,,ggddY"""Ybbgg,, subversive literature ,agd888b,_ "Y8, ___`""Ybga, for subverted people! ,gdP""88888888baa,.""8b "888g, / ,dP" ]888888888P' "Y `888Yb, ,dP" ,88888888P" db, "8P"""" Installment 228 of... ,8" ,888888888b, d8" db. dP b. ,8' d88888888888,88 d$$$s. dP `8, - -- -THE NEO-COMINTERN ,8' 8888888888888" dP$$$$$s. dP 8. d' I8888888888P" dP `T$$$$$$dP `.d$$b. .d$$b. .d$$b..s$s 8 `8"88P""Y8P' dP `T$$$$P d$$$P dP' `$ dP' T$ dP' `TP' `T$ 8 Y 8[ _ " dP `T$P d$$$P dP dP dP dP dP dP 8 "Y8d8b dP dP :$ .$ $b. .dP dP dP dP 8 `"".dP dP `T$$P' `T$$P' dP dP dP Y, ,,odnd88b, ,b `8, ,d8888888baaa ,8' ELECTRONIC MAGAZINE- -- - `8, 888888888888' ,8' `8a "8888888888I a8' Writers: `Yba `Y8888888P' adP' Ei'det-ik "Yba `888888P' adY" trilobyte `"Yba, d8888P" ,adP"' BMC `"Y8baa, ,d888P,ad8P"' - - - - -``""YYba8888P""''===================------- -- - - - - MARCH 2, 2003 INSTALLMENT 228 BMC, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - FEATURED IN THIS INSTALLMENT: A drink with the ex - BMC agony in slightly distorted e minor - trilobyte variables - Ei'det-ik - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - EDITOR'S NOTE - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - Here's something to iron out your heartbeat. Send me the cleaning bill. - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - A drink with the ex - BMC - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - The pub seemed so quiet. I swirled the ice cubes around in the glass again and looked back up. "So," I said, "do you really think it's a good idea for us to get back together?" "Fuckin yeah it is, you little prick. Don't you think I know what's best, or do you think I'm a FUCKIN idiot?" "No, no," I said, "You're not an idiot." I swirled the ice cubes in my glass again, hoping that if I stalled enough she'd give up and leave. "Hey, you know what?" she said. "We had some good times, you know. When you weren't being such a fuckin retard all the time things were kinda fun." I agreed. I said, "Hey, remember how when we broke up you slept with half of my friends? That was kind of funny how you did that." She smiled and said, "You know, I slept with the other half before we broke up." This was kind of strange. She slept with 50% of my friends after we broke up, that was clear enough. But did she sleep with the other 50% while we were going out or before we went out? Or was it 25% before we went out, 25% while we were going out, and the other 50% after we went out? "So are we gettin back together or what?" she said. Still, I swirled my ice cubes and said nary a word. Eventually she went away. She came back a few minutes later. "So answer me you fuckin asshole! Are we gettin back together or no?" Swirl swirl swirl. The swirling of the ice cubes represents two things. First, in this little pub there was nothing to distract me from her line of questioning, so I sought escape in the swirling of the ice cubes. This is pretty pathetic, really, since it's impossible to escape into the bottom of a glass (unless that glass happens to be filled with alcohol, which this one wasn't). Second, the swirling ice is a metaphor for my own inner turmoil. I was tossed inside, but an invisible wall like glass kept me contained. But what if the glass were to shatter? The ice would fly everywhere, spread out all over the room. People would slip on it, and it would eventually melt into water, and then that water would evaporate. People might breathe it in, somebody would drink that water someday. Somebody like my ex-girlfriend. I swirled the glass faster and faster, shaking it until the effort was visible on my face. My elbow on the table jerked harder and harder until it was banging loudly over and over. One of the ice cubes came up over the rim and hit me in the face. I stopped, held the glass still, and then smashed it down on the table. Shards of glass sliced deep into my hand and wrist. "Sure, let's get back together!" I said. And I lived happily ever after. - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - agony in slightly distorted e minor - trilobyte - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - she served me once, on a platter, the most delicious salad dressing i'd ever had. it had chunks of white in it, if you looked at it in a transparent plastic container. it had little chunks of red shards and little pieces of brown flavor-substance. it had everything, all in a deliciously brownish-clear oil called "dressing". i knew that i wanted this dressing rather than the french that many places traditionally offer because this was the "house" dresing; and if some place is willing to name an oil-with-pieces-of-vegetable-in-it their "house dressing", it must be good. no, that's not entirely true. i was out to this retaurant with an entirely different chick and she told me how good the "house dressing" was. that chick is now dead. part I: present tense and afterthought i notice that there has been no garlic bread brought with our meal; i fault the business of the restaurant and not the server in particular. i see the cuteness of 'her sweetness' and i beckon her attention. she steps to the table. "uhh, madam?" i ask. "uhh," she smiles, "yes, sir?" "ma'am, may we possibly have more of the garlic-bread?" "yes, certainly!" she replies, with a satisfied look on her face. she seems to notice that we didn't ask her for something more important than just garlic bread. i could have... i certainly could have ... but i didn't. it was enough joy to look into her gleaming brown eyes. did i mention that i was on a date? yeah ... i was on a date with a girl with curly [colored] hair. she was not as beautiful as our waitress. it was a challenging time but eventually i attributed any goodness to the conversation; the conversation was intense enough that the date was worthwhile. otherwise i'd be dating the girl who gave me salad dressing. part II: dating the girl with the salad dressing hello, all she wanted to do was just roll around in oil on a hardwood floor. all she wanted to do was dress up in jeans and a t-shirt and roll around on a hardwood floor in olive oil. all she wanted to do was talk about the time i asked for the salad dressing, the house dressing. all she wanted to do was acknowledge that i asked for the house dressing even though she hadn't seen me in there before. amazing. all she wanted to do was look beautiful and talk intrepidly talk pointlessly but she looked beautiful she looked gor-ge-ous with a blue hair tie in her hair sweetness perspired. - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - variables - Ei'det-ik - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - __shiatsu1__ i had this friend who assigned variables to a little white shiatsu yapping at us from behind a foot-high fence. "hello cute little dog1." i'd hope that he would not assign those variables to me, but rather, that he would recognize my global constant. Constant and constant, (visual)basically speaking, of course. __darts2__ someday i'll be lecturing the meaning behind those numerating conversations. i'd be at the podium and everyday in my glory explicating the vastness behind these conversations on variables and their metaphoric association to life. the profundus of youthful tangents between boy and girl. but everyday i'd have to bring a box of darts to throw at a crazy man who sits in the back, yelling at my fallacies, my pontification, and i'd throw these darts at the "i know what that really means!!" throwing darts at the one who knows me best. __bopple3__ still walking down the alley, we talk about girls we know that look like bopples. you remember bopples the marsupials that live within their own pouch, trollish hair and bulbous eyes? megan looked like a bopple. my arch-rival karma comes, gets comfortable in his mind as revenge for my cruel visualizations, then nudges his ribs, "heya boy, how about you leave that girl?" __constant4__ and so predestines the crazy old man in the back of my lectures and my darts and fervent times with global constants. We will always be two variables assigned to each other. now that's a love story. of sorts. - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - 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 | |___________________________________________________| - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - copyright 2003 by #228-03/02/03 the neo-comintern All content is property of The Neo-Comintern. 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