,,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 6 1 `-' N O V E M B E R 2 , 2 0 0 3 B M C , E D I T O R - I N - C H I E F FEATURED IN THIS INSTALLMENT: Hijinx Ensue! - BMC Biking with BMC - ada metal object - trilobyte _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ EDITOR'S KNOWTE Good morning/afternoon/evening/middle of the night, friends. It is not a usual policy of mine to print letters to the editor, but this week I actually received one, so I thought I'd give it a go. Plus, it's probably easier than writing an actual editor's note. Here's to apathy, the bread and butter of the zine publishing world. __________________________ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dear BMC, I have a confession. It's nothing you haven't heard before, but I feel the need to talk about it, tell you about it, learn from it, be a part of it, kill for it and also die from it, if that is indeed possible. I need to tell you that I know nothing of love. Now, I can hear you chuckling away, and I can't say that I appreciate your sarcastic comments. I've been reading your magazine, tipped off from some old friends of mine at the n-com pizzeria, (that is, before it burnt down, and the old bastard of a dictator sizzled away with his crisp kazilion dollar bills), and I came across your article, Love Is For Losers. I have to admit, it made something inside me light up. Finally, someone who knew what I was talking about. Until I realized again, with a further and much more upsetting thought, I do not understand love, nor have I ever really felt it. All I know is my bachelor apartment on downtown main st. where every night an ambulance drives by, taking the pain of one lover and placing it into my wretched heart. What I wanted from you bmc, needed actually, is some reassurance. Can you at least let me know, that even those quiet, socially inferior, semi intellectual, caught up in the heat of things, types like me can experience this so-called love? I'm desperate for your response. Sincerely yours, Oven p.s. Please inform Margarina Cataclysma (when you speak with her again), that I find her to be both endearing and lovely, and would be pleased to meet her acquaintance at some point in my humble existence. __________________________ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dear Oven, To elaborate a bit on Love's for Losers, I would like to suggest that the socially inferior, semi-intellectual type is the most likely to discover love. This is because the socially and intellectually superior (genetically enhanced) have evolved beyond emotion. If you insist upon love, you must allow yourself to be weak and malleable. You must open your heart, allow others to influence you, and finally let them devastate you. The devastation is not the finest part of love, but if you are capable of reducing your intellect, you can deny that pain will ever result from love. note: by love, I do not specifically mean sexual love, but also friendship, fondness, or any sort of desire rooted in the self. If you love things because of the way they make you feel, you will be sad to discover that one day you will die and no longer be able to cop an emotion from them. Yes, anyone can experience love. But why? It's just a bunch of ignorant bliss and hot fuckin. A bunch of glorious cunt and balls action. Or cunt and cunt action. Or balls and balls action (hammer to hammer, as Komrade B says). Or balls and cunt and balls. Or cunt and balls and cunt. Or cunt and cunt and cunt and I will pay your plane fare to Fredericton if you can get here within 24 hours. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ Hijinx Ensue! by The BMC _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " Melissa reclines gently on the couch as she talks to Brad on the phone. She flosses the cord between her toes and strokes her raven hair. "Yes, Brad, come over right away. I can't wait much longer." Brad, on the other end, has no shortage of enthusiasm to be with her. "We'll be together soon," he says. Melissa hangs up the phone, watches her pink satin kimono drift to the floor, and begins to moisturize her legs. Fully nude, she is startled by the ring of the doorbell. She is even more surprised to see Jeff, her boyfriend, standing at her door, wearing a tie and holding a bouquet of roses. "I got back into town early, Melissa. I thought I'd come by and surprise you!" HIJINX ENSUE "Patty, Patty!" Mike says. "I need your help! There's a wedding next week and I told my parents I was engaged. Now they want to meet my fiance!" "But Mike," says Patty, "You're not engaged." "My parents don't know that!" Mike says. "That's a terrible dilemma," says Patty. "I wish there was some way that I could help." "Well, actually," says Mike, "There is a way..." "But Mike, I'm your best friend's wife! Don't you think that would be too complicated?" "C'mon, Patty. Please?" HIJINX ENSUE Human being decides to live as cat. HIJINX ENSUE Timmy cheats on his junior babysitting exam in order to get the esteemed certificate. He hangs it on his wall while laughing maniacally about "beating the system." His mother is proud of him and asks her friends at work if any of them need a babysitter. When Friday night arrives, Timmy finds himself taking care of three young boys. One of them has ventured into the cupboard that contains knives and poison, one needs a diaper change, and one hasn't moved since falling off the fridge 15 minutes ago. HIJINX ENSUE Plucky young woman of royal descent is stranded on a foreign shore. In order to gain employment from the local duke, she disguises her sexuality and applies for a job as his page-boy. She works in close quarters with him and soon discovers herself becoming his intimate confidant. HIJINX ENSUE Dr. Proteus is an experimental scientist. He has been using a mirror-like device to redirect a radioactive beam from outer space. One day a miscalculation leads to Dr. Proteus being bombarded by space rays for several hours. HIJINX ENSUE Arriving home from work, Sarah spots a luxury car in her driveway. She's never seen it before. She approaches her front door, notices it is unlocked. She is unsure whether or not to proceed, but goes against her gut feeling and walks into the house. Large footprints are impressed into the carpet. Sarah notices that the answering machine is blinking and feels an inexplicable urge to check the tape. As she presses the button, something moves. She turns to see a man leap down from the attic. He begins to yell something at her- HIJINX ENSUE Your bus is going over that bridge in Halifax when the driver veers right. The bus rolls over the railing. Hang-time is twenty seconds. You are falling. Twenty seconds to think of the people you are angry at and the people you are indebted to. HIJINX ENSUE You never really liked the landlord and those bastards that kept smoking outside the window. There's that guy that always gives you dirty looks even though you swear you've never seen him before in your life. Then there's the boss. That fucking prick. That fucking boss who hawked you even when you were on your break. There's that boss whose disgusting skull you'll never be able to see without feeling an urge to commit the sin of murder. Then there's that other guy... wait, that's about 20 seconds, isn't it? (crash) Sarah sees a man coming down at her from the attic. He screams something at her. "Happy Birthday, Sarah!" It is her father. He says, "I tried calling first. Did you see the car? It's yours. Here's the keys. I hope it's the right colour!" Sarah throws the keys back at him, saying, "After what you've done to me, you can never be my father again!" (crash) Being exposed to radioactive space rays for hours, Dr. Proteus' skin begins to produce copious amounts of pigment. Saline solution seeps from his pores, and his blood is infused with vitamin D. He gains a second skin that enables him to withstand radioactive rays. As a freelance crimefighter, Dr. Proteus (now Captain Proteus) becomes the toast of Nottingham city. The most devilish devils quake at the mention of his name, and the good townspeople treat him with an admiration that no doctor could ever earn. During a particularly slow day of resting on his laurels at Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem Inn, Proteus notices that his second skin is starting to peel. Upon the realization that his super-power is no more than a suntan, he tells... no-one. (crash) Duke hires beautiful young boy as page and intimate confidant, only to find himself developing strange feelings for him. They hit the sheets. Sooner or later it is discovered that the pageboy is in fact a woman in disguise. The duke is infuriated to discover her lies and disgusted to have committed a foul act of heterosexuality. (crash) Timmy is convicted on three counts of negligence causing death and one count of cheating on a junior babysitting exam. He is sentenced to 15 years in the stack-shack. When he gets out, he's too old to babysit and has to find another job. He winds up selling haircuts in a back-alley barbershop to hobos with weather-beaten beards. One day while eating a ketchup and baloney sandwich on white bread, he asks himself, "Was it all worth it?" Answer: yes. (crash) Human being decides to live as cat. Litter box is too small, but dry food isn't so bad. Human being sleeps in a box. Human being rolls around in the dust. Human being catches a blue jay in its mouth. (crash) After the wedding, as Patty is going down on Mike in the parking lot, it suddenly occurs to him to tell her he loves her. In shock, she asphyxiates herself on his penis and, to make a long story short, everybody learns the truth. (crash) Nine months later, Melissa lays the child on church steps, not knowing who the father is. The priest, believing the child to be his, pretends that it was sent directly from heaven, born not of man, nor woman. He raises the child himself, telling everyone that she is the Messiah. The child eventually works her way up through the Catholic Church, becomes a female priest, and later a female pope. She unites all of the religions, ends war, makes contact with extraterrestrial beings, and solves the mysteries of the pyramids, Stonehenge, and Easter Island. The aliens give her an honourary PhD, and she learns that true peace can only be attained through an alien form of transcendental meditation. The word spreads, and the human condition vastly improves. Everything is ok everywhere in the world. Everyone is happy. So am I. So are you. _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ Biking with BMC by ada _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " sometimes someone comes along and changes your life. it could be a small and seemingly insignificant someone, but a someone all the same like a drawstring or a ladybug. I had a ladybug come and make friends with me one day and that certainly changed my life. never went friendless again, that's for sure. it was the first really hot day I had seen all summer when bmc said to me, let's go on a bike ride. I said sure. so we went. we began by biking over the longest pedestrian bridge in the whole world, which many of you know by now exists only in fredericton. we took off racing along the gravel, both of us eager to shake the stress of life and our troubles away. we were kids again, bmc and I, just the way we should be. along the way we talked about writing, which is what we usually talk about when it is just the two of us. I remember the first conversation I ever had with bmc. it wasn't about writing, I think it was about him quitting smoking. oh no, wait, it was about love poems. so bmc and I go way back... not just in life, but in poems. I remember that conversation because I hardly knew him and he told me he could only write love poetry. I thought, how awful. he said he could only write poems about girls he's fallen in love with and only one per girl. I thought, hmmm, how promiscuous and he said, I think I need to fall in love soon in order to pass our creative writing class and I said, oh. but I assure you, thoughts were passing through my head at lighting speed. I needed to save poor bmc before he lost himself in treacherous love poetry. who knew that four years later, as we were biking along a trail in new brunswick on our way to get ice cream, it would be me that would need to be saved, from the horrible sound of my own empty mind. I used to be full of thoughts, you see. but since I've left my home to journey, I find that the thoughts don't come so easy. when we arrived at the ice cream store, it was blisteringly hot. after the ice cream we peddled to a song about wooden stairs, walked down them and sat on a dock. we drank beer and I dipped my feet in the water. it was then that I noticed we were moving. I looked up and bmc was grinning. he had cut the wires that held the dock in place and we were lost at sea, drifting on a small wooden raft, further and further away. I used to think time was an anomaly or at least something I was used to holding on to but in this case, I used the time to think about other times I had drifted away and the times I had managed to find my way back. none of them seemed quite as literal as this moment. but bmc seemed happy with this new path, even if it was wet and looked like iodine. I wished I could explain the moments of peace we felt, just drifting here and there and everywhere, and seeing goats in pastures and happy squirrels attacked by happy owls. in the world of biking, the only way to drift is by taking your feet off the pedals and sticking them out beside you like wings. but there is something about water, and the way it moves that is strictly collapsible, and painfully thick. it takes nothing to forget and everything to remember. _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ metal object by trilobyte _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " i really like having hand-crafted metal objects in my front yard. not in the part of the yard that i have full control over -- but actually in the part that is owned by the city, in the city right-of-way. that means that i can stand outside during the day and finagle with my hand-crafted metal object while cars go by and observe. some drivers may think that i made the hand-crafted object, while other more astute observers may notice that it's a bit of an antique object, and believe that i am a purveyor of fine metal-crafted objects. in my spare time i like to wear my glasses. i like to adjust them and play with them and fix them so they're comfortable. there are particular ways that i like to wear my glasses based on whether i am hot, cold, reading, sleeping, napping, watching television, eating dinner, or indulging in other daily tasks. i often get uncomfortable with my glasses when i have been outside for a long time on the city right-of-way shifting my metal object about, because i get warm in the sun and begin to sweat. i am not always standing in the shade when i am shifting my metal object about, and when i am not, i begin to sweat. my wife suggests that i should wear a towel around my head, but i believe this detracts from my "purveyor" mystique. i would not like someone to drive by who might think that i am a detached antique collector and then notice that i have a towel wrapped around my head to keep the sweat from getting in my glasses, because then i will just look like any other middle-aged man standing in his yard. i have thought about changing my wardrobe but i am not yet comfortable with the idea of going full-out to fulfill my whims. though i enjoy looking like an astute, wise middle aged man in my front yard, i like to look more conservative when i am not putting on a show for neighbors and passersby. there are times when i must go to work and there are times when i must do other things, like eat dinner with my wife or visit the doctor, you know, things like that. these are times that i would not like to look as eccentric as i wish i could. it is my own personal time when i am on the right-of-way with my metal object. i fear, though, that the city might enact its plan to enlarge the right-of-way, or to take it out altogether. the city cannot decide if it wants to turn our street into a one-lane one-way road, or turn it into a four-lane highway. i can't decide which i would like more. on one hand, if they turn the road into a one-way one-lane route, traffic will be reduced to more interesting, inspired people who do not mind driving on a one-lane non-thoroughfare. this will bring a more appropriate fan-base to my metal-object finagling. plus, the cars will be driving more slowly, giving them more time to observe me and take in my essence. i may, i think, install a speed bump in front of our house. that way people will have to slow down even more. the other option, to have a four-lane highway, seems to indulge my outgoing personality. i am, i suppose, a bit of a showman, and enjoy entertaining the masses. certainly if i get to play with my metal object in our yard next to a four-lane highway, more people will get to see me & my eccentricity. but they will be going very fast, giving them less time to see me. i might need to get a bigger metal object, and maybe have it be a more shiny one, to more efficiently grab peoples' attention. last week my neighbor's wife decided to put up in their yard some junk she bought at an imports shop. it was some kind of duck made out of tied-up wood or trash or some kind of stick. maybe it was brush or tumbleweed, but it looked like the shape of a duck or goose or some other kind of aquatic bird. i didn't understand what they were trying to do with this because it just looked like a weed had grown in their yard and they had pruned it. after they put it in their yard they took to sitting outside in their lawn on some patio set they bought, but that was last week and the excitement must have died down so now they've stopped doing that. i don't want to say that they were stealing my steam, but really they kinda were. i started to feel self-conscious and challenged, as opposed to my usual feeling of detached omnipotence. luckily the neighbors have stopped sitting outside and i have been able to get on with my business. i'm kinda worried about having the road changed into a four-lane highway or a one-lane thing, which would kinda be like an alley i guess, but i don't have much time to worry about it because i've got other things to do. .-. .-. / \ .-. .-. / \ / \ / \ .-. _ .-. / \ / \ `-------\-------/-----\-----/---\---/-\---/---\-----/-----\-------/-------' \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / `-' `-' 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 #261-11/02/03 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.