,,ggddY""""Ybbgg,, ,agd""' `""bg, T H E N E O - C O M I N T E R N ,gdP" "Ybg, ,dP" ""` ,dP" _,,ddP"""Ybb,,_ .s*""*s .s*"*s. ,8" .+$ '""' `"Yb, .P' $ `.d' `b ,8' .+$$$$ssss+. sssss "'d' .sssP d' `b db. ,8' .+$$$$$$$$$$$$$$+. $$$$$ d' ,P' d' s*s $ d' `b d.+$$$$$$$$$$$$$$`*$$$$+.$$$$$$$$$ $ :$ d'.P .Pd' $ _ 8`*$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ o`*$$$$$$$$ T. `b. :$ TsP .Pd' $ .+P"*+. 8 `*$$$$$$$$$$$ OOb.`*$$$$$ T. `^**sT. .Pd' . $ .+P' :P 8 `*$$$$ YOOOObooi `b. $ T. .P'd' .P $P' .P' 8 `*$ "OQQQO" `TsggsP `TssP' d' .PT. . .P' Y, i. aP ,P d .P :$b+.d' .P' `8, "Ya aP" ,8' d; .P .d' .P' `8, "Yb,_ _,dP" ,8' `*TP .d' .P' `8a `""YbbgggddP""' a8' d; .P' `Yba adP' `*TP' "Yba adY" `"Yba, ,adP"' `"Y8ba, ,ad8P"' E L E C T R O N I C M A G A Z I N E ``""YYbaaadPP""'' .-. t h e l i t e r a r y m o l o t o v c o c k t a i l .-. / \ .-. .-. / \ / \ / \ .-. _ .-. / \ / \ `-------\-------/-----\-----/---\---/-\---/---\-----/-----\-------/-------' \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / `-' I N S T A L L M E N T N U M B E R 2 5 4 `-' S E P T E M B E R 1 4 , 2 0 0 3 B M C , E D I T O R - I N - C H I E F FEATURED IN THIS INSTALLMENT: Deer - Melatonin Quest for Freedom - Komrade B Beautiful Packaging - Ei'det-ik _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ EDITOR'S KNOWTE This is a wrench. You are not looking at words on a screen, you are holding a wrench in your hands. Admire it. Feel the weight of it. Imagine yourself tightening a nut with it. Place it in a toolbox and close the lid firmly. Imagine the joy with which you will open the lid to discover your favourite tool, the one that is electronic, the one with words on it. Guess what! It's not really a wrench, HOMIE! It's A Zine. HAhHAHAhHAHAhAHhHahAhahaha Isn't life funny? _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ Deer by Melatonin _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " A deer lay severed on the road. A tire split its trunk, black blood striping highway. Mr. July, a small yellow man in a hat, came down the green hill over yonder, his lips tonguing a flute. He approached the wheezing torso and blew an opening note. The deer looked up at him, her left eye lidded, her right eye black and dripping. Mr. July removed his spectacles, clouded their lenses with his breath, and dried them on the elbow of his tweed jacket. "Hello," he said. A semi blew past in the opposite direction. Grit rose up from the road, ruminated in the air, and flew into the deer's grimacing teeth. "I am dying," said the deer. "I am sorry," said Mr. July. "It's not your fault," she said. "I was born this way." Mr. July looked up at the sky. The clouds spun tulips, translucent in the sun. A mist settled on his brow. A crow smoking leaf, a soft breeze, the long grey shadow of trees. Mr. July was certain it would rain today. "But alas, I am not a weatherman," he said, and the deer coughed blood. "Touch me," she said. Mr. July looked down. "How's that?" he asked. "I am dying," said the deer. "Please touch me while I die." A second passed in slow-motion. An ant stumbled. "I have time," said Mr. July. And he sat down and set one yellow hand on the deer's wounded neck, a tender, sticky place where the hair smelled like fish. He slid his flute into his pocket, where it hummed a jaunty tune. Another semi flew by. The road kicked up around them. Broken glass fell from the sky. Lightning pierced the fields with white strikes and thunder grumbled underground, a moody afterthought. Warm rain filled the brim of Mr. July's yellow hat, the dirt on his cheeks ran to his chin, red and black traffic splashed. * Ten minutes later, the deer closed her right eye, and died. _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ Quest for Freedom by Komrade B _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " September 11, 2001 At the mouth of the mighty east river stood a lone figure. Looking upwards, he fixed his attention on the great city that many had said was the center of the western world, a new Rome, if you will. People in the park were dancing and singing, people walked arm in arm with one another regardless of color, race, religion, or creed. It was a golden time in what was a golden age. Crime had become non-existent. Starvation, disease, and reality television were all distant but horrible memories in the minds of the masses. It was not always like this. To the being below the water, it seemed like just yesterday when humans first went to the Moon and met a strange but seemingly benevolent race of monsters. It was from these monsters that the gift was offered; their greatest son, Molonious, was bestowed upon the Earthlings, and it was this Molonious who would carry humankind into a great age, or so the creatures told Mr. Armstrong. Molonious was small and jelly-like, but when placed in a glass of water and left for three weeks, he grew rapidly and began to move. He learned speech, reading, and writing, all without any tutelage from his caretakers. Not much was known beyond this until Molonious was in the public eye a few years later. He ended the cold war with but a single speech at the United Nations. Humankind tossed away the idea of patriotism and nationality and the world became one nation with a fusion of the best ideas of both capitalism and socialism. From there, Molonious solved all of the ailments of the world. Humans lived well and happy, and from there they turned their eyes to the sea and the fierce feudal realm of Atlantis. It is from this Atlantis that the shadowy figure at the mouth of the river hails. The Princes of Atlantis were at first very receptive to the words and offerings of Molonious. It was a chance to end all wars and suffering. A place where merman, weegie, and octopi could live in harmony. Yes, it was a good idea for all but one prince, a man that was distrustful of the so-called benevolent Melonious. This same prince slew Melonious' diplomats and expelled the supporters of this surface dictator. For the next 10 years sea and land were at war. Unfortunately for all creatures that loved the land, they had tossed away the tools of war and dismissed the idea of combat as silly and outdated. Luckily for them, the sea creatures, while fierce, would simply die on the beaches of the world once they had left murky waters of their ocean homes. So a stalemate appeared between the combatants, with Molonious suing for peace and the crowned prince planning for victory. Standing here at the east river the prince hatched his scheme. He would go back in time, using the time gate behind the Atlantean throne, to a time before humans had reached the moon, and from there he would use the moon gate, which was behind the time gate, which was behind the Atlantean throne. From there he would slay the moon creatures and remove all evidence of their existence. The astronauts would find the moon barren and empty, the way it was meant to be. Earth might still have disease and starvation, but at least it was honest. Plus with Molonious never to be, society might never catch on to the mainstream singer/writer female recording artist that this society loved and the prince despised. Prince L'Homme exacted his plan. The world became alien-free, and as the planes slammed into the big buildings on New York, the prince cackled with glee. The world was a place for the strong to enjoy the riches at the expense of the weak. This was the way of things. No prince should share happiness with a commoner. Just then, the prince heard the lilting voice of Michelle Branch carrying through the water. "Curses!" the prince thought. It seems the prince was wrong about one thing, and that was his biggest beef in the first place. The End. _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ Beautiful Packaging by Ei'det-ik _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " -i- i like to destroy beautiful packaging. i used to extract the contents, save and fold disposable image. suckle from designs of overlapping cubes, of foreign words backed in a lime shout. i'd create a museum of that which determines tasteful lifestyle. i take pleasure in destroying clip-art artifacts of post-kitschy adverts. spoil excellently subversive art, and the artist whose portfolio laps at some omnicompany. as if they have no other choice. or rather, it is the fashionable choice. as if technology equals a mode to profit and never a means to high art. -ii- which of your fingers have you stylized today which eye have you replaced with venetian blinds have are your children arranged for social currency and bartered for 19.99 have you animated your organs and sent them into the consumer grinder art is potent, but your flesh-for-cash is wasting like the packaging i love to throw away. -iii- but there is the fact i do exactly what you do my left eye on ebay, 2 bids 3 hours remaining my fingers, sold through a pop-up window i've reduced my children to 18.99 and my kidney is selling sony's latest robotic guinea pig sometimes i destroy my own beautiful packaging. .-. .-. / \ .-. .-. / \ / \ / \ .-. _ .-. / \ / \ `-------\-------/-----\-----/---\---/-\---/---\-----/-----\-------/-------' \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / `-' `-' 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 #254-09/14/03 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. By Canadians. And a couple Others.