses
Drawing lines his soul suggests
They call it art

Lost My Way Thoughts are flowing
without me knowing...
and a light burns in the window
Yet still, no one is home
a figure at the door casts a shadow on the floor
and I step in it,
drowning in a black sea
of someone else's identity
never knowing who I was
or who I ought to be
hoping to find Me
in a sea of so many false "me"s
who to be today?
I cannot see the way
to my closet of personality
can I borrow a sock or a coat?
a shoe or a shirt?
I haven't any of my own
-what's that? -oh, I'm sure it's there,
I just have lost my way
another faceless, listless day
with nothing to be- or say- anyway.

#*&!@$%, I hate when I ramble like that! Anyway, recently I've been doing research on the subject of Pez and the results will frighten you into submission. According to a big fag that lies far too much, Timothy Leary had a hand in the creation of modern Pez. Now according to my sources he was a Harvard psychology professor that exposed many of his students to LSD. He felt it opened the mind to inner visions that let you glimpse Nirvana. His popular slogan "Tune in, turn on, drop out!" led to a significant drop in his class sizes, so I guess he must have lost his job or something because he would have no students (What a dumb ass!). Well, according to the same big fag I spoke of before, Leary (with the defense department and several hundred chemists) added several "special ingredients" to Pez. Supposedly they increase the probability for suggestions of various sorts to have effect over the eater of the Pez.

Looking at the ingredients in Pez should offer enough proof that there is something definitely askew with the composition of Pez:

SUGAR, CORN SYRUP, ADIPIC ACID, HYDROG. PALM KERNEL & PALM OILS AND SOYBEAN OIL MONO & DIGLYCERIDES, NATURAL & ARTIFICIAL FLAVORS, ARTIFICIAL COLORS (INCLUD. FD&C RED 3, YELLOW 6, BLUE 2). REPRESENTS COMBINATION OF GRAPE , LEMON, ORANGE & STRAWBERRY CANDY. (excerpted from the side of a Pez package)

The heads on the tops of the Pez are the means of transferring suggestions of various types to the general populace. A Pez board in charge of Pez heads vote on and debate over what heads shall be added to the Pez universe. They are added on the basis of how much they will profit from the success of the Pez and Pez-heads creating a sense of goodwill toward the thing targeted on the Pez-heads. More often than not they own stock in the thing targeted by the Pez-head but they often use Pez to help fulfill political goals. It is rumored that the O.J. jury all received specialized Pez dispensers during the course of the trial. Did this really happen? If so did it occur because O.J. has a great deal of stock in Pez and they wanted to create enough time to dissolve all traces of his involvement with Pez so none of their power would dwindle by light that may be thrown upon the Pez operation. You be the judge.

By now you should be cowering in the corner of you room and pissing your pants repeatedly. I'm certain this document is part of another strategically planned government plot to raise the stock on adult diapers or some equally twisted idea and I am once again a helpless pawn by sharing this information. Right now an old, crusty, fat-ass man in a white coat is watching me on a television monitor. He's smiling in glee as he sees my words being written on my computer screen. Three scantily clad nurses wipe his chin periodically as droop rolls down his chins. He cares not the outcome of these characters randomly spewed across this page. His purpose is served no matter what I say. This pasty white cretin is happy through it all. He is the ruler of the Pez and the adult diapers. His grasp over our society is firm, but he shall soon die. Death cannot be avoided by the likes of this bloated *&#%!@$. He is already dead because he has not seen the splendor of cornfields in the sunset or seen the noble cow firsthand in its natural setting. He has not lived because he has never crawled out of the shroud of death about him to even smell the first scents of Amish cheese in the morning. All he shall ever know is greed and oblivion.

Gopher is copyrighted (c) 1998 by Rewired. All items belong to their respective autohors, especially quote that we don't know where the hell they came from... Any unclaimed items will be sent to the Gopher Society's central Article Neglect Office, where they will be fed, clothed and taken care of. They will be educated and wbe set out into the wild to tell the world about the Gopher Society.

please copy Gopher, and put it wherever the hell you would like to. Just don't change it. It would make us pout and cry.