,,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 7 4 `-' A P R I L 4 , 2 0 0 4 B M C , E D I T O R - I N - C H I E F FEATURED IN THIS INSTALLMENT: The Slaughter - Gnarly Wayne For Some, it is Everything - AlterEcho You're Too Good for Me - ada Flames of Desire - BMC _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ EDITOR'S KNOWTE You know what day it is today, folks? 04/04/04! And right at this second it's 4:44pm on my clock... no lie. (Actually, it was 4:43 as I wrote that, but now it's REALLY 4:44!) IT WAS A MESSAGE FROM THE GODS In honour of this day, we're going to celebrate with FOUR wonderful stories. I mean, logic simply dictates that, doesn't it? Or, at least, awesomeness dictates it. So this issue, good people, is going to bring entertainment into your life in a serious way. Serious as in FUN. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ The Slaughter by Gnarly Wayne _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " The horizon erupted in hues of red, orange, yellow, and every colour in between. The explosions never ever quite died off; without fail, a new one would start before the previous had completely faded. Even from our tiny sod hut, we could make out the outlines of approaching metal insectoid invaders from another dimension. Some had chainsaws instead of heads and yet others had chainsaws instead of hands or ears. They were slaughtering the humans in the same way humans slaughter everything else, including each other. Luckily, a hero rose from amidst the mist of death and blood. He was only clad in sod armour and was armed with a sod sword and sod shield. With an agonizing battle-cry, he jumped into the fray and decimated the entire metal insect army. There weren't that many of them, but still, they were metal and insects and had many chainsaws in place of regular body parts, like elbows and platelets. "And children, that's how your old grandpa survived the Great Depression. We lived by our wits, our strength, and our 'stoutness of heart,'" said Grandpa. "Dad, that's not how the Depression happened," said Ted. "So it isn't... so it isn't." "And those are empty boxes, not grandchildren." "So they are.............so they are." _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ For Some, it is Everything by AlterEcho _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " Into the liquid night, a lanky man steps from the nondescript storefront. He pauses for the briefest moment in time, drinking in the thick, licorice air, before turning left and walking with long, even strides. A purposeful, metronomic gait, his shoes click sharply each time they meet the worn pavement. He walks on through deserted streets, making no contact with human or animal. Even the houses are dark, devoid of life. He doesn't turn his head left or right; instead he looks forward, his unblinking eyes seeking to pierce the still, silent sheet that envelopes him. For hours he continues, in what appears to be a random path. How are we to understand that the way, although meandering, is set firmly in his mind? On and on, and the night melts into the blues of the coming day. And still, his pace remains unchanging. He seeks a single, vibrant flower, the only colour in a lifeless world. Its location is a mystery, but each step is sure. The flower is everything. He is nothing, empty. He is sorrow. A streak of light shoots overhead, and then a second, and then a hundred. He walks towards the rising sun, knowing he is close and yet far. With a broken heart, he walks into the sun. And if he sheds but a single tear, who are we to judge? _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ You're Too Good for Me by ada _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " In the way you think/act/talk/write/say your name, only because it's so beautiful, like a rice field, or some type of exotic bird that flies away every time I try to touch it- This is all pretty funny because when I met you, you had kind of a bad self-esteem you know, always thinking about your thighs, and whether I enjoyed going down on you in the middle of the afternoon in my father's truck on hot august days at the side of the road off of highway 11- It's not as though we didn't make a good thing together, or have a good thing I mean, fuck you were always better with words than I was, always knew the right things to say, on a bad day you could make me smile and on a good day you could make me laugh so hard I felt my skin cracking, and my stomach would hurt for hours, but it was easy to recover cause you always had me remember- Well, you know what I'm talking about, remember all the times we had, and maybe remember too the night that Sarah found the bird outside in the rain, that fucking cat almost chewed it to pieces, and how you tried to rescue it, and how you pretended that it lived after all, that in the middle of the night you had set it outside on the ground and it just flew away, it's wings pushing against the downpour, and you told my sister that everything was okay now, the bird was going to make it- What did she name that stupid bird again, pippi or patsy, oh who cares, she loved you for that bird, you know, she never wanted me to ever stop seeing you, just like my parents and how they would always say, Ramona, she sure is wonderful, you never need to bring home another girl again, cause you got one of the best, just the way you could talk to my dad about the oilers was enough for him to skip the 'you're only young once' speech and head right into, 'don't go doing something stupid to that girl, she's a good girl, a smart girl, she's gonna run you dry if you think of messin with her- And you're gonna be standing there with your dick hangin out of your pants looking like an asshole', which is funny Mona, cause someone did get caught with his pants down, didn't he, but he sure wasn't me, and I'm just wondering if you considered whether or not my coming after you with that knife was such a bad thing since you were the one giving it to fucking Todd Meyers who wouldn't know what to do with pussy if it swiped him in the face, but ask him, sometime, while he's down there, if he's really enjoying himself, or if he's heard of me, and knows that I'm standing outside his door right now- Knocking, and listening to his feet as he scrambles to get up- _/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"-._/"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_.-"\_ Flames of Desire by BMC _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ \"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._\"-._ _.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/_.-"/ " " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " " Most girls don't understand it at all. Ceanna didn't understand. "So," she said, "So you like to blow up bombs? That's... unique." Unique! A likely phrase. So likely, so ignorant. "No, Cea Anna. I don't blow up bombs, I use bombs to blow up other things." Bombs blow up trashcans (May 31st), bus shelters (June 10th), and newspaper boxes (July 2nd). "Bombs can blow up anything." Ceanna, like the rest of them, walked out before things got too hot. "Let her go, who cares." Life was lonely, me spending nights alone in my lab like Victor Frankenstein, smoking cigarettes angrily. "I need fire bad." Living in squalour as I did, I had to scrape pennies together just to buy a case of matches. Fifty cents for fifty packs. Walking to the store, pockets jingling with change, that's when I saw her. She was sitting at a bus stop -- lighting matches and throwing them to the wind. Sally. I had to know if she was more than a matchstick kiddie. I asked, "Antimony trisulfate, potassium chlorate, red phosphorus..." She replied, "...pheromone in its purest form." We sat in silence for a moment. "Ever made a pipebomb?" I asked. "Is that an invitation?" she said. It was love from that moment on. Boom. Sally was the ultimate pyrophile. "That's it?" (she said as we stared at the foot-wide crater left by the explosion) I explained to her that there was only so much power we could get from a rusty iron pipe filled with match heads. Later, as we strolled by the weir: "What do we need, then, to blow up, say, a car?" My hand reached for hers. She turned toward me. "Do you know how to get your hands on gunpowder?" she asked. Yes, I think I did. Something to the tune of a B&E. The back door was unlocked. Boom. An '82 Chev Citation. We lay on our backs in the grassy autumn field, our bodies clad in utilitarian coveralls and safety glasses. "Sally, I--. No, not yet. "Do you know," she said, "Do you know how to blow up a house?" "Kiss me, Sally." Ignoring my statement: "Do you know how to blow up a house?" "Sure, Sally." (You mix gasoline and dishsoap in bottle, and plug it with an oily rag.) "Sally, tell me you love me." (Break into the house,) "But--" she says. (cut the gasline,) "But I can't." (head back out,) I've finally found someone to be with... (wait a few minutes.) ...but now I'm more alone than ever. (Light the rag,) There's so much love in her heart... (throw the bottle through the window.) ...and it's all for fire. (Boom.) .-. .-. / \ .-. .-. / \ / \ / \ .-. _ .-. / \ / \ `-------\-------/-----\-----/---\---/-\---/---\-----/-----\-------/-------' \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / \ / \ / `-' `-' \ / `-' `-' 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 2004 by #274-04/04/04 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.