WRITINGS FROM THE RODENTS OF THE UNDERGROUND
VOLUME TWO, ISSUE NUMBER 19
This side up
(c) 1998, All rights reserved to the Gopher Society, a.k.a. the Gopher Crew
No matter where you go... there you are.

Wow! Someone has finally used the Burning Ear Telepathy Submitting Technique.

-The current polysorbientitor-
Tim Hawk

-The soon-to-be back polysorbientitor-
Rewired

-The Gopher’s personal Typists-
Star-Gazing Dreamer
Flickerpiss nosescum "the evil one" a.k.a. Thinking Tic Tac
Tim Hawk

-HTML conversion was done by-
Tim Hawk
Mr. G.

-This page was made possible by a grant from-
who the fuck would give us money?
(considering I pay for the domain and web space, and
Rewired pays for the PO Box... -Mr. G.)

-She who keeps both polysorbientitors in line-
Star-Gazing Dreamer

-Grammar and spelling-
Tim Hawk
Star-Gazing Dreamer
CIB Man

-Thanks to-
Rewired
(A psychopathic lunatic editor)
Rowan Fae
(A great friend)
Thinking Tic Tac
(The evilest person on the face of the Earth)
Nightfall
(A mysterious fellow whose real identity will soon be revealed. And no, it’s not Tim Hawk)
DTPG
(Another psychopath like Rewired and me)
And everyone else that I’ve been hanging around with lately

-The lame-ass dedication-
Everyone who has ever worn sunglasses at night
Johnny the Homicidal Maniac

-Those out there who’ve actually taken the time to submit writings to us-
Rewired
Tim Hawk
Star-Gazing Dreamer
Not Without Desert
Phloyd
Gothilia Ash
Thinking Tic Tac
The Grey Shade
Rowan Fae
Jennifer Brown
Another nameless person
Trouble
Grace Kelly, the original
Tinman

"Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead."
- Gene Fowler

Polysorbientitoral
by Tim Hawk

Welcome again dear rodents. As you can see, I am still doing the editing while Rewired is still in the loony bin. But I was able to go in for another interview, so look for it. I am keeping with Rewired’s tradition, but with a twist. A twisted twist. A twirling twisted twist. A tap-dancing twirling twisted twist. A tasteless tap-dancing twirling twisted twist. A… oh fuck it, I already forgot what I was talking about. Have no fear, Rewired will be here… eventually.

I would really like to hear what you think of my editing. Send any comments, bitchings, suggestions, complaints, opinions, definitions of ‘neep’, love letters, hate mail, whatever the fuck you want, to me at: nightfall777@hotmail.com. I enjoy reading what you have to say. And Lioness, don’t take everything so seriously!

Now Rewired is recovering from his psychopathicness, but until then, I guess you’ll just have to put up with my ramblings. After all, if he trusted me with the Gopher, you could follow his judgement and enjoy this issue. And don’t even start to say that I bribed him with the cappuccino in my shoe. You should like this issue. It isn’t as fucked up as the last one. No images, no sounds, no java [java script, sir -Mr. G.], just pure wholesome goodness. (Quit complaining Mr. G, it was only for one issue.)[No!!! I like to bitch and bitch and bitch and ... well you get the idea... -Mr. G] I finally got some stuff from Rowan Fae, some more Grey Shade stuff, and some from all new people.

Well, gee, I sure feel like a complete ass. I just got back from a party – which was last night at the time of writing this – and I’m still recovering. Although I won’t ever live it down. People who I could have swore were my friends, turned on me. (I found out later that they had planned to do all this.) I got drunk to forget my own problems, and created new ones. The person, who I considered to be my best friend, didn’t even try to stop me. He just helped everyone else make me look like an ass. I’m still not sure of all that happened. Apparently, I rolled around, yelled out things like ‘neep,’ ‘narf,’ ‘shfuck,’ and ‘owee.’ And no one ever stopped to think that they could stop me. They could have stopped me from drinking, but no, they rather watch me barf all over the lawn that I was stepping in, and myself. Thanks a lot, friends. Fuck you too.

The worst part is, I don’t even remember any of this. I blacked out for most of the night. The events which, to me, occurred within an hour, spanned out for six or seven. I said things I know I will regret. I just wish I knew what they were.

I haven’t eaten much in the last few days, and I feel like shit. Yesterday, I ate a sandwich for lunch and nothing else until that night, where I ordered a burger and fries at Eat ‘n Park. Although, the fries and half the burger ended up being eaten by a female friend of mine, Rowan Fae, because she had no money to buy food. But of course I had no money, either.

Female friends – that is something I really don’t understand about me. All the girls I like end up seeing me as a friend. It’s hard to move past that. I give them so much of me, and get nothing in return. Maybe that’s the way it will always be. Maybe I am doomed to live this life that was dealt to me. I cannot fucking stand it.

I seem to have gone insane lately. I may soon join Rewired in the loony bin. I found out that I could just check myself in. I may try it for a while. Maybe I’ll actually get some sleep. And since they won’t let me have caffeine, I think that I might be able to recede into my old, one personality self.

Look on, look up, and don’t barf on your socks.

I was reading the newspaper the other day at work, and I came across an interesting article that I saved for Rewired. Apparently, two helicopters went down in pitch black just outside of Area 51. They originated from Nellis and were flying practice maneuvers with night vision goggles. No one is speaking about details, such as why they crashed, but I’m sure this will give all you conspiracy buffs out there some inspiration to write up some kick ass article or even a story. I’m encouraging you to write something.

With that aside, now I can focus on the task at hand – to put out a quality issue for you all.

Naked is a state of mind
-Luscious Jackson

An Interview with Rewired, part two
By Tim Hawk

"We all go a little crazy sometimes." Anthony Perkins – Psycho. We all have a time to be insane. There’s a time to kill and a time to die. There’s a time to use filler space and a time to leave this space blank. I guess I’m just in the mood to write a lot. Yes, Rewired is still insane. He’s a loon. Nutbar. Wacko. Sanity impaired person. He’s a psycho. But then again, so is I. (spell-check told me to use ‘is’, I used ‘am’) But that’s another story. Well, I went to see him again. I felt the need for another interview with him. So I tossed my notebook and tape recorder into my bag and drove the long route to his current home – Narf Shfuck Asylum.

I step into the building, under the large, archway construction and through the large steel, highly secured doors. The hallway is illuminated by old, flickering fluorescent bulbs. At the end of this corridor, sits a guard, menacing scowl upon his face. He sits on his chair, at the desk, making no movements. As I step up to him I realize that he is a robot. But programmed to keep people out, or in, I wonder. "Please sign the guestbook," he speaks. As I sign in, he asks, "to see a worker, press one. To see a loon, press two. To check yourself in, press three." I press two. "Male, press one. Female, press two. Undecided, press three." I press one. "Please enter the first three letters of his or her name." I type REW on the keypad. "You are the second person to see Rewired. Ha Ha!" A door opens and I follow the signs to the meeting room where Rewired sits waiting. As I sit down, I take off my shoe and hand it to him. He downs it graciously.

T: Hi. How was that cappuccino?

R: Aside from the lingering taste of shoe fungus and toe jam, it wasn’t half-bad.

T: You can keep the shoe. I bought new ones. They’re the expensive kind. So, how are you feeling this dark, dreary day?

R: I feel like milking my congressman and consulting my cow. And you?

T: I feel like chicken tonight, like chicken tonight! No, actually I seem to be losing it. I’ve split myself into three separate directions and completely lost my ability to control my insanity. My feelings are running rampant and I STILL CAN"T GET A DAMN GIRLFRIEND! My "FRIENDS" make me look like a complete fucking ASS and I seem to be falling for someone whom I care not to mention, especially since it seems to be a lost cause!

R: It’s never a lost cause.

T: Sometimes it’s not worth waiting for.

R: Sometimes it is.

T: And they say you need to get laid.

R: They seem to believe that sex can relieve stress and make you feel more confident. They may be right, but I have a set of morals that disallow me to have sex with a girl until I love her. I may lose those morals, but for now I cling to them. But yeah, maybe you do need to get laid. Have you talked to her?

T: We are only friends and will probably remain that way. Nothing will ever change that. I can never seem to say these kind of things. I wait until the perfect time and it never comes. I wait too long. And on the subject of sex, I want it, but it’s not all that high on my list of priorities. You see, I’m a coward. To vocalize my feelings, I would have to not have any fear of the answer. But I’m afraid she will say no and ruin our friendship or say yes and then I would have serious problems. For if she says yes, well… then what? I am the person who doesn’t like to do things unless I know somewhat what I am doing. It’s an all-new experience I do not think that I am ready for. So as I always just sit next to her, afraid to say anything to that effect, hundreds of emotions swirl around in my head. So you see, if I told her how I felt, it would ruin our friendship and her boyfriend, (who caught her before I could) (although I did try to ask her out, I just couldn’t say it) would start to dislike me. I’ve already looked like an ass in front of those two, I don’t want to look like a bastard too. Actually, I think she may already know somewhat how I feel. Squee!!! I seem to feel better now that I got this off my chest!

R: Yeah, if she’s got a boyfriend I’d hold off on expressing to her how I feel. You shouldn’t wait, though, but act on your feelings – see what happens when you wait around?! God dammit boy, you’re almost (note emphasis on "almost") as bad as me!

T: I never got a FUCKING chance DAMMIT!

R: You could’ve asked, no?

T: I was being respectful to her now former boyfriend / my friend. He, although, didn’t show any respect. But they sure seem happy and I don’t want to be the one to interfere. So again I sit here lonely as FUCKING hell and I see no happy future for me.

R: And people call me hopelessly pessimistic.

T: Give me your honest opinion – should I just forget her and find someone else, or should I hold on to my feelings?

R: I’m not sure. I’m currently stuck on that question myself. Do whatever you feel is right. Yet what the fuck am I saying? I don’t even know what is right for me anymore. I never know what is real, what is fantasy or reality – be it aliens or my love towards a woman. Do I love her? And should I give up and move on? Or did I ever really try?

T: You need to take a step back and look at yourself from someone else’s point of view. I for one cannot do that because I tend to hide myself from people, even myself. I have never really had anyone to express my feelings to until recently. Through all my life, I’ve hidden in the corner, away from normality. But now I have close friends to open up to. So maybe, eventually, I can take a step back and look at myself.

R: Life is confusing as shit, and I’ll just be finishing two decades of life this November. The forty and fifty year olds tell us we haven’t lived life at and fifty year olds tell us we haven’t lived life at all yet, and that pisses me off because I think they’re full of pig snot. Yet at the same time, it scares me that they may be right – yet if we’re so young and life "can’t be that bad," it scares me to death what could be in store. It’s hard enough being a kid – now I’m stepping out of my teenage years into adulthood. The monsters under my bed and drooling demons in the closet give way to these torturous questions of morality, mortality, existence and love. And this gets worse? Why is it so hard to find happiness, or, in the least, contentment? Am I looking in the wrong places? Should I pursue pointless sex instead of meaningful love, or stay where I am, dating a girl that, in truth, is no more than a really good friend?

T: To you she may be a good friend, but she loves you. I myself have always wanted to have sex just once so that I am not a virgin anymore. I am still a virgin for everything – sex and even kissing. I’ve never been kissed before. I guess that’s why I want it so much and want her so much. I am actually in love with being in love that I fall in love so easily. And so do you, don’t deny it.

R: I want a strawberry milkshake.

T: What?

R: Nothing. Nevermind. Could noodles ponder the whys and wherefores of existence?

T: Only those corrupted by zucchini.

R: Can Cheetos feel pain?

T: Only if attacked by horny Velveeta blocks shot through a cheese grater named Gregory Spoof that is cleaned with Dawn by the hands of he who is wielding the neep gun.

R: First off, I don’t think she loves me, and I certainly hope she doesn’t. And sex is a special thing to me, which is a reason I haven’t had it yet – and I have had opportunities. The first time I have sex I want it to be with a girl I love. And I don’t think I’m merely in love with being in love. I really do believe I love her, and that I was an idiot for fucking it up between us. A day doesn’t go passed that I don’t think of her, and I have to believe it’s more than an obsession. I love her. I’ve faced that. Now I’m faced with a future without love, because she’s leaving, and I have to learn to face the pain, too.

T: You still need to move on, though. You have to no matter how much it hurts. I believed I was in love once. I was so attracted to this girl that I wanted to be with her forever, but I moved on. She is out of my mind. What makes you think that you just really want her? What makes you believe that you are in love?

R: It’s a feeling deeper than the craving you have for your family members or even your close friends. You trust that person, maybe you’d die for her, give up what you have in life – be it home, a family, pets and kids and a well-paying job. It’s a value you hold for the person that’s so deep you almost find it terrifying.

T: Well, by that definition, I sure as hell have never been in love. I look for someone and when I do find someone I’m deeply attracted to, I stumble to say the words. I can never ask anyone out. It takes too much courage that I do not have. I end up waiting for a girl to show attraction to me and ask me out but that never happens cuz I am unattractive. I am utterly pathetic!

R: Low self-esteem never helps.

T: Happy people annoy the hell out of me. Life sucks and there’s nothing to smile about.

R: Not all happiness derives from the ignorance and stupidity that is so prevalent in human society. You can be intelligent, creative and cease to be lonely and depressed in the arms of the women you love.

T: Why don’t you find someone for me? You might have better luck than me.

R: I can’t find the one for you. Even if I did find her for you, I can’t seem to hold on to anything good – hell, I lost her.

T: But at least you found someone.

R: Yet I lost her due to my stupidity – you’re not a fool, you’ve never gotten a chance. I had four with her and blew them all.

T: [edited] As a supposedly great person once said, "quit whining and shut the fuck up." [edited]

R: Neep.

T: I guess should stop this right about here. We haven’t really gotten past ‘how are you?’ yet and if we keep up on this subject I am gonna go even more insane than I already am. My brain is bubbling!! This was supposed to be an interview with Rewired, but instead it turned into a serious conversation that might be a mistake to publish. Oh well. Anywho, I suppose I should get back into this interview. Well Rewired, when all is said and done, and you walk out of here a free man, then what? What will you do? You’ve had experiences no normal person should ever experience, and you’ve made it. You’re still alive, at least. But what has the person who’s seen it all have left to see? Will you ever be able to leave this place into normality again, for that matter? "It is easy to go down into hell; night and day the gates of the dark death stand wide; but to climb back up again, to retrace one’s steps to the open air, there lies the problem, the difficult task." Virgil: The Aeneid. So basically, what I’ve been trying to ask through all that blabbering and shit, is… what do you plan to do in the near (or distant) future?

R: I’m not sure if I believe in what I’ve previously in pursuit of – which is truth. So my quest now is for understanding. I will analyze and ponder and the accumulation of these two factors will lead to numerous philosophies, and many will no doubt be contradictory but I will learn more about the world and myself. My immediate plans are not vague, but I’ll tell you them in a vague manner for the most part and explain a few details in depth just because I want to keep most of this in my head where it belongs. First off, I’m going to move on from a girl that I L**** (the unmentionable 5-letter "L" word). I’m going to write. I’m going to draw. I’m going to go to college. I’m going to get more coffee.

The painful tic tock raps inside my head, bouncing around from side to side. My brain bleeds its bubbly liquid. It drops on the table, eating through the fake wood top. I look into the air and see: the unwanted neep appetite coming heads on towards me. I cannot avoid it. As I realize that my reality melts away until all I see is HER, I ask myself this one question – if happiness is standing directly in front of you, why can you not move towards the white light?

(Last minute update: she was single, realized that while I was trying to gain up courage to ask her out, she told me not to like her anymore because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings. That really upset me and I went insane, so now I think I’m gonna check myself into the insane asylum tomorrow. But we do talk openly about it and she jokes about it and we are still good friends, so all’s well that ends well. Then again, can you say that this ended well?)

Subconscious
by Phloyd

The shards they stand
My mind in hand
I hide myself away

These shards of mine
Are my nightmare
The parts I can't explain

I looked and found
My spirit bound
I try to set it free

These spirit shards
As bright and hard
As any mundane blade

Now look around
And hear the sound
The singing spirit blade

Half the world is composed of people who have something to say and can't and the other half who have nothing to say and keep on saying it.

Life
By Star-Gazing Dreamer

Life. A confusing mass of what everyone considers "time", circling my head and bringing in new people and new questions. I will never understand the purpose of my own life. Am I supposed to, though? Is there ever a purpose? I have begun to realize that there never was, nor never will be a purpose. I’ve always wanted there to be some divine reason for my existence, but this is indeed a vain hope. There will never be a reason. I am here, just like everyone else, living in a life of ordinary and unordinary happenings, learning new things and hopefully helping other people through their lives, to find a life that they would consider adequate enough to satisfy themselves. I’m adequately happy, so I would like the people around me to be just as happy. I’m a people person, in that I always consider every one of my friends before I consider my own happiness sometimes. Seeing my friends divinely happy makes me happy and fulfilled. I don’t like when other people make my friends unhappy. Like, for instance, last Prom when I dumped my own date who was being a selfish jerk to my friends. Some may think this to be a stupid character trait, but those people are also only out to please themselves. I don’t believe in only pleasing yourself, as I’ve so far repeatedly stated. I shouldn’t bitch, but some things in life upset me so much. I used to keep things inside, holding onto them as much as I possibly could until I burst and went into insane fits. And now I have to come out with my bitchings so that others will understand my frustration finally and those that I’m bitching about will stop doing what it is they’re doing to piss me off. I guess that’s selfish. Oh well. Fuck it. Fuck Everything.

Shades of gray in the dark
By Rowan Fae

Preaching about differences
What a stupid crusade
I’m for equality
Everybody’s right to be afraid
Lying in the darkness
Feeling the sunlight fade
Color is no factor
Nor gender, nor sex, nor trade
Everybody’s out to get you
You will always be betrayed

"An average washing machine uses 15,597 gallons of water per year."

Untitled
by Not Without Desert

So they say, life goes on. Tomorrow there will just be more to worry about, more lists to make, and more dreams that won’t come true. So you wait for tomorrow so you can start your new diet, and try to call your friend who’s never home, and dump all your problems on him, and pretend everything is cool. And that’s your life, or mine rather.

It's not wise to violate the rules until you know how to observe them

It Could Be…
By Thinking Tic Tac

For the most part, people believe god created them, but what if there are other possibilities. I have heard many opinions involving our creator; a friend who will remain anonymous gave one very interesting opinion to me. His opinion: We were not created by god, but, instead by extraterrestrials. We were to be their test subjects, like white mice in a lab. They were to test us on things such as obedience and intelligence, just about anything you can think of. For example, humans are not to have sex before marriage, this is just a test of obedience, and the punishment for breaking this rule includes STD’s and AIDS. Those who do not have sex will be left unharmed. They check the rate at which we learn things. The reason people think they were created by god is because after a while of human existence, humans began to wonder how they became to be what they are. Since the extraterrestrials knew the human race could not handle the truth well, they made up a person who was to be the creator of the human race, they called him god. From there the humans developed beliefs of god and religions and so on. Once the extraterrestrials are done testing us they will destroy us and create life elsewhere. So, maybe we were not created by god, although, maybe we were not created by extraterrestrials either…you never know, anything is possible.

Two little boys of grammar school age were to appear in their first play. The first little boy was to say "Ha, fair maiden, I've come to snatch a kiss and fill your soul with hope." The second was to say "Hark, a pistol shot."

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"......

The Phoenix
By Phloyd

The Phoenix rises from the ashes
So must we all to challenge death
Let not the seven be for nothing
Challenger shall lead us outwards

Let us launch, our from the fire
Be reborn as is the Phoenix
Let us now rise to fly again
Launch our futures into space

Turn your eyes and dreams
Upwards, out, into space
See what stray thoughts bring you
On return from distant stars

Ten years ago our hopes were burned
And now like the Phoenix let them return.

Untitled
By Tim Hawk and Grace Kelly

A black cloak falls upon the night
It pulls everything from your sight
Giving a slow death to the light
Heaving the stars into the sky
I stand here and let out a sign
So let me dine you, you stupid fuck up

You’re just calmly backstroking along in this big toilet bowl and somehow you never let it touch you.
-Strange Days

Untitled
By Gothilia Ash

Sometimes certain subjects just linger in the air like dust from an old rug. It all gets collected in a jar and then brought out at the worst time. Vary rarely does it happen to be brought out at the perfect moment. But when it is revealed, it’s for the best, like then, at that specific horizon, it was meant to happen. More so, it happens when least expected.

My point is that, a certain subject many experience, a subject called anger, frustration, and of yet many spasms of insanity.

How does this all occur? Oh, my guess would be a combination from confusion from such events at home, or that retched place, school. Or even from a loved one. Possibly out of family. No, I’m not speaking of incest. You all should love your family, just not sexually. That’s disgusting. But, yes. Loved ones bring frustration, anger, and whatnot. But if you think of it, it’s not all that necessary. I’m not saying be completely optimistic. But a pessimist would most likely die from depression.

Let me tell you of a little story I’m sure you all could easily relate to:

I have this friend. A lovely friend indeed. Quite close to me. Well, this friend had once met an awkward man. They had something going on and then out of the blue, it shut off like a clap or light switch. Crushed this poor child.

Eventually things began to fall back in place like a suburban iceberg. Happy thoughts, blah, blah, blah.

Then, that dreaded four-letter word that sometimes causes too much frustration was crossed against my dear friend’s expanding mind. LOVE. Oh is it yet of another obsession, I wonder? She tells me it’s not love, but what she’s spoken of today may have been a trigger of the gun that exploded in my thoughts.

That again has caused frustration and anger.

My point being, how much can we as humans handle ‘til our old dirty mop explodes because of lack of communication?

Can any of you be so fucking intelligent to tell me so?

Space
By Phloyd

Space is open, if we want it
We can have it if we try
>From the asteroids to the star
Humanity pushes outward

Colonies, launched from the earth
The astronauts are just the first

Lost from free-fall
We will find it
We will open up the way

I will be there
I will try
Free-fall calls me
I will follow to the stars.

Smiley face coffee mug
by Tim Hawk

Smiley face coffee mug
always smiling
dropped and cracked
still smiling
cradled in loving hands
supplying nature's nectar
and continually smiling
the yellow, black and round
smiley face coffee mug
stripped hollow to warm the tired
and forever smiling
placed in the cupboard
stored for years to come
infinite smile
we are not like him
we can't smile through pain
we hurt and damage everything and everyone
but the smiley face coffee mug
is still smiling

Bible thumpers beware: The Evil One will reign over this pitiful world, not "GOD." Run screaming, crying, weeping, spewing; but remember… your god is dead.
- The Smiley Face Cult archives

On Monday
By The Grey Shade
(Edited by Tim Hawk)

On Monday, when the sun is hot,
I wonder to myself a lot:
"Now is it true or is it not.
That what is which and which is what?"

On Tuesday, when it hails and snows,
The feeling in me grows and grows
That hardly anybody knows
If those are these or these are those.

On Wednesday, when the sky is blue,
And I have nothing else to do,
I sometimes wonder if it's true
That who is what and what is who?

On Thursday, when the wind blows around,
And I start a fire on the ground,
I hear the howling of the hound
I begin to wonder if up is up or up is down?

On Saturday, it begins to rain,
I sit inside thinking all the same.
I find myself wondering once again,
If day is night and night is day?

On Sunday, when it starts to freeze,
And hoar-frost twinkles on the trees,
How very readily one sees
That these are whose--but whose are these?

On Monday--------

Whose are these, anyway?

Tales from the morbid side of brain
A perfect crime
By Trouble

"With a watchful eye she peered from behind the bedroom door. Sliding through like a serpent trying to be careful not to wake her. Little did he know she was watching.

As he creeped to the bedroom, she dove for cover carefully not to make a sound. He slowly passed the bed to the bathroom.

She quickly sat up. "Now what do I do?" Then she ran to the closet grabbing a box, and taking the contents out. Then placed everything in an arms reach.

Just then the bathroom door opened she quickly covered up. He turned to the dresser, and started to undress.

She sprang from the bed grabbing a knife. As she got on his back she slit his throat.

Gasping for air he fell to his knees. She knelt beside his and whispered in his ear. "So, you going to cheat." And with those final words she sliced his stomach causing his intestines to spill.

Walking back to her bed she took his nail gun, and nailed his intestines to the ceiling fan.

She then changed back to her work clothes. Taking the fire escape, she left the apartment. Then snuck back into work. Finishing her entry on her computer.

As she was walking out she ran into Jim the security guard who happily walked her out.

She drove home, and saw her husband’s body and screamed. Neighbors came running.

In court she was found innocent."

Ms. Cannfield finished her story and turned to the reporter.

"And she got away with it?" asked her in shock.

"With a sly smile on her face she said, "Well, no fingerprints, airtight alibi. And her government doesn’t believe in double jeopardy." Taking a sip of her drink, then finished, "Man, I got away with murder."

"You?" the reporter asked, jumping.

Ms. Cannfield sat back in her beach chair smiling, tanning in the lovely sun of the Hawaii Island.

I could give a shit less.
-DTPG

Napkin conversation with a pen
By Rewired

Hello Sanford. How’s your point tonight? You looked so lonely so I picked you up. I drained the life from you. But that’s your purpose, isn’t it? To let me use you. You said that’s what you wanted. I believe you of course, though you never spoke. But you make your impression easy to read. You’re an outcast. That’s why I like you so much. And you used to think the same of me.

Question authority- and authority questions you

The Gopher
By The Grey Shade

A cunning little rat
Who’ll always outwit the cat
A maze of tunnels in the ground
How is one little gopher supposed to be found

She Walks Alone
By Tinman

(Note by Mr. G: This sucker is long, but worth the read...)

First Highs

"She walks alone, after all, and that counts for quite a bit."

Untitled
By Phloyd

Thinking, trying
Diving deeper
Beyond thought
Down to your mind

Consciousness
Becomes a block
A barrier to
Your Mind's Eye

Control your Body
And your Mind
Then look to find
The self within

Can you find it?
Can you see it?
Or is it out
Of reach and sight?

To find yourself
Look to no power
Outside yourself
Just look within

You will find
All that you are
If you look
Below your Mind

Below all conscious
Thought it dwells
It has powers
You don't know

A quiet day
A quiet boy
A dull, hot morning
A life in mourning
A friend afar
A caffeine bar
- Tim Hawk

The day Scott broke the language barrier
by Star-Gazing Dreamer
stuff added in parentheses by people at my house, and story inspiration by myself and the Official Tormentor of Rewired

It was a major breakthrough for our lunch table. At the beginning of the period, we started off with my suggestion to feed them chips. The Official Tormentor commented that it was a swell idea, and that they'd probably swarm and devour them in no time. Unfortunately, we were unsuccessful. However, we did get a great chance to observe their actions.

"Look! They're sniffing it, wondering what it could be! Here come more, grunting and sniffing." -The Official Tormentor spoke our observances in her British announcer accent (You know, the kind on the Discovery Channel that describe the mating habits of Baboons). "No. We are unsuccessful. They are refusing the chips." -me (Star-Gazing Dreamer) "The apes are disinterested."- The Official Tormentor again. "Hey, Brie...throw them grapes. ( I LIKE TO INSTIGATE THINGS LIKE THAT- The Official Tormentor) Maybe they'll like them better." We convinced Brie, me and The Official Tormentor, though she was hesitant, to throw a grape. They threw them back and gave us evil stares. Oh, this would be a good time to describe their characteristics. There's enough oil at that lunch table to fill up three cars, if not more. (YEAH, ANYONE WHO THINKS THAT THERE'S AN OIL SHORTAGE JUST NEEDS TO LOOK AT THEIR HAIR.) They think they are human by wearing clothes, but we can tell by their 60's vests, black, sweaty T-shirts, shitty pants, un-natural hair, and black nails, that these apes were far from human. The fetal debris, as we call them, have come from the fetal debris of their mothers, were shit into a toilet, and somehow fought their way into these poor women's houses, claiming kinship of sorts. They cling to corners of rooms and brush back their greased hair, hug their un-perceived until today. Scott, a good friend we all know well, has been studying horny, angry goats. (he needs to get it on with every thing with horns--- might I ADD, JUST THE other day, he was walking down the street and a little Amish kid had a baby goat that he was leading down the street and it excited him so immensely, that he jumped at the opportunity to scrump- although the little goat had stubs for horns... Scott started to rape the baby goat, mounting him from the front.. the baby goat thought that the protruding thing in front of him was his mother, so he started to suck... the Amish kid thought that this looked fun and he joined in.. pretty soon, the whole Amish village had a goat scrumping/ winkie orgy.!!!-steph ) In a mildly upset state of not discovering their eating habits, he rammed the one who slept with his brother (they were not sleeping, if you know what I mean). (YOU MEAN HE RAPED HIM -The Tormentor)

It took a few head-butts in the ape's back before we got the reaction. He spoke back! In the same horny, angry goat language Scott, "EEHHHhhh!" and then the heart-throbbing second reaction. "EHH!" Scott, "EHHhhh!" Then, realizing he was being discovered, the horny ape smiled and turned around once again. Scott continued to ram the ape in sheer determination of trying to discover his habits. The ape rammed back, and there were more apish grunts. In our celebration, we nearly wet our pants. Then we realized we still hadn't a clue about their eating habits. So, with a plastic spoon and a glance at the lunch monitors, the Official Tormentor hit the pregnant one in the forehead with her corn and left a greasy spot on her forehead. It got angry and moved closer to her "friends". (YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN THE BUTTER AS IT GLISTENED ON HER FOREHEAD-The Tormentor)

Okay, so they weren't accepting grapes, chips, or corn. In an upset state (they threw away their lunches), the Official Tormentor and Scott got up and walked to the garbage. I got a closer look at the back of their T-shirts, and I saw my omen. One read, "Soon, you will discover their appetite." I knew it! Okay, I had an apple left. While Scott threw my grapes in great enthusiasm, and some were being projected back, the Official Tormentor gave me a squirky ( a quirky smile :) "You going to finish that apple?" I took a bite and handed it to her. Perfect. Not being detected, she threw it, with perfect aim, in the middle of the table. We got them to smile and stare. "Look at them. They're peering closely, curiously wondering whether to eat it," I said. I think they considered it a while before refusing it.

Finally content that we did discover their language, we walked out of the lunch room smiling. (IT WAS MORE LIKE LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY-The Tormentor). (Okay, we were laughing so hard we couldn't breathe. -me) I was told that I didn't write enough at this here end, by Brie; however, she didn't have anything more to say when offered the chance to type more to it. As you can see, the Official Tormentor did have a few more comments to add and Steph, too, decided to add the sexual comments here and there. Even though she wasn't at our lunch table, I didn't think anyone would mind, and if they did then fuck them. In fact, I thought some of you would find it quite kinky. You may not understand how we could be so cruel to these freaks of nature a table next to us, nor would you believe that we could really get away with throwing so much food at lunch and getting away with it. Tough. They tried stealing our lunch table at the beginning of the year; the table we've owned and been bequeathed eight years in a row. When we tried being polite about throwing them off, they were quite rude. Payback's a bitch, and we're Seniors - nobody can get away with this. Nobody.

* People at our lunch table: Star-Gazing Dreamer, Lioness (sometimes called the auctioneer, she's the quietest one at the table) The Official Tormentor, Brie (like the cheese), Llama, Grendel, and Scott (a lot of the time considered to be a goat), and others I didn't include.

As long as the answer is right, who cares if the question was wrong?

Time Passes
By Phloyd

Walls crumble into dust
And stones by moss be broke
Memories fail, Facts become tales
And old powers be forgot

Tale will echo battles fought
Long after wars are won
But what is this the tales do well?
Old enemies return

But new light shown upon old tales
Illuminates the dark of now
Now those who wish to remain blind
Shall now survive the new dark times

Those whose blindness can't be cured
May well not live until the dawn
But your sight can be assured
By accepting day and night

All would be well.
All would be heavenly –
If the damned would only stay damned.
-Charles Font, 1919

It Could Be…2
By Thinking Tic Tac

You know how most murderers or homicidal maniacs say voices tell them to do the terrible things they do, well, what if voices really were talking to them…maybe they are telling the truth, but we are too caught up in what we think can be true and what can’t to realize it. Again, a friend of mine gave me his opinion. His opinion: People who say voices or objects told them to commit crimes are telling the truth. Maybe it is the devil or perhaps just an evil spirit speaking through the form of a voice or animal and so on. People should not rule this out as a possibility, it is perfectly possible.

FUCK IT
By Rewired

A lonely sky hangs above
The mood in mind fits it like a glove
The stars bring memories back to heart
My mind travels back to the memories sharp.
Her blue eyes glimmered in the crescent moon
The pink hair shrouded by a cloud of doom
Darkened waters drew her away
Into the arms of another, closer at bay
I was far out, lost in the sea
She headed out farther, away from me
Lived it,
Loved it,
Lost it...
FUCK IT.

"Do you ever have the feeling of Déjà vu?"
"Didn’t you just ask me that?"

The Grey Shade
By The Grey Shade

I see where you are
I’m with you always
You can’t lose me in bus, train, or car
I know who you are
I know what you are
I see into your soul
I know without being told
I’m mother Earth
I’m father Time
I age your kind
I cage you in my mind
I’m the creator
I’m the destroyer
I am the Grey Shade

The Cemetery Path
By another nameless person

1.Ivan was a timid little man. The villagers called him "Pigeon." or sometimes "Chicken." Every night Ivan stopped in at the bar near the village cemetery. Then he walked a mile around the cemetery to get to his lonely shack on the other side. The path through the cemetery would save him many minutes. But he had never taken it- not even the full light of the moon.

2.Late one snowy, windy night a young lieutenant in the bar said to Ivan, "You are a pigeon, Ivan. You'll walk around the cemetery in this cold-but you won't dare cross it."

3.Ivan said, "The cemetery is nothing but earth like all earth."

4.The lieutenant said, "Then cross the cemetery tonight, Ivan, and I will give you five gold rubles."

5.Maybe it was the liquor. Maybe it was the temptation of the money. No one ever knew why, but Ivan agreed to cross the cemetery.

6.The people in the bar couldn't believe it. The lieutenant winked to the men. Then he took his sword, "Here, Ivan. When you get to the middle of the cemetery, in front of the biggest tomb, stick the sword into the ground. In the morning we shall go there. And if the sword is in the ground-five gold rubles for you." Ivan took the sword. The men drank a toast and laughed at Ivan.

7.The wind howled around Ivan as he closed the door of the bar. The cold was as sharp as a knife. Ivan buttoned his long coat, which almost touched the ground. He could hear the lieutenant's voice, louder than the rest, yelling after him: "Five rubles, Pigeon, if you live!"

8.Ivan pushed the cemetery gate open. The darkness was terrible. He was afraid. The wind was cruel and the sword was like ice in his hands. Ivan shivered under the long thick coat and started to run toward the middle of the cemetery.

9.He saw the large tomb. He kneeled, cold and afraid. He drove the sword between his knees into the hard ground.

10.Ivan started to get up from his knees, but could not move. Something held him. Ivan pulled and tugged and tried to get away but something still would not let him move forward. Ivan cried out in the darkness, "Oh, God, help me! Please help me!" Still he could not move. He cried out again in terror. Then he made senseless noises.

11.The next morning, they found Ivan on the ground in front of the largest tomb in the middle of the cemetery. His face was that of a man killed by some terrible horror. And the lieutenant's sword was in the ground where Ivan had pounded it-through the back of his long coat.

Anything not nailed down is mine; anything I can pry loose is not nailed down

So be it
By Rowan Fae

Don’t fuck with problems
That you don’t understand
And then demand
Out of one you misjudged
And who now bears a grudge
To be treated with respect
That will not be let

Untitled
By Not Without Desert

You think maybe you can just ignore it and it’ll go away. You think if you could just get past it, but it stands in the way of every decision you make. You expect the worst, and most often get the worst. You try to outsmart it by making silly lists. You analyze every situation, thinking things will work out in your favor if you could just make sense of everything and understand yourself. That you’ll always make the right decisions if you could just decide what it is that you want. You smoke a lot, and eat too much, and take six-hour walks to try and forget about your problems, but you can’t. Your life sucks. When things don’t work out, you look on the bright side, but in your case, there is no bright side. Because you realize your family suffocates you, your love life is non-existent, and as far as friends go, you can just forget about having any real friends that care about you. And your staying up all night writing pointless articles for a paper that you’ll never see, instead of studying for your English final. You live your life, day by day, poem by poem, about the pointlessness of your life, and you smoke your last cigarette and think about a guy who’ll never like you because you’re too fat. And nobody really understands where you’re coming from and do you lock yourself in your room with your black walls and faded curtains and wallow in self-pity.

Yes, this is what your life is about. Waiting for Mr. Right to change his mind about you and waiting for your grades to magically change by themselves and hoping for a miracle that will solve all your problems, cuz God knows you’re too fucking stupid to solve your own.

(This is a note to Not Without Desert by the editor: Tim Hawk. What makes you think that you are alone in this. We all have lives that suck and none of us can find love. Just read the interview with Rewired. NEEP.)

Deadly Nightshade
By Phloyd

Deadly Nightshade
Never dying
Never living
Never crying

Never finding
Always seeking
Always looking
Never seeing

See the blood
Don't try to stop it
Pull the blood
Into yourself

If the Nightshade wants you
It will find you
You can't avoid it
Just delay

Jimmy Carter is my shepherd, I shall not want. He leadeth me beside still factories and abandoned farms. He restoreth my doubt about the Democratic Party. He anointeth my wages with taxes and inflation so my expenses runneth over my income. Surely poverty and hard living shall follow the Democratic Party, and I shall work on a rented farm and live in a rented house forever. 5,000 years later F.D.R. said, "lay down your shovel, sit on your ass, and light up a camel, this is the promised land." This year Jimmy Carter will take your shovel, sell your camel, kick your ass, and tell you he gave away the promised land.

I'm glad I'm an American, I'm glad that I'm free. I wish I was a dog and Jimmy Carter was a peanut tree.

-Publication Unknown-

Heart-broken
By Jennifer Brown
Grade: 8

It is fine at the start,
but after that no more.
Things kept falling apart around me;
my world and dreams were tore.
We never talked it over;
our feelings were not shared.
I thought you said you loved me;
I thought you said you cared.
You left me standing there,
You left me full of fright,
You left me all alone
on that cold winter's night .
You blocked me out of you life,
but I couldn't do the same.
I will always remember you
on a cold winter's day.

An Amazing Day for Herman
By The Grey Shade and Tim Hawk

Herman was a normal type of guy, mostly. He had a normal house; two stories. He had a normal life, an average job, and a normal black and white back-stabbing cat. At least that's what Herman thought... until today.

Herman got up this morning and looked groggily around. Lights, bed, the twelve bottles of booze he drank last night and his red cat with horns sticking out of its head looking at him.

"Good morning masssster, your breakfassst isss waiting down ssstairs with your guessst," hissed the cat.

"hurrangh," muttered Herman as he got out of bed. Herman had had a rough night last night. It had started out well enough but then at some point he had found out something that had upset him enough to start drinking. Unfortunately, in his hung over state he just couldn't remember what it was. Red. Red? Why did the word red ring a bell? Herman just shrugged and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. "I'll figure it out later," he thought to himself. Pick up toothbrush and brush teeth. Red. Comb hair and wash face. Red? Go down stairs and notice Death eating a bowl of Lucky Charms. Red. Pour a cup of coffee and add cream. Red? Finish the first cup and pour another. Then suddenly something clicked into place. RED!

Herman looked deeply into his cat’s eyes. They glowed deep orange with a hint of yellow #5. "Wait a second," thought Herman, "this isn’t a cat!" In fact, this red cat with horns was actually his son. It was his kid. But who was the mother? And why was his kid red with horns and looking like a demon from hell? "Wait a second again," thought Herman to himself, "who is this being sitting here eating all my cereal?!"

"I am Death. Well, actually my name is Bob, but everyone calls me Death for some reason. It just kinda stuck to me like a T-shirt on a hot summer day. Anyway, I have something to show you, and you may not like it. First off, you’ve probably been wondering where this kid of yours came from. Well, I’ve come to tell you. You see, his mother is actually the bride of Satan. She had an affair with you and left the kid with you for protection. Well, now it’s time for you to once again meet her. She misses her son dearly. That and the Anti-Christ you thought was a cat was now grown up enough to know his real destiny. I will take you both to hell to meet the happy couple." Death looks to the kid and calls him over. "Pepito, come here son." The thing walked over to Death. "Now come, we must make haste."

The three of them leave into a magical mist and wind up in hell. At least the river to hell, just outside from its welcoming doors. Satan and his wife were waiting outside for their guests. "Hello Herman," said Satan. "Pepito!" he called out to his illegitimate son. Pepito came running into his arms. "Herman, I must thank you for taking such good care of him. Now, I understand the circumstances of his birth, and you are forgiven. You see, I’m nice, unlike that lazy-ass god up there. Now it is my turn to raise little Pepito to be the Anti-Christ that he is." Death returns Herman to his house without his cat/son. Herman goes to work at his normal job. But when he picked up his paycheck, he read it. "Hell enterprises" was where he worked for, and Satan signed his checks. "Am I in hell?" he asks him self. He shrugs it off and continues running his soul compression machine.

As Herman sits at the picnic table on his lunch break, nibbling on a cheese cracker, he ponders his odd morning. "Why had Satan seemed so familiar to me?" he ponders. "Eureka! I’ve got it!" he screams in joy and ecstasy. "Satan is my father! And he stole my girlfriend, dammit! Why does he always get the hot chicks?!" Herman suddenly gets angered and storms into the shop where he clocks out, vowing never to return to this shithole again. He sets on his way to see his dad once again.

As he reached the river where he crossed with Death so shortly ago, he leapt in and swam towards the gates in front of him. As he pulled himself upon the shore, his father stood above him, waiting. "I see you’ve come for some answers son," said Satan as Herman stood up looking into his deep red eyes.

"Father," said the angered Herman, "why did you steal my girlfriend and banish me from my true home?"

"I did not ban you from your home. You still live in hell, just not in my house. And as for your girlfriend, well… I’m sorry, that was just the way it happened. Here, follow me and I will show you something. See here, among these tortured souls of the damned, is happiness. You could live here, but then how will the anti-Christ grow into his destiny? You live your own life Herman, you don’t need your son anymore. You never liked him anyway. You thought he was a cat!" As they stepped into Satan’s lair, Herman realized that his father was right, he could not live here; but rather should never return again. He should go to Earth and wreak havoc there.

As he stepped upon the soil of the dimension known as Earth, Herman looked around. The sky was bright blue, the sun was shining bright and warm, and a gentle breeze rustles through his hair. Herman started walking towards a destination, which he saw ahead – a school. That would be a good place to start. He took one step onto the open road when…

SPLAT!!!! SQUISH!!!! PLOP!!!! Herman was hit by an oncoming school bus and smashed into tiny bits. When he wakes up, he sees a literal pit of despair, marked by trash, feces, and other disgusting things. A sign in front of his said ‘Heaven,’ and below that, ‘Please check in.’" Herman took one look at this and said to himself, "This could be interesting…"

To be continued

An ending
By Tim Hawk

I stand here on top of the mountain, looking far beyond the sky, into space above and beyond. I’ve come to the place of my birth, such a long time ago. I remember this place. It heals me as I sit on top of the world, alone to my thoughts. Only here can I find peace once again. I am dying; and I’ve chose here to be my final resting-place. While my life was filled with strife, I want my death to be calm and unknown. I don’t want people studying my pale, empty corpse. I want to fall into my death, just as I fell upon this disgusting ball of dust and debris.

I remember my life like it all happened yesterday. I was born in this place. I spent my childhood running free about these hills. But after my parents were killed, I was forced to flee into the real world, at the tender age on sixteen. By eighteen, I was already on the path to my destiny. As most teenagers were out partying and getting wasted, I was practicing my art. Collecting my strength and knowledge. My skill grew quickly. By twenty, I had decided it was time to test my skill, and started on my long journey to America. I fought the best of them, always keeping my quest secret. Love was a distant possibility for me. I opened my eyes to harmony, and took my abilities to the edge. While most heroes chose to be famous, I chose to be anonymous. Anonymity was the key to my survival.

But I grow old and weary of my adventures. This mountainous ledge I stand on top of now, will be my end. The only end I deserve. Courage is for cowards who want a false shroud. My life was an unimportant part of this story, though. What I did does not matter. Only the fact that I survived to the bitter end matters. And now, as I stand here, I think upon my life with sweet sorrow. I have decided that here is where I will die. I stepped off this ledge, into my future. My future lays in the beginning of the end. Every ounce of my being tingles with anticipation. As I fall into my own doom, the world around it falls apart. I was the last one to hold this world together. My power held these fabrics knit for all these years, but now I chose to end. Oblivion starts with me. Welcome to oblivion.

icup
by Rewired

The cheese is moldy
the mold is quite green
hogs need a trampoline
when the pickles are mean.
Poodles are flying
out the nose of a kangaroo
eating a Tootsie-Pop
she dug out the ass of a bloated water buffalo a cool summer’s eve.
Toasted anal flakes
grungy potato testicles floating up from the bottom of an ocean of jello (the kind with the bits of fruit floating in them)
as the ferrets hum the tune to a Hanson song
when the comet strikes the side of the earth
and it looses it’s custard filling, which leaks out in a place that was once Idaho
where I like to watch the taders grow
as the daffodils nip at my toes
and frosty the snowman bites off my nose
and weasels burrow in my oily hair
and vagrants on the city corner try to sell me back issues of Gopher
hand-written in their own blood on napkins they stole from the coffee shop up town
what’s that? you ate my Doritos? damn you to
watching Barney videos with my oldest sister
she has babies in her dresser drawer, you know

"The Universe is a pea stuck to a god's knife by peanut butter - it's a natural form of adhesive, you know."
- from Voices in the Madman's Head, by Rewired.

Signs that you may be a Homicidal Maniac
As found by Tim Hawk

1. Your bullets have little smiley faces painted on the tips.
2. You find watching the 'faces of death' series to be a calming experience after a rough day.
3. You wear a black trench coat and combat boots. (Note: not all homicidal maniacs use this attire, BUT all people who use this attire ARE homicidal maniacs).
4. You have a full room dedicated to your collection of medieval surgical instruments.
5. You use medieval surgical instruments.
6. The concept of using a blowtorch on something other than flesh, like say... metal, seems alien to you.
7. You say things like 'I'm not a butcher, I'm an artist working in an unpopular medium'.
8. You use the term 'thinning the herd' in relation to people.
9. You wake up in strange places, naked, covered in blood, and holding a pair of dental pliers.
10. You have a significant number of interactive conversations with inanimate objects and at some point, they start telling you to do 'bad things'.
11. You have memorized the location and accessibility of water towers in relation to densely populated areas, and you own a suppressed high-powered rifle.
12. You have skeletons in your closet. Literally.
13. You have a well-used piece of piano wire, yet you have never owned a piano.
14. You firmly believe that the laws of this world don't apply to you because you serve a higher power.
15. You have a more functional knowledge of the human anatomy then any given doctor.
16. Seeing horrific car accidents makes you giggle.
17. You think of the Spanish inquisition as 'a good start'.
18. The sight of mushroom clouds sexually arouses you.
19. Your body count rivals that of Nagasaki, 1945.
20. You collect any part of the human anatomy.
21. You like dressing up like the Easter bunny and carry around a fire axe.
22. You consider barbed wire a sexual aid.
23. After that last 'little mistake' you installed breathing holes in the trunk of your car.
24. You list Pinhead from 'Hellraiser' among your favorite artists.
25. You give live scorpions as Valentines Day gifts.
26. You keep your stash of potassium cyanide in your guest bathroom, in a bottle marked 'aspirin'.
27. You think of crucifixion as a lost art.
28. Most of your religious knowledge revolves around Cain.
29. You can identify with Cain.
30. You think you are Cain.
31. You have a tasty recipe for human flesh.
32. You live in New York.
33. You have a pet name for your knife.
34. You go big game hunting with a chainsaw.
35. You use the lyrics to the Ministry song 'Flashback' as a how-to guide.
36. You support televised capital punishment, not as a deterrent to crime, but because you like watching people die.
37. You walk through the local shopping mall looking for exploitable weaknesses in their bomb defenses.
38. Your basement laboratory has seven different strains of Ebola; at least 320% stronger than anything the CDC has ever seen.
39. Your bunny slippers are actually dead rabbits.
40. There are more dead bodies in your back yard than there are in Arlington.
41. You continue working in the slaughterhouses because you enjoy the smell.
42. You regard the Marquis DeSade as the father of modern art.
43. You have a freezer overflowing with meat, but you never go to the grocery store or butcher shop.
44. You feel cannibalism is a reasonable dietary plan -- and you like to be self-reliant in terms of food procurement.
45. Your favorite pigment for paint and dyes is hemoglobin.
46. You take the phrase "brain food" literally.
47. You keep people, rather than hats or coats, on your rack.
48. You think brand names are the lettering on the iron.
49. When you see someone with dirty face or hands, you scrub them with 60-grit sandpaper.
50. When you hear the phrase "body piercing" you think of people attached to the walls with railroad spikes.
51. One of your fave weekend pastimes is human jigsaw puzzles.
52. You light your house with red light bulbs to disguise the bloodstains.
53. You feel that Macbeth got shafted.
54. You consider explosives and sharp implements to be perfect gifts.
55. You have rusted farm implements as bedroom decor.
56. Sexual "protection" is extended to bulletproof vests and very strong restraints.
57. When asked were you got something your typical response is "I killed a -blank- and then stole his -blank-."
58. You have messages and psychotic pictures written in iridescent ink all around your house... sure they are usually invisible but you feel better cause you know they are there.
59. When placed in a crisis situation your first response is to see if their jugular is in reach...
60. You know the words for "dismember," "entrails," "pain," and "blood" in 12 different languages, but you can only say "hello" in two.
61. All your chairs have wires and rheostats attached them.
62. You know more cuts of meat than the butcher down the street.
63. Your fave percussion instrument is an automatic machine gun.
64. You can make your own bone meal fertilizer for free.
65. You have gutters on the INSIDE of your house (for blood collection)
66. You have a symbiotic relationship with a denture-wearing vampire.

(Ed-note – I relate to four of them, how about you?)

Fairy
by Grace Kelly, thee original

Fairy fairy in the sky
Very fairy fagot guy
Let’s go home and bake a pie
Then all get drunk and high
Crack and cocaine are all the same
I hope it bloats your fuckin brain
So i can watch you go insane
Fairy fairy in the sky
Like a very fairy fagot guy

Shithead i hope you fry
So i can watch you die
Even though i know your dead
I’m gonna cut off your fucking head
I’ll put it in a pie
And feed it to a spy
So take that in your fucking eye
You fairy fairy fagot guy

"Do you ever find yourself talking to the dead?"
-Abraham Lincoln (really)

A last minute addition

Somewhere in the mountains
September 27, 1998
In desperate need of finger foods

Tim Hawk,

I'm here in the mountains, surrounded by trees and bushes, in a log cabin where I write you from a laptop. It's nice up here, peaceful and quiet - something I've needed to do for awhile. Escape from it all, flee from the insanity and just be myself, nothing more, nothing less. I just wish they delivered pizza up here. Regardless, I've learned quite a bit in these past few months - first, that I'm not insane, but do, indeed, have serious issues I must focus on; I am undoubtedly in the world but not of it; that reality is not as concrete as some have come to believe and that I will resume as editor for the Gopher by issue twenty.

I escaped from the insane asylum through a key slipped to me by an unknown figure one night. It could've been around any time; they don't exactly give you a clock to hang up on the wall, for fear that it might end up shoved down some bastard guard’s esophagus or something, but I took they key and proceeded to flee the cell, and found all the doors I needed to escape to be unlocked.

I ran on foot for a few miles, before I stopped by a convenience store for a coffee and a carton of cigarettes - I hadn't had any caffeine in maybe three months, save the odorous cappuccino you graciously snuck in for me in your shoe, and was glad to get some in my system. A cigarette took me to a land of bliss, and my mind woke up and I just sat there, on the curb outside the store, the streetlight shining down upon me, my shaggy hair tickling my cheek as I cried. It wasn’t a mad cry, or a sad cry, but somewhere in-between - everything I'd believed in my life, from my pursuit of aliens and government conspiracy during high school to the point where I almost became schizophrenic to the love I, over the past year or so, realized I held for my ex-girlfriend... it had all worn me down. Everything I believed fell away, I always ended up believing in delusions and chasing after my own shadows. If ever I had come upon a shed of truth, it had escaped me. I'd even turned to a little drugging and boozing - but, in the end, it has just added more to the chaos. I still knew nothing, or very little, of anything. The world was foreign to me. I couldn't even control the one in my head, how was I to control the life I lived in the outer world? Yet I decided to control both, and I'd fallen again.

Yet I'd taken all that happened and wrote it down - I'd documented the downfall. Looking back at all that happened, which was written down on pieces of paper hiding in my car back home, a whole state away, I realized the foolishness.

I knew people would be after me - it would only take the bozos at the hospital a little time to realize their crack-case whacko was on the loose.

So I came up here to think. Reflect. Ponder. Decide. And now I know what to do.

Nevermind that, save the fact that I'll be back for Gopher twenty.

Thanks for the help, and I hope you didn't mind filling in - I'll give you a time and place for us to meet so we can talk of things vital to the survival of humanity and stuff like that. Oh, and bring some Ritz crackers. I'll explain the relevance at that point in time.

Till then, happy trails, but beware - the ice weasels are watching you (and they have ice picks).

Sincerely,
Rewired,
the editor

Assorted poetry
By Rowan Fae

Life is full of shit and we wallow in it
>From dusk till dawn, life’s the mower and we’re the lawn

Here we have a love mangle
None to blame but cupid
Who will be the untangled
Of this game so stupid

Unquiet of mortal realm disturbing my heart
Shed my human mask, feel the heartbeat of the wood
Wild wind blowing through my soul
My pulse quickens and combines, with the deer below me
Lose myself in primal freedom,
Tearing through brush and brambles
In search of peace

Rain breaths from the treetops
The tree trunks are glistening wet
Thunder moans from the sky
Shaking leaves to the ground with its intensity
I searched my mind for my love
But in daylight hours he is locked
Behind the steel doors of reality
So now I sit,
Admiring the beauty of the wood
Seeking solace in the spiraling grape vines
Wondering if somewhere,
He could not exist other than my imagination

In my dreams
I’m looking for the shadow man
Of my soul
That society killer
Whom I love
He shows up in my strangest dreams
Taking care
Of my dream self
This man
I have never met
Who is connected to my soul
If I don’t find him
In reality
I’d rather die alone

The difference between a cow and a bean is that a bean can begin an adventure

Can you hear the music in the air?
By Tim Hawk

"I must find the origin of this music," said Bill aloud in the crowded subway car.

"What music?" asked the old man sitting next to him. His face was dirty and wrinkled. His shirt was too small for his chubby stomach. His pants were worn and full of tears and holes. He was truly sad and lonely, homeless and hopeless. "There is no music here."

"Ahh, but the music that fills the air, of course. Can’t you hear it? It’s everywhere. Violin… no cello… no, definitely violin. I must find its origin." Bill got up from his seat, which was immediately filled, and walked straight into the sealed door with a ‘thud.’ "After we stop, of course," he said, realizing his mistake. He was still wondering why only he could hear this music. All these sad people before him had nothing better to do than ignore him. Even the old man, who had attempted to converse with him earlier, was deeply involved with his book, Slaughterhouse 5. The fact that Bill had just looked like a complete moron, beside. After all, everyone here looked weird.

The large, steel underground train began to squeal as its driver hit the brakes. Slowly, the behemoth came to a complete stop and the glass doors before Bill swung open. Well, they didn’t actually swing, but it sounded better than slide.

Bill stepped out, sniffing the air. "This way," he said as he began walking up the stairs into the daylight. He listened to the music as it filled the air. He stepped upon the pavement of the street and skittered across. Oddly enough, no car had hit him, busy as it was at this time of day. "Can you hear the music in the air?" he asked the small crowd of people who were standing on the corner awaiting the signal. The people just ignored him like he was crazy.

He walked on down the street, continuing on his quest. "Can you hear the music in the air?" he asked again, a homeless drunk this time.

"Yeah man. I can hear it!" the drunk blurted out as he staggered about the sidewalk, before puking out his last meal into a nearby garbage can. Any motion was enough to make this man nauseous.

"Really?" Bill asked, careful not to get to close to this walking, talking vomit factory.

"Buy me another drink and I’ll tell you." The old man staggered toward Bill, but was dodged. The man fell to the ground, worrying more about spilling his drink than shattering his fragile bones. He stared up at Bill blankly.

"You don’t hear it, do you?" Bill asked, realizing his foolishness. "All you do is con people into buying you more booze, to forget your problems. Well, you know what? You have no problems left to forget. You lost them all to alcoholism. You’re a loser." Bill continued walking, unfulfilled by his encounter with the old drunk.

"I have never really liked violin music," he tells himself, "but there is something about this. It’s almost magical. I have to find its origin."

"A quest is always a quest, but it is an adventure when it is an adventurous quest," said a woman on a park bench. Her sombrero-like hat hid her old, worn face. Bill sat beside her and she continued on. "You, young man. I sense that you are distraught. Why is that poor boy?" she asked him, lifting her head up and looking deep into his eyes.

"Can you hear the music in the air?" Bill asks her, doubting that she will give him a useful answer.

"Everyone hears their own music, boy. To each his own tune. But I assure you lad, if you do find its origin, you will find happiness to follow. Follow your own tune. Blow your own horn. Love and happiness are just a walk away. You will find them soon. That is why you were born."

"Do you always talk in rhymes?" Bill asks her, curiously.

She smiles. "Only he who wants to hear rhymes will hear my poetry. Now go my son, find your tune." Bill sits up and walks towards the sound only he can hear.

It was a quest only he could fill, but he was still in a hurry. The sound of violin music teased his ears. He followed and followed, as it grew louder and stronger. "Alas, will I ever find the origin of this music?" he asks himself, looking into the air, like he actually had someone to ask. And since his attention was on the un-answering sky, he failed to see the large pothole-like crack in the sidewalk, thus he came crashing face first onto the cold cement.

And as he fell upon the ground, so soon was someone there to pick him up. She stood there above him with her hand reaching out to his. He grabbed on and she pulled him up. "That had to hurt," she commented.

"Yeah," Bill agreed. She walked back to her seat on the stoop