,,ggddY"""Ybbgg,, subversive literature ,agd888b,_ "Y8, ___`""Ybga, for subverted people! ,gdP""88888888baa,.""8b "888g, / ,dP" ]888888888P' "Y `888Yb, ,dP" ,88888888P" db, "8P"""" Installment 244 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' Rank Swiney "Yba `888888P' adY" Melatonin `"Yba, d8888P" ,adP"' BMC `"Y8baa, ,d888P,ad8P"' - - - - -``""YYba8888P""''===================------- -- - - - - June 22, 2003 INSTALLMENT 244 BMC, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - FEATURED IN THIS INSTALLMENT: graffiti - Rank Swiney Desperate Digging - BMC The Pretend - Melatonin - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - EDITOR'S NOTE - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - , but I'm not so sure about that, there is something strange this time, something to flow, something of sound, something of mind, something to read twice, and you wonder maybe maybe MAYBE but really it doesn't matter because it just feels right when you're feeling it around you around your waist touching the backs of your arms and there's that tingle that you feel in your soul if the soul is what you call that tingle in your spine and even though it's a bit uncomfortable you think maybe this is feeling pretty good and you start to flow with it, rolling softly, sinewave, double helix, intertwining, and just maybe, who knows, maybe, there are no buttons on the keyboard that could accurately relay the sensation, - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - graffiti - Rank Swiney - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - it comses first like a coat slipped on at the last minute no he doesn't misse her purposefully she keepps her fingers of the space pbar. you have to presst he nuzzle like you p-ull at a cord out of the soccet withoug grabbin g quitk neat. she likes to feel sick when falling like mindless jumble of wordls. sprqy afafer spray and then her face to the concrete paint nostrils. there is a acara and it pulls upo parking lot next 90. wha'ts up missy he yells he doin't mqakes sense she wishes he got mad says, he must make love to me soonsoon. how you getit down pulls newspint down just enought of the paint dragsto smudge the city rlight. he's bot a real artist not the real thing he smiles he smiles soo fucking lot it hurtys her face. on fucking what? high on life babe, he says babe like the pig tin that movie BABE she wrinkles her nose the smelli doing you harm HARm? mr. I love int in the ass, she sayts and he doesn't smile he takes her to him like he takes her to him like he takes her like he takes her and then he takes her to him. and it's the smeel iu like it I like it she s says kind of laud in fact she yells it like she yells, tyells and like she walked into the menn's bathroom with no warrning no it was wih, I'm coming into the mens washroom. blllue biy buckle d then she lost interest and interest lost linterest it's spoken like its spoken graffiti he swritites and he sprays mout hlike. he mouths she smothes pain with her sleeve its stupid like love he mouths it he writes love is kapital yes the right kless you have to be though you have toi press hard havv re to smell lki8ke shit hold the cqn. it dxon n't make sense the wwall whatever it says should make xsenzxse. S fuckinhg concreate and cement sa debate wahat the hell no no nonon on this fuckijkng wall wall wa woaa saa hey listen he pulls her arm, you're wasting the paint and youre wasting the canvass listen you can practyice at home here it's for the real boys, get it real bots. she says mucha choes on drugs and he laugfhs muchachoes ha ha ha. he nolds her hand, listen I love you bvuyt these are real boys we playtt real games if you cann;t deal wit get off your ass ant march home. I think tyou got that rom some movie. leave he says and she sayes no no one thing, let me paint let me zslip let me dill in crakc in the wall. here just a xlip of a finger just a little elowve, I lobe you love you pricck don't sn 't scram her fingers dirty and so he says fuckt we era. she sprqys locvew you assho.,le - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - Desperate Digging - BMC - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - 11-18-98, buried in books, burrowing through pages, shredding, tearing, sheets cast hither and thither like propeller seeds from that tree in the neighbour's yard - what was his name again? The one - the one who kicked my ass into the next week, or was it so hard that I couldn't sit down for a week, or what was it he said he would do? As I catapulted, 08-22-87, buckets of dirt over the fence, the fence that made us good neighbours, onto his new patio deck? The buckets, from the garden - we were going to dig a hole under the garden where we could spend the night, but dad said it was too dangerous and mom wanted to put her eggshells there. Besides, who really wants to sleep under the garden? Besides us, of course. We do. Or maybe the centre of the Earth, like the book said, 05-10-84, full of lava - once we got that far we would need a boat or at least an astronaut suit. It would be too hot for a swimsuit, unless, 07-15-82, it was to dig deeper than the water of the lake. A hole in the beach with no bottom, for no bottom it had. It filled itself faster than we could dig, although we continued to fight it for hours minutes. Now why, why? I am digging, digging always, especially when not digging, for then I am digging the most. To get somewhere, 06-15-2003, and where? Here is not sufficient - the transience of time is proof of that, or else I should have ended writing a sentence ago or midway through this one. Yes, midway through that one. I am now referring to the sentence that is two back. Three sentences ago I made an observation to illustrate to you that I continue to dig through time, and why? What urges me on? A buried treasure? Or would the contents of the strongbox disappoint me in a way my imagination never could? Or! is it the purpose of my life to be digging, as certain explorers of time would have me believe. Digging toward a great something, always, Except when digging away, which is always always. And the answer "from where" is simple, digging from digging, to a place of digging no more. Digging since 07-02-1977, to be born. Digging sometime later, later than now, to be dead. But what lies beyond? More digging? Aye, there is the rub. Perhaps it is best to continue to dig with vigour, for it is then when the least digging occurs. And I shall occupy my mind with digging as I enter hole after hole with no Freudian significance to it whatsoever. Dig? Please. - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - The Pretend - Melatonin - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - (i) babies (couldn't you just eat them alive? couldn't you just skin them alive? fillet them? flame them? roast their stubby fingers on a fire?). "mommy!" she cries. "I want a baby of my very own to love for and care for and forget in the store!" eyes netted in vein, we taught ourselves to study lips. let me explain: pick up a fish, hold it about yea high, watch its mouth open and close, sucking moisture from the sky. watch it die. it is just a fish, but listen: lean in (in) when it tell you this. it is important. it is a red wheelbarrow. the chickens are stomping up the path. last week, they learned german from a book on tape. today, they drove a rake through the farmer's back. black leather boots, shin high. a drunk brawls in berlin. a gas pellet is fired. no one pulled the trigger (so says the paper) but I saw I saw I saw! I saw the white trail take off a woman's head. (ii) children (are NOT an oxygen mask, nor a telephone from one fight to another). stop treating us like sex toys, our tongues are more than a soft brown rubber. we watch, we watch -- this is what the milk company trained us to do! you can't count the jellybeans in the cow's stomach, your front lawn is not a hiding place, and your drapes don't close all the way. backyards touch other backyards touch other backyards. it is a hug. you share your fence with a stranger. now talk to him. he is building a robot in his basement. something to fuck him, to suck him. it is a machine, eight years in the making. he is working on the skin, making waves to hide the stitches. you bond with him over a beer, hoping for a go. he leads you downstairs, stumbling, eyelids bee stung. your hands are zealots; or slaves; or sailors plotting knots. he lifts the veil and you see her: little girl in sandals, body glued to the head of a deer. (and you wake. to dark, to cold, to your wife crying in the closet.) (iii) adults (see wolves, in glasses and pans). in padded suits, watch how their pants bulge at the back. tails! tails! wagging at the paintings on display! it is a portrait of salad -- a cautious meal -- but fork through it once or twice, look what you find: a stain, a fly, a piece of wrist. we point cars in the wrong direction, we open paint cans, we put flags on the moon when we should wash our feet in the sink. understand soap, please. "all employees must be clean." we balance, like clowns. unicycles. a round of applause. we put up a fight, throwing our fists. barbarians in the parking lot and cigars, cigars. the cloth wall sports a dangling lock. we leer. smoke fills the top of the room, like drowning upside down. the city can be a garden, metal scraps that succumb. take a pipe, a whistle. snap it in half. work, eat, kill. find love. populate the empty space. shop, weep, ponder names. look pensive. the camera thinks it becomes. rot, and rotate quarters. forget much, then: (just) pretend. - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - 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 #244-06/22/03 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.