,,ggddY"""Ybbgg,, subversive literature ,agd888b,_ "Y8, ___`""Ybga, for subverted people! ,gdP""88888888baa,.""8b "888g, / ,dP" ]888888888P' "Y `888Yb, ,dP" ,88888888P" db, "8P"""" Installment 248 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' Gnarly Wayne "Yba `888888P' adY" Komrade B `"Yba, d8888P" ,adP"' BMC `"Y8baa, ,d888P,ad8P"' - - - - -``""YYba8888P""''===================------- -- - - - - July 20, 2003 INSTALLMENT 248 Gnarly Wayne, Editor - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - FEATURED IN THIS INSTALLMENT: Risen: Writer! (Part I) - Gnarly Wayne Risen: Writer! (Part II) - Komrade B Risen: Writer! (Part III) - BMC - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - EDITOR'S NOTE - Gnarly Wayne - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - For years they have walked amongst us, breathing the same air we do, feeling the same sun on the skin that still remains, and eating the same sandwiches we do. Yet, for some reason, they are seen as vile and loathsome creatures of the night. But these are no Draculas or mummies. No -- these friendly chaps were once living humans. As many of you know, certain writers of the N-Com also dabble in alchemy and the dark occult arts. A recent event came to be in which the laws of nature were violated and abused with extreme prejudice. When you want a lost thing back badly enough, sometimes you are willing to go past the realms of reason and commit acts so heinous that they are unspeakable. Enjoy as our world unfolds around you. - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - Risen: Writer! (Part I) - Gnarly Wayne - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - He opened his eyes to an eternal gray, almost like aluminum. The shapes and forms around him blurred, became focused, and blurred again. Waves of sound slammed against his ears, but he could not make sense of them. He slowly, so slowly, became aware of his limbs, of his heartbeat, of his breath. He attempted to speak but at best brought forth a moist gurgling. White froth speckled his lower jaw. A man in a gray-white labcoat leaned over him and a needle-like needle into his neck. A wonderful and joyous sensation overcame him and he smiled widely, though the absence of his upper lip made for quite a grotesque expression indeed. Lab-Coat began to speak to another man who was just out of sight. Gradually he started to comprehend their words. "Ah. See? No worries. The sandwich serum works perfectly, just as I told you," said Lab-Coat. "Yes, yes. I have no doubt in your abilities. But will he be able to write?" said the man who was slowly coming into view. "I'm sure with a little more serum and some practice, it will all come back to him." "You know number 249 is slated for release next Sunday, right?" "Yes, yes. I'm well aware. Let me worry about his readiness. Now, onto the matter of my payment." They continued to discuss among themselves but he lost track of their dialogue as the man previously unseen came into view. He was wearing a dark gray, three piece suit and something seemed awfully familiar about him. Perhaps it was the deep, dark gray eyes, or the long tuft of hair sticking out from the front of his otherwise bald head. He had the sudden urge to embrace this man but found he was restrained. He bucked and strained against his bonds and began to scream incoherently. Flecks of ashen blood fell from his mouth onto his chest. Lab-Coat came over and looked sympathetically down upon him. "Poor sap," said Lab-Coat. "He must be so confused." The suited man responded, "Meh. He used to do that sometimes before. And at random. It was pretty funny." "Are you sure he didn't have epilepsy?" "No, he was just damn weird. He even gave his cat the title of Mister. Cats don't need titles. They just don't. Okay, anyway, I'm going out to get smashed. You make sure he's penning something brilliant before Sunday. Peace!" He watched as Lab-Coat waved the suited man away and moved out of his vision. He lay there for awhile, not being able to comprehend what was going on. After two days of just lying there, Lab-Coat stuck the needle-like needle into him again and proceeded to loosen the restraints. As he started up into a sitting position, Lab-Coat carefully took him by the arm and led him over to a monochrome monitor that had Notepad open. The cursor winked invitingly. Lab-Coat carefully put a keyboard into his lap and said, "There you go. Get to it or I'll kill you. You have three hours." He then proceeded to leave with two 40s of 8-Ball in each hand. He sat there for the first two hours looking about his surroundings. He felt like he should know what he was suppose to do but it was just beyond his grasp. As the clock approached the end of the third hour, his apprehension grew exponentially. His confusion and rage erupted as the last minute counted down and slammed his decaying fists again and again into the keyboard. Chucks of rotting gray flesh flew in all conceivable directions. Finally, his fury spent, he collapsed into a heap at the base of his chair. Soon after, Lab-Coat came back in and staggered over to the table and proceeded to generate a print out. After glancing over the paper for some time, he addressed the agglomeration that still lay on the floor. "I must say I'm quite surprised at you. I wasn't expecting this at all. This is easily the best article you have ever written. I dare say I'll be getting a bonus out of this. Congratulation! Okay! Back into the freezer." Lab-Coat dragged him across the room and tossed him into a chilly room and proceeded to hook him up to all sorts of tubes and electrodes. The promise of sweet dreams followed by maniacal laughter was all he heard before the darkness enveloped him. - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - Risen: Writer! (Part II) - Komrade B - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - asd kdaein LOIU98) klasdn aasdkalue0239adsf d stap.,a og fra he Siadoib ldskfnavoaiwekljdf analdaissenf afsda..as.dk.asiencvas... Soom my thoughts bcame more coherent to me... Life... Had Doctor Pretorous made good on his bold claims? Movements were still difficult but I could feel my mind adjusting to my body and I became more aware of my surroundings. Some sort of laboratory. Judging from the lighting I would assume I am on secret Monster Island, where my body was interred shortly after my death. Why had I been summoned from the grey murky depths of hell? Who is this man -- he is no Pretorous... He's pushing a paper in front of me. He has slid a pencil into my cold, grey, decaying hand. Oh my hands! My lord, I'm a foul monster! What does this man want of me? To write? I think not. I'm dead and cannot be touched. I refuse at first, but unable to speak the labcoat is not aware of this and he leaves. Taking that as a victory I struggle at some of my bonds but only succeed in ripping and tearing pieces of my own decayed flesh which then fall to the floor. I would not write, however. Hell, however bleak, was inspiring, but I would not allow the living to know its depths. How would people cope with the knowledge that the devil looked like a thin High Cog, and that it was populated by Succubi with the head of BMC! I would imagine they could not cope. My memory is returning. Judging from my condition, it would seem I am one of the zombies that Gnarly Wayne has been rambling on about for some time. That must mean I need sandwich serum, for what ends I know not since I never bothered to read any of his work. Such is the price of ignorance. Though it matters not as my mind was better saved from such bits of knowledge. Alas, I'm more powerful then these fools think. They cannot bend me to their will and once I break free of these bonds.... Unbeknownst to me the man had returned and torn the sheet of paper that was in front of me. Turns out I had been writing down every thought. How did this occur? Curses I manage as I see the surprised look on his face. He's carting me to another room... what will be my fate? - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - Risen: Writer! (Part III) - BMC - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - Rolling up the sleeves on my grey suit jacket, I lifted the zombie by means of two exposed bones that functioned well as handles. He smiled as I lifted him into a stolen shopping cart and began to wheel him into the adjoining room. This place could use a new coat of paint, I thought to myself as I looked around at the unpainted concrete walls of the abandoned warehouse. Yes, it was an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town with a secret lab in it! I looked at the stone tablet upon which the zombie had chiseled his hieroglyphs, but I found his zombie article to be bland and offensive. I shattered the stone palate on the floor and pulled my communicator from my pocket. --Lab coat, it looks like we're going to need a double-dose of sandwich serum in here. --But grey-suit, it is far too dangerous! We have no idea what may happen if we administer such a high dose! --Hey, lab-coat, this guy is already a dead zombie, what can possibly go wrong? Lab-coat shrugged, but I couldn't hear it over the communicator. He began to prepare the serum. He sterilized his instruments and removed two glass beakers from the cooling unit. Using a scalpel-like instrument, he removed fluids from the containers and carefully smeared them over two rhomboid units of heated wheat and yeast product. Next, a green water-based plant leaf was removed from a sealed container and laid across the top of one rhomboid slice. Finally, lab-coat used calipers to measure four slices of an orange bacteria-based product, cut at intervals of 2mm. Folding the two rhomboid units together, he stood staring at the completed sandwich serum, prepared. His hands shook with fear as he affixed an olive to the serum with a toothpick. The zombie really liked the sandwich. It was clear that lab-coat was not just a sandwich scientist, but a sandwich artist as well. The zombie was so inspired by the sandwich that he wrote a really awesome article, the likes of which is too good to be reproduced in this forum. Thank you. The End. - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - 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 #248-07/20/03 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.