,,ggddY"""Ybbgg,, subversive literature ,agd888b,_ "Y8, ___`""Ybga, for subverted people! ,gdP""88888888baa,.""8b "888g, / ,dP" ]888888888P' "Y `888Yb, ,dP" ,88888888P" db, "8P"""" Installment 250 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" ada `"Yba, d8888P" ,adP"' Ahmed Balfouni `"Y8baa, ,d888P,ad8P"' Melatonin ``""YYba8888P""'' Heckat Komrade B BMC - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - August 10, 2003 INSTALLMENT 250 BMC, Editor - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - FEATURED IN THIS INSTALLMENT: There was a Goblin in My Flipbook - Ei'det-ik I Miss My Favourite Monster - ada creeping vine - Ahmed Balfouni The Red - Melatonin Batman and Dracula are Friends - Heckat Lord of the Things - BMC and Melatonin When We Were Kings of Atlantis - BMC and Komrade B - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - EDITOR'S NOTE - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - Kick some Knowledge on MONSTARS. What's tha thyme? It's THYME TA GET ILL. Word. Take that funkee knowledge! TAKE IT! LISTEN TO ME I AM NOT JOKING I'm sorry. I'm getting a bit out of control. In order to restrain myself I'm going to restrict my writing to one half of the page. Yeah, this is going to work out ok. I think I can type slower, calm down, just easy, easy, easy. No, I'm not trying to creep back to the other side of the screen... I promise. ok, i don't know what 's going on, but let's put my personal and spiritual confus ion aside and just get to the CORE of this APPLE!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!! !! .sSSSSs. SSSSSSSSSs. .sSSSSs. .sSSSSs. SSSSS .sSSSSs. S SSS SSSSS S SSSSSSSs. S SSSSSSSs. S SSS S SSSSSSSs. S SS SSSSS S SS SSSSS S SS SSSSS S SS S SS SSSS' S..SSsSSSSS S..SS SSSSS S..SS SSSSS S..SS S..SS S:::S SSSSS S:::SsSSSSS S:::SsSSSSS S:::S S:::SSSS S;;;S SSSSS S;;;S S;;;S S;;;S S;;;S S%%%S SSSSS S%%%S S%%%S S%%%S SSSSS S%%%S SSSSS SSSSS SSSSS SSSSS SSSSS SSSSSsSS;:' SSSSSsSS;:' Now really, this is our 250th issue. That's not a milestone that most zines reach. It's a big honour. Five-and-a-half hard years have turned out an exciting zine that is experimental, subversive, cynical, and absurd. As Gnarly Wayne has put it, The Neo-Comintern is The Literary Molotov Cocktail. I would also like to extend to readers of this zine that I condone the use of Molotov Cocktails of the non-literary variety (and also the drinking of cocktails of the non-Molotov variety). Two-Hundred-and-Fifty-ISSUES. On top of that, we have had the pleasure this summer of producing our 8th print issue! In three days we will be officially launching it at Amigo's Cantina (8pm Wednesday, August 13th), and it will be a great honour to me to appear in a public reading alongside the other wonderful Neo-Comintern writers. Now all that we have to worry about is if anyone comes out to see us! And to celebrate all of this, we are going to take it way back to the first issues. What were we writing about in the first few issues back in '98? Sea Monsters, MoOn MonStArs, zombies, Draculae, ghosts, goblins, Wolf Man, unicorns, gold apples, faeries, and the almighty zombie. So let's kick it, folks. Some pure monster action... For... OUR.... 250th issue! - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - There was a Goblin in My Flipbook - Ei'det-ik - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - I found the goblin king in a flipbook. When I picked up the little paper bundle I didn't know what to do at first. I had grown afraid of opening little books since time I opened a pop-up book and every page exploded with gaudy screaming cardboard faces of moral celebrity who fanned their lovely paper garments to my apprehensive eyes. The flipbook's edges were all dog-eared and well worn and while trying to smoothe the wrinkles I was suddenly distracted by the movement growing on each page. And, as I tuned the pages faster, he came riding on a giant centipede. "My dear, you should know the monstrosities that surround you." Startled by flipping pages making the sound of his statement, I tripped over old dishes and fell to the floor. The dishes filled with letters like jumbled magnets for fridge poetry, "sour sour sour sour" were the only words. They sucked to the floor as creatures came and went beneath the small of my back, all of them round and warm. Dew-worms replaced the staples in the floor and the books on the wall were eaten by nail polish dragonflies and deep-fried octopi. The cardboard faces of moral celebrity became displaced and confused me into the grips of a troglodyte who crawled from the black line on my credit card while spiny giant urchins filled my bed sheets with their discontented slurping. The ghosts of Twin girls with sneaker soap whirl-pooling in their ears screamed "shut the hell up CLOE!" to each other in unison over and over while my sink faucets bleated the release of mosquitoes speaking other peoples bad poetry: "everything is very sour in your dry eyes last night i fucked a sea dollar thank you god for this egg lonely and fried on my plate" And just like that movie, I wished the goblins would take it all away, right now. That a cold eyed king would make me the one beautiful thing amongst all the unnatural or excessive ugliness and wickedness (\Mon"ster\, n. [OE. monstre, F. monstre, fr. L. monstrum). But, as the flip book reached the last ten pages, I was disappointed as he turned with the centipede and grew smaller and smaller into the lower left corner. There was nothing but his distant speck to fill the last few flips and I heard him say, "My dear, you are already the queen of monsters." - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - I Miss My Favourite Monster - ada - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - Not that I was ever really fond of him. I mean what he did, really. Attacking me in the middle of the night like that. But there was something about that crazy cat that really did it for me. Probably it was the love. And when I say the love, I mean the hate. He did attack me, after all. So what was I to do, you ask? Swing him around by his hind legs until they came off in my hand, leaving him airborne, bones jutting rough and splintered, blood splattering the bedroom walls. Or perhaps suffocate him while he was calmly sleeping on the side of my bed, a drop of drool sliding down his chin. This would have been difficult. After all he does have fangs. Only they're hidden you see, behind cute little baby teeth. I thought about flying him like a kite one afternoon. Having him leap on unsuspecting small girls in pigtails licking ice cream from sweaty fingers. I've thought about a lot of things. Mostly I think about the times before he came into my life. The times of solitude, of wistful thinking, of hopeful wishing that maybe he would come along in his furry form and I would have a suitable companion. A lifetime one, who wouldn't steal too much of the covers, and never demand large bites of my supper. And if there was ever a time in my life that I needed him, it was when he showed up, little and curled, all rolled up into a tiny ball of hell. Before him, there were burnt pots in the kitchen that made me cry. A jukebox tune rolling over and over in my skull. The rattling of a broken fan. And then one night, after a restless day of tearing up the rug and getting a furry paw caught in the sewing machine, his scaly eyes followed me to bed, but he did not come. And all night I felt the emptiness in the dent he had left beside me. Until dawn I cursed his name in my dreams. - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - creeping vine - Ahmed Balfouni - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - when it's gone from down the lane the monster rises with might and main see this algebra of real gone silliness not the presence of mind doing business you ask for in the city so long and wide it devours you whole and keeps you inside and there it maintains all pallid and weak the freight company man feeding the freak it moans and keens and grinds its teeth so don't you laugh upon the heath the monster comes in writhing pain to drink your blood with might and main - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - The Red - Melatonin - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - Act One The monster slumbers [a pajama party, boys and girls in cotton] under a rain coat in the closet [first kiss, cupping breast] red fur and yellow peepers [the bottle stops on Mary Ann but he wanted Ginger] and long claws clean teeth like toothpicks. Strike lightning. Power stop. Shhh. The host [seventeen and dripping semen] fumbles up the stairs [her boy toy now severed by the aforementioned red thing] "where is that candle? I need some matches" (and watch your toes, she thinks) [Ginger opens the closet and Boy Toy slumps forward, wet and gaping] she trips on her little brother's arm and hears screaming in the dark as downstairs the monster the monster the monster the monster rages. it rages. pillows snow [slashing flesh] close your eyes / cut to black. Act Two [First] Light the suburbs red and blue [Second] Large men pinned with stars [Third] Dead kids on rolling beds. Overhead, the night sky is misting [rain drops in the chief's coffee as he asks the first officer on the scene (this scene, the bloody vision in your head)] "What do you think, Johnson? Human?" "No, sir, there was red fur everywhere." "Shit." THE MONSTER STRIKES AGAIN ["Extra extra read all about it"] Kid in flat hat on New York sidewalk [he'll shine ya shoes for a dollah] or somesuch similar thing. And white coats too. Forensics stumped in the lab. The monster's claws don't print the walls. But HEY, they think it took refuge in the forest. OR the sewers. OR the mines. But definitely definitely definitely NOT in your closet, Mr. Frank P. Wollenberg of Strawberry Heights, Sugartown. [Please don't fall asleep tonight.] Act Three Frank hasn't slept in over a week [just lost his job, but all he thinks about nowanights is] The Red Monster [The Red Monster] The Red Monster -- it's all over the news [the tv speculates green teeth and dentists froth]. Wide awake [a rumble in the bedroom] Frank digs for ham in the kitchen [canted angle on claws, peeling open closet door]. Rusty starts barking. Rain spitting windows. A vague red shape moving down the hall. "Rusty, shut up!" [scooping mustard from a jar] and there's a shadow rising behind him (fool, fool, look out behind you!) it is growing, growing [we watch the tiles and know they will splatter soon]. Stick a fist in your mouth, the monster is going to eat Frank's feet! but NO, cut to: Rusty [yes, Rusty! we forgot] snapping at the monster's tail and Frank [Frank!] spinning round, sees the green teeth shrieking shrieking large arms flail, the monster spins, the dog flies out the window [dies] and Frank falls to the floor [a bed of mustard and bread] kicking down the front door, the monster flees from the apartment, red tail dripping blue. Act Four In the forest now (like they said) [two hunters and a dog, mud caking boots and that fat black nose sniffing sniffing] the Red Monster is sleeping behind a tree, tail a soggy wound [the hunters growl like human wolves, sounds guttural that preclude] snore snore snore [a basic kindness: they hunt not food, but sport] They came for feathers, but their dog found [an evil dream rocking red furry head] a drop of blue on a white tulip: the smell of iron, petal sweet. "Hey Joe, to shoot a big red killing thing / why that would be the best sport of all." "A-yup." Two rifles sandwich red temple. [On the count of four: one and a two and a one two three four] = KA-BLAM! = But monster skull shatters bullet/barrel. A scent like pepper. A mangled fist lands in a bird's nest and My God, its yellow eyes slowly open, open. Now think stray teeth splitting face. Act Five Holed up in a cave [tail swollen] the Red Monster is curled and weeping [poor timid beast and the dog outside won't stop barking, please] a scared, soppy thing, it keeps thinking thinking and oh dear, how this blue fluid confuses. Nights pass [red becomes pink becomes white but in the shadows we do not notice] and that nasty yapping creature is still outside. The Red > Pink > White Monster is asleep [no blanket] a dream of food or fuel [waking up, it sneezes] and the doctors in the audience identify the flu. Starvation, the town's horror shrinks. A sickness in the head [hallucinations] the Monster sees dogs in the corners of the cave [blue pawprints on the wall] and a growling snout descends from the ceiling and and and Nothing. Red palm cupping eye, the monster pauses [the] wait wait shh. Do you hear that? The barking has stopped. A shriveled lump crawling, the Monster emerges from the cave [blue tail trailing] and sees daylight, clouds, a sun the size of a quarter and hunters standing everywhere, their muzzled dogs taut on leashes. Everything will soon go limp, I know and I am sorry. Epilogue The hunters were kind [they saved the monster's head] a knock on the Mayor's door and look at this: The Red Monster [neck up] marinated on a silver platter. The Mayor eats it greedily [wife sipping wine beside him] as the press snaps [snaps] snaps pictures, the cracking of flashbulbs a louder crash than the screaming son and daughter upstairs "Mommy, Daddy!" they shriek. "We see purple fur growling in our closet!" - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - Batman and Dracula are Friends - Heckat - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - Ever since Robin had admitted he'd only been going through a phase and decided to leave the batcave in order to marry Jilly Hartwick from the Pizza-Hut, Batman had been severely depressed. Not only had he lost his companion, but he wondered if life was even worth living for a super hero without his sweet-bunned sidekick. I mean, how can a super hero BE super without some fledgling wimp to look buff beside. Oh, he had tried to get on with crime-stopping, but he found that his bat-suit didn't quite fit right anymore, not after all the weight he'd lost from pining away. Their ritual tightywhities-and-pizza Saturdays gone, Batman could not manage to cook a decent meal for himself. Every time he even looked at a pizza hut, he had to work hard to fight back that lingering latent teenage pyro-maniac (that's man-eye-ik) compulsion. After six months, however, Alfred simply couldn't take it anymore and threatened to walk out if Batman didn't shape up and come out of his Neanderthalic, pathetic, indented lazy-boy-ic funk. He stuck his charge in the shower with a razor and proceeded to call the only other person who could help. That's right, he got on the phone with Batman's long-lost, black sheep, psychopathic, third cousin twice-removed, Dracula. It took Dracula one hundred, thirty-three rings to answer. He was on hiatus, damnit, and didn't like to be disturbed. Wading through the empty white-wine bottles, Linda McCartney TV dinner trays, and slurpee cups, as well as several sarcophagi full of old love letters (Dear D, I simply LOVED our date last night. I imagine I'll be wearing this turtle neck for months after that monster of a hickey you gave me! Hugs and Kisses, Kate) and volumes of Marlowe, he finally made it to the lip-shaped phone he'd won off a "My Two Dads" contest back in the 80s. Although Dracula tended to lack empathy, he didn't need to be told twice that Batman's case of the blues was a serious problem. He'd been in love himself, once. Morphing fatalities being on the rise, Dracula opted for the next flight out of Transylvania and soon found himself on foreign soil in good ole Gotham. He'd heard they had bars big as cars and rivers of gold, but what he noticed is that the wind blew right through him - it was no place for the old, especially someone immortal! He finally managed to attract the attention of a cab driver who didn't seem to be freaked out by his blood-shot eyes and high-collared cape. He fell easily asleep on the ride to Batman's lair. Once on Batman's doorstep, he checked his complexion in his compact, making sure he looked just right to make a positive first-impression. Too much rouge. Oh, well. Since he first started wearing makeup in the brothels of old France, he never could avoid looking like a two-bit whore. Batman didn't seem to mind. Blood relationship aside, it didn't take him long to start playing house with his new visitor. Of course, it wasn't real love. No, it was just a fling and they both knew it, but it felt good and Batman soon found the sharp pangs of lost love subsiding and Dracula realized that he was still capable of experiencing a life-like enjoyment of the world. Soon, however, Batman tired of the way Dracula always left his socks on the bureau and Dracula tired of Batman's morbid fascination with Jackalopes. It wasn't meant to last. As a last favour to his friend before returning to his own country and his retirement, Dracula broke into the local convenience store. The deal was sweet for him because he got away with $200, a sour-pop, and two lotto 6-49 tickets. Batman saved the day by returning the $200 out of his own pocket and framing a young goth who nobody doubted was the real blood-sucking culprit. Back in business as the city's hero, Batman soon regained his sanity, his happiness, and his reputation as world's-best man-sized bat. - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - Lord of the Things - BMC and Melatonin - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - 1. One time there was a Thing. It had many qualities. Everyone had a special relationship to the Thing, but for some, the special relationship was different. This is the story of the Thing, and other things in relation to it. To begin, there was a Lord, and this Lord wanted there to be nine Things, and so nine of the Things were made. These Nine Things were then distributed. However, the recipients of the Nine Things knew not of the Tenth Thing, which was startlingly different from the other Nine. The Tenth Thing was sought by creatures of the land, who were engaged with one another in battle. The battle was long, but then it ended. After the battle, everyone felt differently about things, the Nine Things, the Tenth Thing, and the Lord of the Things. Yet a time would soon approach when the fate of the Things, and the fate of all things, would become one and the same thing. 2. One time there was a creature who longed for adventures. The creature had a name, and those who knew the creature called it by that name. One time a special man clothed in a specific colour approached and spoke the creature's name, thereby proving his familiarity to the creature. Before responding, the creature subtly shifted its position. The special man took note. "Hello creature," said the special man. "Hello special man," said the creature. And they continued to converse. During the conversation, the special man told the creature of an adventure relating to the Tenth Thing. The creature had an uncertain feeling about this adventure, but changed its mind and left with the special man. Along the way, they met many other creatures, some of whom joined them on their adventure. 3. During their adventures, they were met by many obstacles, all of which they overcame with varying degrees of success. And thusly, the Lord of the Things was defeated. The End. - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - When We Were Kings of Atlantis - BMC and Komrade B - - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - - The sages write of the following text that its spiritual weight is greater than that which could be borne by the shoulders of Atlas. It was a hot summer in the sea (people kept "warming the water up"), and it was the third year of Namor's ascension to the throne of Atlantis. Out of nowhere, the Weegie General (formerly the Weegie Knight) issued a public challenge to King Namor (formerly Prince Namor). The match was to take place in one month, in the city-state of Cavercus. Namor wondered to himself, "Have I offended the Weegie General in some way? Perhaps when I insisted that I ride him into battle a fortnight ago?" (Weegies were commonly domesticated or kept as livestock, but in their natural environment they liked to participate as regular members of Atlantean society.) "The Weegie General is no kept animal," said Namor, "so I do not have to ask the permission of his master to accept his battle pledge. I will accept." His attendant nymph gasped in excitement. The Weegie General decided that the method of battle should be boxing, fifteen rounds. He was a light heavyweight. Namor heartily boasted of his imminent victory. "We gonna get it on, cause we don't get along!" He was a flyweight. When the Weegie General got into the city of Cavercus, he was greeted by a fleet of fans and media journalists. The city, under the cruel reign of Proteus, had become poor after signing an ill-conceived free-trade agreement with Hades. Tension was high. INTERVIEWER: Namor, what is your strategy? What will you do when you get cornered by the Weegie General? K. NAMOR: How is he going to get near me? I am going to dance. As he gropes his way forward in the storm of blindness at the speed of my dancing, I am going to catch him! When King Namor arrived in Cavercus, he rode a weegie bull clad in full battle armour into a crowd consisting mostly of free Weegies, who composed the majority of the city's population. The Weegie General feigned illness in order to meet with the leaders of the Cavercussian Underground Movement, unfortunately known as CUM. The movement was dedicated to Weegie rights and the overthrowing of their evil ruler, Proteus Imperius. Namor's battle-cries did not cease. "Fight me, Weegie!" Meanwhile, guest-musician Christopher Cross delighted the Cavercussian crowds for days on end without food or sleep. Still the Weegie General did not make time for Namor, as he was training the weegies of Cavercus to lead a revolution. All of the seats in the Cavercus coliseum were full every day, people sleeping in them for nights on end so they could witness every breath and drop of sweat between Atlantis's greatest champions when the battle finally took place. The only seat left empty was the one traditionally reserved for King Proteus and his high minions. King Namor publicly declared, "Stop wasting my royal time, cur! Battle me!" Days later, the Weegie General announced that he was ready to fight. The match would begin immediately. The Weegie General stood amidst his cheering fans in the middle of the ring, waving his tentacles with passion. Namor rode in from the far end of the hall riding a weegie bull and wearing a weegie pelt over his back. He was very serious about this fight. The crowd booed heartily. The Weegie General was prepared for battle and adopted a defensive pose. Namor lunged with a shoulder attack. The Weegie General calmly stepped out of the way, and Namor clumsily crumpled to the ground. It became readily apparent to the combatants and those watching this spectacle that traditional boxing would be a folly in this match. Namor struck a stern pose not unlike those struck by the prize fighters of the 19th century, namely Namor's idol Gentleman Jim Corbet. While fearsome and gallant, Namor's adaptation of this technique proved ineffective in the water. His punches were slowed greatly by the density of the water. This allowed the Weegie General to easily allude the offensive flurry of the King. The king began to wear down. He would need a different strategy. Of course Namor, not being the quickest thinker, instead opted for a flurried offensive in which he charged the General and unleashed a barrage of blows upon the General's chitin-like armored chest. When Namor's hands became broken and bloodied from the assault, he stepped back. It was time for the General to go on the offensive. The Weegie General had trained well with the Octopi Lords of Cam'deLong. These old close combat scribes had mastered the art of tentacle combat and they found this unusually intelligent weegie lord an apt pupil. With a flick of his appendages, he swept Namor's legs out from under him and hung him upside down. What happened next was best described as by the Cavercus sage, Osmoseus: "There hung the king of the Ocean, the king of Atlantis, Namor the golden son of the apostate. Helpless before the General, he accepted his punishment. The General took a free tentacle and wrapped it between the King's legs and up around his torso. The pressure applied caused great discomfort to the king's groin and lungs. This continued for sometime until the General, satisfied with the King's condition, released him from the death-like hold." As Namor drifted to the ground like a slip of silk, a mysterious figure appeared in the ring. Was it a dolphin? Was it a sea snail? The creature changed shapes many times and finally became human. It was Proteus himself. His royal guards stormed the ring. The Weegie General spoke passionately to the royal guards, who were all weegies. In seconds, they turned on Proteus and threw him into a lead-lined box from which he could not possibly hope to escape. The sage Osmoseus had this to say of the startling events. "To this day, it is not known why the hated Proteus made his appearance at that ill-fated moment. His intelligence had made many mentions of CUM rebels planning something nefarious in the days proceeding the upcoming fight. In fact, Proteus himself had witnessed the Weegie General's meeting with CUM members from his palace window which, in fact, is directly adjacent from the CUM secret headquarters. In fact he had a brief conversation with the general when he was out swimming his jellyfish later that evening." Namor, upon waking, demanded the fight to continue. Namor, never being one to see the politics or play for power in any given event, was soundly thrashed by the Weegie General whom then declared himself Duke of Cavercus. Atlantis had been shamed by its king yet again. With the Weegies firmly in power of Atlantis' old rival state, how long would it be before the Weegie Ranchers would have to stand up to the Weegie Generals hordes and have their very livelihoods challenge by those they once considered mere "beasts of burden"? 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 #250-08/10/03 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.