o$$$$$$o o$o o$$o db "$$$$$$" $$ $$$$ $$ $$$ $$ $o o$$o $$$$ $$ o$$o o$$o $$$ $$$$$$ $$$$$b $$ $$ $$ d$$$$b d$$$$$. $$$ $$' $$ d$$ $$ $$ '$$ $$ d$$ $$ $$$ `$b $$P $$ $$ $$$$$$P $$ $$$$ $$$$$$P $$' ,$$ $$$ $$ $$ $$ `$$. ,$ $$ $$$ `$$. ,$ `$$$$P $P $$ $P `$$$P' $$ $$$ `$$$P' `$$P o$o. $$$ d$$$$$$o $P d d$$' `$$$ o$$o o$$o o$o o$o d$ o$$o $$. o$o $$$ d$$$$$. d$$$$$$$$$$b $$ $$$$$$b d$$$$ d$$$$b $$$$$b $$$$$$b $$$ $$$ `$b $$' $$' $$ $$ $$' `$$ $$$P d$$ $$ $$ $$ $$' $$ $$$. ,$$ $$. ,$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$$$$$P $$ $ $$ $$ o$$$$$P `$$$$P $$ $$ ,$$ $$ $$ ,$$ $$.$$`$$. ,$ $$ $$ ,$$ $$$P `$$P $P $P $$P $P $P $$P `$$P `$$$P' $P $$ $$P The Neo-Comintern Electronic Magazine -- Installment Number 223 .... .. . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .... `""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""' Subversive Literature for Subverted People Date: January 26th, 2003 Editor: BMC Writers: Steak Margarina Cataclysma BMC d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b. ;P Featured in this installment: .b $ $ $ Dicya - Steak $ $ Ingrid's Response - Margarina Cataclysma $ $ Your Dog, Sir - BMC $ `q p' `nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn' EDITOR'S NOTE (please do not read the following) Hallo, hallo! Howdy. Hola. Hi. Back in '73 there was this thing called "Zines." There were lots of them, and The Neo-Comintern was just one of many. One of the most famous was a tabloid called Addendum magazine. After a run of 86 issues, the zine went on hiatus and Steak, the zine's editor, was never able to explain why. But friends and foes, in this special issue of The Neo-Comintern, we will get to read a "fictional" work explaining a bit about the circumstances of the demise of Addendum. Also, to all of the Margarina Cataclysma fans out there, HURRAH! Here's another smash hit from our beloved idol. And another tiny blurb from me. That being said, shut the hell up and start reading. ,o$o o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b d$$$' ` `$$b d$$' Dicya ,$$ $$: by Steak ,$P `$n,.. . . . . . . . . . . . . ..P' `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""' "Dicya jacke dhyerksebhy," said the man. "You what?" I asked. "Dicya jacke dhyerksebhy," repeated the man. "I'm truly sorry but I just don't understand what you're saying." "Hwejuwend sdcndjksfhkjg sdfjhsdkfhdgkjh." "Ok, look, I think I'm going to go over here, like away from you." I tried to move but what ever the thing was that was jabbering at me was following me, bursting out their strange inhuman language at me while I was running down the corridor. I jolted out of the elevator and into the foyer. It was empty, apart from the hotel clerk. I ran up to the desk to inform him that there was a man who had turned mad on one of the upstairs floors. But when he opened his mouth to reply only the same garbled gibberish came out. I ran out of the foyer, grabbing at random people and commanding them to speak, but all I heard from each person was the same nonsense syllables. What was happening to the world? Had they all gone insane? Was this judgement day? Had I gone insane? What was the deal? Confused, I sprinted out the front door and jumped in the red convertible Cadillac that was parked in front of the gold plated veneer doors. Luckily, the key was already in the ignition as the bellboy was unpacking the suitcases from the car. I turned the key, started the engine, and screeched out of the parking lot. "hahgjhdhfium fjsdfhjkfjkfh!nbhhfkdhf!!!!!" yelled the bell boy after me. I drove for a while before turning into a backwards motel car park and parking the car behind two big vans. Sneakily I swapped number plates with one of the vans and found a new parking space. That would keep the pigs off my tail for a little while. I needed time to think, to digest what was happening here. "Digest," I thought. "Digest." Yes I could use some food. This journey ahead is going to be perilous. Quite likely the only food I will possess will be what I can steal, so I better snack up on food before I run out of money. I ran in and pointed to a hamburger. It looked like the lady behind the counter understood what I was trying to convey, so I gave her the money and sat down to eat my food. As I did this, I pondered my thoughts. I thought and I thought and I thought, but however hard I thought I just couldn't get my head around it, so I finished my burger and walked out into the car park. A man and woman beside me were talking some nonsense gibberish that I couldn't understand. I thought nothing of it at first, but just before I made it to the car the two people whipped out guns and started shooting at me! "Shit!" I yelled, "I have to get out of here!" I jumped into the car and sped her out of the drive and onto the freeway, out into freedom. I was driving along the road quite fast when I noticed someone along the side of the road that I thought I recognised. I pulled the car over and the person came running up to me. To my surprise I heard straight plain English. "Steak," Said the voice, "It's good that I have finally found you." "My god," I said. "First man, it's you!" It was my good friend First man, one of the many characters I have created in past stories to reappear at strange and inappropriate intervals and become useful miraculous bringers of major plot points. "What are you doing in this story?" I asked. "I haven't written you in-- this is a very severe breech of protocol." "I realize that I risk my entire existence by coming to you with this information, but I couldn't let you face them alone, not with the power that they have. With this information you and me could lay low. We won't feel the pain and anguish of having to go through their hurt inducers... my god... it still brings back memories." "For god's sake, First man!" I yelled. "What's the information?!" First man shot me a mesmerising stare. "Everyone is talking bullshit to confuse you and get you away from your computer. As we speak, someone who looks exactly like you has taken over your place at your home and shut down your zine!" "My what!?" I shouted. "Shhh... Your zine, you were getting too close to the truth. It's time for us to move on. We need to lay low for a while. Get in the car--I will explain on the way." I thought about this for a second. Did I want to lay low with First man? He wasn't exactly good company, a bit of a loser really if I thought about it. I didn't know what to do. They were definitely closing in, and he would surely meet am excruciatingly painful death at their hands, so he should come, but then again, he could get a bit tedious in large doses, so I should leave him here, but he was a friend, so yeah, I wasn't sure. In the end I summed it up and came to the right conclusion rationally and morally. "No fucking way," I said. I kicked first man in the head and jumped into the car. "Steak!" yelled First man. "What have you done? I am now going to die a horrible death, you bastardy coward!" "Nonsense!" I shouted back as I revved up the car. "I'll write in a way out for you a little further into the story, I promise!" "You bloody well better!" shouted first man. "Hey man, this is me we're talking about!" I yelled back as I sped away. I needed to think now, I was defiantly going to lay low. It was important. The zine was gone. It had been taken over by body snatchers, but best to leave it as it is, no point trying to get it back, it was gone. Any activity on the server will just arouse suspicion. It will probably be best to just stay in the shadows, lurking and sending out textfiles as I write them to different zines. That way they can't trace me to one place. But right now, I needed some vehicles and a laptop computer and stuff, to write the prestigious pieces on. I sped my car in the direction of the nearest computer shop and spend the last of my cash on the appropriate goods. As I sat in the computer shop car park and surveyed my new toys, I thought, I thought about typing a way out for first man, a way for him to escape the horrible pain that he was certainly experiencing at this very second. But I rationalized that I didn't really have the time, what with the fuzz on my tail and stuff. He would understand, it's vital that I got away right at that very second. If I didn't, these textfiles might never be written. I suppose it doesn't really matter, I didn't like him that much anyway. I pulled the car out of the shop and headed up the highway into the sun setting on the horizon, where blue met red. ...to be continued in angstmonster #19 on January 27th, 2003 ,o$o o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b d$$$' ` `$$b d$$' Ingrid's Response (Paranoid Fantasy #441) ,$$ $$: by Margarina Cataclysma ,$P `$n,.. . . . . . . . . . . . . ..P' `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""' "It is early yet," Bessie said. "You can't verily expect him home so soon." But Ingrid slammed the door so hard that it unhinged itself a little bit at the top when it rebounded back from its frame. Bessie said to her salad, "Yes she has always had a cauldron a 'brewing, that one." And the salad assuredly agreed. Bessie teased some strands from the pile of green, skewered a tomato, put it all into her mouth and chewed. With lassitude, she stared at the ceiling. Outside in the yard Ingrid thunked the axe into the thick stump. Bessie heard the gentle clinking of the chain links as they separated. And again, and again, and yet again, the sounds repeated themselves. Bessie took a long slow drink of water, and set her glass down beside her plate, in the cool ring of water that it had sat in before she lifted it to her mouth. Ingrid yanked the screen door open again, pulled it closed behind her and latched it. "Well, that's that then. I've released the beast hounds." And she put herself to folding the linens that she and Bessie had washed that morning, then hung on the branches of the willows to dry. The crisp sheets smelled like open prairie. The End. ,o$o o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b d$$$' ` `$$b d$$' Your Dog, Sir ,$$ $$: by BMC ,$P `$n,.. . . . . . . . . . . . . ..P' `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""' I did pet your dog, sir. I am sorry, sir. It was a nice dog, sir, and I just wanted to pet it. It came up to me, sir, and I said hello, and when it came closer I touched it, sir. Please don't kick your dog, sir. It is a nice dog, sir. .d&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&b. The Neo-Comintern Magazine / Online Magazine is seeking submissions. Unpublished stories and articles of an unusual, experimental, or anti-capitalist nature are wanted. Contributors are encouraged to submit works incorporating any or all of the following: Musings, Delvings into Philosophy, Flights of Fancy, Freefall Selections, and Tales of General Mirth. The more creative and astray from the norm, the better. For examples of typical Neo-Comintern writing, see our website at . Submissions of 25-4000 words are wanted; the average article length is approximately 200-1000 words. Send submissions via email attachment to , or through ICQ to #29981964. Contributors will receive copies of the most recent print issue of The Neo-Comintern; works of any length and type will be considered for publication in The Neo-Comintern Online Magazine and/or The Neo-Comintern Magazine. - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - ___________________________________________________ | THE COMINTERN IS AVAILABLE ON THE FOLLOWING BBSES | |~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~| | TWILIGHT ZONE (905) 432-7667 | | BRING ON THE NIGHT (306) 373-4218 | | CLUB PARADISE (306) 978-2542 | | THE GATEWAY THROUGH TIME (306) 373-9778 | |___________________________________________________| | Website at: http://www.neo-comintern.com | | Questions? Comments? Submissions? | | Email BMC at bmc@neo-comintern.com | |___________________________________________________| | The Current Text Scene : http://www.textscene.com | |___________________________________________________| - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - copyright 2003 by #223-01/26/03 the neo-comintern All content is property of The Neo-Comintern. You may redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and the content must not be altered or modified in any way. Unauthorized use of any part of this document is prohibited. All rights reserved. Made in Canada.