Enertialcall issue 11

Lit/art Magazine

EnertialCall and it is a magazine and it is a performance it is . leaping from perspecitves to learn the fall and cap ture the ariseing knowledge . like leaflets in the wind..

#11

2015

the wind rises to ketch a

mislayn dawn. if only to be again what nature never leaves, no matter ideals, what hope beyond religions, what personal energy is of whole what time means as timeless is freedom. what freedom means wieghed against our time,, and the art.

Featuring the art of

Theodore Holdt USD 15 an enertialcallmedia prod.

Editorial desk mess

send all comments and law suits to enertialcallhereiam@gmail.com

W

riters, over the last how many years, occasionally come up and ask me what should I write for the magazine. I, Normally say “bleed on the page for me”,, but today I say , and have , “write everything like a suicide note”, Maybe I read to much but there you go. I wants Bones.

This issue has had time lent to the preparation yet still I can not find spell check on word pad.

So I have written the editorial ,with, a fountain pen, but then realizing I was running out of ink,, this being the last vial because my local paper place has closed after twenty years, I turn to yellow lined script paper. And a disposable, the coffee house and a high armed chair.

All this , , just for one moment in a despite need to hear the voices. To tell from sight, that which isn’t said , but constantly referred to ,the illusion in the marsh, a snake charming, but through all mankind’s conniving, still exist argue me to dust, or not, I feel and that makes me.

The enertialcall seems to me as I deny, a pretentious deed, but I rally back “pretension is only for those who would deny feeling” The deed for me is the excess of writing for which I don’t ask system to support of me in , and so I can be truthful. , I have only; forgotten to die before these words appeared. I can still be blamed, shot , denounced.

But art The resque.

Art where subliminal is hope .hidden in plain de vinchcoded elborate childrens drawings wiht some reaching for a balence such that the inert is . when I can remember a day of watery self flow and with it move and function and remind others the constants of energy compaired with solid of time.. past is not held on to. or if you really look, The peace of life doesn’t get MEDIATED, but is still the most common day. Of light considerations, environment ,, materialness , effects the health,, guilt and “greed or die” Americanism, effects the health. Health effects liberty. Liberty to feel happy, peaceful, and whole, is the responsibility of all.. as light. You will hear this if needed only, it has nothing to do with pretensions but trying to understand the flux of energy which is nature through the mind.

Oh where did the mention of a word, become a point of exhalation of the blood. Implanted key words,, genetic dialogue in science still for us unseen,, is it our time only to start to realize as a mass,, for watch as change comes with literature and the common mans reading,, what comes with the common mans understanding? Or at least open to the global knowledge of internet. Do we expand,, accordingly ,, what ? nature is .. when you breath and dream , when you focus to create.. A natural action. But it also relies on how the world feels. Kissing in the sea remembers.

Black squirrel named Jacob crosses the road, with confidence,, to the point of sitting up in the middle and turning the nut around a couple of times. Knocking off let over dirt..

Thank you for reading..

K.A.Ambrose

Enertialcall

Then you sit and words come you didnt have the courage to

by John Burns say before. . She Left.

And so much comes to norm again. Fighting depression poverty ptsd and a mentioning of food related stubborn thick fat laden characteristics, I call a personality,, the Veins corroded though me, She had a few names, 2 with L’s , ONe with K and one J. She has always been alive and a wonder to know. When looking for love you try shortcuts which never complete you, and then watch Christmas come, the stock market jumps up, Holy wars contiue You then remember why, you don’t love yourself the whole of your heart you are afraid of. . Yet the streets are alive with disconsolable homeless, and just addicted people, poverty ‘just getting by people’ . Artists all in different flavors. Feeling the extra heat to balance off the extreme cold.

She was smiles in girly dresses, Happy with extra belly rubs, and dinner. Being an artist means little without love. I hope you fulfill what I can not yet do. Apparently , But I am leaning. Models in my heart to remember ,like a new pill. Like not wasting time waiting. I expose self to see growth.

The world outside is stratified. I walk between layers I would like to say but rarely is that real. I will always be the hard working , left over construction supervisor cab driver , who writes. Hardly talking to anyone , loneliness is contagious, . As the system pushes us to achieve and we get fewer and fewer chances.

Even when we know what love is, After years of survival against every tendency of humanism pushed economic.

I pledge here to remember every energy of a body united, and will keep trying to love as focus and path in the watery me. To live the now and live this world. As we reach for the better in us as all are seconds of the one. A now must lead from somewherre.

XMAS EVERYDAY !11 She is gone. And I wanted to keep crying, then I remembered I was only to fool myself to more self discovery. But as hindsight lets proceed, I am scared of self I am learning, for as action demands, we can not look at the world without changeing it.

She was beautiful . older, younger, red blond and blackish hair, I felt love again. Passion and proof of spiritualism, A day of love is a life time.

I am cruel and distracted by the petty insults to common sense ruled by corporate success. But the underground is seeing and getting brighter waiting their chance, free looking.. Heuristic and beyond compromise. The light shall lead them all.

The quantum age is coming, in my opinion, it will be a time when political levels will fall asunder for the built up technology is mixing over to bio-energy and common sense metaphysics, with the yet to be vocal plant consciousness exploring the difference between goal knowledge and (insert schooling here) A global truth is feeling. The built up will come out as a brisk wind from the silence.

A light being self will become the standard! MEDITATION as mental hygiene, and tai chi taught in physical education. Food will be quality controlled and most things will be regulated to insure Liberty of life.

I don’t like being known but no one else says shit.

They are all poets and transparent epercurians to the smile of jackals with matching suits, The topics to many for this recording.

So simpole. I have loved and still love deeply . creating the enertialcall

THE MIND. and its not my fault.

WE UNITE IN

Thanks to everyone associated with everything Enertialcall.. Especially Repair It computers, (who donated a computer system for the production) and all the Free OPen Mikes in Bellingham,,our last bastions of free speech.. Where I promote by singing improvisation and guitar.

The Green frog Monday feb 9th I will be playing a half an hour set at 8pm.

Honey moon Wednesday Majestic Theater Thursday Thank You for letting me play your stages and listening to Bellingham play back to me. And the Farmers Market where Every Saturday IN Summer ,, sometimes I am there with my amp down rail road a piece by the two matching trees by the atm.. lol..

Thanks to everyone associated with everything also.. From the postal workers May they never go Private. To all the streets which inspire me with cash for music. I thank you for letting me muse you.

CONTENT ?

TABLE OF

Letter to the editor Poly art

pg 4

pg8-9

TABLE O F

Video re-view pg 14 Feature Novelist Delray pg 17 Feature Graphic novelist Hans R Rickhiet pg 23

A Mild Case of Aloneness by Heinrich Rabenschnabel pg 28

ON T E N T ?

C

The Amazing Electic pickle p by Jeremy Boyd pg 27

The May I Paint Your Face Fairy By Phoenix Chicken pg 30 Bob was a dog and there we have it by Foore Galway Pg 35 Feature Poe-t Alex Forrester pg 39 As I forget with the next by Howserd UmLeppy pg 45 Lilly and the brother crows by D.L. Manetti pg 49

Another night of sleeplessness and cruel dreams.. by Omm Aredur pg53

TAB L

The other side of a peacan by K.A.Ambrose pg 57

CON

WYNTER--NOT JUST A NORMAL GIRL.. A.L.Peck pg61

EO

F

TEN

T?

Enertialcall

pg 3

Enertialcall

Letters to the Editor Dear Editors, Just to show what the republican landslide unearthed..

Bob I am your past Remember..!!!

This is Art.. Multi Media and Teeming with abstraction from sanities Metaphysical unrest.

The bowed head rises..Of warriors dormant Waiting.

A poet first And for most And yet not.

For to be Is to for-get.

Ten years have passed since I last released the Enertialcall. Ten Years of Bloodshed, Ten Years of Insecurity, Maybe ten years of denial.

Of last we spoke, I , and Thinkyhead, a small plastic bird, I got at a yard sale, Had created Issue 8. We ended that issue complete. Spell checked, filled With slanderous Ads, and Raw personalization of the political mess all face. We were all about the Evil Bush (2000), We could see the investments of cunning since Reagan, We felt peace die with Carter, and hoped still in Clinton, But we lost that With Kerry, And wondered why the Military enters Leadership roles. We forgot The C.I.A. Our minds were awash with the I.M.F (Innocent Maturity Factor) And World Bank (World Conscious and Citizenship).

In retrospect we didn’t see our power.

Small magazines were piling up into the wood work. From every pore came pages and pages, formed of hands self-educated.

The doers who refused with the advent of the internet, to mortgage souls for education.

We welcomed the Speed of the technological change leading to philosophic changes through understanding inner adjustments and a new advent of psychology and synchronicity.

Understanding change.

That was then. Now if we make one magazine or ten thousand, It matters not what we say but that we said it To espouse a singular nature of a natural whole water based unit.

When material possessions tax our existence we turn to higher schoras of inner peace which have no controls and no retardants. Toward this end Awareness is key.. and culture must lead.

I.e. The enertialcall Through change. We self teach. We learn ,adapt and help each other to do. This

Magazine is the first step to a concept of media that promotes these ends. It is a performance of the abstractions, to stop time with a second that writing Its self becomes. A performance,, What is mine about ,, the performance is to give a shit. To feel and to say we are all...

We make this magazine to further the explanation and information accepted About self to enhance our universe. We create life with the creativity we are. We understand if only for a moment and have to be turned back to our redundancies.

People have natural ability to transcend built into conscious. If Only we can understand what is in front of us. This starts with an Understanding of what is And I think the AGe of Metaphysics and a Quantum conscious is Upon us.

But I am a performance artist,and you Can’t trust us.. but I would say anything to communicate to bio-pilot.

I will not be the last to say this and I am not the first. But it needs saying over and over. “I feel this and so create”.

Signed

A different man in a different places who has been getting up with the dawn and sleeping with the night. Who has waited on the edge of a sanity and lost on the edge of normalcy , Each suffering only a squirrels meta response, a quick look to the side , a pensive eyeing of the obstacle.. a transendances of it, for the prespectives which are a new day.. bob

Dear editor I bet your happy, with a congress you can hate, while someone is playing with the voting machines, and the one percent bulldogs, are loosing their red and blue status, and all is gone.

Dear Think “you are important guy” The surrounding public of your readership is rising up, there is no underground voice if it has’nt been said by a major news source its not important , and you would propose, because I know your mind, that I love the energy of life and be anti-materialistic; but my kids eat materialism. No matter how I have take on more work hours to fulfill electrical mortages settlements preposed by the tweleth mortage holder, I still enjoy free simpson on hulu. My tv doesnt pick up anything and local radio is scared of any truth and has faded into 1935 recordings which proganded alls well. Your social class is materially proven. Such that your comments in your last issue of "lets sing our fathers to sleep" celebrating the quantum age and faith knows no materialism, are bogus and I cant wait for the corporate censor to get you buy you out and change you into an unrecognizable mass of advertising and yoga advice.

Sincerely the unemployed mother about to jack your shit.

Dear editor; You must be fucken kidding me , this "paper" cost trees , and buy that I mean lives , little scurring lives enbedded into soil and the other ones we shoot at. Your deforresting the earth too tell me what is called "litter"ary art is not going to cover my home or sell me the oxergen ratioin I demand. so why do it, art really only excists after the Rockerfellers or Gates buy it. You are a tool for the I.m.f looking to create world government and defraud nationalism like everyone else. but then are you coming out with a cd rom version which ends up leaking more hard minerials into the aquafer. yours with a hatred matched only to the god problem barbie makelbe

Dear editor , There is no racially related items of liteture in your thingy, what are you thinking about, are not you racially concern? didnt the birth of christ or the civil war teach you anything. can not you see how important it is to identify with a skin tone which was caused by reaction to the sun?

I know you "believe" you are water and that true spirit has only leanings of races or other sub sight escalations through light. Which has always been said but never actualized. You need to see this ,,,, like the plan has been on the last two years of the first black president claiming Enertialcall

pg 5

media attention Eboli, Syria, Issis, Torture reports, or Ukrane. oh my Lets forget the domestic war over the trans national pipelines, fracking , coal infrastructure, oh wait theres more, Signed

postive negativity

Dear editor Reynolds?

When did I decide to fund ,and essentially, love RJ Reynolds, I mean when did it become my favorite family wanting to steal for them , loose housing for them, get nervous when they are away??? When did I realize the world loved them so the red cross packages to keep those children well invested into the modern world, And why not I like all major gods, I give my lungs my health when at the age to lead I am stricken to watch them with gladdened eyes leave me for a more global chemical poppy farm and domestic majorian.

(Or marijuana spelled wrong for marjuana should never be pelled right) . why do I love that which kills me?

Her name was Joelean and she lived in a car when we first met but wouldnt let me make a mark on her during our moments of tv, fan and dance. joelean smoked.. and There was nothing to explain the passion smokers have great sex until they die.. the tempting maybe, the hope of one hit resolving global deliquesce, All the cool kids smoke , john Wayne ,who talked about the I.m.f in the movie stage coach, James dean, Yoda, and Superman (if you can take the death of his wife as any clue, ) Using a cigarette one can have an automatic weapon flinging the cigarette starts a chain reaction with the first second of surprise, a dark street corner is not so dark with a light cigarette, I don’t know why I am telling you this , your not a smoker any more and couldn’t understand . You my friend are a ex-smoker and on the slippery slop of political correctness, next it will be Oprah reruns , and whats her name sheets until one day in a dark and lonely place you will be found clutching a Sarah Palin pin and whispering I love Jesus and writing in sand "no smoking here".

Publish that I dare you.

But anyway, still i can not see why I love JR so much. Is it that he reminds me of my older brother and I ,the faithful uncle, despondently careing bout the children i ill never have cause I can't afford them in my persuit of a perfect family over there my family Jr’s family, even when they forget to send me a card but they have been getting better about that, last week they sent me a one inch tall planter with carefully scripted telling me how to save the world and plant wild flowers , (which then becomes an invasive species and changes the eco structue by feeding a certain moth, ) ' and before that it was a three dollar off coupon. signed smokey joe Enertialcall

daer Editor.

I know you dont really care what hapopens in the world but.. you being an arti8st and such. but.. all great intellects of our age are pissed. frustrated, and weak at the knee. and if they are not .. they are outside sleeping on the shoulder of the road, metaphorically and not.. they have taken to drugs,, or to question self sanity, in that long repetious process as somethig to so something about. but the common man women child is insanity, and for that they get survival. a capitolistic system , turning brother on brother , sister child, motivating us to sell for support of our seperate lives, though you are just there, the invisible mis truasst of buyer seller, perminates everything,, the small do we rarely see and as such we create it further and future, you are this ,, a production of labors, a vision, or a material, not human, not of me,, or me is my three hundred, unseen unfelt friends, i havent had a hug in a week type, such that I walk down the street and there are mosre invisible friends, so egotically absorbed, divided into ,, sex, first , then status, then addiction, then w2ait i got the order wrong,, where is that guide boook that came with this bio piolet suit.. matyerialism, materal. classifications, but common sence is beieng denied,, just to survive a day of rat racing, then it is a malody, and wait, the best representated of the whole of our “civilized time, Is a pill taking, alcoholic masstubating to the glow of Love representational Magic. sold as lust fullfilled when love is in every self motvationa, beyond body. we reach for a schora, and get it , then look for more. , where is the Mental health Picture of the average ONe percenter.. say anyone over a million. what does there psycaritry look like ? there is the power equivalant of never touching soil.. always the game of man, always such that to feel tears would brake a animal nature bubble. but thats not why intellectural are pissed as much as, all the answers are right there. And corporations are waiting until the answers become manditory. (“over my democratic body!!” screamed from the Pepsi machine ( this was a paid advertisement) ) or the states take them over solar panel industries and make zoneing law changes to new construction. . becasue the bankers wont and it is a case now .. of mankind verses power structure.. and then we silently look to the wave of quanumtum, to the micro and emotions off vibrational spritual being,, and that we can not seperate.. and a mininmu income for all will be invented, and an average globally, will be day one achieved, maybe. or is it.. the life styles we are changed into are dividing us to the point of unity,, the more you devide and look at perceptives, maybe you find the commonness easier to see.. like any good mental riddles the self is the only place for real experimentation.. no wait none of this has been intellectual, I never mention the educational levels of achievements already talked of, already written. these same people WE study, remain in the distantce one refers to . my bag.. the wholeness of time can be only felt by spectors and the waterykinds. the nutz man in the cornor

Blue Insect Enertialcall

pg 7

Polly Art

Are you a Quantum and energy; the Ager? ofpaththeofbody inner awareness and

1) Is time a farce to spirit or personal energy.?

2) Is Faith what you believe and experience? More than read and recite? is Faith timeless?

3) Does the Essence of government, as defining body of liberty, effect the people produced?

communication?

13) Do you believe you are congregation of atoms and “tackyyawns”, that all is? YOu are a speaking Bio-Pilot 14) Do you think religions stifle the individual and there-by can retard spiritual growth and the formation of awareness of ever-evolving mind?

4) Do you think problems of environment and world health inspired a global need for a holistic common conscious knowledge?

5) Do you think? Meat causes heart attacks?

Milk causes arthritis and farming? G.M.O’s depression? Food additives depression?

Social depression depression?

6) Do you believe intuitional awareness is a path to emotional wealth?

15) Do you have conversations where everyone agrees on these concepts and you all just smile?

Like the famed sixties can never die and nature is what has always been, will be and is.

7) Do you think meditation should be taught in high school?

8) Do you believe (Corporate) concerns react to change slowly where “good government” could react faster? Like the taking over of the solar panel and solar energy industries for five years, and mandating off grid building codes. With refits of all homes by such and such a date. .

Just sayin.

16) Do you believe an idea ,about levels of awareness, changes your life environment and world?

9) Did the movie “Cocoon” replace the bible for you? The light being pulling off the robe of flesh they wore. OK sorry for that one,, a good read is a good read. But it kind of inspires the statement “man made god in his own image.”

10) How about “what the bleep do we know”? where they look at the molecular structures and use focus ,through prayer, to change the micro level crystallization pattern.

11) The Matrix? Where the wool ,is the eyes. which ,as not, for change, but ride, the great wave, until it to, crashes.. Stability questioned, the fight of right against,, the left against , our selves against : to bow proper and will deeper, what we don’t have and cant buy. Blinders for subservience. But a mirror gazes forever.

12) Do you recognize water as the primary element Enertialcall

17) do you feel Spiritual understanding ,though particle physics leads to a holistic personal path? Both Mentally and Physically?

18) 19) 20)

Ten things the Republican lead congress will do from a mouse on Home cooked ,

1. Agree... on tax changes, to finish the Bush years of defrauding the government, with the final privatistion of federal “stuff” bye bye Mail men,, (this one has to be radicalized for the Mail system is a national pride for freedom of communication wihout electric) While also opening the doors to a universal earth based economy with international trade laws.

“One has to rememeber that trade is the latest word for peace like love for energy.”

2. .. the obama care will be repealed in lue of a globol systeme with single payer, as outcried by Eboli, bird flu and mers. this sytem will be based against all people in all nations getting coverage , with the global ecomny. created by the global taxation You will know about it when you get your tattoo, and sonic weapondry comes into use. which stopps all agressors, without blood transferal..

“no offence without a good defence in the name of god,,, you know lol “ 3. ` Enact legistion to fund Global education system removing all debt from new students , and eliminating all shadow costs of low interest student loans.

“ it is like taxing for water, to take away the liberty of a mind to grow. “ 4.

Will rewrite Federal new construction guidlines,, mandatory solar panels or secondary energy sources for all new builds. ( which spures a construction boom with the refitting of all houses by such and such a date) The tax breaks are so great that corporations refit whole neighborhoods; solar shingles and mini-wind turbines , and/or geo thermal !!Whatever works!! As well as Bike Driven Generators Like the prison in Spain where voluteers bike for a shift.. the bikes are twenty four seven and provide all the power for the jail. ??, a source of energy ,, the human hamster wheel. would the wages balence Mc. donalds,, how about No taxes for Bikers

Polly Art

Govermental Take Over order for actions against offending “evil” corporation (as in enviromentally evil or government subversion evil or market fixing evil ) 6.

Trade sanction will be levied on China through the united nations for humanitarian offences , and exclusionary trade practices. In reaction China and the U.S.S.R. accept a unified communal accord and open a market of the new world. tea leaves included .

7.

Political alliances will be investigated concerning Corporatetized media. noticing electoral fraud prediction winners two weeks before election, sighting again, lack of impartiality as what is claimed to be news against what goes unreported.

“WAter on fire in Pa , texas, Ok. ? Broken pipelines take out five houses and more in North Carolina , Virginai. Bellingham Wa has an explosion from the Now operational natural gas pipeline. Responce “sorry we were just running the pressure alittle faster to make some cash faster”said the spokesman who refused to be indentified, someone women in a suit.. Day Labor I think.

8. the congreess shall enact a 100 percent voting system granting ,with the same bill, a federal voters holiday, inorder to promote truthfully representational government of the people by the people. the census organization will be given a new mandate and its budget will be mildly incrreased, voting machines come to your house.

9.

New guidelines for federal housing piss tests for heavy drugs, labeled as herion and meth, coke and no precribed pharmasutials health care insurance , pays for it.

10. Nasa will be refunded with private space travel Corpoate tax system for all privatespace missions.but welfare will be lowered and a forced labor system inacted where citzens on welfare will get mandortory city jobs cleaning e streets get benefs,

polly art

“WE create a world to replace what has been” 5.

Find Bush responcible for sabotaging the UNITED State government include along with Haliburton (who ran to du buy) and god I mean Cheneny all sighted as conspirators,

Big News “ Republicans clean up their own mess” the measure is push through League of Govenors, (or

whatever) to change the constution to repeal citizens untied as a constitutional amendment. Calusion against the american people will not be un-punished. NOR entitleed prejudice against a standing president, (and I have no idea what that means, but it sounds good) Hailburton is listed on the evil corporation list which is started for all evil corporations. Monsanto is listed. replacing Enron and British Petrolum is listed for consideration. The list sets up a “Is there a cosmic energy in smiling”

Enertialcall

pg 9

the earth love it dont fuck it, love her dont fuck her, love him, dont fuck him, we are time we are truth we are the ending where there is wholeness we are the point of no return. evolves

Enertialcall

Enertialcall’s Feature Artist Theodore Holdt world thick with vision unbridled eyes loose wrists and yellow sun

string theory breath out of mouth spread the paintings on my eyelids dance

I slip

The threefold aspect of a storm watching the ant children, loosing the ability to lucid dream, and when his mother mentions that he’s ‘always been a bit strange’, acted collectively, with the seed of the blue stone, to create a son via a human woman.

She reviewed the day’s work and gesticulated in pardonable self-approbation while her companion kept trying in vain to adapt the swing and long-limbed spider gait of a disheveled old poet.

To the three, the humans are the ants. They are only interested in directing the people in such a way that they do not know that they are being directed.

my hand away from the right path, for which the ghostly souls are forever grateful, with white bleached bones and rolling eyeballs, to their ready-made scowling visages, with strings of thought pearls around slender necks they rise and look at every step and believe it is a dream on which the pearls, drowned out of sight in milk energy and love, are left behind.

the catipillar dreams of a

space girl returns Devouring what’s weak and leaving space for what’s strong.

I run my tongue over my lips.

The light still filters, the girl is still breathing into my neck.

It spreads like warm tentacles in the days when Head-in-Clouds still walked.

The holdingbackthebirthofmadness s, did never meddle with my thoughts.

I, who hold the very reins of the world but am full of dead men’s bones the city and forest they smelled like me and you In the first year your end should be three time three an inflexible order gives birth to then destroys your offspring The sky, it seems, did never

Http:// theodoreholdt.com

through revolt, we are our caring.

Enertialcall

pg 11

The holdingbackthebirthofmadness s, did never meddle with my thoughts.

I, who hold the very reins of the world but am full of dead men’s bones the city and forest they smelled like me and you In the first year your end should be three time three an inflexible order gives birth to then destroys your offspring The sky, it seems, did never meddle with my thoughts. incarnation of fire, return to the world sit in the sun

Enertialcall

the rise of the art children

Enertialcall

pg 13

Re-veiw

video

The Enertialcall’s Re-veiw Movie page or words written while watching Movies from the Library.

The great debaters..

To learn from a movie is one of the most moving experiences one can have in film. This movie teaches debate and the budding of the civil right’s movements.

The acting is great. the hope that people will remember a common unity as the only real hope.

Valley of the Dolls (1967) Ever as the lighting and design of this time signature piece, screams of the color florescent and orange. It is hard to feel the acting , but, this is a most important understanding of fame and failure. A must see for anyone who needs to.

Who invented Velcro ? George de Mestral (1948)

The island of Dr. Moreau (1996) ( Read the book) ? no Is it a book? Yes by who? H. G. Wells (1896) Marlin Brando.. Makes a better human, Or not. While reaching for the supreme being, through gene splicing and vivisection, Sponsored by Monsanto. “Evil is he who kills.”

The dream to invent the perfect human, this is a true record. Taken from Mengele journals.. but Wild costumes, Val Kilmer, (him and Mardo suck so bad you come to think of this as the most expensive entertainment party ever captured as a movie) Violence in soceity is the half beast. Moroe wanted to elluminate, the world but the film was only interesting for the beasties. So much of this film should have ended on the cutting room floor. Many unexplored plot angles, left disconnected , the explosions and the music all just a colage of b movie meet Bando’s philosophic stare. the Apocolypse now dude.. the film is just “animals” going crazy, A great party movie if you mix your lsd and Pcp., it’s Offered education is the difference between proceedual and personal ethics? Different education for different classes. “ you learn this because only you will be able to do this. you can care, but you for a pubic mind must be limited and finacially strapped so the balence of control is complete. oh mental freedom . or the belief , where comes the bough to break and fall into the sea?

The falcon and the snowman. (1985) Humorous the look at the past , many years before Snowden.

Eighties martyred to depravity as a happy day doesn’t understand.

Moving between life history expectations against fear of government and the truth’s needed heros.

Great Gatsby Beautiful creatures

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# lines for a distantsummer now # driven four what is this how We see the endless days streached into practise for the whole a slow peace of an explained soul. cancere me to my illusion, teach me right and wrong from my sight, and and start over. have you happied today? a million hours to an endless day , the echoing streats, my meloncooly explaining me without me,, I am criminally. passive. slammhng fingers into type writter keys cause they can stick. a warning from my siffened fingers, , stop that.. they say ,, violence beget violence, the Nothing is full add adding to the tablet misfirings create this my head losing point each second out of life to keep all the lies aligned, eye spiders web of untrue thrruths which battle to think of them but the winter is sneaking in to my leegs as I type and the get numb more and mor Often, and after I place my hand more and more weak but dont think of the world. It's not me One man claiming energy will not be missed for even true genius off one time , can not match the suppression of thought in all time such leaving will not be hard but for the loves I missed that I love, right now . faith is a bio electric system natural with focused attention as love we understand. Energy ancient , known by peace but I wonder why the edtorial desk mess problem is over population and still outlaw suicide, so just want go, not wait for cancer or insanity to claim us, we don't want the last savings to go to medical phophets. More pills for more understandings, but wages would have to rise because you need to lull people to have children to prove they are better than.

And around the board goes but don't think of that speculative and don't want for cloudy realness shun anyone who speaks with facts so .. Some other generation before now we think in tomorrow , we speak to a day we will never see and must not think, yes and no Thank you and please do Often remembering this which plagues is only a movie left with silent death; everyone but the star, and the opposite of normalacy pleases and everything goes right.

A and I don't even take credit for political symbolism the challenged truth when only agreement matters.

Personal estrangement is not new. But enstrange from personality may be in that adaptation is first a mental activity,,Sometimes I think mental illness is a step of that adaptation. We did all this on the tablet different tool different inspirations a sore finger maybe or wrist, bjiut what else tells e work to be alive. These time we evict time in .

But I can not deny the effects on the tree Wrinkled branches leave's. And trunk, Make petty the exchange: Who values to watch, What little we have got so mobile as the wind

FraMENTATED SELF PORTRAIT

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Excerpt from

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THE NATIONAL ATHLETE`S FOOT DAY MASSACRE PARADE

Feature Novel

ist

CEREBRAL COPULATION ...IS THE STORY ABOUT HOW EVERYBODY WOUND UP GOING TO VENESUELA. I KNOW THAT YOU READ ABOUT IT IN THE PAPERS, I MEAN, IT WAS REALLY BIG NEWS AT THE TIME. WHEN EVERYBODY LEFT FOR VENSUELA, THEY TOOK CHRISTIAN JEFFERIES; ALTHOUGH THEY SHOULD HAVE LEFT HIM FOR GIL BABCOCK. IT WOULD HAVE SAVED ME ALOT OF HASSLE, AS ME AND MY BROTHER WOUND BEING WITNESSES FOR THE BIG INVESTIGATION THAT GIL BABCOCK HELD.

NOBODY GOT A RAISE AFTER THE INVESTIGATION. NOT GLORIA JENSEN. NOT CHESTER LAROUCH. NOT THE HEAD OF THE MANURE ENFORCMENT AGENCY, OH, NO. GIL BABCOCK RAN FOR COUNTY EXECUTIVE ON THE POLITICAL HAY THAT HE TRIED TO HARVEST ON THAT CAPER, BUT THAT IS ANOTHER STORY. GIL BABCOCK WAS THE SHERRIFF OF FAKE RIVER COUNTY. AND EVEN THOUGH WE DIDNT HAVE ANYTHING REALLY AT ALL TO DO WITH EVERYBODY GOING TO VENESUELA, ME AND MY BROTHER, IKE, WERE HELD AS MATERIAL WITNESSES, AND GRILLED RELENTLESLY BY GIL BABCOCK AND CHESTER LAROUCH. BUT I DIGRESS. OAKDALE IS AT THE SOUTH END OF FAKE RIVER LAKE, WHICH RUNS NORTH AND SOUTH DOWN THE CENTER OF FAKE RIVER COUNTY. STATE HIGHWAY NUMBER S-O RUNS EAST AND WEST THROUGH THE CENTER OF OAKDALE, AND FOR THE ONE MILE FROM ONE CITY LIMIT TO ANOTHER IS KNOWN AS OAK STREET. AT THE VERY EAST END OF TOWN IS COUNTY ROAD NUMBER C-1 WHICH RUNS NORTH, UP

THE EAST SIDE OF THE LAKE, AS FAR AS THE CHURCH ROAD, WHICH IS ONLY ABOUT HALFWAY UP THE LAKE. IT IS WILDERNESS PAST THAT. AT THE VERY WEST EDGE OF TOWN IS COUNTY ROAD NUMBER C-1A, WHICH RUNS NORTH UP THE WEST SIDE OF THE LAKE, ALL THE WAY TO HARRELSON, FIFTEEN MILES UP THE LAKE. HARRELSON IS THE COUNTY SEAT, AND THE HARRELSON ROAD RUNS EAST FROM HARRELSON, CROSSING THE LAKE ON A SPECTACULAR BRIDGE AND HEADING OFF EAST TOWARD VAN METER. THERE USED TO BE A BRIDGE AT THE CHURCH ROAD, BUT IT`S GONE NOW. THIRD STREET IS THE OTHER STREET IN OAKDALE. IT RUNS NORTH AND SOUTH, FROM UP BY THE LAKE (WHERE ALL OF THE RICH PEOPLE LIVED), DOWN ACROSS OAK STREET, DOWN PAST ALL OF THE REGULAR PEOPLES` HOUSES, PAST THE GRAIN ELEVATOR AND THE RESCUE MISSION, AND ENDING UP ACROSS THE TRACKS IN TOON-TOWN WHICH IS WHERE ALL OF THE HOBOS LIVED. MOST OF THE HOBOS WERE BROKE, BUT THAT WAS O.K. AS THE OAKDALE POLICE LEFT THE RESIDENTS OF TOON-TOWN ALONE, MOSTLY. LET THERE BE PEACE. THOU SHALT NOT PANHANDLE IN FRONT OF THE SUNNY GROCERY AT THIRD AND OAK. AMEN. AT THE NORTH END OF THIRD STREET IS THE HOUSE IN WHICH GLORIA JENSEN LIVED, RIGHT UP BESIDE THE LAKE WITH TWO BIG OAK TREES AT THE END OF THE DRIVEWAY. FELIX RAY LIVES RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET, AND HAS HIS OWN PRIVATE DOCK AND BOATHOUSE. FELIX RAY IS A SELF MADE MAN AND HAS DONE EVERYTHING FROM FLYING FIGHTER PLANES IN W.W.II TO OWNING AND OPERATING HIS OWN RAILROAD COMPANY, THE FAKE RIVER ROAD. FELIX RAY IS A VERY IMPORTANT MAN IN FAKE RIVER COUNTY, BUT THAT IS ANOTHER STORY. AT THE SOUTH END OF THIRD STREET, PAST THE GRAIN ELEVATOR BEFORE YOU GO OVER THE RAILROAD TRACKS INTO TOON-TOWN, IS THE RESCUE MISSION. THE ONLY PERSON WHO EVER STAYED AT THE RESCUE Enertialcall

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MISSION WAS OLD SMOKEY THE DRUNK. EVERYBODY ELSE STAYED DOWN IN TOON-TOWN, AND HAD EVERYTHING STEW FOR DINNER. SOME OF THE HOBOS WORKED IN THE FISH CANNERY WHICH PROCCESSED THE TINY LITTLE STURGEON NATIVE TO FAKE RIVER LAKE.

AMONG OTHER THINGS (CREEPY THINGS TO A SMALL BOY) WAS GIVEN AN ANAL PROBE. THIS IS A REPRESSED MEMORY. THE ZETA RETICULIANS ARE SLIMEY THINGS, ALL COVERED IN MUCCUS.

CHEESEBURGERS AT THE NEW CAFE WERE THE BEST IN FAKE RIVER COUNTY, AND THE WHISKEY SERVED IN COYOTE`S BAR AND GRILL WOULD NEVER GET YOU DRUNK (AS LONG AS YOUR HEART WAS PURE AND YOU BELIVED IN JOHN WAYNE WITH ALL OF YOUR MIGHT).

BOTH COYOTE`S BAR AND GRILL AND THE NEW CAFE WERE LOCATED AT THIRD AND OAK.

READ ON...

OUT AT THE WEST EDGE OF TOWN IS THE SHADY OAKS MOTEL, AND JUST ACROSS COUNTY ROAD C-1A (JUST OUTSIDE OF THE CITY LIMITS) WAS THE BIG OAK STRIP JOINT.

FAT TED

JUST DOWN STATE ROUTE S-0, IS THE OAKDALE INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, WHICH HAS THE ONLY FIFTY THOUSAND FOOT RUNWAY IN THE REGION. BIG CORPORATE JETS AND CARGO PLANES WOULD FLY IN AND OUT ALL DAY LONG, ALL INVOLVED WITH THE SHIPPING OF OAKDALE`S ONLY EXPORT; THE LITTLE SILVER DICK STURGEON (OR THE PEE-WEE AS THEY`RE KNOWN LOCALY).

FAKE RIVER LAKE IS HOME TO THE SMALLEST STURGEON IN THE WORLD, THE LITTLE SILVER DICK, WHICH IS SERVED IN ALL OF THE FINER RESTAURANTS IN NEW YORK AND PARIS. AS THE PEE-WEE IS ONLY AN INCH LONG, IT TAKES QUITE A FEW TO MAKE A MEAL.

...WAS THE BIGGEST CRIME BOSS IN OAKDALE. FAT TED OWNED, OR HAD A HAND IN EVEREY RACKET THAT THERE WAS IN OAKDALE, FROM DITCHWEED SALES TO SHOPLIFTING. FAT TED WET HIS BEAK IN A LOT OF PLACES INCLUDING LEGITIMENT BUISNESSES SUCH AS FAKE RIVER SODA (FAT TED GOT A NICKLE ON EVERY SINGLE CAN SOLD), OR THE LITTLE SILVER DICK FISH CANNERY. FAT TED OWNED THE FISHING BOAT WHICH GATHERED UP THE LITTLE PEE-WEES FOR THE CANNERY, AND HE HAD A “LOCK” ON THE NIGHT-CRAWLER BUISNESS AROUND THOSE PARTS. NO NIGHT-CRAWLERS OR PEE-WEES MOVED UNTILL FAT TED GOT PAID.

OAKDALE; PEACEFUL YET CORRUPT; SLEEPING IN THE HOT IOWA SUN.

FAT TED`S FISHING BOAT WAS NAMED THE LUCIAL.

OAKDALE, WHICH HAD EVERY SINGLE THING THAT ALL OF THE BIG CITIES HAD, PLUS THAT CERTAIN REDNECK PERSONALITY TYPICAL OF SUCH TINY PLACES.

LUCIAL WAS THIS GIRL IN HIGH SCHOOL THAT FAT TED HAD A HUGE CRUSH ON.

WHEN PEOPLE STARTED NOTICING SLIME TRAILS AROUND TOWN, THEY NATURALY ASSUMED THAT THEY HAD BEEN LEFT BY THE FIFTY-TWO YEAR SLUG. BUT IT WAS POINTED OUT THAT IT HAPPENED TO BE ONLY YEAR THIRTY-SEVEN AND SO IT SIMPLY COULD NOT BE THE FIFTY-TWO YEAR SLUG AT ALL, BUT SOME NEW UNKNOWN SLIME-SLINGER. AND THE FIFTY-TWO YEAR SLUG DIDNT LEAVE SLIME TRAILS ANYWHERE AS BIG AS THESE WERE. IT LED TO ALOT OF GOSSIP. AND PEOPLE FROM ALL OVER THE COUNTY BEGAN REPORTING THE SIGHTING OF FLYING SAUCERS TO GIL BABCOCK ONE OLD FARMER FROM UP BY CHURCH CORNER ACTUALLY CLAIMED TO HAVE READ THE ZETARECICULIAN REGISTRATION NUMBERS OFF OF THE HULL OF ONE OF THEM. GIL BABCOCK DIDNT BELIVE IN FLYING SAUCERS. GIL BABCOCK DIDNT WANT TO BELIVE IN FLYING SAUCERS BECAUSE WHEN HE WAS A SMALL BOY HE HAD BEEN KIDNAPPED BY A TEAM OF MONOTOADIANS, AND

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FAT TED NEVER REALLY GOT OVER LUCIAL, WHO BELIVED WITH ALL OF HER HEART THAT FAT TED WAS A GROSS ARROGANT SLIMEBALL; WHO PROBABLY WOULD NEVER PROCREATE. LUCIAL MOVED TO BELLINGHAM, AND CHANGED HER NAME TO LUCIALMOONCHILD. LUCIAL MOON-CHILD BEGAN WRITING POETRY ABOUT UNICORNS AND MILITANT FEMINISM, POETRY WHICH WAS MEANT TO BE SUNG, AND SO LUCIAL-MOONCHILD BECAME THE LEAD SINGER FOR THE GRUNDGE BAND “CUSTER AND THE WIPE-OUTS”.

SHORTLY AFTER THE RELEASE OF THE ONLY C.D. WHICH “CUSTER AND THE WIPEOUTS” EVER RELEASED (A C.D. WHICH CONTINUES TO SELL LIKE HOTCAKES TO THIS DAY), LUCIAL MOON-CHILD VANISHED MYSTERIOUSLY NEVER TO BE HEARD FROM AGAIN. ALL KINDS OF STORIES MADE THE ROUNDS, BUT THE TRUTH IS THAT LUCIAL MOON-CHILD

FAT TED RODE AROUND IN A BIG, BLACK, SHINEY, BULLET-PROOF LIMOSINE DRIVEN BY A CHAUFFER WHO HAD BEEN SPECIALLY TRAINED IN DEFENSIVE DRIVING TACTICS FOR V.I.P.S`.

FAT TED HAD TWO BODY-GUARDS; LARRY “THE BODYGUARD” JEFFERIES, AND SMOKIN` JOE; WHO FOLLOWED HIS ORDERS WITH A LOYALTY RARE IN MODERN TIMES. UNLESS ONE WERE TO ACCOUNT FOR THE FACT THAT FAT TED WAS A GENEROUS EMPLOYER, AND GLADLY PAID LARRY “THE BODYGUARD” JEFFERIES AND SMOKIN` JOE AN ASS-LOAD OF MONEY TO CARRY OUT HIS NEFARIOUS WILL. LARRY “THE BODYGUARD” JEFFERIES WAS A CRAFTY MONEY MANAGER, AND WAS WELL FEATURE SMOKIN` JOE WAS AN ALCOHOLIC WITH A TASTE FOR VICODON. SMOKIN` JOE WAS USUALLY OUT OF CIGGERETS. UNFORTANATLY LARRY “THE BODYGUARD” JEFFERIES DIDNT SMOKE, SO SMOKIN` JOE COULDNT BUM ONE FROM HIM. LARRY “THE BODYGUARD” JEFFERIES DIED OF LEAD POISANING IN THE OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES, IN REAL TIME VARIATION NUMBER FORTY-TWO. BUT THAT`S ANOTHER STORY. IN THIS STORY FAT TED GOT A SHARE OF THE PROFITS ON EVERY DEAL; DIRTY OR CLEAN; THAT WENT DOWN IN OAKDALE. AND LONG STORY SHORT, FAT TED HAD GOT INVOLVED WITH SOME ZETA-RETICULIAN GANGSTERS, DIRTY DEALS THAT INVOLVED BIG MONEY. DIRTY MONEY. AND EACH DAY THE NEW BUISNESS EXPANDED AT A SUPRISING RATE. THE ZETA-RETICULIANS WERE IN THE MARKET FOR OSTRICH SHIT. OSTRICH SHIT CAUSES ZETA-RETICULIANS TO GO MAD WITH DELIGHT, AND THERE WAS A GROWING COUNTER-CULTURE ON ZETA-RETICULIA WHICH REVOLVED AROUND THE USE OF MANURE PRODUCTS FROM EARTH. ANY SHIT WOULD DO, HUMAN SHIT FOR EXAMPLE. BUT WHILE HUMAN SHIT IS MORE THAN PLENTIFUL, IT`S NITROGEN LEVELS ARE (AT TWO THOUSAND MILLIGRAMS PER OUNCE) FAR TOO LOW, AND TO THE ZETA-RETICULIANS, TASTES LIKE HOME-GROWN.

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HAD TOO MUCH MAGIC PIXIE DUST ONE NIGHT AND DIED IN AN ALLEY IN SEATLE. AS SHE CARRIED NO IDENTIFICATION OF ANY SORT, SHE WAS LISTED AS A JANE DOE AND CREAMATED. FAT TED NEVER FOUND OUT WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO LUCIAL MOONCHILD. JUST AS WELL.

THE ZETA-RETICULIANS PREFER OSTRICH SHIT, ARE CONOSUERS FOR IT, AND WOULD PAY GOLD TO GET IT.

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Mr. rickheit.

BIO

I am a confirmed placebo addict. I began drawing comics before my cognitive awareness began in my childhood. I was a “late talker”, not beginning the rudiments of speech until I was five or six years old. My lack of loquacity continues to this day. Hence, I specialize in pictorial narrative.

Rather than socialize with my peers, with whom I had little or nothing in common (save a few selected friends), I spent my adolescence in a semi-fetal position at my drawing board. When I was sixteen, I started CHROME FETUS COMIX as a

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t s i l e v o ih c N

p a r G e r aFe tu Hans Rickheit

www.chromefetus.com

the name dream-journal mini-comic. At the time, I thought sounded “cool.” Lucidity is a sore dog to swallow. my midWhen I moved to the Boston/Cambridge area in Gallery. twenties, I lived in the basement of the Zeitgeist und arts rgro To me, this place was the nerve-center of unde ers, and music for New England. We published newspap prank launched guerilla-style street performance, initiated the list political parties, operated pirated radio stations, goes on. rd for my In 2002, I inexplicably won the Xeric Grant Awa e at www. graphic novel CHLOE (which can be read onlin bravely chloecomic.com). In 2009, Fantagraphics Books IRREL published my ambitious graphic novel THE SQU a MACHINE, which has enjoyed critical praise and coils the ens peculiar world-wide notoriety. Every day tight that syphon.

Today I am in my forties, huddled in my lair of comic seething madness, still drawing comics. My web MTV. ECTOPIARY was voted Best Comic of 2010 by been COCHLEA & EUSTACHIA’s first book has just line released by Fantagraphics. A new full-color story not is well underway at www.chromefetus.com. I have i beg so else, proven myself to be competent at anything of mine. forgiveness from this world for pursuing this folly CHLOE www.chloecomic.com

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The amazing electric pickle

By Jeremy Boyd

The sight of a softly glowing electric pickle arouses many questions and much curiosity but little is known about this bizarre phenomenon.

Exploring the implications, It is soon apparent that the possibilities of this amazing new technology are staggering , perhaps ultimately taking the place of L.E.D.s. Transistors, incandescent and florescent lights and other electrical and electronic devices. Some have gone so far as to theorize that a biological computer could be fashioned from the organic matrix of electrical pickles.

The conduction and semi-conducting properties of electric pickles are dependent upon the distribution, ratio and purity of sodium Ions in the form of metallic salts and crystalline polyacenes in the form of benzene, chemically suspended in the pickling solution ( gibbs 22) High sodium pickles make the best conductors because of the greater number of negatively charged free electrons in the atomic outer orbital’s of the sodium ions. Semi conducting atomic states could be produced by increasing the ratio of the organic polyacene molecules which have been made to exhibit superconductiviety and the so called fartional hall effect (gibbs 22) of this pectacene and tetracene exhibit both N type and P type carrier moblity ( gibbs 22 ) by using N type slices of knosher sandwiched between P type sweet pickles slies a tirode confiuration is produced, Using the P type as an electron control it is possible to modulate and amplify line voltages, thus theoretically combining these pickle transistor into logic circuits.

Photonic emission frequescies maybe could be controled by varing the frequesncy characteristics of the line voltage to produce wavelengths from the infared to the ultraviolet.

While the speed of light thru a vacuum is 3.00 (10 M/Sec) or 186,321mph) ina sodium - sugar solutin it is 2.26 (10/ sec (holliday / resnick 893) thus we can calculate the ratio of the speed of light through the pickle (r) as R= 3.00 (M/ sec) 12.26(m/sec) = 76 of that through a vacuum. Photonic emissions rates in electric pickles is comparable to those of incandescent devices per watt used, as tungsten elements buid up resistance quickly and waste a great deal of energy in the form of heat in the infared spectrum by eliminating the filament and forcing electron flow through a gas or liquic medium. the conduction materials electrons in teh atomic outer orbitals are boosted through the threshold state to the next energy level. but as this confiuratio is too unstable it fluctuates between the energy leverls, giving off excited electrons and photons in the process. this process is called Ionization (loper 89) Organic` electrical devises such as the potatoe batteries and electic kosher pickle have been known for decadeds but have not yet been refined to the point of practicability, yet one day , these homegronw miracles may save the world from the energy Pickle it is in..

Memo Whizzpool electric engineering dept.

date :02-25-02 To: New products department From: energineering Subject: Napping cats trapped in Dryers Due to increasing numbers of customer complaints about napping cats trapped in our model zap 2002 dryers, a colleague has proposed installing pet doors on the machine.

I respectfully disagree, as the cats would be cycling too fast to make an effective exit. therefor I am proposing two possible alternative solutions.

1. Automatic cat ejectors 2. Combination moisture control sensors and high voltage cat stimulates..

Solution number one has many engineering problems to overcome: These are mainly the insufficient research on proper cat trajectories and also lack of possible mechanism to efficiently launch the felines without damage to the machine.

Solution number two may be the easier. by producing a high voltage raiate field between the moisture sensor electrodes in the interior of the machine that are activated by an intruding cat, the trespass feline will thoes be made uncomfortable enough to seek sleep elsewhere.

I propose to call this system feline avoidance by stimulation of emitted radiation or faser for short.. by makeing the cat dance to avoid shock He will automatically seek to eject himself without the aid of any mechanical device, saving millions of dollars in research , retooling and public relation.

I havn,t as yet come up with a solution to the problem of cats trapped in microwares but am doing research during lunch with some experiments.

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A Mild Case of Aloneness Theater

by Heinrich Rabenschnabel Three people are sitting lawn chairs waiting for a concert to start. a little table is shared by the females, two brown bottles on the table and a plastic flower in a small vase. the three of them form sorted of a triangle witht the open end spread to the audience.

Todd: “... in a process called ‘sperm competition.”

Tara: “Well, a friend of mine was telling me that she’s been with a lot of both circumsized and uncircumsized men and claims that circumsision is necessary.

Otherwise it’s gross. It get’s all nasty and is hard to clean.”

Todd: “... I mean, yeah, I’ve heard that circumcision could have at least improved this functional aspect of the penis that I’m talking about. Kind of a plunger effect. You know?”

Yara: “Male anthropologists explain the menstruation period

terms of competition.

While women know that they bleed together so that raising children will be a community endeavor, and it’s not about competition at all.”

in

Todd: “Well, maybe women are better suited to rule the world?

The women who are in power right now have certainly not demonstrated that to me.”

Tara: “I think Hillary Clinton is …”

Todd: “A hawk.”

Tara: “She may be a hawk, but she’d beautiful, independent, strong, smart.”

Todd: “Her allegiance to power doesn’t say much about independence and her willingness to murder innocent people stains her beauty. But she exhibits a formidable strength and shrewd wit in being able to hide her conscience and understanding of reality from the world and ultimately herself. (There are some interesting arguments for the possibility that self-delusion was selected in order to better lie to others, and were among the primary forces for selecting intelligence).”

Tara: “That woman is classy. She’s got class! And she’s bad ass! I wouldn’t want to stand in her way. Heh heh. Like, when Bill Clinton got caught with what’s her name, and they grilled her about it, she stood up to them. She was like this is our personal life and none of your business. She was strong.

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Stood up to them! Yeah!!!”

Yara: (agreeably throughout Tara’s speil), “Yeah, she’s classy. … Yeah, and when she was home she slapped him. A good solid slapping. … Yeah. She’s strong. I like her.”

Todd: “So she stood by her man, huh?”

Yara: “What do you have against her?”

Todd: “I don’t have anything against her because she is a woman, but she is a puppet whose strings are pulled by an established order that…”

Yara: “What do you have against order? Don’t you think the world benefits from it, less dangerous? I mean, it’s a dangerous world…”

Todd: “out there, yes. Well, if the world is dangerous, it’s due in no small part to people like Hillary Clinton who threaten

rotting stench. Edward Abbey used to say, ‘Beauty is only skin deep, but ugliness goes to the bone.’

Threatening to nuke Iran? Perpetuating murder for private gain? To. The. Bone.”

Tara: “We did destroy Iran. We tried to destroy Iraq, but we, I mean, we almost destroyed Iraq, but definitely Iran.”

Todd: (unforcefully, but still trying to be heard) “You have it a little backwards. We destroyed Iraq and we’d like to destroy Iran, and our sanctions are designed to but…”

Tara: “Yeah. If we didn’t reach our objective in Iraq, nothing else would. We certainly brought them to their knees. heh. (smiling with sinister pride).”

Todd: “It’s interesting how you use the term ‘we,’ don’t you think? I mean, these are the men who explain and rule the world with competition. Besides,

you seemed to be showing some team spirit, some GO USA. Are you standing by these men (and men in women skin)?

Ha, I can just imagine the blood dripping from the

freshly flayed female specimen animated from inside by some dumb gorilla with a penis. And doubtless she was raped first, for good measure, I mean.”

Tara: “Ew.” Todd: “Sorry. I just have a strange obsession with blood, and the idea of other people living inside our brutalized bodies. Oh, I just thought! A gorilla in a woman suit, and not the other way around. Perfect. I like that idea!”

Tara: “You think you’re so clever.”

Todd: “I take what I can get when I can.”

Iran with obliteration, TOTAL obliteration--her words. So, as I was saying, an established order that murders innocent people, destroys the environment, doesn’t give a shit about the world, your concerns,

or you. They don’t give a SHIT about you!. All the shots are called in accordance with a “rational selfinterest” within a rigged market economy, and by the designers of that economy, the winners.”

Yara: “All the politicians, yes.”

Tara: “That’s why we should just be happy with our

lives. The world is fucked.”

Todd: “Yeah. I mean. I guess. I understand.”

Tara: “I still think Hillary is awesome. I love her.”

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The May I Paint Your Face Fairy (Character sketch and story ark)

By Phoenix Chicken ***a future potential comic book*** The May I Paint Your Face Fairy is a femme gendered person. She starts out life like any normal person, just looking for a good hustle. She is gifted with natural artistic talent, and ability to see people’s auras. Face painting is a natural fit for her: all she does is paint on people’s faces the energy that they are already radiating.

She works festivals and dances, flitting about, popping in and out here and there, always showing up at just the right moment, saying, “May I paint your face?”

At first, she is young and innocent and immature. She always makes a point to find the beauty in the person, and paint that. People seek her out. Others dress up and imitate her, but they can never quite achieve her level of fairy magic. Everyone can tell the difference between an imitator and the real thing (though there is no shame about this – imitators aren’t actually posing as the fairy, they’re just imitating, and everyone knows it, and is fine with that).

Eventually, people begin to quest after the fairy.

People begin to track her movements, try to be in places where they think she’ll be. In response, the fairy begins to make her appearances more and more random. And people begin to develop rituals to entice her to appear. At first, the rituals often work. But when they work, more and more people do them, and the fairy gets overwhelmed, shows up less and less often.

She begins to get overwhelmed, drained, burnt out. It’s hard always looking for the beauty in people. Ignoring the ugly, the shadows, the wounds. Eventually, those shadows begin to sneak into her painting. At first with a trickle… her face paintings become a little edgier…

But the more people seek her out, demand her work, the more bold she becomes in painting the shadows. She starts to loose faith in people… to see only the shadows. She starts to paint people as hideous monsters. At first, she is horrified by herself, and the people she paints are horrified to face these ugly truths about themselves. It never occurs to anyone that what she paints might be a lie. The fairy can only paint the truth. But sometimes she herself, and the people she paints, forget that she doesn’t necessarily paint the whole truth.

Her paintings become medicine. Diagnosis tool. People seek her out and ask them to paint their shadows as a tool to help them understand themselves. As a tool for healing.

As she focuses more and more on the shadows, demons, and wounds that people carry, you might think that people would stop seeking her out. Stop doing the rituals to entice

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her. But really, her clientèle just shifts. She begins to attract a following of the angry, the depressed the dispossessed. Punk rockers and heavy metal fans. The devil worshipers. She attracts a following of people who revel in darkness.

For a while, the fairy revels in the darkness. She becomes a bit of an activist, which a crew of punk ninja thugs. They stalk powerful, corrupt leaders, tie them up in some public display place, and the fairy paints their face with their deepest, darkest shadows and demons… In the morning, people find the politician tied up and painted, and gather round. They stand, gazing at the face paint… eventually the politician wakes up from the sedatives they’d been drugged with and start raging, demanding they be untied, tended to, restored to their rightful dignity.

Few of these politicians ever recover their power. Some commit suicide.

Authorities begin to refer to the May I Paint Your Face Demon. They publicize and popularize rituals of protection to keep the demon away.

For a while, the world lives in fear of the fairy/demon. At first, she feels smug and powerful. Then she begins to feel lonely and sad. She still has her friends, her community… people who do not fear their shadows. The ones who wear their hearts on one sleeve and their shadows on the other. But being a hunted villain is a heavy burden to bear.

After a while the fairy gets tired of interacting with the physical world.

Retreats to her little nest in the dreamworld. Does some soul searching.

Asks for advice from wise teachers. Goes on a quest. Visits various sages and oracles, asking for understanding. Asking for wholeness.

Spends a bunch of time wandering through the Dreamworld, visiting various archetypal locations.

Fairy land… various sacred sites all over the world…

Stonehenge, Machu Pichu, various sacred sites and ruins… visits old European sites… visits heaven (boring) visits hell (veeery interesting) Returns home to her nest. Does a lot of thinking. Is visited by fairy friends. They ask what she learned on her journey… she muses… still feeling a little lost.

She goes back to visit her old punk ninja crew… they have largely disbanded and moved on to other kinds of work… they have also grown up, grown more mature, more complex. Their work is different now.

It has been a generation since the fairy has painted anyone’s face, since she’s been seen in the physical realm. Her scary demon archetype has become a caricatures… and Halloween costume. She goes to a Halloween festival dressed as herself, to offer face painting.

No one wants to take her up on her offer, because she doesn’t have a fancy booth, she’s not dressed “like a fairy”… she looks too normal.

She wanders about the festival, unworried. Continues to offer face painting.

Then one person… a sad and lonely looking person who is feeling disconnected and overwhelmed by everything happening at the festival. The fairy looks at the person and sees their aura, sees their broken heart (not broken over romance, just broken by the world)… the fairy sits down next to them. Says hi. They strike up a conversation. The fairy begins to listen to the story of the broken hearted person. They listen and listen and listen, get it all out.

Afterwords… the person feels immensely better. “Thank you for listening to me! I really needed someone to understand me. Who

string theory breath out of mouth spread the paintings on my eyelids dance

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are you, anyway?”

The fairy smiles… a sort of smirky mischievous smile, half embarrassed, half tentative… she sort of mumbles, her eyes darting left and right, “I’m the May I Paint Your Face Fairy…”

The person can’t hear her, because she didn’t speak clearly enough… “What did you say?”

The fairy clears her throat, straitens her spine, relaxes her shoulders, centers herself, and says clearly, “I am the May I Paint Your Face Fairy.”

They both know that this seems like a crazy thing to say.

Even with the political smear campaign painting her as a demon, the fairy is a popular figure (the people always knew she was on their side). There are impersonators of her everywhere, but still, no one has seen her in a generation, and people are beginning to forget that she is real. The claim would seem like the outlandish claim of a crazy person.

But the way she said it… the quiet certainty of knowing… the slight embarrassment of her admission, the mischievous gleam in her eye… The person feels skeptical, but these things make them take her claim into consideration. The person looks at the fairy for a good long moment, taking in her appearance, her very mundane street clothes, the wrinkles around her eyes, the clauses on hands. She is an adult. She carries a quiet sense of authority, comes from inside her. Yet she is still tentative, unsure…

The person continues looking at the fairy… takes a deep breath, lets it out.

“Paint my face.” Said softly, not as a request, but not as a demand. As an invitation.

The fairy’s eyes flicker with mischief… “Are you sure? It’s been a very long time since I’ve painted.”

“You gotta start somewhere.” The person says.

The fairy pulls her painting supplies out of the nether space pocket behind her back… the person’s eyes widen, and the fairy’s mischievous smirk and twinkle turn downright devious. She grins.

The person gets their own devious smirk on their face as the fairy begins to paint.

“Relax your face.”

The fairy uses her smallest brush, works slowly, delicately. As she works, a crowd begins to gather for something remarkable is obviously happening. As she paints, the fairy feels all of the lessons of her travels beginning to integrate and flow through her brush. She paints the whole person, shadows and beauty, pain and joy, monsters and heros, all together. And she doesn’t just paint the person’s face, she paints their hair, their neck, their shoulders. After maybe an hour, the fairy is finished. The person is transformed… into the most glorious version of themselves. Their scars and shadows shown alongside their joy and light.

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Something like this, though this isn’t at all as magical and soul revealing as I’m imagining.

By this point, there is quite a crowd. But they don’t jostle, they don’t say anything. They just stand, gazing. There is a certain collective knowing that they are witnessing a holy moment and that to interject, to interfere, would be sacrilege. There is a quiet whisper of excitement as people watch what’s happening.

As the fairy finishes painting the person’s face, she pulls a mirror from the same nether space pocket and shows the person to themselves. The person gazes at their image in the mirror, gazes at the image of their aura, their very soul brought out and painted on their face. The person begins to weep, not exactly tears of joy, but not tears of sadness, either.

Tears of letting go. Tears of allowing. As they gaze at themselves in the mirror, their posture begins to straighten.

Anyways, this is just a sketch and a story ark. Awesome stuff happens.

The person finds great healing in having their face painted. The people rejoice the fairy’s return. She becomes an honored demi-god. But no one asks her to paint their face frivolously anymore. People know now.

They know that to approach the fairy and request her art, they must be prepared to face themselves, every part of themselves.

Occasionally, the fairy approaches people and offers to paint their face. Sometimes they are powerful people who are fucking up… sometimes they are lost people in need of healing and guidance.

People rarely turn her down, for they know that to turn down the fairy means to turn away from their own soul, and they are not likely to have a second offer in their lifetime. But it does happen. People turn her down. And she allows them to. She no longer stalks and kidnaps anyone to force the face painting on them.

She only paints with consent.

This is how she steps into her power. This is how she becomes a responsible adult.

A cult arises around her. The cult of those who with to know their whole selves. Their rituals involve mirrors, seeing, meditation, and of course, painting. To have your face painted by the fairy herself is to be initiated as a priestess of her cult (she is femme, so all of the priestesses are priestesses, regardless of their gender).

And that person, that first person to be painted after so long… they become friends, they become the high priestess of the cult, they are the fairy’s confidant and advisor, apprentice and teacher.

And they all lived this way… for a while, until things changed again and became different… but those are other stories for other generations.

Here is the song of the cult of the Mayipaintyourface Fairy: I wear my heart on one sleeve And my shadows on the other Let my soul shine through I will be none other

The Tear Collector (Character Sketch)

by Pheonix Chicken ‘nother comic book charcter I’m not sure exactly what storyline this character is part of.

Maybe all of them.

Sort of a Victorian style steampunk scientist. Thin and lean, short/medium height. Always dapper. Much like a field botanist, or a bug collector… always talking about specimens.

Obsessive categorization system. Always accompanied by the delicate tinkle of his tiny glass specimen bottles.

Looks and interacts as a normal human person, but can walk through the folds of space and time. He’s always there. Every little moment where a tear is shed. Stepping into the moment at just the right instant to catch the falling tears, and back out again before anyone realizes he was even there. He only needs a drop.

He has little antenna that “sniff” for emotion. Tell him where the moments are. They are usually covered by his bowler hat (to dampen the senses, otherwise he would be constantly overwhelmed with feelings). He takes the hat off to “hunt”, and sniff for the direction he goes in. He can sniff emotions the way we sniff smells, with delicate sensitivity, and can predict with a high level of specifics exactly what kind of emotions he is smelling.

Much like a wine maker sniffs an aged wine and remembers small details of the year in which it was bottled, the Tear Collector sniffs the tears he has collected in tiny bottles and remembers precious details of the emotions and the context of the events from which they came.

He has a laboratory, exists outside of time and space. Maybe sort of an underground hole carved out of a subway system?

Maybe like a room in a termite colony? Maybe like a penthouse office in a fancy sky scraper? All of these things at the same time…

Images by Rose Lyne-Fisher, the real-life tear collector.

In his laboratory, he spends time obsessively categorizing and sorting his tears. Organizing them by date, and the hierarchy of the spectrum of emotion… your basic happy-sadmad-joyful, broken down into more specific identifications.

Categorized by relation and reaction to major cultural/ historical events, categorized by context…

He also makes microscope images of the tears (by letting the water evaporate, leaving a crystalline salt structure), and includes this in the categorization system. This process is a way of making emotions visible, and is the main reason for collecting the tears. He is a researcher, and he is collecting the images, creating flip-books, film reels, creating a visible spectrum of human emotions. Its also about public health, a way of gaging the emotional status, health and well-being of general population. Healthy tears have a certain aesthetic to them… unhealthy tears look like pollution.

He starts out relatively invisible to people. But more and

more, over time, people learn to see him more. He develops relationships with people who know who he is, what his work is. Relationships with human scientific communities. The human scientists in this version of reality have no issues with fairies. They are simply a known part of reality. Many of the scientists are fascinated by the energetic mechanics of how the fairy walks between the folds of space time, but the Tear Collector is obsessively focused on their work and has no time or patience to teach these humans how to do things that he can do as a matter of course.

He feels that the information contained in the data he has collected is vitally important to the scientific community, to public health in general, and to environmental health with regards to humans’ relationship with their environment. He develops relationships and networks among human allies who understand his urgency.

In general, his personality is calm and dapper, with a very dry (yet gleefull) sarcasm. He is flamboyant and theatrical.

There is something vaguely insect-like about him, what with his antenna and his ant-colony laboratory, and his singleminded focus on his work. He’s not exactly obsessive the way we might think of an OCD person. He doesn’t flip out if his systems get disturbed (well he might, but he is absolutely unapologetic and un-self conscious about it. He just goes about putting things back in order, sniffing specimens and mumbling to himself in a sort of quiet contentment. He has the distinct sort of nerdy glee that any scientist might have who has discovered large scope of previously unobserved data and who dives into the work of observing and understanding the date with unrestrained glee.

If you happen to meet him in the course of your travels, or if you ran across him at a party, he would be that quiet guy who doesn’t talk much, until someone asks him how his research is going, and then you can’t get him to shut up.

If he’s at a party, being fully present as himself, and some stirring emotion happens to make someone cry, he will not hesitate to pull out a glass bottle and collect a specimen. This is potentially disturbing to the person feeling the emotion, but he’s generally so smooth about it that people hardly notice.

What they do notice – the thing that breaks the continuity of the moment – is that he then walks away slowly, staring at the bottle, sniffing with his antenna, muttering to himself in the language of his precious categorization system.

Sometimes he makes aesthetic pronouncements about the tear (about the emotions). “Mmm, standard tears of joy, yes, with a splash of relief, and a core of personal vindication…”

These pronouncements can be particularly disturbing and/ or valuable to the people, as it is either information that they don’t want to acknowledge, or information about themselves that they didn’t realize and want to understand.

I don’t know if this character has his own storyline. I think maybe he just pops in and out of other storylines, his story ark woven in bits and pieces throughout other stories. Also, I think maybe he is a trans man. With boobs.

Here’s the real-life tear collector: http://www.rose-lynnfisher.com/tears.html

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Bob was a dog.. .......and there we have it

bob was a dog.. and there we have it September 12th. 2013 the days go by like I can keep up but really I can not. So many inspiration and so little time. Yet, all is time enacted. And devoured. Time is consumed, in entertaining games, and movies and shallow conversations.

It is funny though, because as I look it all changes. In some quiet part of the mind, stagance is growth. baseing synapsis on synapsis, to slowly become perceptions. Changing what has been, to what is to be, small step but steps. ratical answerings from forgien places, the world unites cultures combining the best Waiting only for reality to re-align such that all is the dream, but then reality again, in a realization of nature there is only nature. Change is the flux of ideas.

This is a new computer and I like and don’t, its Automatic responses fail me. Words it thought I said. Auto correcting my philosophy almost like a “commonness” is being enforced.. But I can’t get around the new tablet, its ease on a warm day with coffee for the raw bliss of writing. never minding that the internet is somewhere behind a button, after a download, after a credit card.

Just out of reach ,, the internet stopped people from publushing real magazines, or was there ever a real magazine. the disposable cost of knowledge is a premiere problem.

A thousand typed hours of mankind erased with one mean mind ,or just a mistake, the swipe of the arm and a coffee for all to be gone. what was, is no longer. You can not share facts of time and tide with another. Humanity lost for the suppression .

So devious. Knowledge must be permanent. Who controls the spread of knowledge control history, it is said, with temporal ablities to compute to clear hard drives. I like to remember the “before paper“ time, where it was buildings as books. what would our work read,, sheer surfaces, all. of course the masons went secrete.. and funny that we respect the “knowledgeable people” in this age of reason as motive to health as economic wealth.

Superior to moral values or enviromental crisis . we live to lie ourselves is the hindrance, our sight, as opinion, what we see and not, what we see.. like can be changed.

A “plant” becomes a definition over all and not the many greens that accompany a leaf.

We are constantly thrust back and forth between what we are and what we must be. Remain on either side and you are either a Humanist or Fascist.. and Neither souly can fullfill, the cravings of society. One is the water, the other the growth. I have been and will always work on water. I care not for schedules or “must do’s” ------ Inspirationalists are nessacary the muse in the funny hat.

by Foore Galway

This is the 30ish computer I have worked on. Yes I am computer loyal and clumsy. crushing them with cars, or dropping them off hill sides and bath tubs. Now I am waiting as the last gets fixed, and a borrowed one goes home. I can not go a day without constants, so now I store everything ... me on Hard stick memory on a key chain lost in a storage shed.

What trillions would fit into a libary, the unseen written artists. A story about the dead man’s library.

A magical place invented for all the writers who never published. The many who without word money, made short stories or talked plain from their lives. “Without publishing” is the tree in the woods,, but yet,, to answer what is, seems to incorporate into the sight everyone everyone is effected by everything such that words are a trillion enviorments for the changing of consciousness of the world. If one gets heard he she it is an echo of the trillions. As we live, we breath and spread words.

Causal conversation and hints of the analogy. Only , we don’t like analogy, who would read “fiction” of the narrow minds of a few, separating insult for insanity...

Why is it that every time I sit out in the world , I get to listen, when I thought there was to be silence.

The lie is temptation, ,, it is a thrill of the internet to be tempted to experiment, to diverge personality , for what is perception, it is almost pure reason to give the beast ,the adaptive beast, a place to roam,, and the spirit ,the inclusive spirit, a place to love freely , with no tendencies of reality to separate us, I am not ugly I am not poor , I am smart.

I can type fast and never fart.

A spirit is light and takes up no room Demands no space, And doesnt incriminate an experience enhanced through communication self with body movement language dance we love sexually everyone. a shared beast, its over, known and doesnt leave us pensive,,, but energy cares not, and spreading like thought is , addictive and contagious. springs springing,, the balence of being 8 trillion who can read.. and touch and love. so much less noticed in the eighteen hundreds.

Aware aware my cost of time aware the transendance and choice.. my ideal time for writitng, no big city language, no over heard conversation meant to be private for the stupidity that cat stories become.. and yet I listen with relish,, for I can not do other wise, what is there to hear, young girl ,, college type , the accented giggle with each word,, she was in the bushes on the other side of the water, giggleing to a girlfrined on the other end of a plastic square computer devise attached to her head.

I am going to go play on the new electric guitar. the old accustic guitar. maybe do more, I can not

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write about an artistic plan and go do it. . so to mention it is to foretell it,, foretelling sucks, so many choices in life statistics foretell what is to be of our existences. Ducks in a field. Water on the brain, so formulated from some points of view to get over the lack of being able to effect self change. self is the problem right , it is not system training the rich children and poseing them as experts, with only the morgage of souls going up. the finance createing a lesser citizen, in the americ the european slaves,, whos ideas was this system anyway.. when of lately I have been again living,, my moments always were to the end for which i presently accomplish,, this . Writing here on a sunny day , under a bridge with many supports, and five pigeons, a duck , and many many spiders. spiders float away from the nest , and there is life. feeding birds, killing mespitos. and creating art. in the webs. funny that. the trappings of conscoius, art as planning, a spider web,, though we have attributed it to the web weaved... and all. . five webs, different trees and all the supports under the bridge. there are four on that one, the largest seems almost to feel wind letting it take it to the next support four feet away. risking life for life,, the web string line could be to long and fall into the creek, to slow to climb up the web. but Must bes are dire interests, You feel the winds as the connection between the support is realized,, push off a long top line. brace for landing if it comes. september 13th friday. the summer desends and rise again and again when fall comes to a full breadth. today the reminder of the cold and rain to come with only a grey sky and a heart turned so but environment. It is coming the out world is approaching the zenith of an inner world that it must replace.

I will not give up yet, and cloister myself in doors. I think this might be the most productive winter yet. I am free from housing guilt and only the smoking issue is my greatest concern. money has left the problem in a free house standing me

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away from the car, Giving me hours to think and write. ,, but only outside am I really comfortable, still. the walls are reportings , nessacary paranoia becasuse I am a criminal smoker. when no one can see or smell.. stealing away in my bought rights of slave,, inside my house screaming insurance at me.. while the ask tray leads to a fan which leads to the world in thirty below weather,, but you would say follow the laws and I will be alright, like you bowed to the seat belt law, and to the dui laws,, as you bow to each and every law, a privacy taken away is the illegal soul left rationed and devided, good and bad, being not a mortal question but a physical one, like hell has no voice for existiencial freedom. the potenial of the one is the limits left to freedoms. less and less will we understand nature for the cultureal responces of our fears,, but dogmatic religion suffers science of the unimaginable quatum. the uncreative left to figure out the boxes edges before the space inside is bent to straight lines. these hours and days are years now.. just to concider freedoms edge,, five years of living in the car has made me mindfull of what edges are. the clear instablity of street cornors, and the daily panic strugggles of what could be,, freedom without law, for law is a weak willed victum itself, panderer and emprisioner. composed by those who complex for clairity yet can not simplify for civility.

Edges like space, space I looked to the world for Chinese motels, under sinks, behind staircases, on fire escapes,, we when I hear of no apartments in Germany,, the state of massecuttes the size of britian,, freedoms,, space, edges,, awarenesses of common knowledge, but then look agian and it is universes and molecular understandings, the rate of change, the speed of factualized ancient concepts all builds up inside a man to write, to cast off the energies of money and guilt,, for it was personal guilt of self goals. Depression of monotony and falling in line becasue falling out of time , takes away survival.. but it doesnt.. so the survival is the accepted balence. breath, eat. love. write.

I was not going to watch the paint dry,,and flail with limited years to feel achieved of happyness,, the carpenter watches a building not his own, have a new hole-ness. giving the energy like magic rituals , the caring to a wooden gutter.. high in the air on a ladder , tied off upper and lower; safe,, at a wierd angle, straightening up and see the patchy sky ,, the puffs and reminice of nothing but whim. A squirrel looking from a tree wonders how you got up here and are you competion for the last of the nuts on a fall morning. kackle kackle . it was more than that to get down and top , to quit and forget lurking behind bar eyed visions.. I could drink no more so I couldn’t be a carpenter.. craft and rituals, to and for people I didnt know or share in the energy off,, needed to wait for me,, after I have tryied and dyed maybe, after I have given over to face what I didnt so trust into what voice would give chance.. where do I invest makeing skin to graft, by my own hand.. so a new day comes where the voice runs free, echoing

away at the hours I have to echo.. .. Remember yourself in all things is a balence,, of love and listening.. ,, self sighted , answers take years to qualify between fantasy and being. for so much is in echo,, the commoner phrase being , “ thats the way it is” rise my peasant soul.. first from wealth’s forced lines but rise from subconscious emphasis,, dream back and forth, the now that will never leave for it is .. so like the man said ,, “someday never comes unless its already here” ------------------------------I can still not remember my name when around a women who would get near me. if only for the all of it. I feel them and react, over react, lost in my age and celibacy. it is funny how sexed we become. Our lives leading only to more than we wanted ,and with little guidance, take roads beyond us; but we come back and that is our lessons. Slow learning a conscious love. Patient like a tree lessons. I only reach for girls who’s agenda I might be able to occupy, like a warm night. A girl who wants to be passionately loved for her spirit. it is because I can hold a relationship. undateable because I like my life right now. I have achieved this , so slow into depression i have walked. the six year last homelessness is over because the federal government gave me an apartment, and what to the world do I question but myself and “system” That hopeless blaming, when system must conforms to intellectuals some day as natural prophets. and the voice of the arts are the expressions of the all. celluarly,, as an enlightened cell in a trillon that make up a body. Simplicity comes after domination doesn’t work,, such that we talk of the good the system is creating, not a man behind a house. but a man behind a governmental mandate to feel the naked being first, all effecting the progression of the people on an inner level. someday, Funny as truth exist so must answers that never leave.

I have often wanted to talk about sex. here and everywhere.. I have wanted to talk of it. and free what I think we are killing ourselves over. the love of one to the love of all. I think, for as I am alone, stoned and homely what choise was once for me, or atleast in fantasy, a room full of girlfriends ex or wanting to be and now. . not..and I feell exacy from a movement a picture a passion firy like never before.

I celebrate the minor hug,, feel essence, and spirit, created electirical pathways, the model of love follows after. slow changing and knowledge from a touch. for it is not one to know alone. truth is never so. ever.. and one is never alone. Energy is thorugh all. the celebecy creates, a hope not based on breeding, of future , but a reality of now without motive if you let it, if you want to ,, and most of us, weather we want to or not we are alone physically , economics is breeding rights, Long ago , they wanted from me,, and I wanted to give, there eyes told me.. but a body got in the way, and sides turn and possions dictate and learn or die. yeilding to loves truth we find ourselves. .. the best schrocras, and eye transendance,, but for some sex, as shared spiritual adventure, doesn’t teach enough aparently, the wareness of musclies and the dance binding hope to challenge we cana cause we are. two gets done the four of four. and Each time we love we learn closer and closer self love. for to you , why not to me.. spinning cyclic, spirals seem, if you look down on them.

. why not the holy land of parneting to teach the awareness in a ...seed and nest decisive energy action, letting the spirit come, two in wholeness to one. and that is not enough, for endless are the writings of buildings.., referance to the energy cast down with black age issues, cheapened with roman”tic tendancies, sodomies with power, closet queer, silent and destructive.. as the fasion of the day.. and thank god for Barney Frank. creating chi is made with little referance when deeming acts immoral. to love everyone. is not to sleep with everyone,,mostly becasue you dont have time for that, says my Libra brain. from acting ,, to bars not old enough to be in. the world plays with youthful power. desire gets in the way of every conversation. and Marks or Engels, do not come up. and you walk with athe attention of theater, the randomness of other sights, you dont need to care about, and teh drinks come and the shallow facts of otehr is layed at your door , and you forget how you got there. it wasnt my fault I need to talk to someone, not my fault I have to stem off the pain in some matter, I have to discover the spirit to say I felt something, and slowly , , I wanted the dream for it was the only road to a self peace, when it started as a road long ago. and let it be is the hardest part, just to ease into the ringt movements and hold the right hands, you lead me with your love , seeing it I can replicate,, .. lol. no .. feeling it I can feel it whenn you are gone. but like the excess of possesion like a crying death march which memtions not that death is total creation ,, and the medium of body is really to small. unless,,return to forever,, for what is of life truth excist in you, just to self learn thorugh love and breathing , you can feel the light of self. focus,, fiight for you conscious,, your awareness will keep you safe, and the daily reminder of your given love which leads. it is one of those nights, the moom in and out of clouds but full. demanding its halo in between the lightly dense clouds.. .. and it is a night when I don’t care, eding so well it begin a market,, there is no extreme in nature, so one thought is many,, moteratest and electromagnetic spirituality, for front,, a mind changing. evolving, casting off and taking on newnesses,, the philosphy leads time. and we heed timelessness and health. We heed peace within to express with out. healthy philsophy,, a reason agreed..

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in the hot yellow Enertialcall

Enertialcall Feature “I believe knot”

P o e I t

is the branch ever forced when the tree grows up tall?

I believe not. do the leaves cry at the season when they should fall?

I believe not.

Do the colors turn grey in the autumn because they’re aware of their coming demise?

I believe not. does any one of the millions of cells that make up the walls of mitochondria suffer or try? they just are, it’s in their makeup in their nature, comes easily, organically and freely grows without a doubt or worry my my oh my what have we done fled so very far and call this evolution? these emotions, intellect man made existence in conflict call ourselves the dominant species it’s audacious, foolish, and egotistical & i’m calling it off eye’ll surrender to the trees get down on my knees to cherish this vast natural world maybe this is all a dream but eye’ll never have to feel as cold as our fellow brother-en keeping up with an almost extinct society trees count me in.

Alex Forester

W e found Alex on Railroad ave at the Alturntive Libary in bellingham wa,, and I was like maybe you want to be our feature poet, I mean how could I not,, its the poets that take stages in front of bands that are the first line of defense in an almost defenseless future,, I love it,, and hope this Feature brings other out to sp0eak and create the media of the future .. Thanks Alex from all the little people living under my hope chest,, we asked her for some word of bio and she said.. “ I do believe peter pan lives in all of us and that the inner child spirit can live on into adulthood! born

march 15th 1992, i’m a pisces 3 with a leo moon and scorpio rising!

I was born in las vegas as a child, then moved to california when I was 13 and have lived up and down cali ever since. the last three years residing in the SF bay area. I travel a lot up and down the west coast as much as possible but try to put roots down in the bay communities. I started playing music just 3 years ago after being inspired by the occupy movement that I was apart of for it’s whole existence (3months) after that started hitchhiking around the country to find my truer self. wrote a lot of songs and traveled over 9k miles with just my backpack and thumb to the east coast and down south and back to the bay. now i’m running the vanguarden collective (which is a mobile artist collective) playing in Sounjaneer a funky psychedelic bluegrass/jazz band in oakland. writing poetry since I was a young child. you can link to my bandcamp and art portfolio website sounjaneer.bandcamp.com and sounjaneer. wix.com/legaseeds yes I would love if you can promote our upcoming tour ! in Jan-Feb

2015 called The Conquest of Babylon Part Two, The Medicinal Melodies Chapter.

Rip Toad Records is who is helping us

with this next tour, a diy music label out of SF. if you can leave a link to their facebook https:// www.facebook.com/riptoadrecords https://www.facebook.com/COBDIYtour here’s the tour page for our band of merry pranksters!

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Conquest of babylon We are silenced they make this so think you have freedom? we have a long way to go Three:thirtythree there’s these insane people who live at the top It's 3:33 on a Saturday and they’re buying and selling souls i'm writing here for the meek this is a plot for their never ending need because in the next moments, to gain control of the worlds greed I will not try to think, but the crazy thing is what they need the most these words spread across and within they are free, is for every one of us to give up our hope but that's the way it is, because who would they be if they didn’t need cus every day of the week, each and every person to feed their machine doesn't really exist. hidden in plain sight and easy to see and so now you see we should globalize and gather and overcome the deceit I find every inch of matter quite puzzling they hired henchmen to strike fear intimidate and police now I won't try at all to think and I know it may seem like they have it all because all problems begin mentally but all they have is money so scan the ground for clues, and listen as I speak and i’m sure they’d throw your ass in Guantanamo bay too these words themselves are meaningless unlike the fruit of a tree but within solidarity there’s nothing we can’t do more so like the dead bark shave what they don’t seem to understand and thrown across the forest floor, is we have our own power and the invisible hand I do believe the bark does not know i’m talking beyond mere destiny it order for it to fall. there’s a vision here that i’ve seen our people are meant to spread love to all near not live in a world controlled by fear we possess the right of passage and the inevitability that the old way of thinking is becoming extinct that this way of life is changing at tremendous speeds and they’re dying out as we grow in abilities they invented the dollar as a disguise so that they could have control over each and every life created a wall of illusion and simple parlor tricks just to fool us into thinking utopias a myth Bloodbath and we are distracted by our very own senses these tools we are born with tragedy crosses pathways to cast the realities of our perceptions in dark corners of the room where the light never turns on lost in a fit of helpless desire watching all the forest burn in a fiery pit of rage until nothing is left only ashes can grow to begin new myths creation will follow the final disaster the worms in the wood will be there after life will always begin anew there's nothing really we have left to do so soar on little dandy lion show your mane let your seeds go a flyin' let go and jump on in the ship ride of your dreams will only wait so long

Enertialcall

single drop when a single drop of water becomes hazardous to our health we can no longer blame the faucets we should not point fingers and shout at the wealth we should sit down, look internally see exactly what is missing the void can grow every so deeply if we allow it to sleep let's celebrate instead count the wishes in our heads lift each other high past the clouds in the sky take the giant leap the good people we can keep understanding is the greatest gift so left's present right now with an eternal kiss thrown across the kitchen table sweep away old myths, legends, and fables.

Star bears a floatin stars shine brighter then ever before though I am lost waiting at the door others pulling controlling my strings when all I want is to fall freely don't catch me now, i'm not in pain to much to show to hold or refrain go now you dweller go and prove them wrong inside a never ending competition wear the stars on a vest show them antiviolence the kids just looking for some raw influence who am I to choose the right motivation the masters of zen flow in rotation the politicians lost another constituent and i'm on the sidewalk catching the last clue unlike last week with the gum off my shoe random roaming the streets at night cus most owls don't need to put up a fight they're all owls but of course they own the creek, the ship, and the horse.

distracted by the media and entertainment industries to that we could fall into a very deep sleep meanwhile they’ve created the illusion of poverty when their families never have to go hungry even fooled us into thinking our crops grow in scarcity just so we could live inside their scared cities only to be used, manipulated, exploited, and deceived so we could live everyday comfortably the mast puppeteers of the never ending land of sheep and they’ll keep up holding on with the most hollowest of tales the one that says if you try hard enough you can’t fail everyone who’s rich worked the hardest to get it but how does this explain volunteering and soup kitchens? you think these people don’t work hard? their pockets are empty but what’s filled is their hearts musicians, poets, painters have no pennies to show for their art they choose love over money and with it they starve so the american dream states that if you are poor it was an outcome of yourself and nothing more and if we are content with this existence then we shall pay no mind to the mass murders evil plots and social injustices because ignorance is a disease spread like a plague risen passed an epidemic released at a contagious rate a disease that will map out our future as a human race and if we want to make it past this small planet delve through outer space and the infinite then we need a very different plan not just molotovs and riots to take down the man

Enertialcall

pg 41

Go-Go If flyin involves tryin then floatin is for me cus baby i'd be lyin' if I said the bees are free you know they break each law of physics and of space maybe it's their will that takes 'em high in the first place maybe it's their drive to seek the divine and a call to a greater force their purpose seems so clear and it's why I hold them so dear and maybe my own reasons for bein' will change this life course oh I can admit i sometimes feel slightly insignificant compared to this vast ocean of matter, the universe, and infinite but now today I can stand up and say that fear is no longer in my way that I can get up on any stage act like a fool or a song I can play and know to the depths of my core that happiness will never be tucked behind closed doors I threw away all locks and keys opened my mind so my heart could be free and maybe tomorrow i'll fly with the bees.

Enertialcall

Akomplice

Acceptance is freedom wind blows wind howls upon the sea feathered friends fly up into the deep little furry creatures scamper throughout the night and I feel inside their minds there's never a fight as to what you might ask? perhaps just that internal struggle to be who you are surely to be a fact something us humans can't seem to grasp to just accept our being? feels like a mighty task people always running trying hard to escape just a moment for right now we all hold the past as if it's the only aspect of who we see hold the future as a place of victory one if we can't reach will destroy our very selves i'm again brought to the truth light exists in every way shape and form we can't wear it as a trophy on some shelf all we can do and with it i'm convinced is to accept the fate as it is that we are who we are can't hide it away in a crate just gotta be stand in the shining love inside and never ever wait oh no don't wait for the beauty

Movement is in the feet traveling's in the journey lost souls come and retreat love ends in a hurry every step every blink flashes by before we can think oh and time is illusory before we jump in we start to sink we learn to swim and then re-think moments caught behind a lens never to be glanced at again what for now is the grand scheme of each and every living thing how much blood must we shed before we realize our brothers are dead they close us down behind tv screens so that we don't have to see create a numbness in our sheets every night we fall asleep wake up anew every morning to breathe in the fact our lives are boring if we let it, it must be so or are they? what do they know? wat do we choose really? our shoes, our clothes, our corporate rules? stand beside me my brothers and sisters a resistance is forming but not until we wake up each morning to the truth, awareness, and peace only lives in us when we are free

Enertialcall

pg 43

Spacegirl B Enertialcall

“if you like it give me money.” and on we go today I remembered “the man with a gun. “ --chorus-met a man, yesterday he told me how his life had change at the end of a gun --verse2 -sisterbrotherlover child off to war 7000 died, where has daddy gone why has sister gone away missing makes the mind -chorus---verse3-spend and sweat for fourty years my head my love my living tears and a man come up to me said things will never change just sign and the dotted line

by Howserd UmLeppy

and here they comes with guns and tanks and things I banicade the door. its not mine any more. swindled and destroy homeless and annoyed I am glad we bought the winnabago. americanly enabled.

who am I? the sane man standing .

is spiritual the only way a life finds health. refering to sciense i can not understand like microwaves and electric devises, We as a people choose part more than the whole. dialetic emotions. i feel therefore I am, in that I have found change a constant. Here a moment understood like the fall of spring to early loves, yet awaken a voice of memory turned where need takes learning.. just innocents giving over infinite stars forms , would I to believe? i believe in cosmic waves in the form of graviational pulls from distant planets. I felt a ghost while growing. protecting me, asking only understanding what bio-mechanics naturally are. the purse a cross. flower colored wih a three eleborate brass worked double perpendicular lines right angle die a grams of a game to late.

I heard your voice stressed again to the point how much time awaits what I don’t know. a sudden understanding of reality I am know one so happy to hear your voice a motive i didnt know before. Strong I need to be the hope of solace with you,, or my dream of you, quiet writing moving around the apartment in wet cold winter out side, of innocents working art projects and what I cannot see. Playing tends to predict responce I will play and write and ask you to hang when you want to jump up and down I will always be writing down what words I can get to , you didnt make the choice i did , to feel the spirit or at least try and face the reason I dont, then things changed when thrown to the fires and live pure to energy. What is a divine spirituality, but technological quantumness, vibrations and psychiatry…

I felt and I do try and explain it, as vibration. then I read about particle physics and there is no stopping what will be seen as the greatest explosion of consciosness and awareness in both personal and global culture. of vibrations in water.

Enertialcall

pg 45

and the man in a can must watch from the jar She found intellect alarming and admiring , A number of words she couldn’t rightly place and she was puddy in your arms.a love of what she doesnt know, always reaching for better.

She knew people contain themselves and stopped.

In that the sparks of questions never leading them forward from faith to a natural sence of peace , to the vibrations of that peace being the fact of energy; the focus of the symbol god.

Pre theory becomes direction of inner ness we can learn without teachers as practice can only do. heuristic and true. you learn to fish by fishing. , . but there is the water. and she wasnt for sale but highered dementions reaching infinite the learning one consumed but never can fully realize until you become love.then each moment reveals what other moments lack, the investment of smiles. as she got up in the middle of the night or just stayed wake, mumbling by the window, So much to talk about silently conversating with the dead.as they waited for the morning.

Wondering what you said for real last night. did they do something wrong. is everything always wrong and tide alone stir us each with its own albatroses. after they found grounds to lock her away she wouldnt take the meds, evil little devises dished out by cheap indian doctor who dont care for the language yet have such sympathy for you, but if you listen you are wrong for what tales loves innocents combine to create pains unfathomable and problems so complex, one can not do anything but look with tainted courage, knowing some where in there is the most delicate you know. form becomes us all segerated into camps while bound by shape,size and color some forms think, the more common forms love (or so is the suggestion of beauty) or grossly unhealthy forms of Proust.

Well really they all think but eternal ruts psychological paths are different depending..forms form forms of morals for the temptations. street signs to say what block you are on, but lust and greed and possesion are on every cornor, the angles played and known, fought over and elivated against reasons wtih no guide but survival. forms just accepted, but the sale of beauty of form is econimic preversion, and a classification silent and in control. cause the relivance is a power and super powers are most important in a world of forms until neutrinos. for the focus survives beyond materialism.. and there our hope. the controls never offered. no lusts after me, the cruel heartless force of impending devine purity. spirit is formless. Forms get caught in love accordingly. Some forms learn what possesion is, the tide of others desire open doors and smiling faces the hights of parties by presentes and the lonelyness of she is gone. walk . Form constantly in forming themselves against it, telling self of pure love with glasses lustfully despairing. form hurts so many silently, or loudly. one for the Hellen of Troy, the other the hound of Baskerville, The first cherished then blackened and marred, sold to little girls and boys, and created on the warrior class of black shirts the swarms of sex industrials chemically masturbating a true loves feeling. a enddlessness of projected form, all is fantsy fits one size only,, and plastic card board cut outs of people get blamed in the end. it is not the forms fault for how the form is subjected to irrelivance and discarded for the subliminal suggestions, the possessionn of others, some forget self for the form provides and the spirit withers, for a normal form isn’t cherished except in youth. isn’t taught to

Enertialcall

forget pain with what ever chemicals that drive away self response and belittled personal power, until forgets or walks away. but a form becomes communal without self awakening, the power must come out. watch what words come form understanding. Forms are sectioned off to what can and cant be said. whole industries depriving whole nature you are this. formed. unseen. for the form is whole formless. is form quautum understand simplistic a spirits formless focus energy but there we stop as forms pass through what form is understood to be a solid. Environment kills people listening to themselves such that forms stlyize and dis-reason as an accepted culture, I ill never consider what is uniformed system and geometric. as the element changes so does the premise cave drawing . forms learns what forms are .and tell against raving madness the crimes inflicted, starting with the young , where form is another possession and silence again the mantra how many effected incest and sexual abuse where love has become a spiritual understanding for the cruelty of misunderstanding or the form learns askin/getting understandings are madness.

Hermit crab hand Enertialcall

pg 47

The threefold aspect

of a storm watching the ant children, loosing the ability to lucid dream, and when his mother mentions that he’s ‘always been a bit strange’, acted collectively, with the seed of the blue stone, to create a son via a human woman. She reviewed the day’s work and gesticulated in pardonable self-approbation while her companion kept trying in vain to adapt the swing and longlimbed spider gait of a disheveled old poet. To the three, the humans are the ants. They are only interested in directing the people in such a way that they do not know that they are being directed.

Enertialcall

Three crows watch the white witches from a branch on the old oak tree. The one in the middle shudders, shaking off a bit of fluff from his feathers. He stares in through the window, trying harder than usual, to do the old crow trick and flings his consciousness into the little girl sitting by the fire. the youngest one. the Grandmother ties back her wispy hair and smiles, a soft, sad smile that spreads through the room. Her daughter can feel the weight behind it, while the little girl with the crow behind her eyes waits impatiently for her question to be answered.

“No time now for stories, little one. I’m going to bed. You should be too. C’mere.” The little girl runs over, from his perch the crow can feel warmth from the matronly embrace.

Once she’s gone to bed, Lily looks up at her mom.

“Please, tell me again about aunt Ginnie?”

Her mother sighs, gathers the young girl up in her lap and watches the fire, the yellow-orange flames lapping at the last log left.

“Your aunt Virginia was a girl you never got to meet. She looked just like you, she even had your hair, except hers had a white streak running through it. She was my most favorite person, besides you of course.”

Lily chuckles into a yawn and snuggles up tighter. The crow can feel her tiny body drifting off into the sea of stars, growing more still by the moment.

“How did her hair turn white?”

Her mother strains a smile, crafting the retelling like she’d done so many times.

“On a night, not unlike tonight, she wandered into the old wood, she saw something there that no young woman ought to see.”

“What was it?”

“A faerie procession. At night they gather in the woods, weaving their strange, ancient magic. They long to be alone, away from anyone. Especially grown ups.”

“And she found them?”

“Yes, she did. When she came back, a white streak was frozen in her hair. They left a mark on her for what she had seen.”

“What happened after?”

Ellen looked deep into the fire, searching for the words.

“She was with us for a little while longer, she adored you, she said you were the most beautiful girl she had ever seen.”

“Then what?”

“She walked back into the woods.” Lily opens her eyes and looks up “Did she ever come back out?”

“No sweetheart, she never did. Which is why we must always let the faeries have their wood, we must never go out there at night.”

“Do you think I’ll ever see the faeries?” Ellen smiled “I hope so sweetie, sometime when they wish to be found.”

“But I play out there every day!”

Ellen strokes her hair.

“Shh. Just rest now. It’s time for bed.”

The crow returned to his body. In his mind, he heard the

Lily and the Brother

Crows

by D.L. Manetti brother beside him.

“Is this what you want?”

“It’s what she wants.”

Lily hears the moon calling, a low sound, a quiet murmur that makes her rise out of bed, tip toeing through the hall like a tiny wraith. Her mother’s snores drift intermittently, disturbing the stillness, the resting cabin settling in on itself. Hearing the call again, from deep within her, a resonating pulse, a low bell tolling, it pulls her into the kitchen, shining through the sliding glass door where grandmother hangs stained-glassed crows. The full moon light floods the room, igniting dust particles in her cold glow. Lily watches them drift, tracing her fingers through the beams- under Luna’s light, it feels like she’s swimming through the air. The moon speaks, it’s voice cuts through that energy field. She knows that voice, the way it feels in her blood. She knows she can’t stay in. Not tonight.

She leaves her slippers by the back door, drawing fractal patterns through the energy field with the tips of her little fingers. As she slides the door open, two blue black crows rattle against the glass, sun catchers, her grandma calls them. The grass is cold beneath her, wet, but she doesn’t mind. She can’t take her eyes off Luna. Her legs move, instinctively, unobstructed by judgment or thought, her mind a clear and tranquil open plane, answering the call as it rings within.

The crows watch, turning toward their brother.

“You don’t have to do this.” one says, “Yes, I Do.” He replies.

The fog behind the house hangs suspended, static, unyielding, clinging to everything. She can feel the energy push against her skin, raising goosepimples on her arms. Its chilly, and damp, but surreal too, reminding her of those dreams where she can’t walk quite right, where her body drags and her limbs slog in heavy sluggish movements. The damp forest breathes in on her as she slips down the trails. She looks about for the Moon, whose scattered light shoots down, sticking into the fog, but the lady herself hangs invisible behind harrowing shadows, lost somewhere above the trees.

The cabin has disappeared. She can feel it through the field, knows her mother and grandma are safe, asleep in their warm beds. She imagines she can still hear her mother’s uneven snores. She thinks about turning back.

“Couldn’t be that far”...she looks down at her feet but the fog is so thick it obscures them. “Maybe if I can just turn around...”

The wet earth crumbles under her toes and she slides down in her night dress, about twenty feet, down into the fog, away from the warmth of the cabin and the sweet siren song of mother moon. Tumbling end over end,

Enertialcall

pg 49

brambles reach out and claw her, pulling her down to the earth. Wiping the mud from her eyes, rising slowly in a small clearing, she finds the moon, blinding white, naked without trees to cover it. The moss under her feet comforts the scratches left behind by the brambles. She’s so focused on it, at first she doesn’t hear the tittering behind her.

Slowly, the call from the moon begins to ebb. Her heart strains to hear it, grasping at its last whispers as Luna quiets her celestial murmuring.

All is Silent.

A cloud passes over the moon, covering the world in void.

That’s when they appear, a swarm of black and green wings, fluttering around her, thicker than the fog, imploring her forward. Shuddering, tentative, she stands her ground.

An impossibly strong set of hands pulls her. She shuts her eyes tight, shaking, sweat forming in cold orbs on her pale skin. They set her down. The fog passes through her whole body, chilling her to the core, to the spirit. She tries to wake herself up, like she did sometimes when she had nightmares. Just wake up, she whispers inside her head.

She wills her little eyes open. all Is still.

A gentle whispering begins around Lily as the fog comes alive. She sees tiny faces around her, hears the fluttering of their wings- their language, strange and dead, is unknown to her, but she feels it, the same way she feels the call of the moon pulling the water in her veins- slowly, they begin to sing.

Lily knows she shouldn’t ever be scared. The moon told her so, long ago. But their song is so low, so chilling, it itches her skin, in her heart overflows a terrible nothing. A pure emptiness. It spreads from between her lungs in a sweeping wave of frozen electricity, clawing climbing rending its way from within, tearing her open.

The crows watch her. The middle crow turns to his brothers.

“I’ve made my choice.” He says, flying down, landing just in front of Lily amidst the swarm.

A patch of Luna’s light descends on them in a slow staircase. She feels the faeries swarming her, devouring her, but she doesn’t move. She keeps her eyes shut, focusing on the gentle touch of mother moon’s hand on her head. The hand brushes her hair back.

“It’s alright. Just rest now.”

She opens her eyes. A pale girl sits above her, cradling her head and stroking her hair softly. She sees a shock of pure white hair cascading down.

“What happened?” The girl smiles, suddenly seeming much older, the lines in her face...Lily can feel her aunt Virginia holding her tight.

“It’s alright darling. They have strange rites. They wait for the full moon to bury their dead.”

“It’s you, isn’t it?” the woman rests her hand against Lily’s eyes.

“Shhh...just rest now...be still. Your debt is paid.” [x]

Enertialcall

“Lily! God lily wake up!”

She heard a woman’s voice and opened her eyes to see Ellen standing over her, face weary, eyes strained.

“Lily! Your hair! Are you alright?!”

She sits up, runs her fingers through her hair. There in her hands, a clump of white hairs. Just a little swatch, like an icicle moonbeam.

“Did you see them?”

Lily’s head hurt, splitting from the inside.

She nods.

“I saw her, I saw aunty Virginia...” Ellen’s eyes grow wide.

“Did she tell you?”

Lily shook her head.

“The girl you saw, that’s your mother.”

She hadn’t stopped crying her hot tears when two crows land overhead. One turns to the other, smiling. The other smiles back. They know their brother had done what he thought was right, his body still in the clearing, his bones picked clean, his ribs stained with little green lips.

They bow their heads in one last solemn gesture, then take to the air.

Enertialcall

pg 51

untitled 2 Enertialcall

Another night of sleeplessness and cruel dreams.. another night of sleeplessness and cruel interest in dreams of neighborhoods devoted in darkenss to drugs of all sorts. meth ,crack, herion, prescribed pills and promoted alcohol. , I can only smell my wallet has been stolen or raped of id, My clothing don’t feel mine. I am not me, maybe, but i love to follow the music off somewhere. live and jammed in the infinte of the creations.

All those houses close together like the whole neighborhood was set up just to have the feel of poverty and the artist mixed with addictive life styles have to be plunged together. “Afford this” it says, the broken houses chipping paint and disorder. the narrow lanes and lack of streetlights, emprisoning enviroment.. as I walk wondering where I am but to afraid to ask . i will not further mark myself in this unknown ‘please’, this unwelcomed reality. someone tryes to hand me something to smoke . I can smell the chemicals fumes of plastic and turn away. Walk on , still not knowing where I am going or even why, as I ask someone the way out as I keep walking .

No this isnt a long conversation. never in a million years, are you to get involved when you are alone and new. the delicate words are a curse,, “the kindness of strangers” as a way to be stolen from . to be hurt inside, pained agasint the fall of humanity, until it is your own humanity you are worred about. Until it is u doing the hurting . developing the trend.. you ,who have tried to save your self for so many years against all the inhumanity committed against you . for some reality of energy inside, you the hurter quite by chance and not without albie, which makes no difference. you loving the beast,, the calling of romance. learned through books. for not a kind hand answered crys and romance was the back door lies, Until understanding of god and spirit sighed, you made excuses all the time.. from the anti abortions bombing and Holy Wars which infest the reality of spirtualuality in more. to the human development . when parent became the ideal you looked at though a mirror crack distorted fame. Until you are creating the whole thing, because no where do you see it, and thank your boss for giving you a job while he is also using you for your idealized virtue.. and humanity of a fantasy supported by credit cad companies and some dream which makes you smell good . in my dreams I don’t run.. running shows you dont know where you are going faster,, , so I walk,, the streets are small and filled with humans,, talking in commonality of the drug haze,, a stolen wealth of life, Where other wealth is just dont satify the self killing insticnt the youth alone. this is the richenss they ill fell. this alturnate universe so stationed inside the life they are to be lived , ruled,, conformed to .. this I is the get away, pacing the same streets different in the fine light blue morning a mist watering the ferns, counting what money is left after the night or counting the nights rewards, This the grand vacation.. the travel and romance they have been sold under dim lights and mediated reality, Under economics of a drugged escape that drinking shows coldly against children, drunks dont smile, or escape to where everything is beautiful Like FRagile Rock and sounds are persuasive as truth.. Just like in the movies. and its concise and clear to live in innocents denied, by reality in sobriety. explain to me, global warming , and deisease, you failed. the child learning early to exploit the world denies tolerance of self for system or dies trying to be. Only here will the alloance of time be fullfilled and you are no longer class and faction, only here do we agree “lets get more” as the brain becomes manipulated to the conformity instead of fighting back agaisnt a system of rich and riches, this is was indiviuality for underlings sufferance, the toe and Life . the suppression of self creation for follow the leader. who followed the leader no matter how many more genations pass. in the

by omm aredur

terror-tory of being human.

Strange dreams created of a tooth acke I wake one hour after I have slept the pain wakes me to teeth spreading to the left side of the face solidifing sinsuses, until you can only blame it on a tooth . you tell everyone it is a tooth, but you dont feel the tooth . any more, and the lines to get dental health are to long for it to go away easilly , and they will onlly pull and pull until you can not eat food or you look like you never cared, but it is only the rack of age and sugary fillings to everything, it is fillings which rotted out sugares reveenge in a society of gimmy gimmy gimmy , underfed on processed chemicals. but even as I wake I can still recall the dream, the house seen in an apolicoliptic crisis of normal festival atmostfear. drab cool colored villas, porches with

beer cans and wine jars, sloppy. Closed off front windows with light behind somewhere somewhere there is a road out, and I keep walking , seeing know one, I know, know one I can talk to , I get trapped in a basement , to stoned to remember how I got here, feeling my pockets and feeling the thined out wallet , my id missing , my credit card missing, my thoughts trying to survive by remember how I will repolace what I have lost. it is all just time, so I dont care , time I have, time of occupied conformity is always just the times spent. and for told today hour by hour fortold , days and month spent years followed with years. in the hopeles romance of breathing , so why not the disheartened vactations, why not just letting go and forgetting but something dragge me to awareness, some voice inside saying this is all a trap,, exploited for some rich richy, Addiction allowed and imprisoned over, , who give you the means and take from you the means, if you dont live the live of forgetting... while all you get is “I could have been” the same poisoner who make the escapes in chemical reinvests into private prisons systems. all taking the governmental monies. we call it illegal and lock you

Enertialcall

pg 53

awya, away where we get paid to support the three meals and a cot, then if you are lucky you go back in to the suffereance we call mininum security , where you are even happier to work for less than a third world pay,,, paid american, just to pretend you are free,, and life like you would outsside hoping they are that which you leave , you will return , but will be quieter or involved in the suffereance, and accept the pain as your problems and not the system,, dont look beyond the curtain, dont remember that the rich approve of addictions they control . or admit to controling,, Afganistan has pipelines and oil not poppies.. and I am not to be me,, I am lieing to create,, the abstract voice taken from the remains of thoughts . I am allowed to spell but that which will not be bought,, and pay the limit of creation or not. If you dont pay me does that make it untrue?

Kafka knew no one would accept the metamorphisis.

Reality reply replaced long ago by fantasy, and thinkers retreat to the page. the reality only accept the followers and anyone can take orders from private keys somewhere in the shadows. and you thnk you are so smug. while consuming the next addiction that comes straight at you in the form of technonogy , hidding and escaping with convinance without touch . you travel even less, you shake hands less, how many of your friends have you kissed or known only online. while levels of counth come to understand anyone can spread dissatifation and me ,, even more ovvered hidden.. while disassocaaiting forms the I .

I think to feel but leaving feelings, I think to follow what is wrong with me, living in the dishope. seeing the clouds reveal chemical trials in the sky , I am wrong for exposing self in public so I hid behind plots of crazed minds and disjointed futures. controled educations of the debt which kills, I shall not owe devotes poverty. for nothing is the lie in the third person. and my miss typing is my protection . you will not read if you are not playing or searching.. you will not try and understand , you will leave yourself in that process. some dreams never end. end of page different sheet.

There is no day we are dreaming the night so called to pretend mystery, to have borders as evil. Perchance to step farther is a grave littered with ideas, I will , with this message to you, devote a moment to cry for the mother earth as sea.

I will to the spirit of nature. Become aware. I would to my nature dare, and change , what has been fed to a feeding... alarm me not to yours, I have known it was only a matter of time before what structures are deny by what structures are,, would come. the silent agreement to have to be, posted in non sequitur places with non spectacular language silent like all amounts to a tide when it becomes change. We talk years before mankind changes, in an economic state,, funny the great church of bankers mentions the non banking. the great bankers vision, economics is a crutch. peace is being human, what ever this is bellingham knews.. and welcome the .. the Ukraine thing is a chess move by the Russians . you will never have people other that mother Russia, who have been breeding their forever .. Next this is all a banking movement.

It makes me want to smoke and mirror,, anyway.. their plane that went missing , what flown away no survives?

Venezuela,. I should wait sin on this Look it up.. this moment

Enertialcall

your reading, you have lived time comes of the universal dawn , a time for the known without despair. it is to feel the zeal of moment, but always a moment of deaths knowledge provides what life is continuous all else argues and denies until unity is silent. so under we go ,if you havent ripped me down and I notice the borad is lean, for this is an idea bored,, and if not an idea board, I have been watching. the normal has been to be plastered with places to spend money and tides to forget. the dance,and drinking away to holicost and simemory , the screams of water energy unit to dehydration and we are so that now we could care to be bought off and eliminated form the mind for media will not love us for us, I, for us is a plant consciousness one that grows with water rain, rain on me, the low manipulation of an awarened intellectualied evolution as emotional balance. A world which can kill its self has achieve awareness and finds unity or hids, blinds and dies..

Scrap book that, a wall in the edge, a cornor of where to go, what to be, If ants had civilized we would have sold more gloves , but I still can not find the right size desk, the is another conspirace, “the bastards”,, love it dont fuck it love it dont fuck it. love the world dont fuck it. love her dont fuck her love him dont fuck him..

I love you as much as I love myself.

I love myself repeated a million times between those who never questoned and those that have always.. the guilt of movements the tides learned without teacher, weak minded successfully secure preying on the beautiful and young. love it don’t fuck it love it don’t fuck it. love the world don’t fuck it. love her don’t fuck her love him don’t fuck him..

I love you as much as I love.

Enertialcall society presents.

K.A.Ambrose

Feb. 9th 7:30 pm

Green Frog Bellingham,Wa

Enertialcall

pg 55

Enertialcall

The other side of a peacan

by K.A.Ambrose “Zephyred gray, layered blur, the sky hangs flatly in the minds motion.

Bland colored overcoats, umbrellas, on people down headed, like remorseful Preying Mantis’ speed along. Shielding anguish, passing flashes, all red, red blurs, pink shot quicks, in pose, while jogging left right to avoid the gutters menaced splash; a torrential vision vehicle, reflections of Monet’s Bridge in black and grey. To tell in only gossipy expressions, scenes spewed orange inner pointing statures. Innocuous with borders of sheer free creation juxtaposition as complacent puffs. While it is vengeance with a stoics demeanor, composed in it’s agitated frenzy. A fury contorted peaceful while blood drips easy puddles. Proposed, superficial incrimination thunders in passive immobility. Waiting the coming ariival of spiral winds, accumulations, to tear rips from the body holy.

Their creations justify their purity, flailing wimpish arms as gladdened sacrifices, old in the offering laid on a plateau still, stationary in its age, like the wrinkled softness of an electrically preserved heart” Our one is many ones,one who’s stopped.

Doesn’t move Doesn’t emit reproduced noise; stationary as dirt on a stop sign. Jon. “Banging is emitted. It is a glare. Wrapping the city in sounds, the flapping pigeon wins, rebellious hoarse car roars, Panic ambulance screams, to the bashful whim laughter all sardonic simplicity over alvoistic, crevasse thin high tympani of gray frigid cries of the streets refracted residential s. sighing poisonous arias as loud as death’s civility. “ All alien thought, the homeless, unstable, addicts, artist, all ones addicted to life and some to death Ruling themselves fro themselves. The silent sleepers sheltered nightly or quietly dieing from the hard bent ill society on park curbside or the metro station.

Our Anut Freds, our Uncle Judys siphoning from parked cars.

“To clear their heads” Or the twins, who pull the inherent pranks stationed evolutionarily blind in serial killers.

“You remember the cat how it’s blood seeped into the sidewalk as you cried.

And they made fun of you.” or your brown haired cousin , the Lisper, a little nown parental abuse subject. “who you made fun of” All satisfied themselves themselves.

His hands mumble. “ clay solid structures leather pink stuffed gloves, over worn and dirt embedded, truths staffed to arms proving evolution of belief, as the umbrella clicks, snapping class position, but just a hand, which lies bare palm up for

the eyes spasmodic twitching” Our one breaths softly, slowly adjusting his back closer to the bricks cold. His knees grate his chest. The half crouch, an observed mediation. Passed a total scene in front of the hands spring palm reposed peasantry.

Our one became a preacher who followed his church instead of the reverse. Long ago he held mass on an empty lot, surrounding himself with a closed fence. his flock would come to the edges and tell in preaching unity, all notes without words, summer convergences. Jon remained as a en lightener, others losed track instead. He considers himself stationary against the wind, standing ambiguous of the present as it is ambiguous to it’s self, a stoic future base. Grounding a times Call for need and welfare remembered.

Now our one feels the time to move pushing up to stand.

Stretching to the contrite pose.Shifting to stiff weight, while leaning against the wall, portions ketching streaming shatters to his knitted jacket.

“Over twists. Diagrams spinal, helixing pain, DNA drawing light projectin sparks narrowed down to shards” Erect.

“Shaking twisting falling ketching vision of butterfly lass sculptures breaking on a tile mosaic at full sun.”

Proving his huddling need, the body now surrounded by a cold sweat chill up through toes double wrapped in old socks.

Moving at a slow peacefull speed.

“Ochre swoops pass, excellerated violence, smearing vision with ideal.

Running so as not to find themselves pleading in their own regrets. Sheilding ever shielding, refusing disease, in their malady, fetiousness, their overindulgent sanity. upward images catching droplets perniciously on points off staffing, to watch the semicircular descent, off umbrellas and clean arms, leaving their bodies untouched, uncomprehending, disregarding old sweat, feces, and piss, cigarette butts as any wasted idea. Leaving someone to clean up but never them. passing with thoughts of income and purchase” Ours moves to feed. A shelter tired to time will open soon it’s disciplined doors. Macrooney and cheese day, the burnt taste on tip. But jon is untimely, and the line is formed long.

Unnervingly long, all spoils for the bake. “jon” yelled from somewhere “jon” a twist A shift a maimed consciousness a guile a lie a truth believed in substance” “Glaring lights, sun spanned climax vision, saints flyin mercilessly, hovering over streets paved in chard intertwined Enertialcall

pg 57

sticks, seemingly small mouse bones, Rickety black physical inner wear, cries engulf the streets GIVE RISE TO FREEDOM. Wailed of air pushing , enveloping the spirits lyres into a quizery of replies in tone and nothing. standing amid it all Jon is naked, no reaction to physical skyness of cold. just glimin with posed pluto-ian pious. “jon” contorted in physical illness of shape.Simon says again “jon” Supported by metal crutches he reminds more the noise constant, unheard, thud scrape, thud ,scraping the concrete. A genetic mutant, life from gladdened thoughts “I am not dead” How many better to be, those those totally fit works illed by mind and not physic. Simon has the force of existance we may lose in perfect process and plastic pretense. “gotta cigarette” Simon mumbles to Jon’s negative shake.

More of our fleers.

Sam and Andy, standing just before the entrance, sparking the last drags each from a shared cigarette, Dressed in fatigues, the bleeding bonds, Green brown splotched worried and waring gulfs of truths forgotten. They are joined in their paid price, Drinking to the coming end but mostly for a past war.

“Youth subtracted virginity added to glorified patriotism, mixed slowly with a seductive lover of violent sadism. Drink quells the savage passionate resentment of societal complimentary light speed images,and conscious freudian mortality. Dreaming over battles and bombs, encased echoing mortar shells, machine gun turrets, by approaching parks, over trash labeled Burger Five and please keep our city clean. Brotherhood is a sigh and and inhaled shriek, charging down liquid revulsion and true revolution. To touch the intricacy of ecstasy with a militants waking to god.

And more.

Joan, a feeble old women, long forgotten systems pride, toting large shopping bags, screaming at them as her mothers image to her. “Shelter 1919, food raids, oh guns” Her bags shudder with the wind as reply. “I tell you the story you never listen, Damn you. Fear these dirty men shall not harm you.” Her voice turns softer. “I love you” squeecks out “I love you , don’t please don’t ” legs stumbling into an alley.

The “sane” parasites, call after her. Sammy and the wine crew. all nondescript. worn but alive . Only showing the refuge they’ve taken on mornings without wine. as they slowly start shaking. Talking humbly till the seizures paralyzes and a resounding clunk wakes all to their fall, a skull wrapping kiss on cement. “there she goes” Sammy mentions mutely as the others resolve a bottle. “ain’t no such thing as a free bottle” “yeah there is , I go in and the man he ave me one” “you crazy mother fucker you gave him something.. fool” All soundless to the noise. Harshness emitted from Bmw and more construction noise, From the louds of the street, forgotten lives, Mixing “Thud Scrap” and “you mother” and the ever silent “bombs” All explosive reactions before the quiet shelter door’s inner peace.

Part three Spasmostically slow the doors open, as ours goes in, watching the cold floor wetted in dirt, creating pictures, create, erase, create, in boot mud, a natural expression of the transient. We could deliver it to the Fruedians and the Museum of Fine Arts, each acclaiming the posterity with “tortured designed sculptures of present day minds. showing a perverse acknowledgment of the degradation of society. our has his fee, Humanly looking to his plate a turkey dinner. Freezer of some warehouse emptied for defrosting, desired to provide, To take his bow is a representive in holy cleanliness, high purity, wishes everyone “Happy Thanksgiving” Announcing commercially ‘by Beatrice” AS air passes the entrance, Flowing ice ponds for a holey shoe vengeance.

A clanging of trays lifts our’s thoughts, he looks up…

A shift A twist A maimed consciousness

Enertialcall

A guile A lie A truth believed in substance.

‘Shelter Shelter screams a man. Ours pulls back in fright as well as better view. Veins pulsating on a God crying man, Purple red over lying deep blue straining strains of a solid neck leading a gnarled chin. Under forcefully teared eyes sparked the fleer’s fleeing thoughts in the tightness of area, the tightness of pose, the man is transferring pain to the physical to free the spiritual self by the scream. A soul yell , deep from the diaphragm, projecting out the darkness, expelling the ridicule for the comprehended.

Our view is expanded giving mirth it’s view of an exposed nature. lights buffets the clouds and birds laugh over the breeze gliding on the ebb and currents. Force must be delable and considerate of nature. Looking down, in front of the screamer, falls off the land, three inches from his bare toes. The jagged descent of dreams , a brown earth’s welcome, Death and Peace. Scantily clad our figure jumps, Arms outstretched, legs tucked fetally,welcoming the truths of dualities.”

Metal blurred, tin and aluminum inter mixtures. Plates with spots of food, remains of lunch. Sammy now drunken tap dancer sparks his feet.

Tappclan,crappa tappatpptasappclan. To crashing feet and wild yelling cheers in the self proclaimed “metallic feet in giggles” Filling ears with laughter. The chaotic pounding Cla, tapptapppp, ends Sammy’s dance. Lungs heaving and smiles immediately forgotten. Someone brought the bottle in, A free drink , yet, to sink. Ours goes to the street.

A repetitious cycle can never rest until spiral pointed then .. Can motion stop in a void?

Ours moves, no increased speed but with an extra shadow, The Thud scrape. ours only looks ahead, Partnership stands alone in the way of truth. both exist but unto a bridges construction is solidity. no support is no repression.

Judgment is a caring mans sanity, not a sane man’s caring.

Blocks desist from remembrance.but the “thud, scape” and traffic noise.

A win approaches from the east. It is the bringer, It the faded love’rs voice, shocking, dispelling. Ejecting the reason, Citizens see it, Pushing off their hats, a bully trying to provoke response in safety. Nature of it’s own. imposing, instead of being imposed upon.

Ours has faded with his answers. His praise , His truths, like ourselves .

Swaying with anger love and frustration, like ourselves selves with human maturity instead of humanitarian results.

Nestling in the common foundations of the public library. Lossing the steadying verse, Flying passed the page….

A twist A shift A maimed consciousness A guile A lie A truth believed in substance.

A Spanish harbor, Glaring street lights beam in soft romance with the waters blackened reflection. Two children, dressed in shorts of blue and matching shirts in green.Throw a red ball. which is frozen half way between them.

Never moving in the paralyzed scene.

A tribute of bells rings clearly in echoes off some staunched way. Intertwined with the fresh tone. of a woman’s singing to the nights love and romantic preservation, Melodies off stairs leading to possessions of intoxicated pure surrender. Left to the children in an off beat sync. Make straight harmonies off a small boat slapping at is mooring.

Ours moves through the picture , no injury, The moment captured, never controlled . He looks into the refracted visions. and survives the importance of ready beauty. Weaving pictures of quality, life styles and patience.

Space girl returns Devouring what’s weak and leaving space for what’s strong.

I run my tongue over my lips.

The light still filters, the girl is still breathing into my neck.

It spreads like warm tentacles in the days when Head-in-Clouds still walked.

Enertialcall

pg 59

Enertialcall

WYNTER--NOT JUST A NORMAL GIRL..

by A.L.Peck

Most people know me as Ryder Kane but that is not my real name. I am Wynter Iscariot-Lord. For years I lived with this family that I was led to believe was my blood, my DNA. It was a shitty existence but what could I do? I’ve always been the outcast, the freak, or IT! That’s the name the other kids at school called me.

I’m 15 years old with raging uncontrollable hormones blinding me. “What the fuck is going on with me?” on earth I’m an awkward teenager when in fact I am much much older as I am immortal and let me tell you it’s a hell of a mind fuck finding out who you really are...more about my true origins later...

Samael who I believed was my little brother up and vanished one day and my “parents” blamed me for it as it was my job to watch him but who wants to babysit all of the time? I damn sure didn’t that’s for damn sure. I turned around one day and he wasn’t there. I was flooded by panic and guilt! I searched for him night and day going places I never dare go and still no Sam...not even the cops could find him it was as though the earth had swallowed him whole. He was sweet kid but disturbed and thought he was a dog so he never spoke he just barked and panted. Yet we some how knew what he wanted. I’ve been riding buses for the past month trying to find Sam. I couldn’t stop looking for him.

Along my travel I have met some pretty strange characters. I thought I saw him just standing on the side walk barking as the bus drove by and I begged the driver to stop finally he did and I went tearing ass to find Sam and went into the video store which is where I thought I saw him. I went through that place like a hurricane looking for him but he wasn’t there. Was it my imagination or had I nodded off and saw him in a dream?

I had to lock my heart and desire to have a normal life with friends and a boyfriend but it was my journey to find him no matter what. I drown out the horrible way I was treated at home and at school. The kids at school called me a boy with a vagina because I’m small in stature and don’t have huge boobs...the nasty little fuckers! I’ll make them choke on those words once I find Sam. Apart of me knows that he’s gone but it was my fault so it’s up to me to find him even if that means freezing hell and scorching heaven. I had a weak moment and needed someone to care about me even if it turns out to be nothing but a fantasy.

There was a boy a cool outcast that I fell for. How stupid of me! He was sooooo gorgeous and I thought he cared about me but that was a lie. He picked me up in his arms and carried me out to his car where I lost my virginity in the backseat. He stuck his cock inside me and told me that he loved me in that order and I was blown away completely. That sweet pinch of pain when he entered me made me shiver and I broke out in an icy sweat covered with goose bumps. When we were done he opened up the car door and kicked me out without saying a word. He lit a cigarette then he drove away.

Still no sign of Sam he’s gone and as much as it kills me, I have to accept the fact that he’s never coming back. All that I can do is hope that he’s safe and being taken care of by someone else. As if things couldn’t get worse, I find out I’m pregnant.

The last thing I need is to be a teenage mother but part of me believes that if Sam is really dead that his soul is within this child growing inside of me. And it’s hard to know which way is up or what’s real.

As I lie alone in my bed curled up in the fetal position holding onto my pillow tightly the temperature in my bedroom becomes arctic. I can see my breath like a foggy mist. My room begins shaking violently, the first thing that came to mind was an earth quake. So I tried to get up and check but was held down by an unseen force. The left side of my wall split open and out came a tall man wearing black from head to toe. His face was very pale with ethereal clear blue eyes. he spoke to me telepathically and told me that he was my real father. That he’d stolen me from the arms of my mother because he wanted me to have a normal life. He was trying to protect me from the war that my family was waging against one another for dominion of the human species. My head was spinning like a top and it was hard to take it all in until he showed me that Sam was with them. He explained that Sam was here to protect and watch over me. The other side of my family had taken him to get to me so my father intervened and now they’re coming after me. My father kissed me on my forehead when he did this all of the memories of who I am, where I come from.

I often had dreams of my home planet and never felt human.

Now I know who I really am! Wynter Iscariot-Lord though my real name can never be told to a single soul. He then reached inside of my womb and ripped the child growing inside of me like a parasitic tumor. The pain was unbearable yet I could not scream, only tears spilled from my confused eyes as I watched my wound heal as though nothing had happened. He held up this bloody screeching thing in his hand crushing it’s tiny shell before eating it. Told me that thing inside of me was a ticking time bomb set to explode and kill my human body sending me back to my home planet that is beyond the reach of the know universe. As soon as he appeared poof he was gone, the room returned to normal temperature the violent shaking and the split in my wall sealed. I leap from my bed and opened the door to see if anything had changed and it had. There was no sign that Sam ever existed, no photos that used to line the house, his bedroom was now a den. I asked Nora and Marc what happened to Samael they just looked at me like I had snakes growing out of my head (maybe they were, I don’t know) and asked them where was Sam’s things and his room? They said “Who is Sam? Did you have another nightmare?” I just walked back into my bedroom slammed the door and cried myself to sleep hoping all of this was just a dream but it wasn’t.

Wynter: Not a normal girl part 2 Wynter returns to school.

I didn’t get much sleep last night all I could do was toss and turn at the revelations into my identity and all it entailed. The battles in ethereal several different planes and in multiple dimensions. Seeing my blood on both sides slaying on another

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pg 61

for the sake of humankind. Their broken, macerated bodies whose faces are contorted and frozen in their death gaze. Yes, we’re an immortal species but there are far worse things than death such as banishment’s and abject horrors and cruelty beyond the comprehensions of your slowly evolving minds. Maybe that’s for the best because, if you could see what I see you’d be running to your nearest and dearest gun and ammo place to stock up and hold the fort for as long as possible all the while thinking that you’re

going to be one of the few to survive. The memories of being torn from my mother’s arms while she nursed me send a sensation of dread through me like a gravedigger constructing my possible demise. On one hand I can understand why he did, it to protect me from the madness of this civil war my family has been fighting for a millennium and more over you. Some of my family wants to save you while the other wants nothing more than you see the end of your species in one fell swoop. On the other hand, I wonder about my mother and how she feels about it all of this and whether or not she knows that I’m still alive.

My mind is racing and all of the synapses firing on full throttle connecting in ways that I’ve never experienced.

I keep seeing flashes of a life that I’ve never lived before and yet feel as though I have. I look down at my naked body while in the shower run my hands over my womb and scream quietly while remembering the pain as it was ripped out of me and getting back at the fucker who did this to me... I would rather feel the crazed unease of hormonal changes due to puberty than this. Think about it for a moment and ask yourself, if everything, you’d been told and led to believe for as long as you can remember turns out to be nothing more than an elaborate lie how would you cope? I’m not doing well at coping with this but I’ve no choice but to carry on and adapt to the rampant misshapen life of mine, knowing that none of it were true.

If they were all lies then what am I? Just another lie, the price of doing business? I stood in the shower scrubbing with all of my might in an attempt of wash all of this away scrapping the inside of my vaginal canal raw. Still all this did was remove several layers of dermis and agitated a few vessels under my skin leaving behind a mosaic of bruises and pinpricks of blood seeping through my pores like tears I could no longer shed.

I got dressed and headed out to school just like any other day but this time I had to take care of things and some people where going to get hurt but nothing more than they deserved and of course the cousin that I didn’t even know who impregnated me with that thing. He is the first of my kind that I’ll have to fight and though I may be small… well you know the saying “Great things come in small packages.” I pushed open the school doors to as if they were nothing and I’m talking about steel fire doors here and remembering the clanging sound of it startling those Enertialcall

standing in the hallway.

Alexia and her goons of mean girls surround me like something out of a Bruce Lee film and those not circling me where chanting “Fight…fight… Fight!” Alexia got close to my face and began sniffing me like a dog. “Hey ‘Boy Pussy’ smells like you could use a douche and make that shit smell a bit better.”

I looked back and smirked.

“Well, if I had as many STD’s and STI’s as you then I’d be able to smell rotten pussy. But then again I don’t just allow any scum into my velvet box.” I grabbed the weakest member of the drones and forced her onto her knees while shoving her face into Alexia’s crotch.

“Look at this bitch and tell her exactly what she smells like down there.” Alexia was both enraged and embarrassed as she tried to move away from her drone. I applied enough pressure to her neck and skull while invisible tendrils bore into the part of the brain that controls the senses and I amped them to the keen senses of a Georgia Bloodhound. The drone shouted out “Her cunt stinks of rotten garbage and carpet cleaner.” Before the drone could utter the last part of her sentence everyone around could smell what she did and all but her drones backed away covering their stingy eyes and runny noses.

With the crowd cleared by the noxious fumes, Alexia felt brave or was it stupidity? I don’t know nor do I really care at this moment.

She shoved aside her drone Pippa who was still on her knees begging and pleading with Alexia to forgive her all the while saying that she doesn’t know how or why she’d said those things. “Oh shut up Pippa.” She barked.

“It’s you and me now bitch! I’m going to fucking kill you…you freak!” she took a few swipes at me and even allowed her to connect on one. She’d given me a good crack in the mouth and was giggling and taunting me more. I rose up and held out my right hand. Remember those invisible tendrils I told you about? Turns out, I can do more with them that I was aware... The thrust of my hand sent her reeling into the metal lockers behind her knocking her unconscious and forcing the retainer from her mouth into that of another one of her drones.The girl totally freaked out and started screaming and tapping her feet in a frenzy to get the retainer out of her mouth as it was beginning to affix itself to her mouth. The edges now pointed and barbed ripping and tearing the flesh of her mouth and stabbing her tongue.

She let out a ghastly scream as dark blood gushed from her mangled mouth. I could hear the teachers coming to investigate and snapped my fingers slowly everything down.

I whispered in to Alexia’s ear that if she didn’t back off and leave me alone the next time this would be for real. Snap.

Snap! Everything was back to normal leaving Alexia and her drones had warned and looking around to see what just happened to them though I erased any sign of carnage, I did leave them with the vivid memories of what actually took place instead of what they see now. Off in search of my dear cousin. I can smell him he’s close…

I slip my hand away

from the right path, for which the ghostly souls are forever grateful, with white bleached bones and rolling eyeballs, to their ready-made scowling visages, with strings of thought pearls around slender necks they rise and look at every step and believe it is a dream on which the pearls, drowned out of sight in milk energy and love, are left behind.

Enertialcall

pg 63

this has been and Enertiacall,,,

It is not for me to wond

of forgiveness, I will not be that function and system of marred and eroded, to bow to er the words

so

slavery maining bound to ideas like foulness re ugh economicsmy, sucbyhand and promoted thro neighbor but my customer jbg iftgerm us iyr

me, abd tet m cab we be abttgu

that my neighbor is not my me, I am not I can victim, ie separate from sell partner. My cheat them if can stop the nothing.

nothing them.. There to stand alone as s and score cards y me registered in football ism onl r So what listening, to hea esses please me if I have been drinking, the exc with sexual intent, you can tell devils, war and the reading and read re reading , I am to sit on my one percent ruling ,, clasthe of lists k documenting the idea peace , and so many other boo n tragidey left ll where the eductaed amercia sic. Of mice and men might fulfi but I hate color,, at Moby,, .. I hate being white.. off, guesss my nimble logic of the white people ng, cari we are whole respect and all, for we are clear in unity, second cless, the e wer we st,, arti didnt like the in which my little town was all.. in lity terms of the world again questions civi my age of growing reminds as n think of the eve to ught, for we are repressed color and not free liberty of tho Dec twenty is day To n. ctio ing in another dire weather without the winds kick in america,, Now announces Iboli release in a lab, five at eight 12pm , and NPR iday to be used hol h planning for the date.. eac what would it get to know.. the for globalons reas the ate owned, to instill by the ninty five percent corpor

ning for life. . and tehre we look for our art, there is teh divideing lines between great and just for the fuck of it.. there is wehre we dont question any more the reason why ,m, but have to continuiouosly recite them inside quietely listing of the radio.. watching as one things goes on for another to be hidden,, wathing as an announce republichian sweep three weeks befroe the elections. which ofcourse helped the republican voite even more , they love to be on the winning side.. j.. thell them its going to be a landslid and theyll show. I and sorry are you a republican,, i know so was lincon, you dont have to shoot a pressident to stop him for make

is barel

h y invovled in government, it seems.. while you held not since 1029 “hey wasn’t that right before the first great depression? no stupid that was the star that was went the nazis were living in holliwood, or some such thing. of..

I can not hear the typing any more , for the noise in my head is enough to droubnd me , the excesses of gmos, and water floridie, the cimes of fire fauscets. out for this,, in

I am wit;; alwasty be , the fool , the artist the charactyer amoung the ruins of caring, the passions of learning and trying to bes..

I want a me,, spiritualized and excited,, by life, with theater and hope every wehre, some where there is a mid evil barn with my name on it,, but I have no more mind thatn the vibrational perspective i have and and can under stand, for in that I realize change, change is th and teh ways of person metal hygene and cleaning of sub conscious path ways , sniapes , medational. I stare inot for some thing to do on saturday night, me and the trillions of atonms of my skin and bowels and souls and toes. isms, health each a light of . each a self. who wants to work for the moves, each an astrological sign and graivtation whave energy , each a while. as such, so , from me to a realtion ship,, our spiirts with a mini- touch more ahan we know. on the minimal. you have touched re whe ry Eve ket? mar free A little more uld only make me by reading, and I thak you. the slow plant growth that we an agreed standard.. we all sho all.. for , life of d dar mum stan a money and raise life personally for to me proves love. and hope ,, such that the extr the for ry mar we ily. fam per r only fourty thousand a yea ction. the new enertialcall is teh ballence, and there is needs to be, things of our lifes by showing up to fun good children, we provided for sing projects.. enviroment to help,, inspire and ,, we are there for no more. hou ling homes with the off grid solar plant , or go off to remode portion goes thatn that. inspre and love. .. but the solotude is getting to me, tras ate priv cars of people when or maybe we drive the electron e,, serv we the low pborn ness of my heart, waiting around cornors for the power plant , but away, or, go bike at the pedal leness nature who a wn. kno the w kno to re One can only remember the futu can feel the fumatter the mediated forces we no , that in and us, in tes passi crea caring.. that as y eas as is anding of peace tures. and maybe the underst

,, enviroment,, peace.

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