Southwinds 1987 by Missouri S&T Library and Learning Resources

Southwinds VOLUM E X V 1987

T h is y e a r's e x tre m e ly dedicated staff consisted of: Roberta Brown (P re s id e n t) Michael Hall Carol O'Connell Bullock John Van Besien ( T r e a s u r e r ) Diana H u n te r Suzanne D ainty C h r is Malone ( A r t i s t in Residence) James Bogan (H o n o r a r y ) Eugene Warren (H o n o r a r y ) R andy Barnes (H o n o r a r y ) W. Nicholas K n ig h t (H o n o r a r y ) John N. Bullock (H o n o ra r y )

And th a n k s to all those who gave e x t r a - l i t e r a r y support: Dean M a rv in B a r k e r Associate Dean Wayne Cogell M r . Bob Blaylock A n d , as alw ays, T h e English D epartm en t.

Southwinds 1987 is produced in Rolla, Missouri, by th e Southwinds Club and is produced e n tir e ly f o r and by th e stu dents of U . M . R .

Deadline fo r th e 1988 issue will be F e b r u a r y 1988. All works submitted become p ro p e r ty of T h e Southwinds C lu b .

M CM LXXXVII - SOUTHWINDS.

Contents David Johnston, southwind blown in ............................................................ Christiane McLees, COFFEE ............................................................................. Suzanne Mueller, Down in the Country ........................................................ Danny Lanham, "gray kitten" ......................................................................... Winfred van Mourik, "Clouds" ......................................................................... John Van Besien, "the sandbox" ................................................................... David Bond, "We knew" ..................................................................................... David Johnston, onikare (inipi) ................................................................ Randy Barnes, W ITHIN WITHOUT .................................................................. Carol O'Connell Bullock, TROPHIES .............................................................. Michael Hall, YOU CLAIM TO HEAR ............................................................ John Van Besien, Stacks ................................................................................. Michael Runzi, STUDENTS ............................................................................. Mary Stephens, A .M ............................................................................................. Diana Hunter, Cry With The Mountains ...................................................... James Bogan, The Street of Thieves .......................................................... Christiane McLees, SHE .................................................................................... Suzanne Mueller, The Parking Lot .............................................................. Diana Hunter, Summer Is Not Yet Over .................................................... David Bond, New In Town ........................................................................... Mary Bernard, "does he dream?" ................................................................. John P. Miller, KLINGER ............................................................................... Jennifer-M arie Bee, "flip flops" ................................................................... Thomas Nichols, "In the sign of two tears" ............................................ Michael Hall, Dark Silence ............................................................................. Thomas Nichols, Thorn .................................................................................. Eugene Warren, RELEASE .............................................................................. Angelia Moss, The Most Wonderful Person in the World ...................... Diana Hunter, I Wait ........................................................................................ Margie Webster, ALONE .................................................................................. Mary Stephens, A Real Friend ................................................................... Mike Giboney, "Flowers" ................................................................................. Michael Hall, "A tree" ..................................................................................... Michael Hall, "Rain" ......................................................................................... Thomas Nichols, "The spring" ..................................................................... T y le r H arris, Have You Seen My Shadow? ................................................ Mary Stephens, I have decided ................................................................... John Van Besien, The Barn ........................................................................... Randy Barnes, The Bowles Quote ................................................................ David Johnston, missouri coyotero (run wild) .................................. Nancy Norden, Reflections Over a Hamburger ........................................ Robert H. Francis, Rain Steam and Speed ................................................ Winfred van Mourik, "The blue smoke" ...................................................... Karen Thornton, "Roadsigns" ....................................................................... Michael Hall, In The First Light Of Dawn ................................................. David Bond, "paper thin" ............................................. David Bond, "a tumble of leaves" ................................................................ Michael Hall, Contemplative Hysteria ......................................................... David Johnston, Run ....................................................................................... Doug Bullock, "In a darkened room" ......................................................... Thomas Nichols, The Cradling Waters ....................................................... Marla Schafer, "When I am alone" ................................................................ John Morgan, From: Slave Narratives - Rolla ........................................

1 2 3 5 5 6 7 8 9 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 17 18 19 20 21 22 26 27 28 28 29 30 30 31 32 32 33 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 42 43 44 44 45 47 48 49 50 51

Carol O'Connell Bullock, U N T IT L E D V I ........................................................... Jim R eddington, "Leaves" ........................................................................................ Paul M o rris , Mrs. Graham ........................................................................................ Andrew Rowe, Phone P highting ........................................................................... J e n n ife r-M a rie Bee, " s p id e r legs" ...................................................................... Rob Nabb, "Pink and yellow towns" .................................................................. Carol O'Connell Bullock, Midnight Walks U n d e r A Full Moon ............. Beth G a h r, THE TEA R .............................................................................................. Cyril Pimentel, "A calm, placid lake" ................................................................ John N. Bullock, In the Still of th e Morning .............................................. Michael H all, Blue A nd an te ...................................................................................... Micki Wilcox, Death is a Pale Blue Silk Glove .............................................. Rachel Rivero, Song ................................................................................................... Suzanne M ueller, One N ig h t in a Thousand .................................................. Diana H u n te r , Wild Pony ..........................................................................................

54 54 55 56 56 57 58 59 59 60 61 63 64 65 66

Illustrations C h r is to p h e r Malone ............................................................................................... cover Michael Tessaro ................................................................................................................. 3 Michael Hall ......................................................................................................................... 8 Michael Hall ....................................................................................................................... 13 Miguel Americo ................................................................................................................. 16 B r it t Braswell ................................................................................................................. 21 Diana H u n te r ................................................................................................................... 26 C h r is to p h e r Malone ...................................................................................................... 31 Michael Tessaro .............................................................................................................. 38 Bill C a r t y ......................................................................................................................... 41 Eric Bussen ..................................................................................................................... 46 Diana H u n te r ................................................................................................................... 50 E sth er Ulrich ................................................................................................................... 53 Michael Tessaro ............................................................................................................... 57 Michael Hall ......................................... 66

T he Southwinds Club apologizes fo r any e r r o r s , typ o graph ical o r e d ito ria l, t h a t may have o ccurred in this publication.

iii

southwind blown in warm rain one lone peeper c rie d o u t fo r its mate. warm sun th re e hawks soared above cabin one called overhead to wake me fro m my g a rd e n , two north bo u n d V 's of geese flew before hastening th u nd e rc lo ud s of blind lig h te n in g and deaf t h u n d e r . cleaning house th orough good run back home to rain bathe and rainbow at su ns e t, coyotes laughed as to say who would th in k not of s p rin g .

2>(wd ^oknMm

COFFEE She got up with a roaring head-ache not able to even face the mirror She stumbles into the kitchen where th e coffee hasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t been made yet A fresh breeze enters the room th ro u gh the wide open window when he was still still here th e re would be coffee made But nothing will make a d ifference this morning after the farewell

CkmUant %cjL<u

'HlicfuuL VeuaAO

Down in the Country r i v e r rock echoes maramec clam shells suntanned sand on oily b lan kets motorboat oil th e soggy lifejackets minnow buckets th e green boat heading to Redâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s fis h in g hole-

swayed bobbing goodbye to us mainlanders as th e c liff shadows t u r n e d to c a p tu re o u r voices whose echoes sounded again st th e river and faded

SujaAM 'ftludln

Small steel g r a y kitten Of w h a t do you t h i n k each day On y o u r window perch? 2)(wu{ JinahaM

Clouds amble across the s k y , C asting th e ir fo o tp rin ts on the rolling hills. T h e i r heads in the pure blue s k y , T h e y a r e oblivious to manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s rages. In search of nothing - content ju s t to be, T h e y contin ue on into f o r e v e r . WuifyiuL urn Tflou/uk

the sandbox ov e r on O liv e r Street (t h a t we used to play in on S aturdays, our cookie tin s , spoons and shovels all shoved in pockets d a r k , and deep; all "tools of the t r a d e : " our tra d e was th e sandbox with its morning warmed e a rth -s h a v in g s d a r k , and rich and th e tepid sand in s tra in in g f i n g e r s , Sally's pale, thin and fre c k le d arm draped around my r ig h t shoulder in a smile) has disguised itself in w a is t-h igh weeds cockleburrs and b ram b les-I often wonder if the spongy, wet ro ttin g boards with peeling white pain t and w hite mushrooms e v e r let go of the sand; I often wonder if the old sandbox knew by Sunday somehow th a t we w e re n e v e r.

fiokn, (Jan 'Buun

We knew it was n ig h t then T h e n itro u s oxide Fall of film Black Black as if it were A g r e a t ship From th e sea of Galleon ghosts Pulled high on C ity sand And A bo u t th e s t r e e t li g h t T h e T i t a n i c â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Slow c h a n d e lie r T u r n i n g till T h e moonmoth sail U n f u r le d Fully We w e re possessed R ushing toward T h a t cement mast T o let th e M e rc ury dust Fall in to th e Pores of o u r skin And s il v e r y veins With t h e moon Blown again st a C h a i n - li n k fence We le t loose T h e h u n g r y dogs O f o u r dreams

2 W uL 'R ond

onikare

(inipi)

no vision mad dog snarls with curled lip bare tooth menace, no love watchdog's cold unb lin kin g eyes glimpse wisps of dream in the sanc tu a ry of d a r k . "we are of the t h ir d rock from the f i r e , " he doesn't understand now but d uty. what are the pledges, we stand faced to an a n g ry god.

'boMui fiokndon

M u L Hall onikare is the Dakota-S ioux word fo r "sweat lodge"; while inip is the night of purification t h a t takes place within th e lodge.

WITHIN WITHOUT A t th is moment I want something I w ill not get. Y e t it is such a simple th in g p u r e & e x a c t. Fears b re e d cautio n. N egle c t arises. T h r o u g h time G u ilt has become the common response. To u n d e rs ta n d th is is to have seen 8- fe lt it. 'J tm dtj 'E oami

Trophies bits of plastic and metal r e fle c tin g d is to r t e d s u n lig h t

Ca/wi O'CofuulL 'Zullock

YOU CLAIM TO HEAR Your ears are held by deafness. You claim to hear, but do you? You claim to listen, but I know you do not. You repeat th e words 'to hear', 'to listen ; th ere is no difference you shout, no difference at all. Perhaps to you my fr ie n d , in yo ur world of shallow thought, and shallow meaning, there is no difference, no difference at all. Your mind is held by deafness. You hear, but do not listen. Won't I hear your side of th in g s, your s to ry, your excuses? Yes, I will hear yo ur self-centered speeches, y o u r attempts to ju s tify that which you do not understand, but I will not listen.

%Lckad HaJi

Stacks t h e giant b r ic k - m e n bases s to u t and f i r m , n a rro w in g u p w a rd into t h in n in g clouded sooty mouths swallows and sparrow s a n d worm eaten pigeons o f fi lt h y g ra y c ir c le above t h e i r roosts g r a s s , s traw s tic k in g o u t , against b r i c k s , small stones s tre a ke d b r a n c h i n g like veins to c a r r y ; t h e y , lik e the sycamore may g ro w , move, b r e a th e .

fokn (Jan '%uun

STUDENTS sittin g in a smoke filled room to g e th e r b u t all alone d r in k i n g beer in a d r in k in g game shouting fills th e room a moment of silence stillness all th o ug h ts t u r n in students s ittin g in a smoke filled room to g e th e r but all alone

'Muckad 'Jlunji,

AM . I love th e shadows of t h e morning - th e cool a . m . s o f my life When I am alone - In t h e q u ie t house th e air b re a th e s me li g h t e r th a n before - Gives me myself - A nd I like it. My soul grows ex p a n d e d b y you - B u t, I am alone f o r now - A nd I like it.

Oflcuuf Stephan

'Michael 13

CRY WITH THE MOUNTAINS r u n , child, run r u n with the m ountains r u n with the sea ru n with God l a u g h , child, laugh laugh with the mountains laugh with th e sea laugh with God c r y , child, cry c r y with the mountain s c r y with the sea c r y with God Ibi/UKi HunJU/i

The Street of Thieves T h e facade of t h e C hurch of St. Francis almost o u t-b a ro q u e s B e rn in i. C a rv e d sandstone angels, a rc h e s , and escutcheons, saints, scrolls, and foliage o v e r r u n th e t h i r t y fo o t wall. Four g ia n t heads atop pillars glare p r o p h e tic into space, w h ile a statue of th e gentle saint of Assisi blesses those t h a t e n te r t h e c h u r c h y a r d . The in tri cate pieces o f this pious puzzle were sh ip p ed from Portugal in 1702 to be assembled in th e New World of S a lv a d o r on th e Bay of Ail Saints. Also b u ilt to last c e n tu rie s was the a n tiq u e s tre e t in f r o n t of th e church. Foot-sized blocks o f local g r a n i t e , called p e d ra b r u t a , f i t t i g h t l y to g e th e r in a p a tte r n o f d iz z y in g r e g u la r ity t h a t ex te n d s f o r n a rro w tw is tin g miles. My mind winces a t the th o u g h t of th e racket iro n -s h o d horses and iron-rim m ed wheels must have made long ago, b ut I am pulled o u t of my noisy re v e rie b y a question from a ten y e a r boy s ittin g on a soccer ball: " A r e you from France?" " N o ." "Paraguay?" " N o ." "New Zealand?" " N o ." " T h e United States?" "Yes. A re you fr o m Argentin a?" as k . No. "Mozambique?" " N o ." "Portugal?" " N o ." "Bahia?" "Yes. Be c a r e f u l . " ’’Why?" "T h is man coming towards us now is a t h i e f . " "How is it going?" the th ie f says in a pleasant to n e . "All swell. And y o u . " I re p ly . "All swell. Look out, this boy is a t h i e f . " He emphasizes the accusation with a t w i s t of th e thumb in th e palm of his h a n d . This u niversal Brazilian g e s t u r e signifies r o b b e r y at its many levels, be it on th e beach a t Copacabana, behind th e post o ffic e , o r in the g o v e r n o r's palace.

I ta k e my leave of th e p a ir and w a lk g in g e rly down th e s tre e t t h a t dro ps narrow between linked d w e lling s . My an k le s split and s p la y o v e r the ro ugh cobbles. I feel a stra n g e a n x ie ty realizing th a t l have walked myself into a rough spot t h a t can only be walked o ut of b y w a lk in g f u r t h e r . O h , well. A t th e f i r s t b e n d of a bent h a irp in t u r n two boys a r e kicking a soccer ball across m y p a th . T h e one with the " S e lf-P r e s e rv a tio n " t - s h i r t tells me, "Watch it, th e re are th ie v e s around t h e c o r n e r ." " T h a n k you f o r t h e w a rnin g b u t I must go this w a y to get to the p o rt." He kicks t h e ball s h a rp ly to his fr ie n d who stops it on a dim e, toes it up into th e a i r , then shoots it back w ith his fo re h e a d . I walk on down th e s treet t h a t now leads in e x o r a b ly into the m idst of a gang of boys. T h e y a re gathered f o r a n o th e r sport: sledding down th e in c lin e on pieces of hard plastic. I t w o rk s . As I

pass, th e y ta lk among themselves, "Where does th is American t h i n k he is going?" To th e ir s u rp ris e I respond, "I am going to th e docks b e lo w ." Smiling happily one boy assures T h e r e is a th ie f at th e bottom of th e h il l. "

me,

"You b e tte r look out.

"What is th e name of th is th ie f , so I will know what to call him?" No one answers but th e y all laugh. A lady appears at th e door of a dim little shop and invites me in. Bags of s u g a r , tins of oil, and bags of f a r in a line th e sh elves. An old S in g e r sewing machine is in one co rn er and a square cooler makes a b a r. "Would you like a beer?" " A c tu a lly I would like half a b e e r ." "Only la rge beers h e r e ." "Some quinine w a te r t h e n . " "You know th e re are many thieves aro u nd h e r e ." "So I have heard, b u t I must get to the p o r t . " "I will send someone w ith y o u ." She calls one of th e boys into th e shop an d gives him the e q u iv Â alent of a f i v e dollar bill t h a t she wants changed below. B efore setting o ut I address th e m u ltitu d e of fifte e n t h a t has g a th e re d about the d o o rw a y , "You b e tte r look out! I am the t h ie f ," as I make to bop th e boy on the head and snatch the money. Nobody takes me fo r th e A r tfu l D o d g e r. My th re e -fo o t b o d y g u a rd and I reach th e bottom of t h e hill w ith Â o u t in c ide n t except fo r th e o ffe r of some marijuana from behind a b a rre d window . F u r t h e r on two guys lu r k in an alley b u t a r e too busy w ith no good to notice us. My esco rt peels o ff on his own e rr a n d and I proceed unmolested beyond th e Street of T h ie v e s , having been guided by w h a t phalanx of angels and haunted b y what d evils, God only knows. fm u 'B a ja *

SHE T h e r e he sits s ta rin g into nothing waiting f o r his o r d e r to be taken He th in k s of what he would like to o r d e r of what his ta stebuds would like to taste T h e r e a re too many th in g s to choose from If ju s t once somebody would decide f o r him She comes tells him to d a y 's special - he takes it CJvUitiAM %cJL<u

The Parking Lot A thin jawed woman looked one way only before s tep p in g down from th e c u rb . H e r hair was sad. H e r face looked d ra in e d she followed a man and was p re g n a n t. An image only emptiness feeling in me in her, tears in did she did she

I do not know, my eyes see th e b r ig h t new moon rig h t th e re , above th e trees wear sweet perfume and feel beautiful she was

look up from t h e b la c k to p a t this S e p te m b e r f a ll sky and smile warm

to you She was thin shrinking woman from what I say I cannot answer it is ju s t a p a in .

Sufuuu Oltuelln

SUMMER IS NOT YET OVER T h e r e is time y e t fo r th e h oarding of much-lo ved t h i n g s like sunsets and s u n ris e s , th e green of t h e tr e e s , th e blue of the s k y , th e warmth of t h e s u n , and the touch o f y o u r hand. T h e r e is time y e t . Summer is not y e t o v e r T h e r e is time y e t to dream impossible d ream s, to w alk th r o u g h fields golden with h a y , to wade in the pond, f o r Whippoorwills to c a ll, f o r flowers to bloom, and for us to become f r ie n d s . T h e r e is time y e t although fall will soon come b e ly in g th e g ra y n e s s of w in te r. T h e r e is time y e t . Summer is not y e t o v e r . 'ÂŁ>ulm HunLtA,

New In Town Summer clouds I saw reflected on cellophane stuck in sungrass copperg reen clouds screwed on like a lid I propped up on an elbow to see th e echo bloodwarm bricks d rip p e d from d ying suns chipped from dead ovens empty temples of the sun six of six fe v e r b ird s sucking neon from a broken sign I buried my face in th e black beneath the sidewalk then with the cellophane glued to my forehead I tr ie d walking home

Ibaud 'R ond

'Q u it '%/uuweH

He sta re s o f f into space does he d re a m , o r merely contem plate the theorem of t h e calculus? %0A4f 'E m m ac L

KLINGER Well I guess no m atter how f a r you go you can never run away from y o u r p a s t. T a k e me, fo r example. Now I w o rk fo r N O M A IL , a ju n k mail removal service in th e lower Felb u lar C lu s te r, b u t a few years ago, none of my fr ie n d s would have recognized me. I was d iff e r e n t th e n : y o u n g e r, w i ld e r , more outgoing and impulsive. I had a cheap, used su bratro n t h a t could b a re ly g et me from one post to the n e x t w ith o u t running out of fu e l, or oil, or lifo , or something. I was p a r t - o w n e r of the F re n z e tti system ( o r ig in a lly only one s e c to r, but e v e n tu a lly expanded to tw o , a small b a c k w a te r cluster ju s t hours from Gamma T w e l v e ) . It was a slow, u n e v e n tfu l system w h e re th e closest th in g to fu n was when th e Reek armies on Frenzetti T h i r t e e n decided to r a lly against th e P rim ary G o rb u s tle r settlements on T w e lv e and Eleven. T h e y ne v e r g o t past th e ir F re e n s , of course, and w ithout the help of Five's hoarde of Livid Balbumans, who at th e time busied themselves more with d rin k in g and horseplay than serious pla n e ta ry w a r s , th e y p ro b a b ly ne v e r would. It was aro u nd the time of the g re a t Krim lane Famine of 3 1 3 5 .3 that my companions and I decided to relinquish control of th e Frenzetti Major system, and its now n e ig h b o rin g F ren zetti M in o r, which we had p a r tly won in a card game and which was p a r t l y ju s t old trash which we hauled t h e r e to liven th e place up and ta k e up Federation space, and, off th e reco rd , half o f which w a s n 't really th e re except when we needed it fo r ta x p urposes. Frenzetti M ajor, at the time of th e Krimlane Famine, was slowly being o verru n by insane, ravenous and d e s tru c tiv e Globuteniks from Six and Seven, who since the immense decline in th e production of Krimlane beer had become its chief im po rte rs , and who th e r e f o r e managed to rally the pow erful Blabuman H o a rd e . The Globuteniks were t r u l y distasteful and slimy, and did e v e r y t h i n g by th e book, and when one of my H orrhim spies let me know t h a t the G lo b u te n ik s , who now had taken pow er, w e re beginning to w onder if F re n z e tti Minor was re a lly as big as I said it was, I knew it was time to pack my s u bra tro n and move out. Sounds p r e t t y c o n fu s in g , doesn't it? Well, no science fictio n s to ry can be good w ithout a sizeable c h u n k of meaningless d ra b b le at the b e g in n in g . But, since th a t little s tr in g o f nonsense has v e r y little to do with the rest of th e s to ry , I th o u g h t I would th r o w it in ju s t to annoy you and s ta r t th is piece in th e accepted tr a d itio n . My name is G albutron Michael B re n d e r . My frie n d s call me K lin g e r, p a r t i a ll y because th is is easier to say, and p a rtia lly because t h e y know t h a t it d riv e s me nuts. A n y w a y , I'm n a rra tin g and you pro bab ly w o n â&#x20AC;&#x2122;t hear it much unless someone ta lk s to me, and th is I will t r y to keep at a minimum. I am a Human, since if I was a G lo b u te n ik or a Reek o r a G o rb u s tle r you couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t id e n tify with me v e r y well, and if I was a Horrhim you could only u n d e rs ta n d me when I fe l t like im personating a Human, which th e y seldom do. Since I am a Human, you can assume s e veral things about my s tr u c t u r e and lifestyle, so I â&#x20AC;&#x2122; ll avoid most of t h a t and plunge r i g h t back into th e confusing s tu ff . A f t e r selling my p a r t of Fre n ze tti (in c lu d in g th e p a rts of F re n z e tti minor which did not really e x i s t ) , I took what little money I had sold it f o r and b o u g h t a casino in Las V e g a s . (A h a , E a r t h , you say. Ha ha ha ha, b u t K lin g e r has more s u rp ris e up his s le e v e .) Las V egas was a large system on th e main fre e w a y between th e two most h ig h ly populated s ta r clu sters in th e g a la x y . My casino was a

small continent on Las Vegas Seven, called Brimmertide. It sported lavish hotels, fine restaurants, expensive transit systems, and greeby th irty hours a day. (No good science fiction planet has exactly tw enty-four hours. I wouldn't normally have to point this out to you, but I â&#x20AC;&#x2122;m aiming this work at the uneducated.) What is greeby? Usually it's some wonderful music or fragrance or color or something that keeps people sedate and makes them want to spend lots of money. The greeby in Brimmertide was the best my lavish budget could afford; indeed the best kind in this half of the galaxy: color television. How I got the money to buy this lush place, or really how I got the money to buy the system which I had to expand and sell to GET the money to buy this lush place, is none of your business unless ! decide to write another story. In any case, what I did to Brimmertide wasn't exactly as barbaric as a flat-out purchase. I just bought enough shares in the place to become its legal owner, and thereby channeled half of its gross income into my Swiss bank account on Nebulous fo u r. And what a lot of money it was. Money for transport, money for clothes, money fo r eccentric palaces and rare foods. Pretty entrancing, huh? But this would be no real adventure story unless I suddenly lost that money soon after I got it and fought a desperate battle against incredible odds and ridiculous attorney fees to get it back. Interestingly enough, I just happened to be at odds with a certain low-breasted, long-armed, two-foot Louse named Buckey Whitlams. Buckey was a weed, a real slimy guy, who probably would never sell his mother, but who might rent or lease her for long periods of time if he really had to. He was a loan shark, a moneylender, a creep beyond description, to whom I had recently sold certain parts of Frenzetti Minor which were not really there. I thought it was a rather cute and snitty way to get back at him after what he had done to me during the Grenzellia Conflict (obscure reference to another story which I may write if this one sells). I know he'd never go to the place, and he'd wind up selling it to some real estate creep who would pass it o ff to someone who eventually might actually go and check out this property and find out that there were only two planets where there should have been six. What 1 didn't know was that Buckey was looking fo r a nice, out-of-the way place to build (you guessed it) a summer home. He had looked over what were intentionally very rough maps of Frenzetti Minor Eight (which, as you have probably concluded by now, did not really exist), and had drawn up plans for a very livable though extreme and enormous mansion on the planet. He was understandably disappointed to discover, soon afterwards, that there was no planet there to build it on. Well, Buckey was a clever sort, and he immediately decided that I was to blame for th e fraudulent sale. I was, of course, but he had no right to assume th a t I was. He got me in the worst way he could think of at midnight in a jet on the way to my spaceport on Brimmertide. A t fir s t, he was planning to have it out with me in my apartment, to demand a refund with interest, to insult my mother and kick my dog. But before he arrived, he had changed his mind and

sped away, back towards his s h u ttle , to w r e a k havoc on my bank account. T h e n e x t d a y , I found my computer-scanned checking account ov e rd ra w n b y fifteen million credits (an obscure b u t commonly used reference to monetary units of unfathomable denomination). A p p a ra n tly someone, and we all know who by now, had bought a n on reversib le lifetime subscription to e v e ry major publication known, and had it sent special f i r s t class to th e presumed location of nonexistant F ren zetti Minor Eig ht. V e r y f u n n y , I th o u g h t. Ha ha ha. I ’ll kill th e little weed. B u t, since th e in d u s tr y is looking f o r a few h a p p y , bloodless endings this y e a r, I decided to call him instead. "Buckey! So good to see you a ft e r all these weeks. (Notice I said 'see' y o u . O b viou sly I am ch a tting o v e r a highly sophisticated in te r p la n e ta ry v ie w s c re e n -ty p e telephone. Ju st making su re you caught t h a t . ) How's th e real estate business tr e a tin g you?" B uckey said it was tre a tin g him fin e , but th e w a y he said it made it sound h o r rib ly sarcastic and completely u nfit to p r in t . "Well, w h a t're you going to do about it, th e n ? ” I asked casually, th in k in g of my o v e rd ra w n account and my millions of incoming magazines. "D o n ’t suppose you'd do anything nasty to the person who sold it to y o u ." " I ’ll tell you w h a t I plan to do with it, " said th e bubbling B uckey, "I'm going to sue y o u r ( * * * ) fo r f r a u d u le n t sale of a major p rospect. T h e re 's no ( * * * - * * * * ) ed planet down th e r e . F re n z e tti Minor Eight my ( * * * * ) i n g ( * * * ) ! " "B u c k e y b o y ," I said, "I d id n 't know you had o n e ." I t ’s amazing how a n g e ry a tw o -fo o t Louse can g e t. "Why you ( * * * * * * * * ) ing h a i r y - ( * * * ) e d n o - ( * * * * ) s g u n - . . . " T h e re s t of th e conversation was mostly asterisks on his p a rt, and really d id n 't go v e r y f a r towards solving a n y th in g . I received a summons in th e mail th re e days later. T h e mail was done mostly by com p ute r-c o n tro lle d p article beam, and a summons shouldn't have taken more than a few minutes to tr a n s f e r , b u t th e In te rga la tic Postal S ervice believed th a t even the most e ffic ie n t mailing system shouldn't ta k e less than t h r e e days to get a le t te r from point A to point B, especially if point A is a local court build ing on Las Vegas Nine and point B is nineteen million, two h undred and tw e n ty thousand, f o u r h u n d re d s i x t y - s ix miles, t h r e e hundred tw elve fe e t, fiv e inches away. Since we’ re discussing th e postal s e rvice, let's remember t h a t NOMAIL can help y o u. For e v e r y mailing list that sells y o u r address to as many other lists as it can, and usually does so by computer, fo r e v e ry company th a t sends you tra s h fo r e v e ry time th e y can fin d y o u r name on any list a n y w h e re , fo r e v e ry little bit of ga rb a ge you throw away th a t you know might be th e s t a r t of something b ig , you need N O M A IL . NOMAIL offers fa s t, e ffic ie n t removal of y o u r home mailing address from any and all mailing lists available. How much would you pay to have th a t h o r rib le s tu ff choked at th e post office, instead of in yo ur incinerator? Get N O M A IL , and discover what life can be like without all th e j u n k . I met Buckey outsid e th e c o u rt build ing the next week. He was snazzed up in his usual co urt a t t i r e - - t i g h t , black p ants, black patent

le a the r shoes, a suede ja c k e t with six-in ch f r in g e , and his fo u r -in c h blu e a fro . V e r y b u s in e s s -lik e . "Excuse me, " I said, p re te n d in g not to recognize him, " b u t the fe a t h e r d u s te r convention is two blocks s o u th ." "Wagahh! K lin g e r, you slime!" "O h , hello, B u c k e y ," I said , charmed. I'd been waiting for y ears to use t h e fe a t h e r d u s t e r line on him. I would have p r e f e r r e d to do it in f r o n t of a huge cro w d , b u t alas. A huge, s q u a re p illa r stood in th e center of t h e courtroom with motorized cameras perched on to p . C arved in its faces was the phrase "My la w y e r can beat up y o u r lawyer" in eig ht h u n d re d languages. I sat admiring it th ro u g h th e whole t r a il, nodding in te llig e n tly and p re te n d in g to u n d e rs ta n d what it meant. T h e co urt procedures were d u l l, and th e end re s u lt of them was t h a t a company of f i v e s u rv e y o rs (w ith degrees in geology and th a t so rt of im p o rta n t s t u f f ) would be sent to th e F re n ze tti Minor system to see if th e p lanet in q u e s tio n , namely F re n ze tti Minor E ig h t, actually did e x is t . A f t e r th a t a f f a ir was o v e r , I moved back into my o rb itin g l u x u r y y a c h t o v e r Las Vegas Seven and lived fo r years a life of peace and tra n q u ility . A f t e r a ll, I was innocent until proven g u i lt y . How did it e n d , you ask? Well, the s u rv e y o rs were sent out about a y e a r a f t e r th e h e a rin g . By th a t time, most of th e magazines had fig u re d o u t t h a t th ey were sending t h e ir publications nowhere, and all of my subscrip tion payments were re v e rs e d . As f o r the charges of f r a u d u le n t sale of a nonexistent pla net, t h e y were d ropped when th e s u rv e y o rs re tu r n e d and reported th a t t h e r e was a v e r y sizeable, if s lig h tly inhospitable , p lanet at F re n z e tti Minor E ig h t, and I managed to sue Buckey f o r c o u rt costs as well. Had th e su rveyo rs b othered to land, th e y would have noticed t h a t the planet was composed completely of magazines and ju n k mail. I th o u g h t of b u y in g th e p lanet back from Buckey ( a f t e r all, it was my m a il), b u t since j u n k mail was still a r r iv in g by th e kiloton, h o u r ly , I fig u re d it would pro bab ly collapse and become a s t a r before I could make a n y use o f it.

$okn 7 . M w

'hi/w a flu n iv i

Who leaves all the half pairs of flip flops on the beach?

^tnni^i-Ofla/uc C B #

In th e sign of two tears Fleeing and em b racing , Possessing and p u r s u in g Endlessly one may see A man and woman locked In th is c ir c u it of th e flesh E te rn a lly s t r u g g li n g For th e h e a rt Of th e o th e r. Y e t th e re is a n o th e r way To see it is Of t h e way of woman And th e moon th ro u g h changes, T h e courses of flo w in g , waxing And waning as she ebbs and crests C a r r y i n g h e rs e lf w ith th e grace Of ages of w a t e r - b e a r e r s T h a t drew life from th e spring To b rin g in a c lay ja r To all her c h ild r e n the g ift Of w alking with t h e sureness Of one possessed Of th e secret Of being Both Source and V e s s e l. She walks among shadowy gro ves Where the h e a rt can be heard, T h e chanting of n ig h tb ir d and cicada, And she is fr e e to ta lk to Purling waters b la c k and winkin g With moonlight, an sw erin g a call Coming from h e r th r o a t . . . T h e r e she is Still among the r i v e r trees Planting h e rs e lf deep In th e moist y ie ld in g earth Beside th e speaking waters, Watching d is ta n t lig h tn in g , Forming w ith h e r lips H alf-re m e m b e re d p r a y e r s .

ykonuu TUckoii

Dark Silence Death is foretold in a leaden s ky For those too slow to follow th e sun Who shiver w ith frosted wings Until the f i r s t snow blankets th e woods And nightfall brings d a rk silence

/MiJuuL M alt

Thorn T h e th o rn is subtle, As it a r t f u lly reposes Seeks to t h r u s t U n d e r skin th a t risks Blood fo r roses. And th o rn and blood Entwine more closely Than rose and love Shall e v e r or could. One outs tre tc he d hand And one pendulous stem Meet and mix U n e r r in g ly , find ing each oth e r Exchanging crimson for scarlet T his season And n e x t.

Vkomai TUckoU

RELEASE 1 W a lk in g in a den of r o s e s - T h e i r th o r n s assail me w i t h love. T h e s u n s e t is an addled g ra c e Filling th e cham bers of m y s ig h t .

2 R u n n e r s s w irl down th e s t r e e t , A t r u m p e t in the locust h e ra ld s them. T h e leaden c e n te r melts o p e n , Releases a golden flame o f b i r d , A b e l l - b e a k e d in s tr u m e n t of f l i g h t . 3 Glass in w in d o w s -S ta in e d glass squares In re m e m b ere d s ta irw e lls , Etched woods & d e e r On f a r m h o u s e d o o r-w in d o w s ; In a small M e th o d is t C h u r c h , T he Good S h e p h e rd w e a r in g A glass lamb like a s h a w l.

SuUjtM WcWUH

The Most Wonderful Person in the World M y beauty's h a ir is a raven's w i n g , Blue eyes s p a r k le in a g ypsy f a c e . She laughs w ith t h e sound of c r y s t a l bells,, A n d leads my h e a r t a m erry c h a s e . For h e r love, I w o u ld die. A n d f o r it, I w o u ld kill. A n d all my w a k i n g hours, T h o u g h ts of h e r do f i ll. O u r love it is f o r b i d d e n . T h e y cannot u n d e r s t a n d , T h a t though she be my woman, I can ne v e r be h e r man. She does not a c c e p t it, So it can n e v e r b e . A nd since I love h e r best of a ll, I shall set h e r f r e e .

/4rujelia,

I Wait I w a it f o r you A t r e e too close to t h e s u n. I w a it to be consumed b y f i r e once again.

Thanci, jiu n itA

â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Tflou

Ckudopkvi %aLont

ALONE Millions o f people pass me b y None o f them know my name OflcwjU, WdutM

A Real Friend My best companion is Raggedy Ann. Sittin g on th e w ic k e r hamper in th e corner leaning with one g ra y braid and one calicoed arm relaxed on th e sewing ta ble - smiling Life-Sized and watching she sees e v e ry th in g I do and approves and never says a word

OflaAii Stephua

Flowers by th e roadside f r a g i l e , fr a il, delicate Pushing the concrete away

OlUkt G ifatuif

A tr e e E n tra p p e d by w i r e S tra n g le d by its own g r o w th .

'HluduuL Hail

Rain Falling g e n t ly inside the s p h e r e A monochrome distortion O f m e r c u r y v a p o r tears N e v e r seen b y those beyond th e glass

WmJ uu! HaJl

T h e sp rin g rises in a field Within a c irc le of stones B u ilt into t h e e a r t h Deep as a man is t a l l. From a sand and g ra v e l floor It pulses u p , s n a k in g Past cattails and w a te rg ra s s T ill it reaches a stone channel And slips t h r o u g h to plu nge White and ro llin g Into th e lake a lo n g s id e . I saw you s te p p in g down T h e t i e r e d , s l i p p e r y stones One hand o u t , b alan cin g T h e o th e r h o ld in g y o u r hair Descending into T h e poolâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; cold Black w a te rs w h e r e I fo u g h t to stay U p, b lu e -l ip p e d and W a it in g .

'Jhom i TUckoU

Have You Seen My Shadow? I keep my room well lit at n ig h t. I have many lamps, and a candle in e v e r y c o rn e r. People t h i n k I'm c r a z y , b u t th e y donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know what I'v e seen. L o o k -- th e sun is s e ttin g . Come, stand in th e middle of the room while I lig h t th e lamps. H u r r y , while th e sun still holds them at b a y . Y es, I know, you th in k you are listening to a madman's ra v in g s , and you may be r i g h t . I have seen things th a t would make a man flee in t e r r o r and y e t I stood still to keep hidden. Y es, I must be insane to t h i n k I can hide. T h e y a re e v e ry w h e r e . Some n ig h t , I will run out of oil, o r I will fall asleep and let t h e candles b u r n o u t . T h e n , th e y will creep u p . th e y d o n 't make any noise, you know. T h e y will move in , s u rro u n d in g me so I have no escape. A nd w h e re can I r u n , how can I e s c a p e .. .m y own shadow? You will see, as I h a v e . Would you not be mad, if you had seen a man strangled b y his own shadow? H cm it

I have decided That I I d o n 't like I t â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s and so I

do not cook. t h e profession - th a n k le s s neveren din g. refuse.

T h a t I do not clean house. So, h ir e a maid o r , let it go - I f it's n e v e r done again - I'm fin i s h e d . T h a t I do not do l a u n d r y . So, catch a T i d e commercial - o r , read t h e box - Hot Warm Cold I t can mold if it w a its f o r me - I q u it. T h a t I do not a n s w e r questions. It's in s u lt in g - a n d , I'm not an inform ation s e rv ic e , ( f o r y o u r in fo r m a tio n ). So, use the A merican H e rita g e - o r, t r y th in k in g - It w o rks. I w o n 't .

%a/uf Stephan

The Barn A h ig h -b a c k e d ro c k e r o f mahogany, em broidered u p h o ls te re d in s u b tle shadings o f yellowing g r a y is perched n e x t to th e second s to r y window; its muted pane d u l l, an d s lig h tly sweet s u g a r y ice cakings sh arp s o ft beads of d r i p p in g steam, wet a nd warm on my little f i n g e r tr a c in g hazy o u tlin e s of th e f i g u r e dozing in G r a n d fa t h e r 's b a r n . I und e rs ta nd t h e r e is much consolation in the stra w bed, its humid womb e n g u l f in g , en clo sin g like warm f l a n n e l : I wish I only wish th e l e t t e r was not waiting on th e kitchen t a b le , next to th e le f to v e r s , as I have read it ov e r and o v e r again; of you to d a y I t h o u g h t , but t h e te a k e t t le â&#x20AC;&#x2122; s whining on th e stove.

fobv (Jan

%ichad Veuano

THE BOWLES QUOTE S e c u r ity is a false G o d -Make sacrifices to it & you a re lost.

H ew iif 'Jfoutu

missouri coyotero

(run wild)

fire m a n , dog s ta r seriou s echoes c rie s from memory of p ro m e th e u s bound e a r t h m a n . d o p e -s m o k in g heathen crazy w ith love of life watches f o r human smell o f smoke on touch of s k in , not some screaming i am th e way S u n d a y s o u ltr a d e r b u t jo in in g ch o ru s o f coyote yelps f o r w ays of a n t i q u i t y and stillness of roots and s tone.

w h e n it snows in s t. louis w ounded re d b ird s w i n t e r in c e d a r g r o v e s .

'fraud fobuton,

Reflections over a Hamburger T h e old man sits alone Sometimes mumbling to himself Sometimes looking up and smiling He hopes to ta lk to someone E v e ry o n e in th e room avoids him He must be d r u n k or crazy

Tlmctf %yukn,

Rain Steam and Speed: The Great Western Railway Acro ss the b rid g e o f time comes t h e t r a in of progress From th e fog o f u n c e r ta in ty t h e t r a i n â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s image comes increasingly clear y e t to the left a lone o bserver a boat in th e t r a n q u il sea o f status quo T h e advancement o f p ro gress is but only one p a r t of th e total p ic tu re H olw t,

'& U CoAttf

T h e blu e smoke rises in f r o n t of the colored tre e s Can th ese be th e hands t h a t held so t i g h t l y to a c h ild â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s balloon only y esterday? T h e g r e y s k y only magnifies th e gloom, Where did th e innocence of y e s te rd a y 's childhood go? Brown and red leaves ru s tle in the wind as if whispering th e ir death song, Y e s te r d a y , w h y did you go w ith o u t telling me w h e re to fin d tomorrow?

M inted joh %oimk

Roadsigns smeared b r ig h t l y on black v e lv e t: color splashed across a ra in y night.

K m tt 'Jkoudon,

In The First Light of Dawn

I t h u n g , glistening with f r o s t , in th e f i r s t lig h t o f d a w n . Each c r y s t a lin e te n d ril touched a n o t h e r , and a n othe r, and another, reaching o u tw a rd to form a t i n y u n iv e rs e . Its c r e a t o r , a t i n y s p id e r God, rested at its c e n te r, looking out across his labors. As th e sun rose, fr o s t melted in s p a rk lin g beads and ran along the lines of th e u n iv e rs e , o n ly to drop with f i n a l it y into timelessness.

Michael H all

p a p e r th in as morning t i n as rain li g h t as milkweed seed fa llin g o v e r p u d d le s o ne bead remembered on a n ecklace o f echoes w h ip p o rw ill to d a y new moon to m o rrow 2)<zoui 'B ond

a tu m ble o f leaves wind born tall as th e b a r n boards n ailed to g e th e r with space in between f o r sunbeams and wasps not as old as th e pyram ids b u t easier to u n d e r s t a n d

'Xxwul 'B ond

Contemplative Hysteria Screaming th o u g h ts of p s y c h o -fu n c tio n Carom off illogic T h e dance begins A B rownia n movement of in s a n ity C o n c e n tric c ircle chaos Ascendin g th r o u g h c u r r e n ts of consciousness To t h e placid s u rface of in tellect To b u r s t upon an unsu sp ecting reason

W ccka m

&UC '&UUUI

Run not f a r down p a v e d - o v e r e a rth th a t we may g iv e o u r legs to billion y e a r old exploding plants and steel which roll faster on ru b b e r than fo ot on g r o u n d .

7)<u/id fiofauton

In a The One And

d a r k e n e d room b y b a t t l e ra g e d in its rose u p , th e o t h e r to t h e v i c t o r w e n t

t h e l i g h t o f th e moon, f ie r y cage. fe ll, t h e spoils of Hell.

B u t he is a fool who wishes to r u le T h a t s e e th in g nest of S a ta n â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s u n r e s t . For to w a l k in Hell in th e D e v il's guise Is to become o neself t h e F a t h e r o f Lies. In a d a r k e n e d room b y t h e l i g h t o f th e moon T h e D e v il ra g e s in his f i e r y c a g e . T r a p p e d in Hell f o r e t e r n i t y , T h e v i c t o r longs th e lo ser to b e .

'Buttock

The Cradling Waters T h e c ra d lin g waters w e e v e r r e t u r n to As Odysseus w ith each setting sail Being b orn again and again, A n d d y in g with e v e ry sig h ting of L a n d â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s E n d . A n d from th e f i r s t s tr a g g lin g Heaves in loose sand We plot, with each fo o tfa ll, T h e next voyage.

"JkomM %choU

When I am alone a nd ta k e n by s u p ris e w ith t h o u g h ts of you h a v in g run my fin g e r s along t h e cold stone c h ild is h ly hoping to b r i n g you to life again No lo n g e r a re my te a rs from g r i e f - b u t f e a r t h a t you are no lo n g e r real.

OflmU Sckajvi

Tbiana, tftuiLe/1

From: Slave Narrativesâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;Rolla

l We had o u r own wool, t h e y a r n d yed p r e t t y c o lo rs . S tro n g d y e s we b o u g h t a t th e d r u g s t o r e . In d ig o made blues and p u r p l e s . Doc G ibson had th e d r u g s t o r e - I re m em b er he had a w i t h e r e d h a n d . A n d t h e p r e t t i e s t colored bottles to keep his medicines in , re d & b lu e w ith b lack and gold l e t t e r s . F o r b r o w n d y e , we used w a l n u t h u lls . I f we w a n te d black d y e w e used b la c k h u lls , & fo r shades o f b rown w e used g re e n h u lls . T h e y a r n laid in th e cold ju ic e o f th e w a l n u t .

2 B efo re t h e w a r s ta rte d t h e r e was a s ta r in th e we s t seen e v e r y n ig h t b e fo re s u n s e t. P retty, I can see it y e t b e a u tifu l s ta r s p ra n g le d o u t in e v e r y d i r e c t i o n . . . T h e n we h e a rd th e c a n n o n s , th ose b ig cannons, to h e a r them would almost shake y o u .

3 It was a s ig h t to see him, we asked t h e old lady who t h a t w a s - those p r e t t ie s he had on his s h o u ld e r. She says to us H e â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s th e g e n e r a l, all those o t h e r men got to mind him. When he was killed at Wilson C r e e k th e y k e p t him in an ic e -ho u s e in a s p r in g . When t h e y b r o u g h t him ba c k h e re he was p a c k e d in ice in th e wagon and t h e wagon had f o u r mules. I wa n te d to know if he was th e man who had th e p r e tt ie s on his s h o u ld e rs .

fiokn /Mo/iq<W'

S itk e /i (JLbuxk

Untitled VI All she feels is remorse. She had g iv e n him h e r c r y s t a l h e a rt But now he was f a r away and not t h i n k i n g o f her. Too many th in g s had been said and unsaid. T h e o n ly sound now is th e q u ie t t i n k l in g of d e lic a te glass b re a k in g .

tojwl O'Connell Bullock

Leaves d r i f t i n g slowly to th e e a r t h . How sad th e lin g e r in g d e a th .

'Redduujton

Mrs. Graham Trees hint th e approach of autumn as the sun begins to set behind storm clouds arisin g th ic k te n d rils of iv y b e tr a y the column's age c o n tra s t against h e r yo uth and delicacy fin e frivolo us dress juxtaposed again st common surname her le ft hand grasps a silky fold of her dress as a plume dangles from th e r i g h t she glances and pouts d is a p p ro v in g ly at posing f o r th e a r t is t .

*7W Oflomi

Phone Phighting I was a tta c k e d y e s te r d a y b y a te le p h o n e cord. I co u ld n 't f i g h t b a c k , I had no sword! I w re s tle d and fo u g h t and fi n a l ly was flo o re d . Amazing th e th in g s y o u â&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll do when y o u ' r e bored.

^n d m j 'R om

I would like to shave all th e t i n y , h a ir y s p id e r legs on E a rth .

'E m

'Michael 'iJeuaAO

P in k and y e llo w towns u n d e r c a r r o u s e ls of c a n d y -c o a te d dream s. A c h ild 's im agination.

7M 1U M

Midnight Walks Under A Full Moon T w o shadows on th e sidewalk in f r o n t of me. One from th e weak l i g h t of th e lamp post A nd one from I d o n 't know w h e re . Both e x is tin g f o r me. A r e th e y rid ic u lin g me o r ju s t ha v in g fun?

CoaoL O'Connell 'Bullock

THE TEAR W e llin g up from t h e g r e a t d e p th s t o b e g in a jo u r n e y d o w n w a rd slo w ly s n a k in g along t h r o u g h c racks a nd c re v ic e s le a v in g a s i l v e r t r a i l g li s t e n in g b e h in d . R o lling dow nward q u ic k e r, faster p i c k i n g up speed a locomotive w ith a d e s t in y , r a c in g o nw ard o v e r th e t e r r a i n u n til f i n a l ly re a c h in g t h e edge it fa lls into e te rn ity .

'Q dk GaJw

A calm, placid lake T h e willow re a c h in g to shade th e shore T i r e swing a nd flo w in g gra s s A block of n a t u r e s u s p e n d e d in time G tjiil 'T m u iid

In the Still of the Morning A g e n tle rain wh ispers in th e m o rn in g a ir Its v e r t ic a l shimmering e n t r a n c in g , lu lling me ba c k to sleep. T h e n , I h e a r; out of my s ig h t somewhere f a r a w a y , A s c re e c h , a c ra s h , th e t i n k l e of b ro k e n glass A scream. A d is t a n t s ounding scream, almost lost in th e w h is p e r th e th e rain s ounding lo nely in th e still of th e m o r n i n g . . . T h e rain is h e a v ie r now no lo n g e r w h is p e r in g fa llin g instead with a h e a v y sad ness. For someone else has heard t h e scream, and He is c r y i n g .

$okn %. 'Bullock

Blue Andante In the begin nin g t h e r e was d a r k n e s s . d arkn ess and s a id , 'L e t th e r e be S O U N D .'

moved

upon th e

A solid wall o f scin tillating sound. O h , God th e p u r p le feels good. Damn, a s h a rp blue, d i d n ’t see it coming. A n o th e r b lu e, and a n o th e r , little spikes hidden in t h e g re e n haze, got to look out fo r th o s e . Down! T h a t was too close. What color was t h a t a n y w a y , F -s h a rp ? Rise, f l y , yeah th a t's th e w a y . U p , up out o f th e haze - th e g reen is too d a ng e ro u s . Ride the u p - b e a t . T h e r e , my wings fill w ith ris in g octaves. Next stop th e high note of an o c hre s k y . But it's o ra n g e ! What a pleasant s u r p r is e . J u s t one h a nd fu l of a ir - h e a v y metal ta s t e , j u s t a h in t of p u r p le rain. Look at them - - God, t h e y ' r e t i n y from up h e re . Look at them s tr u g g le in th e haze, t r i p , s ta n d , t r i p again. Ha! D I D N ’T SEE T H E B - F L A T D ID Y O U , F U C K E R ! Serves you r i g h t , if you c a n 't f l y you d e s e rv e to die in t h e g u t t e r w ith th e rest o f th e s h it. YOU HEAR ME!? All of y o u , all of you will die, and I'll still be h ere! Just c ru is in g th e emerald sky, I'm safe h e r e , you can’t reach m e . . . b r i n g me d o w n . What is t h a t up ahead? No! How could it be? A B - f l a t can't reach th is h ig h . Y ou c a n 't be h e re , you h e a r me? Y o u ’ re not real. S ta y a w a y . GO AWAY! Damn, evasive action! T h a t 's it , ta k e the u p-beat, come a b o u t, d ro p in behin d it . O k a y , two thousand dec ib le s , g re e n D - s h a r p . . . f i r e ! Ha, d ire c t hit! It's not possible. . . no B -fla t could sound th ro u g h two thousand green decib les. What's it doing? My God, it's armed with pinwheels - crimson A - s h a r p s . Who sent it to b rin g me down? It's them , the ones down t h e r e ! T O O B AD F U C K E R S ! YOU C A N 'T H A V E ME! B ank in to th e u p - b e a t , one, tw o , t h r e e octaves ris in g . Oh, s h i . . . w h e re 'd th e d o w n -b e a t come from? C a n 't pa nic , if I do I'll hit bottom f o r s u r e . Y e a h, easy, easy, too f a s t and I'll shear a wing o ff. Aaagh - - A -s h a r p ! Those pinwheels h u r t like Hell! I've got to go down now, no choice. Where a re t h e y , t h e b lin d , flig h tle s s ones? I know t h e y ’ re hid in g somewhere in th e green haze, behind e v e r y s h a rp blu e and G - f l a t , w a itin g to g r a b m e . . . t o hold me down. A nd b e h in d me is the B -fla t. T h e r e 's o n ly one escape le ft, th e y wo n ’t follow me if I breech th e w a ll. Down. Easy now, glide in - - Damn! H it a sharp blue, gonna fa ll m i n d - f i r s t . . . . . .w h a t . . .w here? T h e wall! I' v e g ot to reach th e wall! Ha, knew y o u ’d be w a itin g h e re , b u t none of you can stop me! Run, d od g e, t u r n , God, this m id n ig h t blu e sounds like lead on my fe e t - moving so slow ly. T h e r e it is, b lin d in g , b e a u t ifu l, h o r r i f y i n g , THE W ALL. What in c re d ib ly colorful sound. S ha rp blues and crimson A's slidin g and m ing lin g w ith lo w -C p u r p le and u p - b e a t emerald - s c in tilla ting w ith e v e r y note of t h e rainbow. Now, th e passage t h r o u g h . . . t h e r e , t h e yellow is o pe n ing ! J u s t a little f a r t h e r . Look a t th e m , w h ite c ry s tal rails ru n n in g t h r o u g h an amber h ig h -D . A rid e t o freedom. I only have a moment more. Y O U SEE, I'V E MADE I T ! You c a n 't stop me now, none of you can! Q u ic k ly now, b e fo re th e d oo rw ay th ro u g h re a lity closes, mount th e f i r s t rail. T h a t 's it , become one w ith th e substance, white c ry s ta ls s e ttlin g like snow upon t h e m in d . Now th e second r a i l, almost f r e e . Y e a h , feel t h e acce le ra tio n . Look a t them, umcomprehending as I slip aw ay from th e m - - p a s t t h e i r r e a l it y . SO FUC KING LONG, R E A L I T Y , SEE YOU 'R O U N D !

S it back and enjo y th e te c h n ic o lo r rid e . Watch th e signs slide b y ; p i n k c u r v e a h e a d , b ew are of fa llin g octaves, speed limit blue a n d a n te , dead e n d . . . w h a t th e Hell?! Something's w ron g ! What color is that? A color w ith o u t sound?! I'm going too fa s t , headed rig h t f o r it. It 's , God, no - - b la c k . I t c a n 't b e , not B lack. A nything , le t it be a n y th in g b u t B L A C K ! MY G O D ! P LEA SE, N O T B .........

M khad Hod

Death is a Pale Blue Silk Glove Death is a pale b lu e silk glo ve. I t reaches o u t and signals to me. As I a p p r o a c h , it guides me f u r t h e r . Once it grasps me, I'm en fo ld e d w ith in it f o r e v e r . Its s i l k is cold, b u t it p ro te c ts me lik e a mother's h a nd . As it clinches into a f i s t around me, th e m u ffled ru s tle o f s ilk b rin g s peace w i t h in . So s lo w ly it pulls me o u t of r e a l ity , f r e e fro m th e w o rld 's a n x ie tie s . T h is d re a m y silk glove w ith its mellow b lu e color r e fre s h e s my b o d y with th e fre s h c ris p smell of a m o rn in g w i t h n a tu re . As t h e glove clinches tig h te râ&#x20AC;&#x201D; I d r i f t into a sleep, A nd I chase my d r e a m s - th ro u g h e te rn ity .

'Hlkki Wilco*

Song I can still remember voices in the n ig h t, sweetly singing ste aling souls of unknown w e a r y lives. I know not of t h e i r begin nin g I ju s t w an t them to e n d , f o r fe a r is th e ir ju s t ally a nd I n e v e r be a f r i e n d . I still hear nights awakening in my screaming mind, sweaty palms w ith a tw isted face, fe e lin g voices in th e n ig h t. Who knows where th e y came from, d o n â&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know if t h e y â&#x20AC;&#x2122; ll e v e r leave, as we close o u r eyes and fly away to our e v e rla s tin g dreams.

'KaJvd 'Jiuuvw

One Night in a Thousand M o zart's piano plays with me t h i r t y times f o r you even though Rolla's train pushes th rough my windowwhose plant sh akes in th e October n ig h t wind. I t â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a long way fro m a Canadian postmark to th e Peoples o f South Asia map. How silent th e y a re u ntil I rouse th e m , jealous t h e y hold p arts of you. " O c to b e r is a p rim e tr e k k in g season in th e Nepal H im ilaya" Himilaya if you wanhim to. O h , I wanhim to b u t Him won't lay me to n ig h t I c a n 't even p u ll th e bla nket from u n d e r the bed a nd I c ry if t h e music stops.

SujcuiM Mueilvi

Ttlukad tfaJl

Wild Pony No more will you run f r e e , r a r e and g e n t le c r e a t u r e . You are b r o k e n . You run fr e e o n ly in y o u r d re a m s - and in mine. 'huHM, H cvUm

Patrons Of Southwinds

O f f ic e of t h e Dean o f A r ts a n d Sciences B arn es T r u c k PLaza KMNR Alex Pizza Palace Ellens M. R. Hall B r e w s t e r 's S ub s & Suds E clipse Books & Comics End o f th e Rainbow Finch J e w e l r y Forum V id e o K e n t - - S t a i n e d Glass and E n g r a v i n g M a r t h a â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s M c C a r ty 's R e s t a u r a n t M e d i- V a l u e P ha rm a c y O z a r k Gems P h o to g ra p h y T h e Pubmobile Show -Me E le c tro n ic s