Impressions 2000

Impressions

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2000 ,.

Advisor: Dr. David R. Solheim

Editors: Justin Dalzell Eric John Lorentz Lindblad Tibor (Ted) Munkacsi Kelly Seibel

Impressions 2000 Winners: Poetry:

2-D Black and White:

First Place:

First Place:

"Inside Ourselves" by Brandon Christensen

"Little Boy" by Rich Stradling

Honorable Mentions:

Honorable Mentions:

"Broken" by Mary Stromme "Victoria" by Lance Jacobs

"Baby Jean" by Paula Rebsom "Piggy" by Lylie Roberts

Prose: First Place: "For Joshua" by Chris Lindblad

Honorable Mentions: "Remembering the Smiles and Hugs'' by Allison Rossow 'The Detective Game" by Matthew Ramsey

Cover Photo by Paula Rebsom

Š 2000 by the editors of "Impressions". The individual authors wholly own all future rights to material published in this literary magazine, and any reproduction or reprinting, in whole or in part, may be done only with their permission. Eligibility for prizes was restricted to full and part-time students of Dickinson State University. The works of the editors and faculty members contained herein were not eligible for prizes.

The opinions and representations contained in this magazine do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors, university administration, or faculty.

Prologue Once again the publication of Impressions has proven to be an interesting experience. I think that everyone involved with this year's project would agree this magazine seemed to take on a life of its own , demanding to exist as a work of art in and of itself. Once we posted the call for submissions around campus, everything began falling into place.

Impressions 2000 greatly benefited from both the quantity and the quality of the submissions we received this year. We are deeply indebted to this year's contributors. As I've stated before, blank pages tend not to make much of a statement.

In reality, the magazine did not put itself together. It took a dedicated group of people to make this magazine possible. Dr. Solheim has not only provided the magazine with continuity, but he has continued to provide the editors with new ideas year after year. Justin Dalzell was an invaluable addition to this year's editing team because of his artistic eye, his computer layout skills, and the endless hours he put into the magazine employing both of these qualities. Ted Munkacsi returned to the magazine this year, this time in an official capacity. His previous experience with the project certainly served us well as he acted as our business contact, and he had a huge impact on the direction of this year's issue. Kelly Seibel provided a voice of reason whenever the three of us began to run a little too far with some of our ideas.

I hope that everyone has as good a time reading and viewing this magazine as I had working on it. Read on.

- -Eric John Lorentz Lindblad

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Table of Contents Philosophy of Camping Mark Spitzer Piggy Lylie Roberts Unspoiled Scott Decker Victoria Lance Jacobs Baby jean Paula Rebsom Remembering the Smiles and Hugs Allison Rossow Swan Style Tara Reiten Eclipse, a Brief Glimpse Scott Decker On Dakota Streets Eric John Lorentz Lindblad Drawn In jay johnson My Favorite Smell Meghan Bartz The Emperor D. William The Fire Below Tibor (Ted) Munkacsi Untitled (Poem) Tiffany Warner Tara justin Dalzell Brothers and Sisters Allison Rossow Love and Respect Meghan Bartz jody justin Dalzell exhaustion of a monkey tired lady Rebecca Lloyd Leaves Lance Jacobs Old and Tattered Brandon Christensen Little Boy Rich Stradling For Joshua Chris Lindblad Dancing in the Kitchen with Daddy Margaret Barnhart Untitled (Paperweight) Brian Torske Moonlight Lady David Craigo Landlady Brian Torske Untitled (Grefrs Birds) Stacie Heide "Dakota is Everywhere" Lance jacobs

2 3 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 10 11 11 12 13

13 14 15 16 16 17 18 21 22 23 24 25 26

Roadside Sermon Eric John Lorentz Lindblad Mark justin Dalzell Fear Mary Stromme And the Night Was Silent Scott Decker Broken Mary Stromme When It's Right To Be Wrong Tibor (Ted) Munkacsi Rhyme Tiffany Warner Tate Tara Reiten Getting Along Brian Miller Inside Ourselves Brandon Christensen Bottled Up Lylie Roberts The Detective Game Matthew Ramsey Elementary Photogram Rich Stradling My Secret Place Gabrielle L. Rustan Another Wasted Weekend Chris Lindblad Slow Down - Relax Tibor (Ted) Munkacsi There Was a Boy Named Justice Eric John Lorentz Lindblad Amy Justin Dalzell Children of Darkness Marilyn Schoenberg Love?

Mary Stromme All Dried Up Lylie Roberts A Drill, A Bolt, and a Boat Kelly Seibel Summer Storm Jay johnson Solitude Edee Steckler The Stump & Annie Scott Decker Real Love Is julie Buckman The Meaningless Void Darwin Holmstrom Untitled (Tunnel) Tiffany Warner

26 27 28 29 29 30 30 31 31 32 32 33 34 35 36 37 37 38 39 39 40 41 42 43 44 44 45 48

Philosophy of Camping They say, "Write about what you know." Sometimes squirrels drop down onto the top of my camper, yipping, yelling, barking, and banging their nuts against the roof. The rest is silence.

--Mark Spitzer

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Piggy --Lylie Roberts 2

Unspoiled What I miss, is the unknown The kiss that stutters , The sticky finger on the trigger, Streams of sweat that sting, And the rush into the unknown.

What I want, is the untold The words of faith so true, Things showered upon this rock, Winds of sweet scents, And skin touched by no one.

What I get, is the misery of knowing It will all end in sadness, Everything I lived, forgotten, Experiences scattered in the wind, And kisses that no longer matter.

--Scott Decker

Victoria You there , Peeking over her jeans, What makes you think you're so secret?

--Lance .Jacobs

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Remembering the Smiles and Hugs

you did was smile and hold me close.

You may also be seeing me in a green dress, ready for my first dance. remember thinking I would never feel as safe and comfortable in my date's arms as I did in yours. You tried to teach me, an awkward teenager at the time, to dance so I wouldn't be nervous.

I don't think it was the practice that made me feel so secure that day, but the way you smiled at me and held me close, as we danced together in the living room.

You could be thinking about any one of these things, but maybe you're seeing me as I was, a few months before. It was a wonderful feeling walking across that stage in my purple cap and gown, laughing and crying with my friends as we posed for dozens of cameras. It was indeed a busy day, but I will always remember that after the many events of the day, the huge smile and hug you gave me when it was all over, that told me everything I needed to know. I could see it in your eyes, Dad. You were so proud of me that day.

"Dad, the station is going out. We need to put in a CD or something," 1 said, breaking the silent concentration we both had been holding.

I begin thinking again. I realize that this time, instead of you pushing me in the swing, it's life that's pushing me out into the world. It's exciting, but when I look back, I don't see your smiling face and open arms, waiting for me like they used to when I was a carefree child swinging the afternoon away. I know you are excited for me because you know about this adventure I am about to embark on. I also know

By Allison Rossow

It's just you and me in the car, along with the life in the trunk I somehow managed to pack and fit into two suitcases. We've been driving for an hour now. It seems odd to me that you and I are in a car together and I'm the one driving. I think the last time that happened, I was sitting on your lap, thinking how neat it was that I was actually driving a car! I can feel your eye on the speedometer, but don't worry about me speeding this time, Dad, I want this trip to last as long as it possibly can.

The conversation has stopped now and we've both been silent for what seems to be quite a long time. 1wonder what you could be thinking about.

Maybe you're remembering the first time you saw me. I can't say for sure, but I'm sure you and Mom were both overcome with joy to look into my little eyes for the first time and see the world. Perhaps you thought of who this precious baby girl would be someday, but then all you did was smile and hold me close.

Perhaps now you are seeing me on a swing, asking you to, "Please, Dad, push me higher!" I remember feeling as if I could reach the sky, but always 1 returned to the security of your arms, waiting behind me, ready for another push. After the day was gone, it was time to go in and soon would be bed time. After my story and drink of water, it was time to tuck me in, but before I drifted off into dream land, all

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how proud you are of me for all I've accomplished. We both know these things, but it doesn't stop the tears from welling up inside, and I look over to see it hasn't stopped them from rolling down your cheeks either.

Perhaps now, you are thinking of this moment, how I'll be on my own for the first time and how you don't think

I'm ready because I'm still just your little girl. As we unpack my things from the car, I realize that this is it. It's time to say goodbye, but not before you smile at me and hold me close, a little tighter and a little longer this time.

Swan Style -- Tara Reiten

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Eclipse, a Brief Glimpse Eclipse, Spend the money wisely, Eclipse, You are such an oddity; the books hold no directions to you Surely I could seek out lessons on operation, and learn to make excuses.

Lord knows I've made a few Eclipse, Hide that tired face from the world for awhile, I'll see to it that they accept "you" as is There are stories of your wonder; are they as true as you are?

Eclipse, Do you ponder if your passing matters?

Their upturned faces wince, as age creeps in slowly, And you make your way past them vaguely Eclipse, Make mine a double, We'll waste away in the darkness, And try to get sober.

--Scott Decker

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On Dakota Streets Midnight frost forms constellations on these Dakota streets, Points of light shine through the concrete sky beneath my feet.

Off somewhere cities do exist, they never even yawn.

Here, through tonight's stillness, a whole mythology is born.

A small round stone completes the outline of Orion's belt.

A lazy kick-the hoof of an albino buffalo.

I chase it down dark avenues-down narrow alleyways.

I chase this speck across the sky so vast --tonight I can.

It dawns on me that this small stone has become my North Star (a voice inside) "Don't ask where you'll end up, nor where you are, for tonight's stillness does create a new mythologywanderers walk among the stars without apology."

--EricJohn Lorentz Lindblad

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Drawn In --jayjohnson 9

My Favorite Smell comes from a man it is something I have never smelt before it intrigued me so much I couldn't resist it I followed that smell around it gave me a high I had never gotten I am addicted but this addiction cannot kill me because the smell is not what I love it is he that I love

The Emperor Call the Roller of potent greens Open to what the mind knot seems.

Concupiscent fiends crawl, claw, swim.

Trying deeper from round the rim.

Laugh - cry I know not which I. At times I wish they all would die.

What be true of seem .

The only emperor is the emperor of scream.

Strip the lying wretch.

Wind on her will catch.

Take the sheet she used to hide.

Line the bed in which I died.

The chill may cause a stick.

Take your candle, light the wick.

I am the Emperor, the Emperor of Scream.

--0. William Inspired by Wallace Stevens 1878-1955

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- - Meghan Bartz

The Fire Below

to scheme, and it eventually creates a reality around these concoctions and schemes. From its beginnings the Catholic Church has used the notion of Hell to convince its members that sin has its price. From the selling of indulgences in the past to the present day collection plate, Christians believe they can buy their way into heaven.

Christianity uses this assertion to relieve some of its members of their wealth.

I may be wrong about this Hell thing, and if I am, I am sure I will see a few of you there. In the eventuality that I am right, I hope that the joke was on someone else and not on you.

By Ted Munkacsi

Imagine being welcomed to a place where you can see all your old friends again . The people from long ago that you have somehow managed to lose touch with are all there. They smile and motion for you to come over and join their small group. As you go in their direction, you realize that the temperature is unbearably hot. The guy at the gate looks strangely familiar although you have never really seen him before.

I have often thought of the possi bility of Hell. The more I think about it, the more assured I become that it is the best joke that religion has played on itself. Where else can you find the concept of evil being dressed in red tights, holding a stylized pitchfork and sporting horns? I would much rather believe the myth that Hades is the guardian of Hell; at least he was a god.

I don't believe that Hell exists. I think that God has far better things to do than sit around all day jotting down the various ways we have found to amuse ourselves. And isn't it enough that we are dead? What kind of vindictive entity would say life wasn't enough of a trial without worrying about what awaits us in the afterlife?

The whole notion of Hell negates our ability to differentiate between good and evil. First, we have to be told the parameters of acceptable behavior. Then, just in case we didn't get the point, we are told that any evil actions may result in our eternal damnation. Hell is the spiritual equivalent of the Coke versus Pepsi taste test.

The only way that you get to take off the blindfold is by choosing good over evil.

The human mind needs to concoct,

Bright Blue

Eyes Are All It

Takes

-- Tiffany Warner

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Brothers and Sisters The relationship between a brother and sister is unlike any other.

It is a sharing of childhoods, a sense of family that can't be found anywhere else, an understanding, an unspoken connection, feelings of love that are always felt and understood.

It is the pride we feel for each other's accomplishments, and the pain felt in the other's grief.

This bond is forever, these memories will never fade, between a brother and sister, between you and me.

--Allison Rossow

Love and Respect Kiss you while you sleep because I love and respect you.

Hold you while you're awake because I love and respect you.

Listen and understand your sadness because I love and respect you.

Listen and understand your happiness because I love and respect you.

Laugh and hug you tight because I love and respect you.

Stick with you with all my heart because I love and respect you.

--Meghan Bartz

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jody --justin Dalzell 14

exhaustion of a monkey tired lady conjugated verbs and english papers, they pile up and drown me under an outpouring of lead pencils, drippy pens and erasers that don't work anymore. oh well, i don't care if they erase or not. my rear right tire on my car is low and has been low for the past week, ever since i finally filled it, it has been slowly quietly escaping how lucky it is. i am sick of professors and bus drivers and librarians they don't see. their eyes are colored over with black permanent markers. they don't hear. i've stapled them shut. their fingers have run away along with all the toes and the tongues just refuse to speak do you know what i'm trying to tell you? if i'm screaming at the top of my lungs, you should understand right? but you don't. that's ok, neither do i.

--Rebecca Lloyd

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Leaves As the last leaves Yellow orange red Fall wind- spinning sun- sparkling Endoverend and headoverheels From a lone cottonwood Toward the ground, She left.

Old and Tattered

- -Lance jacobs

they were the words you wrote the only thing i had of you and i kept them cherished them preserved in my book they hid back there behind that red tattered cover my most sacred possession i carried it with me always just to read your words i sat there on the steps were we use to sit and talk every night for the first year and read your words over and over again and talked to you even though i knew you weren't there i must have read them a thousand times till the pages grew brittle i sat there on the steps every night reading your words half- expecting, half-hoping to hear your voice to look up and see you standing in front of me just like old times i miss you more than you'll ever understand ...

--Brandon Christensen

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Little Boy --Rich Stradling 17

For Joshua

By Chris Lindblad

Joshua has a nice head. Joshua has a beautiful head so he doesn't need any hair.

When he wears a camouflage shirt, Joshua looks like he could be in the army. Me and Joshua play army in the sand during recess almost every single day. We like to build forts to protect our army men from the enemy, except all of the boys who play football always run through the sand and kick and ruin our forts when the bell rings.

Everyday we have to build new forts.

Brady and Conner and the other kids won't let me play football with them because they say I talk funny. They won't let Joshua play because Joshua is my friend. Me and Joshua play army together.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Today me and joshua were fighting Communists during recess, because we're both Americans. We were burying some Russians in the sand, when Conner and Matt asked if they could play army, but we said, "No." Conner told on us. Mrs. Palmer made me stand up against the wall, because she says that I have to learn to share and get along with the other kids. She didn't make Joshua stand up against the wall, just me. Joshua never gets in trouble like I do. It was lonely standing up against the wall all by myself, until Joshua came and talked to me. He said that his parents didn't want him to be playing football with the other kids, 'cause they think he might get hurt, so I let him borrow my army men. Mrs. Palmer made him go away until I had learned my lesson.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Today we had our pictures taken at school. My mom made me wear a sweater, and she told my teacher, Mrs. Williamson, that I'm not supposed to roll up my sleeves. They bothered me all day. Joshua's mom made him wear a black wig when he took his picture. I think she wishes that Joshua could grow hair. I wish she didn't make Joshua wear the wig. I didn't like it when joshua had to wear the wig, because he didn't look like joshua.

Me and Joshua weren't allowed to play in the sand, because Mrs. Palmer said that we shouldn't mess up our nice clothes. So we shot the basketball instead. Joshua made eight. I only made five.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

It rained during recess, so we couldn't go outside. Carli taught me how to color skin with an orange crayon. She showed me that if you don't push hard that the crayon will draw peach instead of orange. She made fun of my orange people.

Carli reminded me to cross my fingers when Libby came back from lunch. She said that if I didn't, I would get Libby germs. I don't want Libby germs, because I hate Libby. She always licks the honey bottle in the lunchroom and one time she peed in her pants and left a puddle in her chair. Nobody would play with Libby today, because Mrs. Williamson wasn't there to make us. Libby cried when we crossed our fingers.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

We got our pictures back today and Mrs. Williamson hung them all up on her door. Everyone's except Joshua's, because he has hair in his picture. Joshua isn't in his picture, because Joshua doesn't have hair. Joshua wasn't in school today. Mrs.

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Williamson said that he was going to stay home sick. When I'm sick, Mrs. Williamson sends my homework home, but she didn't send Joshua's home even when I told her that I could bring it to him.

At recess today Conner asked if he could look at baseball cards, because the football field was too muddy for anyone to play on. Conner said that Frank Viola is a good card to have. I have a Frank Viola card. Conner wanted to trade me for it, but I said that I wanted to keep it. I have a Frank Viola card.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Matt and Brady asked me if I wanted to play football today. Conner wouldn't let me play on his team, even though he was supposed to pick last. Matt said that he would Jet me play on his team. Conner can throw the football far. He got mad when I knocked it down after he passed it. It stung my fingers. Matt threw the ball to me, but I didn't catch it. Matt probably won't let me be on his team anymore. Joshua's desk was emptied out today. I think he moved away like Tony did last year. When Tony moved away, Mom said that I'd still see Tony when Tony would come back and visit to see his friends.

I never saw Tony again.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Today we learned about bees. Every bee has its job. Bees can sting people. Bees can talk to each other. Bees make honey. Tomorrow, Mrs. Williamson said that she's going to teach us about senses. She painted a big orange circle on the bulletin board. She said that tomorrow after we learn about seeing she will paint two eyes on the bulletin board. She said that the orange circle is going to be a face. I told her people aren't orange.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

The orange face has two brown eyes that see, one nose that smells, and one mouth that tastes. When Mrs. Williamson asked me what the face is missing, I told her that it needed to have hair. She laughed. She said that the face could use some hair, but that it was missing something else. He's missing ears.

When my brother Jared and I got home today, my Mom was crying on the couch.

She said that Grandpa Clarence died. I told her to stop joking. She kept crying. My brother started to cry too. He's two years older than I am. She said Grandpa died in his sleep. I stood there, wondering why Mom would say such a thing. She told me that she wasn't joking, that it was true. Grandpa died. I didn't cry. Grandpa's not dead. Mom's kidding. Mom's lying to me.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Dad said that I'm not going to go to school today. He said that we're going to Minnesota for Grandpa's funeral. He said that Grandpa's dead . Grandpa's dead. I told him that Grandpa's not dead, Mom's just lying. Dad slapped me and told me never to call Mom a liar.

I like going to Minnesota because Grandma and Grandpa always have presents for me. Dad said that we have to start packing clothes for the trip. Dad said that he was going to pack my clothes, because Mom's crying and he doesn't want to disturb her.

He said that Mom's crying because Grandpa's dead and that I'm going to have to wear the sweater even if it's itchy.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

The drive took a long time. Mom told me to try and sleep some. She said by sleeping the time would seem to go faster. It didn't. We were in the car forever. We ate at a restaurant and I ate a fish sandwich and drank chocolate milk. Chocolate

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milk is my favorite. My brother tried to read a book to me, but he said he got a headache because the words kept moving. He started to make up his own story instead of reading, but I told him that if he wasn't going to read the story he should shut up. My mom told me not to say shut up and told me that if I didn't have anything nice to say that I should be quiet. I didn't say much else, then I fell asleep.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Grandma and Grandpa's house was full of people. I saw lots of aunts and uncles that said I've grown so much taller since the last time I saw them. I told them that my friend says people grow every time they sleep. I've slept a lot since I have seen them.

My aunts and uncles' kids were also there. They're my cousins. I've slept many times since I've last seen them too. They look like they've slept too. Two of my cousins still wear diapers to bed, because their Mom doesn't want to clean their sheets. My aunts and uncles smoke a lot of cigarettes. My Mom and Dad sat in the basement with us kids because they said they don't like to breath with all that smoke. I don't like smoke either. It makes people's insides turn black. Aunt Barbara's fingers are yellow, because she likes smoking. Her insides must be black.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

At the funeral, I sat between Mom and Dad. Mom and Grandma cried with their arms around each other, when a man was talking about how nice my Grandpa is. I tried to cry for my Mom, but I couldn't. Grandpa was there too. He was sleeping. He had a flag for a blanket. He was sleeping in his dress clothes, so I told Mom that someone should wake him up and tell him to change into his pajamas. Mom made Dad take me outside. I asked Dad how come Grandpa was sleeping and asked when he was going to wake up. Dad said that Grandpa wasn't going to wake up.

Grandpa is dead.

He said that Grandpa is dead and that he is in heaven and that he wasn't ever going to wake up.

He said that Grandpa is in heaven. He said that Grandpa has died.

He said that Grandpa is dead just like Joshua is dead. joshua is dead.

Joshua is dead.

Nobody told me. Nobody ever told me.

Nobody ever told me that Joshua went to heaven.

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Dancing in the Kitchen with Daddy Saffron with sunlight The kitchen emanates after-Mass aroma Of Sunday noodle- soup Tie undone, shirt sleeves rolled.

Daddy twists a dial on the green plastic radio.

It whines a waltz consorting with static-A one-two- three- crackle three foot-tapping rhythm That carries him, humming to the baby daughter In pink Sunday ruffles : My sister's turn to be swept off her feet.

Swirled in the air Hugged in strong arms that will always be there To keep the sky from falling.

My turn! My turn!

I reclaim my surrendered rights And off we go- -dancing to harmony Of Sunday soup bowls and silver spoons.

This is home And I am too young to ponder The duration of the dance.

--Margaret Barnhart

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Moonlight Lady A moonlight lady glides by in the darkness flowing long silver hair like a brilliant reflection.

Oh moonlight lady sexy lady in a world made for two fill my night with delight.

"When I fall in love," she sighs the thrill of the answer fades away into black.

Every passion secret things never shared are sighed in whispers dancing in the dark.

Romance fills the air immersed in a river of second-hand smoke.

Believing in magic wanting love to be all your body, your soul pledge eternal desire.

"I can't, have to work," she replies to blue jeans and western hat as they two-step by.

The music wanes the light come up the moment vanishes as mist in the sun

"If only I could dance," she laughs to the slanted Stetson smiling back.

The memory fades a dying last ripple in a crystal moonlit lake.

Whirling and laughing she cries out for more as Elton John entices her to do "The Crocodile Rock."

--David Craigo

"To all the girls I've loved before," twangs Willie as the Levi jacket pulls her closer to his chest.

In the darkness there are no favorites for in the end she murmurs "I've never had this feeling."

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Landlady --Brian Torske 24

Untitled --Stacie Heide

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"Dakota is Everywhere" Snow drifts over 1- 94 Sand blows toward the Atlantic Not so different.

--Lance jacobs

Roadside Sermon Glorious attentive angels Faces upturned As if deep in thought For a moment I envisioned This sunflower field Alongside Highway 49 As my Congregation But it is they Who preach To me

--Eric john Lorentz Lindblad

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Mark --Justin Dalzell 27

Fear Terror's arms embraced me, His body joined my own What used to be my sanctuary, What used to be my home.

Quietly I say amongst Foreign bodies unaware Of how his strength was strongest When my space I had to share.

For many years I tried to run Escape from his mean hand, But fate would have him come Again, returned to reprimand No longer do I run from him.

Nor hide from his embrace.

Reality was hard and grim I could not win this race.

I welcome now his hot embrace Perception came so clear I look into his knowing face And walk into my fear

--Mary Stromme

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And The Night Was Silent It was my garden paradise my own little corner of Eden The place we used to go to be in each others arms But I stopped going there it hurt me much too bad to sit on that hilltop and watch the stars caress the sky well into the night well I started going again I'd sit there with my arms wrapped around myself closing my eyes so I could see you again so I could picture you there with me sitting next to me Broken can't you see me finally smiling?

My heart, which had been shattered, --Scott Decker I gently pieced together.

But some remnants were missing, Remnants of a younger me Slivered shards Gone forever I think he ate them.

Missing shards that push me forward Through another day Still I walk and talk and gain momentum through the living Familiar on the outside Yet forever changed within

--Mary Stromme 29

When It's Right To Be Wrong

time we show that we can be open to new ideas. We demonstrate that we can not only hear, but can also actually listen. We prove to ourselves that other people have something worthwhile to say.

Most of us, at one time or another have walked away from an argument knowing that we were wrong. Walking away is not an admittance that our views didn't have at least some validity, but rather that we need time to con sider how our views have been changed.

If we learn to admit that our reasoning was faulty, we may actually gain more allies than enemies. After all it is easier attracting converts with sweet words than with harsh, unreasoned diatribes.

By Ted Munkacsi

There is always that something brilliant that comes to mind seconds after an argument is over. If only it had come to you a little earlier you could've easily won the argument, not that winning or being right matters all that much. Ufe would be a lot simpler without our constant need to be right.

Men have an especially difficult time admitting that being wrong is all right. Every argument becomes a matter of honor. The joust or the duel is no longer tolerated by our weak-kneed society. Our battlefield has become the mind, and our weapons have become words. In our quest always to be right, men are continually searching for an opponent who has a dull sword. Does testosterone determine this dependency to never retreat from a fight?

In any discussion that presents two different viewpoints, the idea should not be utter and total victory. There comes a point when a light comes on or a bell goes off to let you know that "Wow, I never thought of that." Most of us ignore that signal. We just keep screaming along, never admitting, even in the slightest, that we may be in error.

If we were to admit that our reasoning is faulty, we may actually begin to challenge our own opinions.

Finding that point where it is right to be wrong is the first step in really beginning to understand the other viewpoint.

It is right to be wrong when the evidence presented to us has become overwhelming. It is right to be wrong when the argument has reached a stalemate.

Admitting we are wrong does have its benefits. For a brief moment in

Rhyme The explanation he longs to find for every single rhyming line We gaze out the window as he babbles on, about line and rhyme, and the hidden meaning of cold plum pie.

--Tiffany Warner

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Tate -- Tara Reiten

Getting Along What has been done That we will not forget?

How bad could it be?

Or how bad could it get?

That we must go through life Not wanting to care.

Feeling cheated by all.

Not thinking it's fair.

With all of the hate Around us today, You'd think we could join To chase it away.

Let's live in the now And not in the then.

Pray for tomorrow Cause that will be when We all must survive And take our own turn At changing the world The bridges must burn.

Look at our actions And answer me why We encourage the dark one And make him our high.

We destroy our own kind As our ruler will nod.

The world is our hell And Satan's our god Let's change how we are And open our eyes Get rid of the rage, The secrets and lies.

So let's face up the devil And tell him he's wrong Look at each other And all get along.

--Brian Miller 31

Inside Ourselves I winced at "nigger" and "pickaninny"

Did you?

I was afraid to inspect your brown face.

I stared at ankles, at prominent bones Under Mahogany skin. Tendons, shifting as toes lifted, strained against your inexpensive sandals. Pretty feet I thought. And maybe you smiled Did you?

As you tapped softly, teasing on my ivory skin. Distracted me from choir.

You crushed the false guilt but I still feel grief, For the suffering of pretty black feet.

-- Brandon Christensen

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Bottled Up --Lylie Roberts

The Detective Game

I was on a Trivial Pursuitwhen I spotted him. It wasn't Manolovitz but he looked at me and pointed to a side door on the building.

"How many inside?" I asked him.

"Uno." He replied. I guess he was Spanish. I moved on.

The building was dark inside, not surprising I suppose, no one would have need of electricity here--still, the place seemed like a Risk. Ignoring the Jeopardy I stepped through the doorframe and into the room. Immediately the lights came on with a loud Kerplunk! I could see it was a setup.

"Guess who?" Came a voice.

Jimmy Dermont stepped out from behind a shadow followed by five men.

Two of them held a woman who I could tell was my girl Maggie. She seemed to be unconscious but I couldn't see how badly the thugs had roughed her up.

"Forgive me for the Outburst detective." Jimmy said.

"It's Private Investigator. Is she alive?" I asked trying to hide my emotions. I was going to rip him apart.

"Poker." He said as he glanced sideways at his goons. One of them gave her a slap. I decided I was going to give a couple of the same to him ... later. Maggie began to wake up.

"She's just dandy, and you can be too. There's plenty of room for the likes of you in my Monopoly."

"You're livin' in a Candy Land." 1 snapped back.

"Balderdash!" He yelled. "I've got this city wrapped around my finger.

This city... and your woman."

There was a twinkle in his eye when he said that. I was about to put my fist right along side that twinkle when Maggie walked over and slipped her arm around him. My heart felt like it had just been served to me with a side of hash. I had been right. Right

By Matthew Ramsey

It was a dark and stormy night. In my years as a Private Investigator I've come to realize that all the dangerous cases take place on dark and stormy nights. Comes with the territory I guess.

The cab I rode in was yellow.

Dingy, unkept ... like this city.

Cigarette burns and unidentifiable stains decorated the cramped space 1 occupied. That was characteristic of this particular cab company, that and the strip of black and white squares that lined the outer doors "Checkers" , 1 called them. Enough about the ride.

Let's talk about the case.

It was fairly straightforward, at least on the surface. A couple of mugs working for Jimmy Dermont and his Operation had gotten a little too comfortable with their end of the relationship and decided that no one would miss a few thousand here and there.

Well, one person did. Jimmy. The two ended up on a cold slab downtown and there were no witnesses as to how they got there. That's where I came in.

There are always witnesses and it's my job to find 'em. The problem was, the first rule in dealing with Dermont and his gang was: "Don't Spill the Beans," and everyone knew it. I had one lead to go on, a Jewish fellow by the name of Yahtzee Manolovitz. I've used him before and he's always come through.

I just hoped this time wouldn't be any different.

The cab pulled up to an abandoned night club. It looked like it used to be a real swingin' place back in its day.

Now I wouldn't give a dead nun in a snowbank for it. I paid the driver, an overweight Arab, and walked on. No sign of anyone. I was beginning to feel

33

..

I

"The note you wrote to Dermont, the one you tried to Scrabble... ! figured it out."

She pouted, pushing up her full red lips. You'd punch your grandma in the kidneys for those lips.

"I know that relationships between convicts and private dicks are Taboo, but...will you wait for me?"

I looked into her baby blues as the cold gray doors of the police wagon swung closed.

"You'll probably get Life sweetheart, Sorry."

about this place, right about Jimmy Dermont, and right about Maggie. I hated it when I was right.

"OK boys." I said. That was the sign. Nothing fancy, but about two seconds later there were more cops crawling over the place than at Dunkin' Doughnuts having a two-for-one sale.

I had known about this little setup the whole time and had planned one of my own. The place was a MoLJse Trap and I had just caught me a big rat.

"How'd you know? What was your first CILJe?" Maggie asked as they were taking her away.

Elementary Photogram --Rich Stradling

34

My Secret Place I am sitting on an old bridge above a fast moving creek.

I would sit there for hours just listening to the sound, that surrounds me.

I could hear the trees whispering among themselves telling each other their secrets.

I could hear the rustling of leaves on the ground while the breeze would brush by.

I could hear the fresh crisp water rushing beneath.

I could hear the waves slapping against the wonders of Mother Earth's surface, that lies in the path in which the crystal clear stream flowed.

I would lie down on the old wooden bridge and look up at the sky and find all the clusters of stars.

I search for the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper and remember all the myths and legends that place them in the sky.

I wish upon the stars so high in the dark brilliant sky hoping that no one will harm this beautiful place.

My secret place was very special to me, because it brought a peaceful feeling inside that God created such a beautiful scene.

In my heart and mind I will never forget the beauty of it.

--Gabrielle L. Rustan

35

Another Wasted Weekend

do was to realize that I am a pathetic excuse for a college student and that 1 am wasting my life. These realizations came to me when I attended the col lege dance on Saturday night. Along with a friend (who I won't name because he's ashamed of leading an existence that is equally pathetic to my own) I spent the whole night trying to talk to girls.

The problem was that every single girl seemed to be hanging on a football player who was twice my size. Once the two of us found girls who were somewhat sober, somewhat attractive, somewhat intelligent, and completely alone, we couldn't hear what they were saying because really bad music was being blasted at 300,000 decibels directly into our ears. At the end of the night, neither one of us had any success, which was probably because we couldn't remember any of the girls' names, nor could we come up with anything clever to say.

I actually found myself asking questions such as: "So where are you from?" and "What's going on after the dance?" as if I actually wanted an answer. I think that I was just trying to prove to myself that I could have meaningless conversations with people I don't know or even care to know.

Although I didn't succeed in picking up a girl or contracting any sexually transmitted diseases this weekend, 1 came away with the knowledge that it is impossible to find the girls of your dreams at a party or a college dance.

That is, unless, your ideal woman wears next to nothing, stumbles around while carrying around 40 ounces of Bud Light, and gets to know people by shaking her ass in their faces .

By Chris Lindblad

Here I am, typing at my computer at 2 AM, congratulating myself for wasting yet another weekend.

Although it seems that the last two days were just another chapter in my pathetic life, I must admit that I had some interesting experiences.

In the last two days I have managed to be kicked out of two parties by the cops. I was very disappointed with how the police busted these parties. 1 thought that they would have tried to make the busts a little more exciting.

No lights flashed, no sirens roared, no guns were drawn, and no beating occurred. The cops didn't even bother chasing us out of the house. They simply knocked on the door and politely told everyone to leave.

I was also surprised that the cops felt that they were responsible for putting an end to underage drinking, yet they didn't feel responsible for stopping minors from driving home in a drunken stupor.

Yes, this weekend I truly experienced the college life. I swear to God that I must have drank enough alcohol to kill a cow. Well, maybe not enough to kill a cow, but at least enough to make a cow walk funny.

I really don't consider myself to be a party animal, because I don't have a dependency on alcohol and have only woken up once not knowing where I was. Unlike the majority of DSU stu dents attending these parties, I didn't feel the need to get in a fight over what brand of beer is best nor did I feel the need to take off my shirt and dance on top of a table.

In fact, the only thing I managed to

36

Slow Down - Relax

of collecting a bottle of sand. But there is a couple in Vernon, Florida who at one time in their life made this their mission.

Why? They believed this sand had the ability to grow and they had to have some of it for their own. According to the mark on the bottle they produced, this sand has increased in volume.

Some readers would attempt to discredit the couple as being simple rubes who knew little of science or geology.

This is when the epiphany happened.

If one person on the earth can believe sand exists that is self re- generating, what does this say about all our other beliefs? Could all our beliefs simply be based on some ancient ancestor's necessity to create a reality that could be understood? What if we in our arrogant intellectualism turn out to be the rubes?

What does that say about our concept of reality?

I was struck with the thought that maybe life was as simple as the sand in that bottle. Our entire life is spent searching for some great truth and all most of us end up as is a little sand.

The best we can hope for is to end up as a rare curiosity on a kitchen shelf in Vernon, Florida.

By Ted Munkacsi

The importance of certain things in life are never really understood. The books that you read, the news that you watch, the people that you know, never really prepare you for an epiphany.

Sometimes just sitting in a classroom watching some strange video about the people of Vernon, Florida is cause for this, the most rare of moments.

The cast of characters in this video reminds us that our own perception of the world may be in some way flawed.

We have somehow made the world far too complex. We have lost the innocence to really appreciate every moment for all it is worth.

We immerse ourselves in making money, in making love, and in making a lasting impression. It seems highly unlikely that the people presented to us from Vernon, Florida care a great deal about any of those things. Their interests appear to lie in the unusual and the profound.

There are few of my acquaintances who would drive thousands of miles and countless hours for the simple pleasure

There Was a Boy Named justice In my kindergarten class And to my surprise I can't remember what he looks like Maybe I never looked directly at his face What I do remember is Being taught the Pledge of Allegiance and how When we got to the part about "Liberty and Justice for all" Everyone giggled --Eric John Lorentz Lindblad

37

38

Children of Darkness Children of Darkness, Children of Might Watching you out in the world bathed in your light.

Peering from our corners, enslaving you with fear Casting many shadows over all that you hold dear.

Jeffrey Dahmer suffered but he did not die, Killing, instead, to silence the Mystery of the Why. You think that you can punish the man who made you scream The horror is your's now, he's out of his bad dream.

You've taken it away, the torment and the shame And given to his victims the glory and the fame.

Born into Hell and raised there You cannot hurt them more.

He never had a life And "nothing" to restore.

--Marilyn Schoenberg

Love?

Whore, bitch Slut The loving words you whispered in my aching ear ...

The revelation! you love me but That is not what I feel --Mary Stromme

39

All Dried Up --Ly/ie Roberts 40

It was a pearly white with red glittery striping. Of course the first thing my Dad did was get out the drill. Now, 1 didn't know much about rigging a boat, but I had a feeling that the drill was a bad idea. If you drill enough holes in a boat doesn't it sink? I, being incredibly nervous about the hole thing, asked my dad why the first thing he was going to do was put a hole in the bottom. He explained to me that he had to put these holes here so he could mount the trolling motor. That seemed like a viable explanation so I didn't question it. Even though I should have because when all was said and done, we had about four too many holes.

So we drilled, and drilled, and then drilled some more. I was sure this thing would never make it past the boat dock when we took it out for the first time, there was no way with all the holes we put in. It was at this time that I really learned how uncomfortable fiberglass shavings are when they cover virtually every inch of your body.

I don't think I've ever itched as much as I did that day.

Well, we finally got the holes for the trolling motor put in and we opened up the crate the motor came in only to find out that there were only two bolts in the box and we needed four.

Armed with one of the bolts to compare sizes with I went to Menards.

You have to understand, I practically grew up in the garage helping my Dad. I can tell the difference between screws, bolts, and nails, but I have no idea how to figure out what diameter and grade (or something like that) bolt I need to hook an 80 pound motor onto the back of a boat. Instead of actually going up to someone and asking for help, I went directly to the bolt section and tried to find it for myself. Bad idea.

I've never seen so many sizes of the same thing in my life. I was there

A Drill, A Bolt, and a Boat

By Kelly Seibel With the ever approaching spring waiting in the wings, I am reminded of the beauty of new life in the forms of baby animals, the first signs of green grass peeking through the dead brown in my lawn, and the first rainbow of the year after having to wait six or more months since the last one. But at the same time I am also reminded of the pain that spring can bring. There is nothing like having fiberglass cover almost every inch of your body, or drilling so close to your hand that you actually burn yourself.

Every spring my dad gets a new boat. It comes straight from the factory so all that is done to it is the big motor is put on. Everything else we do ourselves. All the wiring for the graphs, the hookups for the two trolling motors (one on front and one on the back), and putting in rod holders and other little things we do ourselves. I usually dread the "boat rigging week" for months, but it always seems that when the time comes I'm the first one out in the garage working. We usually get the boat either Friday night or Saturday morning and from then on for about a week or so, all anyone hears from the garage is drilling, pounding, swearing, and professional wrestling. I know the wrestling sounds funny, but heaven forbid my Dad miss one of the numerous wrestling events, so he had cable installed in the garage. It sounds funny, but it makes him happy.

I can still remember the first time I helped my Dad rig one of his new boats. In all honesty, I didn't have any interest in learning how to rig until about 3 or 4 years ago, but when I finally showed an interest my Dad threw me in with both feet.

It was a Saturday morning and we had backed the boat into the garage.

41

go and have me hold it. It was resting on the bracket, but it hadn't been screwed on and he wasn't sure if it was going to stay. If he had given this idea even a smidgen of thought he would have realized that there was nothing I could do if the 80 pound motor that really weighed close to 1 50 pounds decided it didn't like it's new perch.

Luckily nothing happened.

It's amazing how time flies when you are having fun. At least that's what Dad assured me of. We were definitely having fun that day (well at least he was). By the time we finally got the motor on it was nearly midnight. We had been working on it for about 14 hours. By that time, I was so worn out, it was time for a shower and bed.

Tomorrow was soon enough to start drilling again.

for about 20 minutes before a salesclerk asked me if I needed help. What really made me mad was how I told him what I needed, he looked at the one I had brought along and he reached directly in front of where I was standing and handed me what I needed. I felt incredibly stupid.

So I paid for the bolt and went home only to find that my Dad had done a little digging in the crate and had found the two missing bolts.

Basically, I had went through that humiliating ordeal because he was too lazy to dig through a box.

Well, we continued to work on the boat until the time came to actually put the motor on. My Dad assured me that between the two of us we could get this thing on and I was naive enough to believe him. We struggled and muscled until we finally got it in the bracket. At this time my Dad decides to Jet

Summer Storm --jayjohnson

42

Solitude --£dee Steckler

43

Real Love Is The feeling to know you are alive.

It shows in the way you can look at me.

Makes my eyes glisten back into yours .

My heart reaches out for yours.

Your heart excepts my reach.

Your smile is so warm and inviting.

The Stump & Annie

Makes me just want to kiss your gentle lips.

I start wanting more, loving and embracing.

She'll make me whatever But I just turn over Sleep is no comfort here She takes a walk I take a shower The water gives me little relief

Not trying to love you selfishly, I now know, What Real Love Is. You are my prayers answered I want to keep you and the feeling of being alive.

--Juilie Buckman

She'll be back soon I'll leave now And call her sometime later She'll make me feel Things I don't realize Feelings are too often mistaken Annie will not cry Because she is that way It's hard to judge her emotions Still I look for her Across the street there Over by the stump I can make her smile Never will a tear fall Telling her jokes by the willows She calls me lonely Knows I'll be back Sitting on a stump laughing --Scott Decker

44

The Meaningless Void

movement. "I gotta go sit on the can," he'd proclaim, ignoring the protests of the timid and the constipated, who felt he shared more information than they cared to know. These folks heard Billy Joe's proclamation with alarming regu larity, because Billy Joe spent an inordinate amount of time sitting on the can. He spent so much time sitting on the can that he had a red ring the exact shape of his toilet seat permanently imprinted on his buttocks.

Some folks thought Billy Joe's fascination with the digestive process might border on the obsessive and urged him to seek professional help, but Billy Joe only responded proselytizing on the benefits of regular colonies.

He felt secure with his compulsion, and found comfort in surrounding himself with totems of the digestive process.

He maintained an impressive col lection of fecal memorabilia, scatologi cal items such as the book Everybody Poops, a plastic toy version of the cartoon character "Nutty the Friendly Dump" from the Ren and Stimpy Show, and a stuffed figure of Mr. Hanky, the Christmas Poo, the South Park character who visits all the little Jewish boys and girls who eat high- fiber diets each Christmas Eve. Each night he slept with Mr. Hanky, clutching the stuffed turd tightly under one of his soft, fleshy man teats.

Billy Joe kept an embalmed stool sample rumored to belong to the late Elvis Presley in a jar at the head of his bed, and his aqu arium was filled with Buffalo Perch, the only North- American species of fresh - water fish with its anus located directly beneath its chin.

How Billy Joe envied those fish for the intimate vantagepoint from which they could observe the miracle of excretion.

Billy Joe considered the existence of such a miraculous creature proof positive that there was indeed an omnipotent God. Of this collection, Billy Joe most

By Darwin Holmstrom

Human understanding must be troubled and overspread by vapors ascending from the lower faculties to water the invention and render it fruitful.

Billy Joe was a regular guy. If there was one thing upon which everyone agreed it was that Billy Joe was a regu lar guy. He took great pride in his regularity. 'Take care of your bowls," he'd tell anyone who'd listen, "and they'll take care of you."

Billy Joe went to great lengths to maintain his regularity- he took long constitutional walks after each meal, and each meal was a fiber- roughagepacked powerhouse. He started his day off with a heaping bowl of flakes so high in bran they were almost poop already. In fact, they were called Almost-Poop Bran Flakes. Billy Joe maintained his regularity by any means necessary and considered no method too ruthless when pursuing such a noble goal.

Billy Joe thought the entire world should share in the marvel that was his regularity and constantly discussed the subject. He peppered all his conversations with his overarching ethos, "I poop, therefore I am," a paraphrase of French philosophe and mathematician Rene Descartes' "Cogito ergo sum."

Although Descartes' statement became the central thesis of Cartesian doubt, the underlying premise of all modern scientific inquiry, its significance was lost on Billy Joe- until his untimely demise, he remained blissfully oblivious to anything but his own ass. In fact, Billy Joe had never heard of Descartes ; he believed the original source of the phrase to be an old episode of Gilligan's Island .

He informed anyone within earshot when he was about to have a bowel

45

highly prized a video taped BBC documentary called The Wonderful World of Dung. A poop tour de force, the film depicted the importance of feces in the natural world. Billy Joe considered the segment on the ant lion one of the most moving moments in cinematic history. The ant lion larvae have no excretory openings and are unable to defecate for the first two years of their lives. Upon emerging from the pupal stage as adult ant lions, they immediately take a well-deserved shit.

Although he knew the outcome, Billy Joe cheered out loud each time he watched the proud ant lion relieve himself. The thought of the ant lion missing his chance after waiting so long brought tears to Billy Joe's eyes.

Each morning as he began his day with a ritualistic forty- minute dump, he imagined himself a proud, freshly metamorphed ant lion enshrined upon the thunder bucket. This creative visualization enhanced the pleasure Billy Joe took in the excretory process and brought him to near tantric heights of ecstasy.

At one point during his younger years, Billy Joe managed to pry himself off the can long enough to get married. At first Billy Joe's wife thought his toilet habits were cute; she excused him on the grounds that he must have had a difficult time being pottytrained. After a while, even this excuse wore thin, and she began to loathe Billy Joe. She finally accepted the fact that she was married to a defecating lump permanently embedded on the porcelain fixture. When she looked at him, rather than a husband, she saw a pasty, rotund earthworm, a simple, tubular life form with excretory open ings at either end. She accepted this and went on with her life.

An intelligent, introspective woman, painfully shy and lacking in self confidence, Billy Joes's wife withdrew into a world of books and

thoughts, creating for herself an inner world infinitely more elaborate and beautiful than even the kingdom Billy Joe constructed around his anus. Due to Billy joe's low sperm count, the couple never conceived offspring, which was just as well, since caring for Billy joe's digestive tract consumed most of his wife's days.

The beauty of his inner wife's world was lost on Billy joe, who had difficulty conceiving of anything not directly related to his own ass, and he went to went to his grave without ever really knowing the woman he married.

Death came for Billy Joe without much fanfare. It began as a day like most other, with Billy Joe ensconced upon the toilet, reading the paper. The first clue that something was amiss came when Billy Joe felt an odd sensation as he voided himself. He spread his legs, carefully moved his sexual organs to the side, and peered down into the bowl. To his amazement, Billy Joe saw a transistor radio floating in the water. He reached down and fished it out. Upon examination, he discovered it was the radio he'd won for sell ing the most Christmas cards in his Cub Scout troop, complete with white plastic earphone. He'd lost it sometime during junior high. He turned on the radio, adjusted the frequency, and heard the staticy voice of Rush Limbaugh issue from the plastic earphone.

Before he had a chance to process the fact that the battery was still fresh after more than four decades, Billy Joe felt another bowel movement coming on, and from the rumbling in his gut he could tell it was going to be a doozy. Something solid passed through his sphincter in a flatulent blase, tearing at Billy Joe's rectal tissues. He looked down and saw his favorite coffee mug from vocational technical college, the one with the yellow smiley face on it. He hadn't seen

46

cious bowel movements, and for the first time in his life, he didn't want to void himself. But it was too late he couldn't overcome a lifetime of conditioning the smooth muscle tissue in his lower intestinal tract to push and out came something so big, so terrifying, and so fuzzy that Billy Joe could to bring himself to look. As he reached around to flush, he felt a sharp searing pain on his right buttock and leapt off the toilet. A drenched, white, longhaired cat scrambled out of the stool, spraying water all over the Sunday paper that lay at Billy Joe's feet. It was, of course, Shrodinger's famous cat, finally released from a state of macroscopic indeterminacy in which it was neither live nor dead due to the suspension of atomic decay.

Having just been rudely awakened from a state of induced suspended animation and then violently expelled from the singularity within Billy joe's anus, Shrodinger's cat wasn't in a very good mood. It lunged at Billy Joe. Billy Joe ducked to the side and was about to run from the room without even bothering to pull his trousers up from around his ankles, but then he once again felt that now- dreaded pang in his lower abdomen. He didn't even make it to the toilet before he expelled a large metal object. His first tricycle, the one his parents had given him for his third birthday, clattered to the floor.

Billy Joe's hysterical shrieking rang through the house. His wife, who had just finished peeling some carrots over the kitchen sink-she often worked fourteen or more hours each day just to keep Billy joe in fiber- heard his wailing, even over the noise from her malfunctioning garbage disposal.

Although jaded from listening to his load moans and grunts all these years ; she recognized genuine terror in his voice and ran towards the bathroom to see what was the matter. Meanwhile,

that mug since the early seventies.

He looked down at the smiley face staring up at him through the TidyBowel - blue water and he felt a cold shiver pass down his spine. Excreting something other than feces was more than Billy Joe could get his mind around. If he'd been better versed in physics, he might have realized that he'd opened up a portal through his anus leading outside the light cone, a gateway to a black hole where all the lost things go. Later, physicists studying the phenomenon of his ass developed what they labeled the "Billy Joe Theorem."

The mathematical details are far too complex to be understood by anyone but a trained physicist, but the general hypothesis of the theorem is that the curvature of the space-time continuum inside Billy Joe's colon was infinite, that there existed within his ass what physicists call a singularity.

Had Billy Joe known the importance of this discovery, he would have been posthumously awarded the Nobel Prize in physics for his role in discovering the theorem, making his widow a millionaire, he would have been proud, but as it was he was just scared.

Physicists are in near-universal agreement that the Billy Joe Theorem was the most important discovery since the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. It proved to be the key to the formulation of the elusive G.U.T. or Grand Unification Theory, which reconciled the fundamentals of quantum physics with Einstein's general theory of relativity. The impact the formulation of a coherent G.U.T. had on the discipline of physics, particularly when applied to the design and development of weapons of mass destruction, laborsaving household appliances, and durable plastic containers , cannot be overstated.

Billy Joe felt the initial intestinal rumble that signaled one of his pre -

47

wasn't until much later, after they got around to doing the math, that physicists realized the magnitude of the disaster that had been narrowly avoided.

Had the curvature of Billy Joe's rectum increased by .00000000000001 millimeter, the entire solar system, along with several neighboring stars, would have been sucked into the singularity.

But fortunately for our quadrant of the galaxy, the singularity only took out Billy Joe. Just as his panic-stricken wife threw open the bathroom door, Billy Joe's bowels made one final movement as the singularity collapsed, and with a huge sucking sound, he shit himself through the singularity in his anus and into the meaningless void, leaving nothing behind but a wet, frightened cat, a long- suffering wife, a soggy Sunday paper, and decades worth of fodder for the study of physics.

Billy Joe experienced the mother of all intestinal rumblings.

What Billy Joe didn't understand was these weren't intestinal rumblings at all. What he interpreted as bowel movements were really the initial quivering of the singularity in his anus col lapsing into itself. Just before the moment of collapse, the gravitational pull of the singularity reversed expelling from the other side of the light cone those items closest to the singularity itself.

Officially, scientists labeled the phenomenon a "quiblole," short for "quivering black hole," but the popular press coined the term "quanus," which unfortunately, stuck, and became a popular plot device in hard- core pornographic cinema and Internet sites. Even so, it proved to be a groundbreaking discovery, revolutionizing the study of astrophysics. It

Untitled -- Tiffany Warner

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Epilogue 'rWe work in the dark - we do what we can - we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion~ and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness ofart.

--Henryjames /J

Somewhere deep within the heart lies the courage to present to others what we have created from our experience of things. We hope, with our words and pictures to share and perhaps connect, if only for a moment, with other humans.

Many of us would say that to bare our souls to complete strangers, in an attempt to connect, must verge on insanity. But insanity is merely the brother or sister (one must be politically correct) of imagination. Perhaps Joseph Conrad was right when he said, "imagination, not invention, is the supreme master of art."

Thanks must go to my fellow editors, Eric, Justin, and Kelly. Without their efforts , this would have been a far less enjoyable task. Also, thanks to Dr. D. Solheim for his gentle but always timely guidance. After long hours and many laughs shared, we managed to assemble the magazine you hold in your hands.

For those of us that choose to dance with the muses, the music we hear touches the soul. I am thankful to the contributors to this magazine for allowing us to share a few steps in that dance.

Our efforts are rewarded if we have given you a taste of the artistic flavor of DSU.

--Ted Munkacsi

1918