From max@sentex.net Wed Jan 16 09:10:31 2002 Date: Sun, 26 Aug 2001 14:01:16 -0400 From: Sylvia Morscher To: tom jennings Subject: Re: old files tom jennings wrote: > Sure, I'd love to have old files! Its funny how disk space > doesn't matter at all anymore, and the real problem isn't > storing, but retreiving! > [ Part 2: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj Fri Dec 10 06:08:37 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Fri, 10 Dec 93 07:43:52 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA10403; 10 Dec 93 06:08:37 EST (Fri) Received: from fido.wps.com ([140.174.77.1]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <54844(5)>; Fri, 10 Dec 1993 05:08:25 -0500 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA10193; Fri, 10 Dec 93 02:06:53 -0800 From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9312101006.AA10193@wps.com> Subject: Alan To: max@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell) Date: Fri, 10 Dec 1993 05:06:52 -0500 In-Reply-To: from "Sylvia Maxwell" at Dec 8, 93 03:48:27 pm X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 2844 Hi, I'm Alan. Hear me speak! Here is my .plan file: I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel train stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention. I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, I write award-winning operas, I manage time efficiently. Occasionally, I tread water for three days in a row. I woo women with my sensuous and godlike trombone playing, I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru. Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants. I play bluegrass cello, I was scouted by the Mets, I am the subject of numerous documentaries. When I'm bored, I build large suspension bridges in my yard. I enjoy urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, after school, I repair electrical appliances free of charge. I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Critics worldwide swoon over my original line of corduroy evening wear. I don't perspire. I am a private citizen, yet I receive fan mail. I have been caller number nine and have won the weekend passes. Last summer I toured New Jersey with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration. I bat .400. My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles. Children trust me. I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening. I know the exact location of every food item in the supermarket. I have performed covert operations for the CIA. I sleep once a week; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation in Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do not apply to me. I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills are all paid. On weekends, to let off steam, I participate in full-contact origami. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a Mouli and a toaster oven. I breed prizewinning clams. I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin. I have played Hamlet, I have performed open-heart surgery, and I have spoken with Elvis. But I have not yet gone to a Grateful Dead concert. Last update: 12/2/93 Alan B. Clegg (abc@interpath.net) -- Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork [ Part 3: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!uunet.ca!ucscb.UCSC.EDU!sciww Mon Dec 20 22:11:05 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Tue, 21 Dec 93 01:02:10 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA29864; 20 Dec 93 22:11:05 EST (Mon) Received: from fido.wps.com ([140.174.77.1]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <53686(4)>; Mon, 20 Dec 1993 20:33:34 -0500 Received: from ucscb.UCSC.EDU by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA00894; Mon, 20 Dec 93 17:32:52 -0800 Received: by ucscb.UCSC.EDU (5.65/1.34) id AA20914; Mon, 20 Dec 93 17:32:10 -0800 Date: Mon, 20 Dec 1993 20:32:10 -0500 From: sciww@ucscb.UCSC.EDU (Michael-Jay Demarco Conui) Message-Id: <9312210132.AA20914@ucscb.UCSC.EDU> To: shit-list@fido.wps.com, tomj@wps.com Subject: Re: People like this should be KILLED Ooooooh- icky! Tom, that *was* gross. Nasty. It should be taken out back, and put out of our misery!!! Happy Fucken Genocide, --Deke [ Part 4: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj Fri Dec 10 18:08:48 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Fri, 10 Dec 93 19:21:22 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA01515; 10 Dec 93 18:08:48 EST (Fri) Received: from fido.wps.com ([140.174.77.1]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <54984(2)>; Fri, 10 Dec 1993 16:18:04 -0500 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA00725; Fri, 10 Dec 93 13:17:51 -0800 From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9312102117.AA00725@wps.com> Subject: Re: Cu Digest, #5.89 (fwd) To: max@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell) Date: Fri, 10 Dec 1993 16:17:50 -0500 In-Reply-To: from "Sylvia Maxwell" at Dec 8, 93 03:48:27 pm X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 2071 > What is CPSR? I like their/its article. Computer Professionals for Social responsibility. A branch of liberalism that actually works. They're OK people, evenif they wear pinstripe shirts. > Have you written an autobiography lately? Even a small one! The > world NEEDS heros. All we've got for heros are politicians and > football players from television. We could get some heroines/heros > from the net instead, and more interesting ones. Heroes are what got us into this mess! People who do things as examples, OK, but hero implies too much reverence... I'm sure even the budha picked his nose and was rude to his guests now and then... > I guess we have some pretty good music idols from the radio. But if > us newbies don't get to hear the anarcho/fag history of the net, we > might think it all comes from Clinton, or Winter! Yes, that is a danger... the people who are fanatical about this history nonsense are the ones that define it! Winter! He's almost funny! Clinton -- he's a scary, friendly fascist. I can't seem to get started on the linear history narrative sorta thing, ficton or otherwise. I keep thinking of writing a "history of FidoNet" as pure fiction. Write it as I'd like to believe it, complete with gross inconsistencies, drifting off, tangents, etc and doing it straight-faced (not without humor though, sick humor) and passing it off as linear history. Those that gets it, will. converse. > I'm sending something else in the mail: > a small book that no-one likes but me. Got it in a thrift store. > i think it's marvellous, it's perfectly grotesque, like my fave > T-pot which is large with purple, green and turquoise snail-shapes > moulded on it. No-one seems to appreciate my T-pot either. Nobody gets my aesthetic either. Not even Josh. I had visual aesthetics trained out of me in public school (like most people) so it's goten more complicated. -- Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork [ Part 5: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj Sat Dec 18 00:10:31 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Sat, 18 Dec 93 03:14:35 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA00778; 18 Dec 93 00:10:31 EST (Sat) Received: from fido.wps.com ([140.174.77.1]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <53801(3)>; Sat, 18 Dec 1993 00:01:50 -0500 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA00355; Fri, 17 Dec 93 21:01:22 -0800 From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9312180501.AA00355@wps.com> Subject: Hey! To: sylvia@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell) Date: Sat, 18 Dec 1993 00:01:21 -0500 X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 2493 Hey! I got your package yesterday. (Turns out -- our doorbell was broken a week ago, and the Postal Service left the little yellow notice. So the doorbell gets fixed, I request redelivery, ad arrives a week late...) I like it a lot! You should sneak out in the middle of the night and paint giant murals on ths sides of buildings to surprise people in the morning. The leafy-smokey-rubble on her right and flamey-leafs tickling her cunt (cunt -- a local columnist sex advice person, Ask Isadora, utterly cool person, had a long-standing request for (new) names for female genitalia, what with all the frat-boy "pussy" etc -- and lo! -- many found 'cunt' to be ... somehow, almost neutral (keep in mind we have lots of uppity dykes saying printing cunt cunt cunt lovingly and harshly both (nearly all in fun)), and it's not a dimimutive-of-a-mans-thing, or an inamimate object, or put-down word (except by (usually) men who say "you cunt!" meaning "you woman!" like calling someone a "girl" etc) -- and found 'cunt' favored over all the revisionist and terminally cute "new" names, none of which I can recall -- cunt) which she is obviously enjoying -- arched plant or oily rainbow behind her -- All my roommates immediately loved it, and said "hey if you dont want it give it to me!" (not knowing it's origins, and assuming I would hate anything art-y) (because I usually hate Art (as in Pretentious Artifice) except my friend Diet's friend Art Debris, he's OK when he remembers to take his drugs)). So I waited a whole day. It looks like it's been hanging there a long time! Certainly it will. Thanks!!! Hey, do you get lots of e-type junk? Wanna be on my SHIT-LIST? It's just stuff along the way my friend Flesh and (mostly) I find, that's deemed worth repeatign... I try to keep it fun, not too techie (except where it has broader interest), sick humor (but not generally tasteless), that sort of thing... might even be editorial or filler fodder... there's only a half dozen people on the list. BTW, try gopher wps.com sometime. Flesh, our new intern here at The Little Garden, has been working on the gopher server. It's actually kinda nice. It's a continuous work in progress. We're gonna do a WorldWideWeb server. I'm moving the TLG stuff onto it's own machine, so mine will be free! free! to do my own thing swith... -- Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork [ Part 6: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!shitlist Sun Dec 19 20:15:19 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Mon, 20 Dec 93 06:56:29 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA14068; 19 Dec 93 20:15:19 EST (Sun) Received: from fido.wps.com ([140.174.77.1]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <56063(5)>; Sun, 19 Dec 1993 18:58:43 -0500 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA07659; Sun, 19 Dec 93 15:58:18 -0800 From: shitlist@wps.com (Shit List archiver) Message-Id: <9312192358.AA07659@wps.com> Subject: THE PEOPLE WITH HOLES IN THEIR HEADS [or, you asked for it...] (fwd) To: sylvia@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca Date: Sun, 19 Dec 1993 18:58:17 -0500 X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 13443 Forwarded message: >From tomj Fri Dec 17 13:45:23 1993 From: tomj (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9312172145.AA22787@wps.com> Subject: THE PEOPLE WITH HOLES IN THEIR HEADS [or, you asked for it...] To: shitlist (Shit List archiver) Date: Fri, 17 Dec 1993 13:45:22 -0800 (PST) X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 13017 Forwarded message: >From tomj Fri Dec 17 13:05:46 1993 From: tomj (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9312172105.AA22531@wps.com> Subject: THE PEOPLE WITH HOLES IN THEIR HEADS [or, you asked for it...] To: shit-list Date: Fri, 17 Dec 1993 13:05:39 -0800 (PST) X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 12452 THE PEOPLE WITH HOLES IN THEIR HEADS Amanda Feilding lives in a charming flat looking over London's river with her companion, Joey Mellen, and their infant son, Rock. She is a successful painter, and she and Joey have an art gallery in a fashionable street of the King's Road. Another of her talents is for politics. At the last two General Elections she stood for Parliament in Chelsea, more than doubling her vote on the second occasion from 49 to 139. It does not sound much, but the cause for which she stands is unfamiliar and lacks obvious appeal. Feilding and her voters demand that trepanning operations be made freely available on the National Health. Trepanation means cutting a hole in your skull. The founder of the trepanation movement is a Dutch savant, Dr Bart Hughes. In 1962 he made a discovery which his followers proclaim as the most significant in modern times. One's state and degree of consciousness, he realized, are related to the volume of blood in the brain. According to his theory of evolution, the adoption of an upright stance brought certain benefits to the human race, but it caused the flow of blood through the head to be limited by gravity, thus reducing the range of human consciousness. Certain parts of the brain ceased or reduced their functions while others, particularly those parts relating to speech and reasoning, became emphasized in compensation. One can redress the balance by a number of methods, such as standing on one's head, jumping from a hot bath into a cold one, or the use of drugs; but the wider consciousness thus obtained is only temporary. Bart Hughes shared the common goal of mystics and poets in all ages: he wanted to achieve permanently the higher level of vision, which he associated with an increased volume of blood in the capillaries of the brain. The higher state of mind he sought was that of childhood. Babies are born with skulls unsealed, and it is not until one is an adult that the bony carapace is formed which completely encloses the membranes surrounding the brain and inhibits their pulsations in repsonse to heart-beats. In consequence, the adult loses touch with the dreams, imagination and intense perceptions of the child. His mental balance becomes upset by egoism and neuroses. To cure these problems, first in himself and then for the whole world, Dr Huges returned his cranium to something like the condition of infancy by cutting out a small disc of bone with an electric drill. Experiencing immediate beneficial effects from this operation, he began preaching to anyone who would listen to the doctrine of trepanation. By liberating his brain from its total imprisonment in his skull, he claimed to have restored its pulsations, increased the volume of blood in it and acquired a more complete, satisfying state of consciousness than grown-up people normally enjoy. The medical and legal authorities reacted to Huges's discovery with horror and rewarded him with a spell in a Dutch lunatic asylum. Joseph Mellen met Bart Huges in 1965 in Ibiza and quickly became his leading, or rather one and only, disciple. Years later he wrote a book called _Bore Hole_, the contents of which are summarized in its opening sentence: 'This is the story of how I came to drill a hole in my skull to get permanently high.' ...(a few paragraphs detail Joseph Mellen's early experiments with LSD, and how he finds out about Bart Huges.) The time came when Joey felt he had preached enough and that he now had to act. He did not agree with Holingshead that the third eye was merely a figure of speech, believing in its physical attainment through self-trepanation. Support for this can be found in archaeology. Skulls of ancient people all over the world give evidence that their owners were skillfully trepanned during their lifetimes, and many of these appear to have been of noble or priestly castes. The medical practice of trepanation was continued up to the present century in treatment of madness, the hole in the skull being seen as a way of relieving pressure on the brain or letting out the devils that possessed it. By his scientific explanation of the reasons for the operation, Bart Huges had removed it from the area of superstition, and Joey Mellen proposed to be the second person to perform it on himself in the interest of enlightenment. Bart had become a close friend of Amanda Feilding, and they went off to Amsterdam together while Joey took care of Amanda's flat. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for to bore a hole in his head. The most gripping passages in _Bore Hole_ describe his various attempts to complete the operation. They are also extremely gruesome, and those who lack medical curiosity would do well to read no further. Yet to those who might contemplate trepanation for and by themselves, Joey's experiences are a salutary warning. It should be empahasized that neither he, Bart nor Amanda has ever recommended people to follow their example by performing their own operations. For years they have been looking for doctors who would understand their theories and would agree to trepan volunteer patients as a form of therapy Strangely enough, not one member of the medical profession has been converted. In a surgical store Joey found a trepan instrument, a kind of auger or cork- screw designed to be worked by hand. It was much cheaper and, Joey felt, more sensitive than an electric drill. Its main feature was a metal spike, surrounded by a ring of saw-teeth. The spike was meant to be driven into the skull, holding the trepan steady until the revolving saw made a groove, after which it could be retracted. If all went well, the saw-band should remove a disc of bone and expose the brain. Joey's first attempt at self-trepanation was a fiasco. He had no previous medical experience, and the needles he had bought for administering a local anaesthetic to the crown of his head proved to be too thin and crumpled up or broke. Next day he obtained some stouted needles, took a tab of LSD to steady his nerves and set to in earnest. First he made an incision to the bone, and then applied the trepan to his bared skull. But the first part of the operation, driving the spike into the bone, was impossible to accomplish. Joey described it as like trying to uncork a bottle from the inside. He realized he needed help and telephoned Bart in Amsterdam, who promised he would come over and assist at the next operation. This plan was frustrated by the Home Office, which listed Dr Huges as an undesirable visitor to Britain and barred his entry. Amanda agreed to take his place. Soon after her return to London she helped Joey re-open the wound in his head and, by pressing the trepan with all her might against his skull, managed to get the spike to take hold and the saw- teeth to bite. Joey then took over at cranking the saw. Once again he had swallowed some LSD. After a long period of sawing, just as he was about to break through, he suddenly fainted. Amanda called an ambulance and he was taken to hospital, where horrified doctors told him that he was lucky to be alive and that if he had drilled a fraction of an inch further he would have killed himself. The psychiatrists took a particular interest in his case, and a group of them arranged to examine him. Before this could be done, he had to appear in court on a charge of possessing a small amount of cannabis. The magistrate demanded another psychiatrist's report and demanded him for a week in prison. There followed a period of embarrassment as the rumour went round London that Joey Mellen had trepanned himself, whereas in fact he had failed to do so. As soon as possible, therefore, he prepared for a third attempt. Proceeding as before, but now with the benefit of experience, he soon found the groove from the previous operation and began to saw through the sliver of bone separating him from enlightenment or, as the doctors had predicted, instant death. What followed is best quoted from _Bore Hole_. 'After some time there was an ominous sounding schlurp and the sound of bubbling. I drew the trepan out and the gurgling continued. It sounded like air bubbles running under the skull as they were pressed out. I looked at the trepan and there was a bit of bone in it. At last! On closer inspection I saw that the disc of bone was much deeper on one side than on the other. Obviously the trepan had not been straight and had gone through at one point only, then the piece of bone had snapped off and come out. I was reluctant to start drilling again for fear of damaging the brain membranes with the deeper part while I was cutting through the rest or of breaking off a splinter. If only I had an electric drill it would have been so much simpler. Amanda was sure I was through. There seemed no other explanation for the schlurping noises I decided to call it a day. At the time I thought that any hole would do, no matter what size. I bandaged up my head and cleared away the mess.' There was still doubt in his mind as to whether he had really broken through and, if so, whether the hole was big enough to restore pulsation to his brain. The operation had left him with a feeling of wellbeing, but he realized that it could simply be from relief at having ended it. To put the matter beyond doubt, he decided to bore another hole at a new spot just above the hairline, this time using an electric drill. In the spring of 1970, Amanda was in America and Joey did the operation alone. He applied the drill to his forehead, but after half and hour's work the electric cable burnt out. Once again he was frustrated. An engineer in the flat below him was able to repair the instrument and next day he set out to finish the job. 'This time I was not in any doubt. The drill head went at least an inch deep through the hole. A great gush of blood followed my withdrawal of the drill. In the mirror I could see the blood in the hole rising and falling with the pulsation of the brain.' The result was all he had hoped for. During the next four hours he felt his spirits rising higher until he reached a state of freedom and serenity which he claims, has been with him ever since. For some time now he had been sharing a flat with Amanda, and when she came back from America she immediately noticed the change in him. This encouraged her to join him on the mental plane by doing her own trepanation. The operation was carefully recorded. She had obtained a cine-camera, and Joey stood by, filming, as she attacked her head with an electric drill. The film shows her carefully at work, dressed in a blood-spattered white robe. She shaves her head, makes an incision in her head with a scalpel and calmly starts drilling. Blood spurts as she penetrates the skull. She lays aside the drill and with a triumphant smile advances towards Joey and the camera. Ever since, Joey and amanda have lived and worked together in harmony. From the business of buying old prints to colour and resell, they have progressed to ownership of the Pigeonhole Gallery and seem reasonably prosperous. They have also started a family. There is nothing apparently abnormal about them, and many of their old friends agree in finding them even more pleasant and contented since their operations. There is plenty of leisure in their lives, mingled with the kind of activities they most enjoy. These of course include talking and writing about trepanation. They have lectured widely in Europe and America to groups of doctors and other interested people, showing the film of Amanda's self-operation, entitled _Heartbeat in the Brain_. It is generally received with awe, the sight of blood often causing people to faint. At one showing in London a film critic described the audience 'dropping off their seats one by one like ripe plums'. Yet it was not designed to be gruesome. The soundtrack is of soothing music, and the surgical scenes alternate with some delightful motion studies of Amanda's pet pigeon, Birdie, as a symbol of peace and wisdom." Bill jacobs I've got seven holes in my skull. _______________________________________________________________________ William Jacobs | Someday we'll look back on all this Astronomy Dept., San Diego State and plow into a parked car. bjacobs@ucssun1.sdsu.edu -- Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork -- Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork [ Part 7: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!shitlist Sun Dec 19 20:15:29 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Mon, 20 Dec 93 06:56:34 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA14082; 19 Dec 93 20:15:29 EST (Sun) Received: from fido.wps.com ([140.174.77.1]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <56068(4)>; Sun, 19 Dec 1993 18:59:01 -0500 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA07665; Sun, 19 Dec 93 15:58:28 -0800 From: shitlist@wps.com (Shit List archiver) Message-Id: <9312192358.AA07665@wps.com> Subject: Joanna Went! (fwd) To: sylvia@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca Date: Sun, 19 Dec 1993 18:58:28 -0500 X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 6842 Forwarded message: >From tomj Sat Dec 18 13:56:03 1993 From: tomj (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9312182155.AA03156@wps.com> Subject: Joanna Went! To: shit-list Date: Sat, 18 Dec 1993 13:55:57 -0800 (PST) X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 6486 Wow! Josh found a flyer a few weeks ago that read: 1993 anti-christmas SPECTACULAR! featuring LA performance diva and splatter performance legend JOHANNA WENT international noise combo POO POO BOMB with MATTHEW & REJOICE! PIBLOKTO! and special guest: RODNEY HORROR! NOISE! MESS! RELIGION! At the Purple Onion, north beach, etc 10 pm Friday, December 17th $5 The Purple Onion is an ancient 50's jazz club or something, actually a really neat place; a small stage, with booths and tables around it, and a dance floor in front of the stage. Bar (beer & wine) in one corner. It's in a basement. Very cozy. Piblokto opened. 1982 new wave! Guitarist in a bunny suit, bass player wrapped in wrapping paper (ribbons and all), woman drummer, and woman singer in a sheer brown "doe" costume. She was actually better than her band, which was rather uninspired in spite of the costumes. But it really sounded like the B side of some 7" punk single you'd find fallen down inside the wall of some South of Market warehouse. Matthew and Rejoice were two guys in waiter/religious proseletyzer drag (black pants and shoes, white shirt, slicked back hair, restrained and overly cheerful demeanor, little gold crosses) who did umm, basically one of those Jee-zus gosh-golly stage shows. They went through the audience handing out Chick comics ("THE ANGELS") and giving sincere handshakes. Back on stage, they lip-synced to religous theme songs (sung by children...), gushed about Jesus said to Timothy... then couldn't find their place in the bible... Break out into song (Matthew stepping to the front of the stage to lip-sync the solos by the little religious chilredn on the tape), making numerous references to "lifestyle" blather and normalcy and such, occasionally pointing to Josh and me (the two fags in the place), but never getting in the slightest mean. They didn't drop character the whole time. It was very sick and very funny. Then this woman comes out. She looked like her older sister was Exine Cervenka, and Greta S. her younger sister. Black strech tights, top and skirt, think reddish hair with bangs made her face seem small. An amazing sound track behind her, industrial scary power trance stuff, occasional muffled groans into the mike, she puts on a series of odd hats, bags over her head. We were both thinkign and Josh said, gee, this is very Johanna-like, what an odd choice. It got weirder and weirder. The music got more intense, and I noticed the huge boxes of props. Her props became more demented, and I find it impossible to describe them; they were disturbing mixes and blurs of obvious and non-obvious things with loaded meanings. She had a sign board behind her, with words written on them, that periodically she'd flip over to reveal the next underneath, that gave a sort of check-point, though usually tangential or not-yet-expressed, to the... thing unfolding. She put on a huge ugly single tit, gnawed at the nipple, which extended into a hideous black snake, dangling and shaking, she bit off the end and a gross brownish liquid spread aver her, she rubbed it all over. It became obvious, oh, this *is* Johanna Went! She looks *so* totally different that her pictures in INDUSTRIAL CULTURE! She underwent transformation after transformation, donning funny and sick costumes. There was some sort of narrative or something just under the surface, though I wasn unable to make it explicit. Sex and death and her body and ugliness and giant tampons, mean men who wanted to fuck her, sticky fluids, four quarts of blood, pleasure, craziness, it wound up and up, there was a fascination to it that lrevented you from looking away though that would never ahd occurred to me. She started off somewhat self conscious, and goofy, and ended up in a trance, moving about the stage fluidly but posessed. Her vocal stuff got more distance and scary. The final scene-thing, she flipped the final board, and it read, "He wanted to fuck me in the ass, and beat me up, so I KILLED THEM", she fucked happy boy, the life-size red silky manthing, with a round flat yellow head with a smiley-face-inspired horror, impaled on a stand so that it stood at an uncomfortable-looking angle, after pulling out his stand/pole so he slumped over a table; she had on a huge, hideous, reptilian penis-thing which she was tuggging, stroking, and chewing on the end, over and over, the tip got longer and harder and finally, after chewing the very tip off, it exuded sticky gunk, and in a frenzy, fucked the slumped-over happy boy, screaming, "he wanted to fuck me in th eass, and beat me up, SO I KILLED HIM". Yeow! So Iraya and I went *immediately* and asked, "can we be your fans?" and Iraya asked, are you doing other shows in the area, etc, and Johanna, looking tired, and disassembling some of her props by putting her foot on one part and yanking with two hands, said no, this was the only show, she likes to do clubs because they're small, but she really wants to be able to to her full show (!) and neess more space. She said she's been sick all year, and hasn't performed in years (I think she said). Iraya and I briefly talked about doing a show, the chance I guess is slim, but not impossible, I mena, we've both been involved in such things. It would be an amazing thing. We got her phone number, then she said she was tired, and had to get stuff clean up. Bye! Wow! Next was POO POO BOMB. Two tiny tables with junky electronic doodads, behind each some housey looking person. They noises made were really elementary, sounding like indulgent art-stoont stuff from... 82. The "performance" was by "Nurse Poo Poo", and it was pretty silly. It was deafning too. It was "performance art", ie. boxes of kid's toys, a scarecrow like thing Nruse hacked up w th a saw, etc. Very messy. Very bad choice to follow up Johanna with. But it at least wasn't in the slightest pretentious. In fact, the whole night was fun and goofy. I somehow forgot to say how funny Johanna's thing was. I mean, I laughed thruogh most of it. It was intentionally funny, but almost no one was laughing. Too bad! Special Guest never showed, or we were unable to discern him/her from the background. -- Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. From max@sentex.net Wed Jan 16 09:10:37 2002 Date: Sun, 26 Aug 2001 17:28:47 -0400 From: Sylvia Morscher To: tomj@wps.com Subject: old files [ Part 2: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj Wed Sep 8 16:10:22 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Wed, 08 Sep 93 23:38:36 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA15679; 8 Sep 93 16:10:22 EDT (Wed) Received: from fido.wps.com ([140.174.77.1]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <101656(3)>; Wed, 8 Sep 1993 15:33:43 -0400 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA03272; Wed, 8 Sep 93 12:33:18 -0700 From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9309081933.AA03272@wps.com> Subject: Re: HEY WOW!>? To: max@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell) Date: Wed, 8 Sep 1993 08:33:18 -0400 Cc: tomj@fido.wps.com (Tom Jennings) In-Reply-To: from "Sylvia Maxwell" at Aug 30, 93 02:13:11 pm X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL21] Content-Type: text Content-Length: 3369 > Now i have > TWO pieces of paper plus envelopes with YOUR actual handwriting > on them. I've been showing off your publications to gay activist > friends, and especially to slightly narrow people who miraculously > tolerate me. I didn't know you had a component car (rover?), and > i LOVE that picture of Jesus with a little friend. THat, plus a dollar (US :-) will buy you a cup of coffee... :-) Many gay activist types disliked HOMOCORE, because it implicitly and sometimes explicitly criticized the assimilationist agenda, and threw darts and the handsome-white-hunk mentality. Tough tootsies for them, I say. I hate disco! My Rambler sometimes annoys me... especially lately. It's a lot of work. Mostly because I keep fucking with it. I added an outboard tank so I can carry 28 gals of fuel. I am having problems with mileage (down to about 14, should be 17). But I'm going on another road trip next week, to New Mexico. I will eventually move there, or close to it. The bejeezus thing, really did come from a x-tian babble book. Amazing! > There's a relic of a burned-out building, shaped like a pit with > rubble in it on the main drag of here, next to the East End > Tavern. We're going to rent some floodlights and hang paintings > in it one evening. The guy from the gallery down the street, Keith, > is planning to get a friend to play classical piano in the bottom > of the pit. I want to walk around in a tuxedo and gloves, or > maybe a thrift-store backless black satin depression era ball > gown with steel stilletto heels, and offer hors d'oeuvres on a tray. My friend Duke and I did a slide show on a burned-out building. There had been a big politially-motivated arson, and so of course everyone though it was related. Nope. It was just slides of funny pictures, skateboarding, etc. We had a boombox playing unrelated music, and we handed out flyers for some show or something. Everyone just assumed signifigance. When we told them no, there was nothing going on except a slide show, no one believed us. It went on until the police came by, asked us what was going on, and I think eventually asked us to move along... it was on a side street so not many people came, but it was fun. I strongly recommend you do your art show in the pit! It will be fun! > That icky conversation about burning bodies was actually a long > debate about how beurocracy does or doesn't whatever. I didn't > get it, it made no sense to me, so i started writing e-mail instead. > i wrote a bit more, like a play, while they were talking, then > showed it to them, and they seemed to like it/be amused....very > wierd scene.... Seems like anything, when taken SERIOUSLY, > becomes impossibly complicated. Hmmm... yes I took it seriously, I guess I should not have, the apparent subject seemed serious... this reminds me of this slideshow we did... :-) > i have to make a painting for you and mail it. If i send it to > 55 Rondel, sf, 94103, will you get it? Mail art. Except i might > not mail it until after an opening, because it has to be a good > one and i want to put the good ones in the pit for a day. And > you could always give it to someone if you don't want it. Yes!!! Wow! I'd be honored to receive one of your paintings!!! -- Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. [ Part 3: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj Sun Dec 19 20:15:31 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Mon, 20 Dec 93 06:56:37 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA14087; 19 Dec 93 20:15:31 EST (Sun) Received: from fido.wps.com ([140.174.77.1]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <56066(4)>; Sun, 19 Dec 1993 18:59:49 -0500 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA07674; Sun, 19 Dec 93 15:59:36 -0800 From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9312192359.AA07674@wps.com> Subject: mail To: sylvia@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell) Date: Sun, 19 Dec 1993 18:59:36 -0500 X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 395 Just sent you some archived shit-list stuff. I just started srchiving everything that goes to shit-list. (Some people I work with archive every piece of mail through their system in all areas, and I know they do 100+ per week... ouch!) -- Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork [ Part 4: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj Fri Dec 10 16:10:46 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Fri, 10 Dec 93 19:21:08 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA28702; 10 Dec 93 16:10:46 EST (Fri) Received: from fido.wps.com ([140.174.77.1]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <55028(2)>; Fri, 10 Dec 1993 15:51:57 -0500 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA00563; Fri, 10 Dec 93 12:50:44 -0800 From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9312102050.AA00563@wps.com> Subject: RESEND: Pigdog Mailing List DIGEST for 12.8.93 (fwd) To: sylvia@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell) Date: Fri, 10 Dec 1993 15:50:43 -0500 X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 47416 Forwarded message: >From tjames@netcom.com Wed Dec 8 02:36:25 1993 Date: Wed, 8 Dec 1993 02:34:04 -0800 (PST) From: Tjames Madison Subject: RESEND: Pigdog Mailing List DIGEST for 12.8.93 To: spock@hecubus.pigdog.com Message-Id: Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII PIGDOG MAILING LIST DIGEST #2 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ December 8, 1993 (c)1993 Pigdog Magazine ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Thirteen years ago on this date, frail, housebroken British singer John Lennon was offed by a crazy guy with ridiculous glasses, which prompted Howard Cosell to burst into tears in front of an audience of millions on ABC-TV's "Monday Night Football" Therefore, this is going to be known as the "Mark David Chapman" issue. DISCONTENTS 1. Science From Beyond the Grave, by RatSnatcher 2. A Day In The Life Of John_-_Winston 3. Crazy From the Heat, by Tjames Madison 4. REVIEW: The Vinnie Vincent Invasion, by Joshus 5. Powerful Copy Machines I Have Used, by TJM 6. Fast Dirty Food, by Flesh 7. Some Guy Gets Excited About Superman 8. Some Vaguely Threatening Babble About Pets 9. Murdock's Crazy Ideas About Cheating 10. LETTERS, WE GET LETTERS Pretty slow week. I think everyone must be out washing their pets or something. I've taken the liberty of digging through the musty Pigdog Morgue to bring you good people most of this stuff. Some of it is even interesting. (Notice that I've attempted to overcome the lack of quality by offering LOTS of crap....) Next week will be better...everyone will send me their most wittiest and cherished love poems that they write to themselves when they're standing in the bathroom, naked, and looking at themselves in a full-length mirror. If you are female, you will be extra-descriptive. And if you don't do me this one little thing that I ask, I must request that you deliver to me a puppy dog, for Christmas, wrapped up in a big red bow. Thank you. 1. The Tesla2 Files, by RatSnatcher (This was originally written for Pigdog Magazine. It got lost somewhere along the way, probably because Zach didn't want to have anything to do with it after awhile. This is possibly owing to the fact that his crazy Uncle kept pounding Tesla into his head for months and months...even trying to lure him into attending a bizarre TeslaCon in Colorado. We must have Zach "explain" his Uncle someday. All I know is that he used to be a world class chef who was Head Chef at one point for the Queen Elizabeth II. He was also a crazy Berkeley hippie, and one day he went WACKO and decided to give up everything to build a Tesla Coil. Well...this is sort of explained in the story. I don't know how much I want to believe...the prospects are too terrifying.) ............................................................................ Science from Beyond the Grave: The Chronicles of Tesla 2 By R. Snatcher Can a ghost scientist possess a living creature, and through that creature, continue scientific research? For some time now, my Uncle has been obsessed with building the lost inventions of a 19th century mad scientist named Nicola Tesla. It didn't seem like a mistake, at the time, to give my Uncle one of my special books about Nicola Tesla. I had no inkling that a book could be a tool of possession, and I had no Idea that my uncle would take it upon himself to carry on Tesla's weird line of research, and eventually become Tesla. But now I know. There isn't much resemblance on the surface. My uncle wears baseball caps and drinks cheap beer, for instance, while Tesla used to wear cheap three piece suits and drink prissy cocktail wine, but it's the determination, and overwhelming will to build bizarre, and sometimes dangerous inventions that makes them one in the same. I realized this was on the return trip from the worst part of Emeryville. I was in the shot-gun seat of my uncles green 1970's Ford LTD sedan, which is a strange car because of its metric measurements on the speedometer and other gauges. Stranger, we were on our way back from picking up a specially designed part for the new Tesla Coil that my uncle is building. I'm not sure why, maybe it's destined to be this way, but when ever he builds these devices, he insists that Special Ed and I come along to document every detail. Ed sat in the back seat videotaping the burned-out ghetto crack homes, and passing traffic with his Sony CCD-FX710 Hi-8 machine. I was holding a $300 piece of PVC pipe. Actually it was the rather expensive main piece of my Uncles new Tesla Coil. He had this part specially built at a machine shop. It took him 2 weeks to find a shop that would take the job because nobody wanted it--it was too weird. As it turned out, it took 3 men on a lathe 6 hours to complete, and when we arrived, the shop boss looked relieved that someone was actually coming in to pay for the thing. Anyone would have to admit that the finished piece is beautiful. Hundreds of feet of pure copper wire was wrapped around a piece of PVC pipe. An equal amount of mono-filament fishing line was wrapped in between each rotation of the copper so that it never touches itself. The finished product gleams like a golden baseball bat. It's someday going to be the main amplifying coil, the part of the Tesla Coil where thousands of volts of electricity will be assembled and finally sent up to a copper toilet-bowel float that will shoot lightening bolts through the air at anything that can conduct electricity. Ed has this on tape. We asked him why in the hell he's building a Tesla Coil. He cocked his Canon Laser baseball cap at us and roared laughter over the throaty Ford engine. "Because I'm fucking CRAZY! That's why." he said. And we knew he was. But then he went into a wide-eyed sort of trance and he told us a bizarre story. You see, my Uncle believes that Nicola Tesla was assassinated--run over with a car--because he was going to give the world plentiful free power. A Tesla coil is a device that looks similar to a Van Der Graf machine, but instead of making your hair defy gravity with static discharges, a Tesla coil flings off electrons in extremely low frequency (ELF) waves. They supposedly can light up fluorescent lights without wires, and be used as electrical weapons to fry people, or just people's brains. Nicola Tesla wanted to light entire cities with a giant ber-coil. He wanted to transmit gobs of power through the air, and he was also developing a way to harness the Earth's electromagnetic field as a source of power. With these technologies he would light up the world, and maybe control it. For that, the power companies came in with their secret police and had him run down in the street. Then his papers were seized by every imaginable secret government agency. Tesla is now operating from beyond the grave, through my Uncle, to continue his research and his quest for free energy. You must realize that my uncle is not a mad-scientist by trade. He started out as a chef, and as far as far as I know, he always was a chef, until late in 1992, right after I gave him my Tesla book. In the fall of 1992 he bought a giant personal computer system. A machine so lavish, that it would make any engineer sweat. Then he loaded it up with CAD programs. Right after that, he signed up for tons of electronics correspondence classes. Nobody understood why. I especially didn't understand. He locked himself away for months with vast amounts of electronic parts and Budweiser. And it was only later that I realized he was building Tesla Coils and other devices. Now his apartment is one giant electronics dump. There are soldering irons, voltage meters, ohm meters, and various other electrical tools laying everywhere. He went from chef to mad-scientist in only four months. "I just feel that theres something terribly wrong," my uncle says as we pull into the parking lot of his favorite bowling Alley/Bar. "We all missed something back there. Tesla's research hasn't been taken advantage of. He had the answer. There's something there, and I'm going to find it." I think he will find it. Tesla 2 is here, and I must document this on-going Tesla ghost story in Pigdog. When he throws the switch on "the big one" I'll be there, and so will Pigdog. When my uncle, Ed, and I (Tesla Team 3) go to clandestine meetings with strange engineers and shadowy government insiders, we'll get it all on hidden camera, and write it down here. ............................................................................ 2. John_-_Winston: A Life (john_-_winston's name is familiar to anyone who's wandered into alt.alien.visitors...he's a crazy guy from Milpitas who claims to have made contact with Giant Aliens who park their ships in craters in Nevada and on top of mountains like Mt. Lassen. "They're not here to hurt us," he soothes us; "they only want to prevent us from destroying ourselves," which is why Winston claims that these Big-Headed Aliens have been in close contact with every president since Harry Truman. Winston gets a lot of his stuff from the "Weekly World News," all of which he reports as science fact. He crossposts HUGE amounts of nonsense all over the net, which invariably results in three or four snapper-headed wannabe net.policemen vowing to get him "kicked off the net" every week. I kind of like him. If I had a crazy uncle like RatSnatcher, I would want him to be john_-_winston. JW can be reached at John_-_Winston@cup.portal.com) ............................................................................ Subject: A Day In The Life Of John Winston. Many years ago, just after the Watts Riot and the so-called Gas Crisis I was on my way just past Redwood City, Calif. to make a record about UFOs when I noticed a person in a car beside the road. Something told me that I should stop and see if the person needed help. The person turned out to be a member of a certain race of people. He turned out to be a man who had been stabbed by his girlfriend a few days before and he had a bandage on his arm. He said that he had been travel- ing on his way to San Francisco with a friend and the person had been stopped by a policeman, found to have had a warrant on him, and had been thrown in jail. This young man had then been in a position that he had to drive on along. The car had run out of gas and wouldn't start. After telling me this I suggested that he come in the car with me. He hopped in and we started in the opposite direction to my house in Milpitas. I then started talking like a person possessed, about UFOs. I mentioned to him that the people in the flying saucers were making themselves known and seen more since 1947 because we had been experi- menting with atomic bombs and were about to start setting off H-bombs which might very well blow up our planet and affect other planets. They were here to try to stop us from doing that because one of our planets that was called Maldek was blown up in ancient history and is now the meteorite belt. I then explained that the space people who are hear are from many places such as Venus, Mars, Jupiter and a bunch more places. Some of them look like us and can walk among without looking any different from other people but most of them have to go through a change in dimension before they can be in the physical form. I told him many other things. I filled him up with food and it just so happened that I had saved away 5 gallons of gasoline. We then went back, put the gas in his car and got it started. He then said, "This is a miracle." I then asked him what he meant. He then explained that as he was stranded on the side of the road he looked up in the sky and said, "Space people, if you are really up there, please send some- one to come and give me some food, get this car going and tell me the truth about UFOs. You then came along." I then explained that this sort of thing happens to me quite a bit since I was given two spiritual masters on the side of Mt. Shasta to give me guidance and I volunteered to let the space people also work through me. He then seemed happy and went on his way. John Winston. ............................................................................ 3. james watt, by Tjames Madison (I'm sensing a trend here, with all these stories about crazy middle-aged men. Perhaps. But the following story really happened. Another reject from Pigdog #3) ............................................................................ When I was 12 years old, an old widower named James Watt (not that one) was having a nice dinner for himself of peas and corned beef on night, watching reruns of "Mayberry RFD," when something essential in his head snapped for good. I don't know if it was Ken Berry's awful acting, or maybe his peas were too mushy, or maybe even he saw a horrific image of his dead wife's clutching, skeletal hands coming out of the tv set toward him: I don't know. Maybe all three. Whatever it was he was gone. He stood up, a small slop of drool clinging to his lower lip. A napkin was tucked neatly into his white undershirt like a bib. He lurched toward the front door of his tiny bachelor's apartment and, maybe pausing to see if he might reclaim his mind from the precarious ledge it was teetering on, maybe not, he reached for the doorknob and shook it open. He fell to the railing outside his second floor apartment. He begin to sing, in a loud, tuneless voice. People, including me, came out of their apartments to stare at him. He continued singing for some time. It was 7:30 p.m. Quite a crowd gathered. After he tired of singing, he began to chant, and mumble, chant and mumble, in dual cacaphony. His rap went something about flies and insects raking out his eyeballs, and his chanting had to do with the Northeast. He seemed to be driving a bus at times, the next minute he was leading his platoon, in his war. Eventually th chanting and the singing and the mumbling just stopped. He gripped the rail and wavered there for a brief instant...in slow motion time he tilted to and fro and you could see from the ground that every vein in his neck was stressed to the limit -- he looked like a hot dog left too long in a microwave. He looked down, at himself, he didn't know anyone was watching him. He noticed that his right hand held a knife. He held it before his face and began to shriek at the universe, naming off a long litany of complaints, too long to list. It wasn't even words he was hollering, his face beet red and sweaty, it was just sounds and fury and construction. I believe he was being tried on another plane. I believe he believed he had been done a great injustice. Hours later, James Watt still stands at the railing. Past midnight now, James Watt still stands, brandishing his butter knife with utter futility. The knife has become his Excalibur. Everyone else has lost interest, wandered back inside on this warm June night in Los Angeles, turned on their televisions loud angainst the angry red man on the railing. I kept peeking through the curtains, mostly wondering if he would fall or jump or try to attack someone with his silly knife. And he wouldn't shut up. Finally I, too, lost interest and closed the curtains for good and went and sat down, and when I did I just...waited. I felt sorry for Mr. Watt, but I was too young to know why. It just seemed like a terrible thing, for a man to snap like that and lose himself. The police eventually came, in the morning, and they pried James Watt's white-knuckled hands from the railing, and from the butter knife. He didn't even notice they had come, and when they led him away from everything that he used to call home, he didn't protest or say a word, except: "gah." I never heard about him, ever again. He drove a bus, that's all I know. "You lose yourself You reappear You suddenly find you've got nothing to fear Yet a question in your nerves is lit And you know there is no answer fit To satisfy Ensure you not to quit That it is not he or she or them or it That you belong to." --Zimmerman ............................................................................ 4. Brushes With Near Greatness! (Okay, so that last one was sort of lame. I must have been listening to Enya when I wrote it. This next one will turn those frowns upside down, however. This is Joshus^H^H^HJoshua, writing about some horrible 70s band I barely remember. I do remember KISS, though. I recall being in Music class in 7th grade and having "Show and Tell Day." Most of us brought things like "The New Mouseketeers" or "Shaun Cassidy." The black kid brought in "Brick House" by the Commodores, and we danced, after a white fashion. But the Bad Kid, he brought "KISS ALIVE II". I think some little girls cried when he put that on. Big scary makeup and platform shoes...Jesus what a bad introduction to "heavy metal." I just remember the first line of the album: "YOU WANT THE BEST YOU GOT THE BEST...THE HOTTEST BAND IN THE WORLD: ***KISS***!!!" And seque into "God of Thunder" or some tripe. I don't remember which song, exactly, because I was busy trying to look up Miss Carter's red dress...oh my. My first teacher crush. She even spoke FRENCH. Years later I bought "KISS DOUBLE PLATINUM" for two bucks at Target. I still feel ripped off.) ............................................................................ >From luriete@nextnet.ccs.csus.edu Tue Dec 7 22:44:57 1993 Date: Thu, 2 Dec 93 14:46:50 PST From: joshus lurie-terrell Subject: Vinnie Vincent Invasion VINNIE VINCENT INVASION line up: Marc Slaughter (vocals) Vinnie Vincent (guitar) Dana Strum (bass) Bobby Rock (drums) In 1977, singer (!) and guitarplayer Vinnie Cusano, alias Vinnie Vincent, records with his band Treasure a good, melodic rock album. In '82 this talented guitarplayer joins the mega-band Kiss, he does only stay for two albums. He rather focusses his mind on an own band, in which he will be boss, concerning guitarplay and compositions. He finds some other musicians to join him: bassplayer Dana Strum (ex-Ozzy), singer Robert Fleischman (ex-Journey/Channel) and drummer Bobby Rock. The debut album is a great mid-tempo heavy metal-LP, with beautiful and high vocals of Fleischman, to which Vinnie's guitar waterfalls in style of Joshua Perahia seem a bit uncontrolled. Despite the big amount of money that's invested in the band by their record company, Vinnie Vincent's Invasion doesn't become a major metl band. Robert Fleischman leaves after the first album and is replaced by Marc Slaughter. The second album has a bit more controlled guitarplay and Marc's vocals are in line of Robert's. Again a great album, but it doesn't become the wanted breakthrough. De V.V.Invasion even splits up and it's not shure wether Vinnie tries to create a new line up or not. Anyway, his record company gives him the key of the street. albums: Invasion (Chrysalis '86) All Systems Go (Chrysalis '88) ............................................................................ 5. The Ballad of Johhny 5090 (This is more drivel I wrote about copy machines during a stretch where I worked 11 out of 12 days. I don't know why I bothered. I mean...copy machines? Another REJECT from Pigdog #3) ............................................................................ BUILDING THE BETTER BEAST (Our Expert Rates the New Crop of High Volume Duplicating Machines) Deep in the belly of every Xerox 5090 Photocopier hides a tiny, powerful mini-brain known as an ElectroMobe. This small, but utterly efficient, microchip is the nerve center of the machine that many call the greatest copier ever made. A vast network of recessed sensors deployed inside the copier relay the slightest aberration to the 'Mobe, which then, aping the human mind that conceived of it, sends a termination signal to the main processing unit. A piece of paper gone even 2 degrees askance will shut the machine down instantly, thanks to the ever-vigilant work of the ElectroMobe Brain. There is, quite simply, nothing else like it at work anywhere in the world. Which brings us to the state of copying technology at the present time. After a long stasis, which saw companies like Canon and Kodak bringing belching monsters to the fore time and time again to forge a lead in the stagnant marketplace, Xerox introduced in 1991 the 5090, and has not looked back since. Quite literally, its competitors have been left far behind. The 5090 is the Anvil on which the plain paper revolution of the 1990's is being forged. The 5090's specs are truly terrifying. 170 copies per minute. A reliable duplex tray which can hold up to 200 sheets at a time. A dual finisher/stacker, which can contain up to four "sets" in progress while collating and finishing to send to an automatic stacker tray. An ingenious hot glue binding system that does in one versatile package, almost as an afterthought, what messy, inconvenient machines costing many thousands of dollars once were required for. An ultra-sensitive Automatic Document Handler (ADH) that can hold nearly 300 sheets at once, and can run both extremely heavy (cardstock) and light (thermal) weights of paper. Add to that impressive array a complex-though-simple terminal touch screen, a 3.5 floppy disk drive, and three colossal paper trays with a combined sheet storage capacity of just under 5000, and you have what can only be called the Lamborghini of copiers, the Best of the Best. Many have tried, but few have succeeded, in duplicating Xerox's success with this machine. Late 1992 and so far this year have seen an influx of supposedly "high-volume" competitors from companies such as Konica and Minolta, with impressive national ad campaigns to boost sales. The astute reader will note that Xerox has yet to air an ad for the 5090; it does not need one. So, in the spirit of fairness, this space has been provided to review what the other's have to offer. It is not as a shuck for Xerox that we attempt to portray ourselves, yet the fact remains that Xerox has created something bigger, possibly then themselves; a machine so blindingly perfect that all others are become without value. KODAK Kodak's Ektaprint line was a reliable, workhorse copier, for both high-volume "full-service" work and also for the most menial of small jobs. In it's time which lasted most of the previous decade the Ektaprint 235 stood up to all comers, including Xerox's own 5010 and 5060. Then came the 90's, and the 5090 (and, to a lesser extent, the 5100) have put this fine beast out to a well-deserved pasture. In truth, the Ektaprint line produced only barely passable solids, possessed an ADH constructed like a Polish tank, and had only a paltry array of "special features" for jobs which required extra handling. The method to switch trays was clunky, and few key operators to this date have been able to decipher the secret method to get the 235 to switch from letter to legal stapling. Also, the duplex tray was notoriously unreliable. The "Suicide Run" was a staple of 235 activity. On the other hand, the machine rarely required servicing. In fact, it would run until it ran out of ink, and sometimes not then (the only method to tell if ink was required was a small red switch inside the door, which turned on a tiny light behind the toner container. If you could see the light behind the container, then it was time to replace it.) Still, some thrifty shops still insist on using this machine even today. This is roughly equivalent to choosing an Apple IIe over a Macintosh Quadra solely on the basis of cost. Early last year Kodak introduced a "competitor" to the 5090 in the form of the 535. While still comparitively slow (90 cpm), the 535 does rival the 5090 in terms of sheer size. Kodak seems to have adopted a "bigger is better" philosophy here. With the full finisher installed, the machine is a mammoth 19 feet long, and weighs approximately 17 tons. The controls are still basic, and the copies produced retain the Kodak "grainy" feel, though the solids are a bit more dependable. While it's tempting to call the 535 an enormous failure from start to finish (in that it exceeds the 5090 in no areas at all), there remains a niche for Kodak and it's "pay-for-play" leasing policy. The 635 might be worth watching for, if they can learn their lessons well. (Though a quick scan through the history of Eastman belies this possibility from Ektaprint 90 through 535, they have simply taken a mediocre machine and made it bigger and louder, without actually improving it.) CANON I have never trusted Canon or their machines, color copiers excepted. They are the antithesis of Kodak. Where Eastman machines are solid and armor-plated, Canon's entries have always seemed fragile...high-impact plastic in a world which demands flexibility. Their latest entries are more of the same, and they don't even really try to compete with the 5090, despite their ads' claims. These cheap machines average around 75-90 impressions per minute, and their imaging technology is below even Kodak's par. They are unpopular with service bureaus and offices requiring high-volume work (except in Japan, where even this is changing rapidly; in fact, the 5090 may do there what Ford and GM could not in turning the trade balance around). They seem best suited to a medium office market requiring a few thousand impressions per day. Any idea of Canon challenging Xerox for the high-volume throne is laughable at this time. MINOLTA, KONICA, RICOH See Canon entry, above. XEROX There is no substitute. After a long, woeful string of popular failures (the 5010 was so hated by key operators it became common practice to attach pictures of lemons to their frames), Xerox wised up and unleashed the aforementioned Better Machine upon an unsuspecting public. Actually, the public had some clues to its arrival, namely an extremely heavy and expensive internal publicity blitz. Within three days of its release, all 5090s in existence were booked up for sale or leasing, with a nine-month waiting list). Simply put, here was a machine that did what it promised. But not without problems. The early release models were full of bugs. Software problems were so prevalent in the early days that Xerox retrofitted all 5090s with an extra internal RAM card to prevent this touchy maintenance issue from reoccurring. Even now, shops with 5090s can expect to see their area tech an average of once every 1.7 days. This is not to fault the machine. Most, of not all, of the service problems stem from the amazing productivity of the machine itself. In the store I work in, our two 5090s can expect to see an average of 600,000 impressions each, every month. This exceeds the average count on our Kodak machine by a 10:1 ratio. That works our to something near 7.2 million copies a year, quite impressive indeed. And since Xerox offers total technical support during business hours at no charge, the service issue is a small one when compared to the benefits of the machine. Not long after the introduction of the 5090 came the 5100, smaller, more compact machine not intended as a direct antecedent of the 5090. It can supply apprx. 90cpm, and it's main claim to fame lies in its ability to do internal 11x17 duplexing, through the ADH. It is not an entirely wonderful machine, however, and many shops have abandoned it in favor of the far superior 5090. Then there is the Docutech. This machine carries the 5090 chassis and engine, features four paper trays, and contains a full-powered 486 microprocessor in its brain stem. The most notable feature is its ability to scan in documents and store them to a 230Mb hard drive for later retrieval. The keyop merely punches in the filename and the machine calls up the document and begins printing from the specified tray(s), without the need for lens flash. This can be useful for large corporations which need to print 100,000 copies of the same document each week, or each day, but is almost entirely unnecessary for most shops. In fact, the basic Docutech does not come with an ADH. Collating a 97-page document would require individually hand placing and scanning each page, then setting the page order through the terminal. More evil by far are the goons Xerox has hired to promote this machine. They know little or nothing about the working of the 5090 gut, yet can expound mightily on the hard drive. There are several options currently available to refine the 5090. An 11x17 document handler, for instance, and a booklet maker are among these. With all options installed, the 5090 would stretch some 26 feet long. CONCLUSION You already have discerned it. When in doubt, go with the 5090. It's got a hefty price ($5000/month or so on a fixed 24- or 36-month lease), but it's productivity is unrivaled by anything on the planet. If Spock wanted a copier, he would pick the 5090. -30- COPY MANIA Madison ............................................................................ Quote Of The Week >From ror@netcom.com Tue Dec 7 22:46:18 1993 Date: Sat, 4 Dec 1993 14:16:27 -0800 (PST) From: RatSnatcher To: Tim Madison Subject: Gawd! You *know* you've been hacking too long when you have dreams like this: This is from alt.folklore.computers: ------------------- I've been playing around with fork bombs and similar stuff lately. Yesterday (day before yesterday, if you must know) when my alarm clock went off, I thought it was spawning new alarm clock processes and I had to kill it quickly so it wouldn't fill up the process table and prevent me from doing _anything_ about it. The only problem was, there was a monitor process that I didn't kill, and every time I killed off one of the ring_alarm(x) processes, it would wait 9 minutes then spawn another one. ............................................................................ 6. Fresh Vegetables For Rotting Flesh (I've decided to surprise myself and not even read this one. That Flesh guy...he's...he's CRAZY.) ............................................................................ Them's gud etins, jed! One thing that really pisses me off about ALL food critics, is that they write about places that don't need it. For example; I used to go to New Dawn Cafe, on 16 and Gurerro. Not any more Thanks to the Guardian, we can't even get in there now. The food is great, and is served in huge amounts (if you order a large plate of home fries, you get enough for three people). Now, I can only remember what the food is like. Meanwhile, a few blocks down Mission stood Miz Browns. The used to serve plate sized omlettes for three bucks. I say used to, because they went out of business due lack of customers (even with the bar in the back), and the resturaunt was sold to someone else who drove the place into a tree. My girlfreind and I went there thinking that it was still Miz Browns, looking forward to a huge fantastic breafast. BZZZZT. The food was shitty, the service sucked, and the drinks were horrid (how can anyone fuck up a Tequilla sunrise?) So with this in mind, here's my list of places that no food critic would dare step into, that the food is great... Jim's Cafe. Mission & 22nd Sincere Cafe 16th & Mission Without Reservations- Castro & 18th Chavas- 18th & South Van Ness (This place doesn't need the business. However it makes the list on a default. They only have one waitress that speaks english, and I've never known a food critic to go to a resteraunt where anything other than english and french was spoken). I won't say what the food is like. Hell, I may not eat the same things anyone else would eat (example: when in Without Reservations. I order the half pound cheesburger). You order the food, and check it out for yourself. All I'm doing is listing the places that I've found personally to be a. cheap b. serve good food c. needs the business. ............................................................................ ASCII FUNHOUSE! There were no new submissions, so I'm re-running GARVato. Ed made a FANTASTIC ansi movie of the GARVato-mobile crashing into a brick wall and exploding, but unfortunately that won't work on most terminals. Just imagine that little truck driving across the screen and BLOWING UP upon impact. ____ ____//_]|________ (o _ | -| _ o| `(_)-------(_)--' GARvato! ............................................................................ 7. SuperDork (This was written awhile back by some retarded fanboy on alt.superman. I have no good excuse why I was reading alt.superman. I think the idea of running this is, "Let's make fun of some retarded fanboy," but I could be wrong. This could be poignant to some people. Maybe someone is reading this right now and weeping bitter tears of sorrow mixed with anxious joy. I...don't...know.) ............................................................................ Well, I know that a lot of people think that Superman cannot exist without Clark Kent, he may have to, because although Superman can (obviously) come back to life, Clark cannot. I know that he is only MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD, but he has been missing for so long that people have GOT to piece it together if he comes back. Here it is in black-and-white for you: Superman and Clark Kent first surfaced in Metropolis at the same time. Superman and Clark Kent both "died" at the same time (in the same place). Superman and Clark Kent both REAPPEAR AT THE SAME TIME????? Wouldn't YOU, if you knew these facts, begin to AT LEAST ASSOCIATE the two men in your mind? Would you not then, begin to realize that they look alike? Would you not then, begin to wonder about the possibility that they could be one and the same? Those who say that Clark cannot die are forgetting that Clark IS Superman, and not just a part of his personality. For Superman to exist without Clark, he would have to work hard to establish a new identity, yes, or simply be Superman ALL the time (which, to me, doesn't wash, because then it would be impossible to have a personal life, as it would endanger all of his friends). But, establishing a new identity may not be so hard. It may be much like moving to a new city, where you feel quite alien for a long while, until you build a personal life, and things feel like HOME. The tricky part, of course, is the 'home-sickness', where Superman would constantly be thinking about how much better his former personal life had been, and be tempted to return to that. His relationship with Lois Lane is a tricky part, I do admit. Obviusly, she is very important to him, and interacting with her (other than in secret) as someone other than Clark would be impossible. People would be bound to recognize him as a double for Clark (unless he adopted an ENTIRELY new look, which also doesn't really work without altering the way Superman looks in an equally drastic manner). Anyway, it's all VERY interesting, AND I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE HOW IT TURNS OUT FOR REAL!!!!!!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ /| / ||\ ____________ _____ THE SODHED is / || \ | | | / /\ \ / Colin S. Reid / || \ | | | | | / / \ \/ Reidcoli@Max.cc.Uregina.ca /____|| \ | | | | |_/ /____\ /\ / || \ | | |--| | \/ \/ \ S.O.D!! S.O.D!! S.O.D!! / || \ | | | | | /\ \ \ \| | | \ Be dangerous and unpredictable, \ and make a lot of noise. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- +++ ............................................................................ 8. CATS...and DOGS....and RATS.... (Small thread from PSP about destroying animals just for no good reason at all. This in no way rivals Murdock's infamous "Sacrifice" thread from a couple years back ("see??? People are standing in LINE to KILL YOUR DOG!"), but it's still fairly amusing. BTW: Zach's family indeed does have such a device. I touched it once. It felt _clammy_.) ............................................................................ >From : Ratsnatcher #1 To : Wisteria #145 Subject: Ha! Date : 23 Sep 93 23:24 (C:\MIB\MSGS\MSG*.BBS #6373) You people think you have macho cats. I used to have a rabbit that after it escaped was brought back by the POLICE because some old guy found it "digging at his foundations." I also have 115 pound doberman pinscher who has bitten so many people that by LAW, I have to walk him with a muzzle. My cats beat the shit out of him and he is constantly terrified. I can kill them all with a remote control device that I keep on my person at all times. [Message Base Beta #4] [23/50] Reading Messages: 45 [45/50] >From : Tjames #3 To : Ratsnatcher #1 Subject: Ha! Date : 28 Sep 93 23:50 (C:\MIB\MSGS\MSG*.BBS #6637) > I can kill them all with a remote control device that I keep on my > person at all times. HahahahAHAHA! But I have the special remote control device that can kill YOU at any time! *Someone* had to have it so they gave it to the person most capable of recognizing the WARNING signs! Don't think I won't use it, either! (I almost had to that time at Specs when you spit the beer all over the flabby charwoman...my fingers actually *twitched* in my pocket over the button. But you were reprieved by an electrical FLUKE. Sometimes I take it out of its special lubricated sheath and just play my fingers lightly across the chrome surface...it's incredibly erotic! I think I want to feel this device, RIGHT NOW!) ............................................................................ 9. Murdock Is a Dirty Rotten Cheat (Doctor Murdock has the crazy idea that he can actually graduate college. He wants to do it by devising strange devices that will implant correct test answers into his head at the appropriate moment in class. In a way, I sense that he's going to eventually become just as BERSERK as Tesla 2. That's okay though...just another Crazy Uncle...to somebody. I also bet he's REAL UNHAPPY that I'm including this post he originally wrote to alt.cyberpunk.tech. Hey...that stuff is PUBLIC DOMAIN, pally!) ............................................................................ Hello, everyone! I'm working on a project that I have quite a bit of enthusiasm invested in and would VERY much like to accomplish, however, I have run into a few small problems, and I need some specialized advice. If anyone could help me out in my venture I would be forever grateful. I want to thank everyone in advance. Now, let me get down to the nitty gritty... Mission Objective: To be able to have information (notes, textbooks, possibly even graphs, etc.) available to me while I take tests in my college courses WITHOUT people even realizing that I am accessing sources of hidden data. Note: This application that I am working on in *NO* way is being developed because I wish to replace my rigorous studying habits, but rather, to give myself an extra "security buffer" when taking tests. There is nothing I hate more than studying hours and hours for a test only to have a problem in front of me and the answer just on the TIP of my memory, but not being able to completely remember the answer. Mission Project: Build a small PC that can fit into a hip pouch (I've done research and this can be accomplished without too much $$$ invested), and have a 5 key chord keyboard underneath my pants on my leg. However... Problem in Development: Although the computer can hold a mass amount of information, and I would eventually learn how to master the 5 key keyboard under my pants, I cannot figure out how to get the information TO ME without other people catching on to the fact that I am cheating. My Theories: I've thought about maybe having a text-to-speech software program output to a device that would broadcast to a little, wireless ear bud. And even though the ear buds would be small enough (I think) the cost in having to develop the card that would send the radio signal would be far too much than what I want to spend on this device. Another way I thought of, was maybe rig up a setup where the PC would output to one of those little LCD displays that you see on pocket spell checkers, or something. The only problem with this is that it is larger and you run the risk of other students noticing what you are doing. An extreme case would be to output to a small electronic signal that would send you morse code signals to any part of your body, but because of the slow transmission rate of data with this scenario, it's better to just spend your time studying your nuts off than bother with inputting your text onto the small hard drive of the PC. Conclusion: What bugs me is the fact that the technology is THERE/HERE and what I want to do CAN be accomplished with a little ingenuity and perseverance. *ANY* help/ideas that you guys/gals could offer would be immensely appreciated in helping me accomplish my task. And please, let me make myself clear here: Even though this application is obviously defined as "cheating", this is not the way I see it. I see it as merely taking my experience with technology and applying it to the incredibly competitive academic structure our system offers to us. Grade Point Averages = Long Term Money. I'm a Business major and I simply see this as a way of competing. For those of you who see this as simply cheating and see absolutely no part of my side to this, please blow me and save your flames. Thanks again! Ciao! -- _============================================================================_ | Chris Murdock ........available at --=> pigdog@netcom.com | | | |"Don't be a Watson. Be a Sherlock Holmes and figure the shit out yourself."| | -- Me | |____________________________________________________________________________| ............................................................................ 10. Clear the Way for the S, the S1Ws.... ............................................................................ Dear Tjames, Blow me, mudracker... Regards, Chris Murdock (_Clinic run out of Prozac again, Chris?_ -- ed.) ............................................................................ Dear Tjames, I have no cigarettes!!!! NONE!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!! Yours Forever, Paul (_I have 39 left_ -- ed.) ............................................................................ (The following letters were all so mean and nasty that I combined all of them into a mini-digest. I may compile this into a file that says hateful things randomly when I log out) Dear Tjames, (1) You said 3 or 4 times a week before. You lied. (2) Looks like Pignet was a total and complete failure. Oh well. Imminent death of Spock expected soon. PS: I was wathcing the Polly (uhura) Klaas thingy news conference. While the FBI guy was talking, his beeper went off ... it made exactly EXACTLY!!! the same sound as those old Bridge Sensors on the old startrek.. the dooh-duing dwing doo sound. Sort of like the communicators, but it came on usually when they were doing a sensor sweep or something. Anyway, he turned around right after he finished talking, and used his cellular phone. COULD IT BE......SPOCK? (3) I floss my teeth with your penis, you pole schmoker. Warmly, Joshua Lurie-Terrell ............................................................................ +++ Once again we reach the end of the ROPE. The bottom of the BUCKET. The DARK CRUSHING SENSATION that invades your chest and may either be a severe, possibly fatal stroke, or just HEARTBURN. WHO KNOWS?!?! ANNOUNCEMENT: Next week's edition will come out on WEDNESDAY. Or, actually THURSDAY morning. (I still consider this Tuesday, even though technically it's not. Isn't that fascinating?) This is because some guy at work just QUIT, and I have to cover his absence on Tuesday. "Kill him! PULL HIS ARMS OFF!" I would like to take a few moments to thank NO ONE for making this edition possible. Except Joshus, who is becoming a great attack dog. Also MUCH thanks to tomj, for helping Flesh and I out with our little "project." Also, Mr. T. Nemet says his list is better than mine because he greets new members with personalized messages in Hungarian. Blow me. PIGDOG OFFICIAL fnord WELCOMING MESSAGE to all seven NEW MEMBERS: WELCOME! ............................................................................ Send all correspondence to: tjames@netcom.com Subject line of: "Pigdog-l" (without the quotes) AUTOMATICALLY goes into this digest. You have been warned. R o R A l u c a r d ............................................................................ "Freedom is a Road Seldom Traveled by the Multitudes...." -- Chuck D. "...or Really Dumb Guys." -- Me -- Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork ^A^A^A^AFrom tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj Fri Dec 10 16:10:49 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Fri, 10 Dec 93 19:21:20 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA28707; 10 Dec 93 16:10:49 EST (Fri) Received: from fido.wps.com ([140.174.77.1]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <54821(5)>; Fri, 10 Dec 1993 16:03:46 -0500 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA00602; Fri, 10 Dec 93 13:03:31 -0800 From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9312102103.AA00602@wps.com> Subject: wanna be on my SHIT-LIST To: sylvia@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell) Date: Fri, 10 Dec 1993 16:03:31 -0500 X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 577 Hey, heh heh, wanna be on my shitlist? You'll get... shit... in the mail. It's mot hyper sophisticated. Mostly fun stuff, some "serious" if it's [ Part 5: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj Wed Sep 8 16:10:33 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Wed, 08 Sep 93 23:38:39 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA15684; 8 Sep 93 16:10:33 EDT (Wed) Received: from fido.wps.com ([140.174.77.1]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <101849(1)>; Wed, 8 Sep 1993 15:53:12 -0400 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA03341; Wed, 8 Sep 93 12:52:45 -0700 From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9309081952.AA03341@wps.com> Subject: Re: cgange To: max@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell) Date: Wed, 8 Sep 1993 08:52:45 -0400 Cc: tomj@fido.wps.com (Tom Jennings) In-Reply-To: <54m69B1w165w@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca> from "Sylvia Maxwell" at Aug 31, 93 06:17:39 pm X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL21] Content-Type: text Content-Length: 4036 > What is the rainbow crowd? The Rainbow Family is a giant (10,000+) nomadic cultural thing in North America. They look more or less like "hippies". You don't see to much of them usually. They are genuinely nomadic, and hold various Gatherings, usually a big annual one. Each year in a different US state. About 10,000 people show up, sometimes less. They take advantage of US Federal homesteading laws, much to the chagrin of authorities. Gatherings are free, and everyone pitches in -- or not. They don't worry about it. There are communal meals (pretty minimal though, poverty is an assumption so far in the background it's startling) made up of donated/liberated/dumpster-dived food. They aer not necesseraily vegetarians. They have no or barter or minimal economy. I have an ex-roommate who is a Rainbow person now. They are definitely way far outside the usual channels. They're quite serious. They tend to be vehicle-people, white, babies'n'dogs. They disdain alcohol, smoke lots of pot. Usually quite trsutworthy. They are dirty. Their methodology for gatherings is unique. They have a "welcome committee" up where vehicles come in, who tell you where things are, where to park, etc. They also scope people out; if they have alcohol -- generally the only thing forbidden besides firearms -- instead of a lecture or whatever, they say "got any alcohol? Let's drink it! Here's some of my pot!" and try to get the owner to consume it on the spot. Usually works. Two years back, in Nevada, the Great Circle gave Welcome Committee duty to the Faerie camp (the gay/lez bunch within the Family) because they did an excellent job of (1) defusing a bunch of asshole bigots with fun instead of anger and (2) "took over" a small stage devolving into bland ordinary faux hippy folksy music and turned it into a big open party. It was a great honor, apparently. Too much hippy for me, though the gatherings are definitly worth checking out. They are always the first week in July. A Council of oldtimers (which apparently anyone can attend and provide input, listened to or not I know not) picks the next years site, many months in advance. A few months before, a seed group goes to the site, and chooses a location distractingly near the real site. This draws fire from the locals and authorities, if any trouble arises, and keeps eyes of the actual site. They usually rent an apt or something an have a stable mail address. Word is spread mouth to mouth and hand to hand. No advertising of any sort is generally done, and as far as I can tell, is frowned upon. They deal with legal issues (more and more every year I guess) and all that. About a month before the actual event, another seed group populates the site and starts to prepare it. In Nevada, it took place partly on private land; the worked out a deal with the owner that they would leave it utterly spotless and would install a water system based upon a water-hammer ("free" water pump power). I can attest to the cleanliness thing. In nevada, I was there and left early, so there were only a few thousand people. It was *spotless*. On a mian trail, someone had dropped about a half-dozen cellophane candy wrappers. It was a Big Deal. It was an issue at the Great Circle, and instead of castigation and finger pointing (they the do all this stuff internally of course, at big gatherings they tend to be fairly cool cuz there's fresh faces and fresh energy) they went on about how important it was they left the place clean. Seems to work. It's a retty cool thing, iff you like hippies, eating oatmeal as your main source of nutrition, walking 6 hours into the woods, carrying water, being asked to eat food just cooked as you walk down a trail, LSD, get really dirty, dig shitters, keep damnfools from shitting in the stream, etc etc. There are some christian hippies. There are more queer ones. I hate tie-dye, and mistrust peace and loveism. I own guns and like computers. Oh well. -- Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. From max@sentex.net Wed Jan 16 09:10:46 2002 Date: Sun, 26 Aug 2001 17:29:54 -0400 From: Sylvia Morscher To: tomj@wps.com Subject: more old files http://www.sentex.net/~max/damn-bret.html [ Part 2: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!hookup!fido.wps.com!tomj Tue Feb 1 06:20:38 1994 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Tue, 01 Feb 94 11:15:05 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA18008; 1 Feb 94 06:20:38 EST (Tue) Received: from fido.wps.com (root@slip.wps.com [140.174.77.253]) by nic.hookup.net (8.6.5/1.106) with SMTP id GAA27535; Tue, 1 Feb 1994 06:20:51 -0500 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA07096; Tue, 1 Feb 94 03:17:50 -0800 From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9402011117.AA07096@wps.com> Subject: SCUM Manifesto To: shit-list@fido.wps.com Date: Tue, 1 Feb 1994 03:17:49 -0800 (PST) X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 69333 I have no idea why, but I typed in the whole SCUM Manifesto, and converted it to HTML (the WorldWideWeb format). It's easily converted to plain-er ASCII. Not sure what to do with it now. Her 'tis. the

SCUM Manifesto

by Valerie Solanas

This is the only copy of the SCUM Manifesto I've ever seen. This version was published by PHOENIX PRESS, presumably in the UK (price given as "75p"), though no contact information was provided. I have no idea what, if any, changes were made to the text. I tried to change nothing except change some obvious (to me) Anglicizations back to Americanisms (eg. empathise to empathize). The copyright is certainly retained by Valerie, where ever she is; likely jail. Seeing how it's a manifesto, and the Phoenix people don't own it either, I figured Valerie Solanas wouldn't mind my typing this all in and giving it away for free.

If you have any authoritative data, or additions to make (skip the comments on content please) please send them along, and I'll include on my archive.

-- tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings), Jan 1994.

>From the back cover of the PHOENIX PRESS booklet: 

	"Valerie Solanas' SCUM Manifesto was written in 1967 and
	published in 1968, the year she shot and wounded Andy
	Warhol. The text used here is that of the 1983 edition of
	the Manifesto that was published by the Matriarchy Study
	Group."

And now on with it.

the

SCUM Manifesto

by Valerie Solanas

Life in this society being, at best, an utter bore and no aspect of society being at all relevant to women, there remains to civic-minded, responsible, thrill-seeking females only to overthrow the government, eliminate the money system, institute complete automation and destroy the male sex.

It is now technically feasible to reproduce without the aid of males (or, for that matter, females) and to produce only females. We must begin immediately to do so. Retaining the mail has not even the dubious purpose of reproduction. The male is a biological accident: the Y (male) gene is an incomplete X (female) gene, that is, it has an incomplete set of chromosomes. In other words, the male is an incomplete female, a walking abortion, aborted at the gene stage. To be male is to be deficient, emotionally limited; maleness is a deficiency disease and males are emotional cripples.

The male is completely egocentric, trapped inside himself, incapable of empathizing or identifying with others, or love, friendship, affection of tenderness. He is a completely isolated unit, incapable of rapport with anyone. His responses are entirely visceral, not cerebral; his intelligence is a mere tool in the services of his drives and needs; he is incapable of mental passion, mental interaction; he can't relate to anything other than his own physical sensations. He is a half-dead, unresponsive lump, incapable of giving or receiving pleasure or happiness; consequently, he is at best an utter bore, an inoffensive blob, since only those capable of absorption in others can be charming. He is trapped in a twilight zone halfway between humans and apes, and is far worse off than the apes because, unlike the apes, he is capable of a large array of negative feelings -- hate, jealousy, contempt, disgust, guilt, shame, doubt -- and moreover, he is aware of what he is and what he isn't.

Although completely physical, the male is unfit even for stud service. Even assuming mechanical proficiency, which few men have, he is, first of all, incapable of zestfully, lustfully, tearing off a piece, but instead is eaten up with guilt, shame, fear and insecurity, feelings rooted in male nature, which the most enlightened training can only minimize; second, the physical feeling he attains is next to nothing; and third, he is not empathizing with his partner, but is obsessed with how he's doing, turning in an A performance, doing a good plumbing job. To call a man an animal is to flatter him; he's a machine, a walking dildo. It's often said that men use women. Use them for what? Surely not pleasure.

Eaten up with guilt, shame, fears and insecurities and obtaining, if he's lucky, a barely perceptible physical feeling, the male is, nonetheless, obsessed with screwing; he'll swim through a river of snot, wade nostril-deep through a mile of vomit, if he thinks there'll be a friendly pussy awaiting him. He'll screw a woman he despises, any snaggle-toothed hag, and furthermore, pay for the opportunity. Why? Relieving physical tension isn't the answer, as masturbation suffices for that. It's not ego satisfaction; that doesn't explain screwing corpses and babies.

Completely egocentric, unable to relate, empathize or identify, and filled with a vast, pervasive, diffuse sexuality, the male is pyschically passive. He hates his passivity, so he projects it onto women, defines the make as active, then sets out to prove that he is (`prove that he is a Man'). His main means of attempting to prove it is screwing (Big Man with a Big Dick tearing off a Big Piece). Since he's attempting to prove an error, he must `prove' it again and again. Screwing, then, is a desperate compulsive, attempt to prove he's not passive, not a woman; but he is passive and does want to be a woman.

Being an incomplete female, the male spends his life attempting to complete himself, to become female. He attempts to do this by constantly seeking out, fraternizing with and trying to live through an fuse with the female, and by claiming as his own all female characteristics -- emotional strength and independence, forcefulness, dynamism, decisiveness, coolness, objectivity, assertiveness, courage, integrity, vitality, intensity, depth of character, grooviness, etc -- and projecting onto women all male traits -- vanity, frivolity, triviality, weakness, etc. It should be said, though, that the male has one glaring area of superiority over the female -- public relations. (He has done a brilliant job of convincing millions of women that men are women and women are men). The male claim that females find fulfillment through motherhood and sexuality reflects what males think they'd find fulfilling if they were female.

Women, in other words, don't have penis envy; men have pussy envy. When the male accepts his passivity, defines himself as a woman (males as well as females thing men are women and women are men), and becomes a transvestite he loses his desire to screw (or to do anything else, for that matter; he fulfills himself as a drag queen) and gets his dick chopped off. He then achieves a continuous diffuse sexual feeling from `being a woman'. Screwing is, for a man, a defense against his desire to be female. He is responsible for:

War: The male's normal compensation for not being female, namely, getting his Big Gun off, is grossly inadequate, as he can get it off only a very limited number of times; so he gets it off on a really massive scale, and proves to the entire world that he's a `Man'. Since he has no compassion or ability to empathize or identify, proving his manhood is worth an endless amount of mutilation and suffering and an endless number of lives, including his own -- his own life being worthless, he would rather go out in a blaze of glory than to plod grimly on for fifty more years.

Niceness, Politeness, and `Dignity': Every man, deep down, knows he's a worthless piece of shit. Overwhelmed by a sense of animalism and deeply ashamed of it; wanting, not to express himself, but to hide from others his total physicality, total egocentricity, the hate and contempt he feels for other men, and to hide from himself the hate and contempt he suspects other men feel for him; having a crudely constructed nervous system that is easily upset by the least display of emotion or feeling, the male tries to enforce a `social' code that ensures perfect blandness, unsullied by the slightest trace or feeling or upsetting opinion. He uses terms like `copulate', `sexual congress', `have relations with' (to men sexual relations is a redundancy), overlaid with stilted manners; the suit on the chimp.

Money, Marriage and Prostitution, Work and Prevention of an Automated Society: There is no human reason for money or for anyone to work more than two or three hours a week at the very most. All non-creative jobs (practically all jobs now being done) could have been automated long ago, and in a moneyless society everyone can have as much of the best of everything as she wants. But there are non-human, male reasons for wanting to maintain the money system:

1. Pussy. Despising his highly inadequate self, overcome with intense anxiety and a deep, profound loneliness when by his empty self, desperate to attach himself to any female in dim hopes of completing himself, in the mystical belief that by touching gold he'll turn to gold, the male craves the continuous companionship of women. The company of the lowest female is preferable to his own or that of other men, who serve only to remind him of his repulsiveness. But females, unless very young or very sick, must be coerced or bribed into male company.

2. Supply the non-relating male with the delusion of usefulness, and enable him to try to justify his existence by digging holes and then filling them up. Leisure time horrifies the male, who will have nothing to do but contemplate his grotesque self. Unable to relate or to love, the male must work. Females crave absorbing, emotionally satisfying, meaningful activity, but lacking the opportunity or ability for this, they prefer to idle and waste away their time in ways of their own choosing -- sleeping, shopping, bowling, shooting pool, playing cards and other games, breeding, reading, walking around, daydreaming, eating, playing with themselves, popping pills, going to the movies, getting analyzed, traveling, raising dogs and cats, lolling about on the beach, swimming, watching TV, listening to music, decorating their houses, gardening, sewing, nightclubbing, dancing, visiting, `improving their minds' (taking courses), and absorbing `culture' (lectures, plays, concerts, `arty' movies). Therefore, many females would, even assuming complete economic equality between the sexes, prefer living with males or peddling their asses on the street, thus having most of their time for themselves, to spending many hours of their days doing boring, stultifying, non-creative work for someone else, functioning as less than animals, as machines, or, at best -- if able to get a `good' job -- co-managing the shitpile. What will liberate women, therefore, from male control is the total elimination of the money-work system, not the attainment of economic equality with men within it.

3. Power and control. Unmasterful in his personal relations with women, the male attains to masterfulness by the manipulation of money and everything controlled by money, in other words, of everything and everybody.

4. Love substitute. Unable to give love or affection, the male gives money. It makes him feel motherly. The mother gives milk; he gives bread. He is the Breadwinner.

5. Provide the male with a goal. Incapable of enjoying the moment, the male needs something to look forward to, and money provides him with an eternal, never-ending goal: Just think of what you could do with 80 trillion dollars -- invest it! And in three years time you'd have 300 trillion dollars!!!

6. Provide the basis for the male's major opportunity to control and manipulate -- fatherhood.

Fatherhood and Mental Illness (fear, cowardice, timidity, humility, insecurity, passivity): Mother wants what's best for her kids; Daddy only wants what's best for Daddy, that is peace and quiet, pandering to his delusion of dignity (`respect'), a good reflection on himself (status) and the opportunity to control and manipulate, or, if he's an `enlightened' father, to `give guidance'. His daughter, in addition, he wants sexually -- he givers her hand in marriage; the other part is for him. Daddy, unlike Mother, can never give in to his kids, as he must, at all costs, preserve his delusion of decisiveness, forcefulness, always-rightness and strength. Never getting one's way leads to lack of self-confidence in one's ability to cope with the world and to a passive acceptance of the status quo. Mother loves her kids, although she sometimes gets angry, but anger blows over quickly and even while it exists, doesn't preclude love and basic acceptance. Emotionally diseased Daddy doesn't love his kids; he approves of them -- if they're `good', that is, if they're nice, `respectful', obedient, subservient to his will, quiet and not given to unseemly displays of temper that would be most upsetting to Daddy's easily disturbed male nervous system -- in other words, if they're passive vegetables. If they're not `good', he doesn't get angry -- not if he's a modern, `civilized' father (the old-fashioned ranting, raving brute is preferable, as he is so ridiculous he can be easily despised) -- but rather express disapproval, a state that, unlike anger, endures and precludes a basic acceptance, leaving the kid with the feeling of worthlessness and a lifelong obsession wit being approved of; the result is fear of independent thought, as this leads to unconventional, disapproved of opinions and way of life.

For the kid to want Daddy's approval it must respect Daddy, and being garbage, Daddy can make sure that he is respected only by remaining aloof, by distantness, by acting on the precept of `familiarity breeds contempt', which is, of course, true, if one is contemptible. By being distant and aloof, he is able to remain unknown, mysterious, and thereby, to inspire fear (`respect').

Disapproval of emotional `scenes' leads to fear of strong emotion, fear of one's own anger and hatred. Fear of anger and hatred combined with a lack of self-confidence in one's ability to cope with and change the world, or even to affect in the slightest way one's own destiny, leads to a mindless belief that the world and most people in it are nice and the most banal, trivial amusements are great fun and deeply pleasurable.

The affect of fatherhood on males, specifically, is to make them `Men', that is, highly defensive of all impulses to passivity, faggotry, and of desires to be female. Every boy wants to imitate his mother, be her, fuse with her, but Daddy forbids this; he is the mother; he gets to fuse with her. So he tells the boy, sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly, to not be a sissy, to act like a `Man'. The boy, scared shitless of and `respecting' his father, complies, and becomes just like Daddy, that model of `Man'-hood, the all-American ideal -- the well-behaved heterosexual dullard.

The effect of fatherhood on females is to make them male -- dependent, passive, domestic, animalistic, insecure, approval and security seekers, cowardly, humble, `respectful' of authorities and men, closed, not fully responsive, half-dead, trivial, dull, conventional, flattened-out and thoroughly contemptible. Daddy's Girl, always tense and fearful, uncool, unanalytical, lacking objectivity, appraises Daddy, and thereafter, other men, against a background of fear (`respect') and is not only unable to see the empty shell behind the facade, but accepts the male definition of himself as superior, as a female, and of herself, as inferior, as a male, which, thanks to Daddy, she really is.

It is the increase of fatherhood, resulting from the increased and more widespread affluence that fatherhood needs in order to thrive, that has caused the general increase of mindlessness and the decline of women in the United States since the 1920s. The close association of affluence with fatherhood has led, for the most part, to only the wrong girls, namely, the `privileged' middle class girls, getting `educated'.

The effect of fathers, in sum, has been to corrode the world with maleness. The male has a negative Midas Touch -- everything he touches turns to shit.

Suppression of Individuality, Animalism (domesticity and motherhood), and Functionalism: The male is just a bunch of conditioned reflexes, incapable of a mentally free response; he is tied to he earliest conditioning, determined completely by his past experiences. His earliest experiences are with his mother, and he is throughout his life tied to her. It never becomes completely clear to the make that he is not part of his mother, that he is he and she is she.

His greatest need is to be guided, sheltered, protected and admired by Mama (men expect women to adore what men shrink from in horror -- themselves) and, being completely physical, he yearns to spend his time (that's not spent `out in the world' grimly defending against his passivity) wallowing in basic animal activities -- eating, sleeping, shitting, relaxing and being soothed by Mama. Passive, rattle-headed Daddy's Girl, ever eager for approval, for a pat on the head, for the `respect' if any passing piece of garbage, is easily reduced to Mama, mindless ministrator to physical needs, soother of the weary, apey brow, booster of the tiny ego, appreciator of the contemptible, a hot water bottle with tits.

The reduction to animals of the women of the most backward segment of society -- the `privileged, educated' middle-class, the backwash of humanity -- where Daddy reigns supreme, has been so thorough that they try to groove on labour pains and lie around in the most advanced nation in the world in the middle of the twentieth century with babies chomping away on their tits. It's not for the kids sake, though, that the `experts' tell women that Mama should stay home and grovel in animalism, but for Daddy's; the tits for Daddy to hang onto; the labor pains for Daddy to vicariously groove on (half dead, he needs awfully strong stimuli to make him respond).

Reducing the female to an animal, to Mama, to a male, is necessary for psychological as well as practical reasons: the male is a mere member of the species, interchangeable with every other male. He has no deep-seated individuality, which stems from what intrigues you, what outside yourself absorbs you, what you're in relation to. Completely self-absorbed, capable of being in relation only to their bodies and physical sensations, males differ from each other only to the degree and in the ways they attempt to defend against their passivity and against their desire to be female.

The female's individuality, which he is acutely aware of, but which he doesn't comprehend and isn't capable of relating to or grasping emotionally, frightens and upsets him and fills him with envy. So he denies it in her and proceeds to define everyone in terms of his or her function or use, assigning to himself, of course, the most important functions -- doctor, president, scientist -- therefore providing himself with an identity, if not individuality, and tries to convince himself and women (he's succeeded best at convincing women) that the female function is to bear and raise children and to relax, comfort and boost the ego if the male; that her function is such as to make her interchangeable with every other female. In actual fact, the female function is to relate, groove, love and be herself, irreplaceable by anyone else; the male function is to produce sperm. We now have sperm banks.

In actual fact, the female function is to explore, discover, invent, solve problems crack jokes, make music -- all with love. In other words, create a magic world.

Prevention of Privacy: Although the male, being ashamed of what he is and almost of everything he does, insists on privacy and secrecy in all aspects of his life, he has no real regard for privacy. Being empty, not being a complete, separate being, having no self to groove on and needing to be constantly in female company, he sees nothing at all wrong in intruding himself on any woman's thoughts, even a total stranger's, anywhere at any time, but rather feels indignant and insulted when put down for doing so, as well as confused -- he can't, for the life of him, understand why anyone would prefer so much as one minute of solitude to the company of any creep around. Wanting to become a woman, he strives to be constantly around females, which is the closest he can get to becoming one, so he created a `society' based upon the family -- a male-female could and their kids (the excuse for the family's existence), who live virtually on top of one another, unscrupuluously violating the females' rights, privacy and sanity.

Isolation, Suburbs, and Prevention of Community: Our society is not a community, but merely a collection of isolated family units. Desperately insecure, fearing his woman will leave him if she is exposed to other men or to anything remotely resembling life, the male seeks to isolate her from other men and from what little civilization there is, so he moves her out to the suburbs, a collection of self-absorbed couples and their kids. Isolation enables him to try to maintain his pretense of being an individual nu becoming a `rugged individualist', a loner, equating non-cooperation and solitariness with individuality.

There is yet another reason for the male to isolate himself: every man is an island. Trapped inside himself, emotionally isolated, unable to relate, the male has a horror of civilization, people, cities, situations requiring an ability to understand and relate to people. So like a scared rabbit, he scurries off, dragging Daddy's little asshole with him to the wilderness, suburbs, or, in the case of the hippy -- he's way out, Man! -- all the way out to the cow pasture where he can fuck and breed undisturbed and mess around with his beads and flute.

The `hippy', whose desire to be a `Man', a `rugged individualist', isn't quite as strong as the average man's, and who, in addition, is excited by the thought having lots of women accessible to him, rebels against the harshness of a Breadwinner's life and the monotony of one woman. In the name of sharing and cooperation, he forms a commune or tribe, which, for all its togetherness and partly because of it, (the commune, being an extended family, is an extended violation of the female's rights, privacy and sanity) is no more a community than normal `society'.

A true community consists of individuals -- not mere species members, not couples -- respecting each others individuality and privacy, at the same time interacting with each other mentally and emotionally -- free spirits in free relation to each other -- and co-operating with each other to achieve common ends. Traditionalists say the basic unit of `society' is the family; `hippies' say the tribe; no one says the individual.

The `hippy' babbles on about individuality, but has no more conception of it than any other man. He desires to get back to Nature, back to the wilderness, back to the home of furry animals that he's one of, away from the city, where there is at least a trace, a bare beginning of civilization, to live at the species level, his time taken up with simple, non-intellectual activities -- farming, fucking, bead stringing. The most important activity of the commune, the one upon which it is based, is gang-banging. The `hippy' is enticed to the commune mainly by the prospect for free pussy -- the main commodity to be shared, to be had just for the asking, but, blinded by greed, he fails to anticipate all the other men he has to share with, or the jealousies and possessiveness for the pussies themselves.

Men cannot co-operate to achieve a common end, because each man's end is all the pussy for himself. The commune, therefore, is doomed to failure; each `hippy' will, in panic, grad the first simpleton who digs him and whisks her off to the suburbs as fast as he can. The male cannot progress socially, but merely swings back and forth from isolation to gang-banging.

Conformity: Although he wants to be an individual, the male is scared of anything in himself that is the slightest bit different from other men, it causes him to suspect that he's not really a `Man', that he's passive and totally sexual, a highly upsetting suspicion. If other men are "A" and he's not, he must not be a man; he must be a fag. So he tries to affirm his `Manhood' by being like all the other men. Differentness in other men, as well as himself, threatens him; it means they're fags whom he must at all costs avoid, so he tries to make sure that all other men conform.

The male dares to be different to the degree that he accepts his passivity and his desire to be female, his fagginess. The farthest out male is the drag queen, but he, although different from most men, is exactly like all the other drag queens like the functionalist, he has an identity -- he is female. He tries to define all his troubles away -- but still no individuality. Not completely convinced that he's a woman, highly insecure about being sufficiently female, he conforms compulsively to the man-made stereotype, ending up as nothing but a bundle of stilted mannerisms.

To be sure he's a `Man', the male must see to it that the female be clearly a `Woman', the opposite of a `Man', that is, the female must act like a faggot. And Daddy's Girl, all of whose female instincts were wrenched out of her when little, easily and obligingly adapts herself to the role.

Authority and Government: Having no sense of right and wrong, no conscience, which can only stem from having an ability to empathize with others... having no faith in his non-existent self, being unnecessarily competitive, and by nature, unable to co-operate, the male feels a need for external guidance and control. So he created authorities -- priests, experts, bosses, leaders, etc -- and government. Wanting the female (Mama) to guide him, but unable to accept this fact (he is, after all, a MAN), wanting to play Woman, to usurp her function as Guider and Protector, he sees to it that all authorities are male.

There's no reason why a society consisting of rational beings capable of empathizing with each other, complete and having no natural reason to compete, should have a government, laws or leaders.

Philosophy, Religion, and Morality Based on Sex: The male's inability to relate to anybody or anything makes his life pointless and meaningless (the ultimate male insight is that life is absurd), so he invented philosophy and religion. Being empty, he looks outward, not only for guidance and control, but for salvation and for the meaning of life. Happiness being for him impossible on this earth, he invented Heaven.

For a man, having no ability to empathize with others and being totally sexual, `wrong' is sexual `license' and engaging in `deviant' (`unmanly') sexual practices, that is, not defending against his passivity and total sexuality which, if indulged, would destroy `civilization', since `civilization' is based entirely upon the male need to defend himself against these characteristics. For a woman (according to men), `wrong' is any behavior that would entice men into sexual `license' -- that is, not placing male needs above her own and not being a faggot.

Religion not only provides the male with a goal (Heaven) and helps keep women tied to men, but offers rituals through which he can try to expiate the guilt and shame he feels at not defending himself enough against his sexual impulses; in essence, that guilt and shame he feels at being male.

Most men men, utterly cowardly, project their inherent weaknesses onto women, label them female weaknesses and believe themselves to have female strengths; most philosophers, not quite so cowardly, face the fact that make lacks exist in men, but still can't face the fact that they exist in men only. So they label the male condition the Human Condition, post their nothingness problem, which horrifies them, as a philosophical dilemma, thereby giving stature to their animalism, grandiloquently label their nothingness their `Identity Problem', and proceed to prattle on pompously about the `Crisis of the Individual', the `Essence of Being', `Existence preceding Essence', `Existential Modes of Being', etc. etc.

A woman not only takes her identity and individuality for granted, but knows instinctively that the only wrong is to hurt others, and that the meaning of life is love.

Prejudice (racial, ethnic, religious, etc): The male needs scapegoats onto whom he can project his failings and inadequacies and upon whom he can vent his frustration at not being female. And the vicarious discriminations have the practical advantage of substantially increasing the pussy pool available to the men on top.

Competition, Prestige, Status, Formal Education, Ignorance and Social and Economic Classes: Having an obsessive desire to be admired by women, but no intrinsic worth, the make constructs a highly artificial society enabling him to appropriate the appearance of worth through money, prestige, `high' social class, degrees, professional position and knowledge and, by pushing as many other men as possible down professionally, socially, economically, and educationally.

The purpose of `higher' education is not to educate but to exclude as many as possible from the various professions.

The male, totally physical, incapable of mental rapport, although able to understand and use knowledge and ideas, is unable to relate to them, to grasp them emotionally: he does not value knowledge and ideas for their own sake (they're just means to ends) and, consequently, feels no need for mental companions, no need to cultivate the intellectual potentialities of others. On the contrary, the male has a vested interest in ignorance; it gives the few knowledgeable men a decided edge on the unknowledgeable ones, and besides, the male knows that an enlightened, aware female population will mean the end of him. The healthy, conceited female wants the company of equals whom she can respect and groove on; the male and the sick, insecure, unself-confident male female crave the company of worms.

No genuine social revolution can be accomplished by the male, as the male on top wants the status quo, and all the male on the bottom wants is to be the male on top. The male `rebel' is a farce; this is the male's `society', made by him to satisfy his needs. He's never satisfied, because he's not capable of being satisfied. Ultimately, what the male `rebel' is rebelling against is being male. The male changes only when forced to do so by technology, when he has no choice, when `society' reaches the stage where he must change or die. We're at that stage now; if women don't get their asses in gear fast, we may very well all die.

Prevention of Conversation: Being completely self-centered and unable to relate to anything outside himself, the male's `conversation', when not about himself, is an impersonal droning on, removed from anything of human value. Male `intellectual conversation' is a strained compulsive attempt to impress the female.

Daddy's Girl, passive, adaptable, respectful of and in awe of the male, allows him to impose his hideously dull chatter on her. This is not too difficult for her, as the tension and anxiety, the lack of cool, the insecurity and self-doubt, the unsureness of her own feelings and sensations that Daddy instilled in her make her perceptions superficial and render her unable to see that the male's babble is babble; like the aesthete `appreciating' the blob that's labeled `Great Art', she believes she's grooving on what bores the shit out of her. Not only does she permit his babble to dominate, she adapts her own `conversation' accordingly.

Trained from an early childhood in niceness, politeness and `dignity', in pandering to the male need to disguise his animalism, she obligingly reduces her own `conversation' to small talk, a bland, insipid avoidance of any topic beyond the utterly trivial -- or is `educated', to `intellectual' discussion, that is, impersonal discoursing on irrelevant distractions -- the Gross National Product, the Common Market, the influence of Rimbaud on symbolist painting. So adept is she at pandering that it eventually becomes second nature and she continues to pander to men even when in the company of other females only.

Apart from pandering, her `conversation' is further limited by her insecurity about expressing deviant, original opinions and the self-absorption based on insecurity and that prevents her conversation from being charming. Niceness, politeness, `dignity', insecurity and self-absorption are hardly conducive to intensity and wit, qualities a conversation must have to be worthy of the name. Such conversation is hardly rampant, as only completely self-confident, arrogant, outgoing, proud, tough-minded females are capable of intense, bitchy, witty conversation.

Prevention of Friendship (Love): Men have contempt for themselves, for all other men whom they contemplate more than casually and whom they do not think are females, (for example `sympathetic' analysts and `Great Artists') or agents of God and for all women who respect and pander to them: the insecure, approval-seeking, pandering male-females have contempt for themselves and for all women like them: the self-confident, swinging, thrill-seeking female females have contempt for me and for the pandering male females. In short, contempt is the order of the day.

Love is not dependency or sex, but friendship, and therefore, love can't exist between two males, between a male and a female, or between two females, one or both of whom is a mindless, insecure, pandering male; like conversation, live can exist only between two secure, free-wheeling, independent groovy female females, since friendship is based upon respect, not contempt.

Even amongst groovy females deep friendships seldom occur in adulthood, as almost all of them are either tied up with men in order to survive economically, or bogged down in hacking their way through the jungle and in trying to keep their heads about the amorphous mass. Love can't flourish in a society based upon money and meaningless work: it requires complete economic as well as personal freedom, leisure time and the opportunity to engage in intensely absorbing, emotionally satisfying activities which, when shared with those you respect, lead to deep friendship. Our `society' provides practically no opportunity to engage in such activities.

Having stripped the world of conversation, friendship and love, the male offers us these paltry substitutes:

`Great Art' and `Culture': The male `artist' attempts to solve his dilemma of not being able to live, of not being female, by constructing a highly artificial world in which the male is heroized, that is, displays female traits, and the female is reduced to highly limited, insipid subordinate roles, that is, to being male.

The male `artistic' aim being, not to communicate (having nothing inside him he has nothing to say), but to disguise his animalism, he resorts to symbolism and obscurity (`deep' stuff). The vast majority of people, particularly the `educated' ones, lacking faith in their own judgment, humble, respectful of authority (`Daddy knows best'), are easily conned into believing that obscurity, evasiveness, incomprehensibility, indirectness, ambiguity and boredom are marks of depth and brilliance.

`Great Art' proves that men are superior to women, that men are women, being labeled `Great Art', almost all of which, as the anti-feminists are fond of reminding us, was created by men. We know that `Great Art' is great because male authorities have told us so, and we can't claim otherwise, as only those with exquisite sensitivities far superior to ours can perceive and appreciated the slop they appreciated.

Appreciating is the sole diversion of the `cultivated'; passive and incompetent, lacking imagination and wit, they must try to make do with that; unable to create their own diversions, to create a little world of their own, to affect in the smallest way their environments, they must accept what's given; unable to create or relate, they spectate. Absorbing `culture' is a desperate, frantic attempt to groove in an ungroovy world, to escape the horror of a sterile, mindless, existence. `Culture' provides a sop to the egos of the incompetent, a means of rationalizing passive spectating; they can pride themselves on their ability to appreciate the `finer' things, to see a jewel where this is only a turd (they want to be admired for admiring). Lacking faith in their ability to change anything, resigned to the status quo, they have to see beauty in turds because, so far as they can see, turds are all they'll ever have.

The veneration of `Art' and `Culture' -- besides leading many women into boring, passive activity that distracts from more important and rewarding activities, from cultivating active abilities, and leads to the constant intrusion on our sensibilities of pompous dissertations on the deep beauty of this and that turn. This allows the `artist' to be setup as one possessing superior feelings, perceptions, insights and judgments, thereby undermining the faith of insecure women in the value and validity of their own feelings, perceptions, insights and judgments.

The male, having a very limited range of feelings, and consequently, very limited perceptions, insights and judgments, needs the `artist' to guide him, to tell him what life is all about. But the male `artist' being totally sexual, unable to relate to anything beyond his own physical sensations, having nothing to express beyond the insight that for the male life is meaningless and absurd, cannot be an artist. How can he who is not capable of life tell us what life is all about? A `male artist' is a contradiction in terms. A degenerate can only produce degenerate `art'. The true artist is every self-confident, healthy female, and in a female society the only Art, the only Culture, will be conceited, kooky, funky, females grooving on each other and on everything else in the universe.

Sexuality: Sex is not part of a relationship: on the contrary, it is a solitary experience, non-creative, a gross waste of time. The female can easily -- far more easily than she may think -- condition away her sex drive, leaving her completely cool and cerebral and free to pursue truly worthy relationships and activities; but the male, who seems to dig women sexually and who seeks out constantly to arouse them, stimulates the highly sexed female to frenzies of lust, throwing her into a sex bag from which few women ever escape. The lecherous male excited the lustful female; he has to -- when the female transcends her body, rises above animalism, the male, whose ego consists of his cock, will disappear.

Sex is the refuge of the mindless. And the more mindless the woman, the more deeply embedded in the male `culture', in short, the nicer she is, the more sexual she is. The nicest women in our `society' are raving sex maniacs. But, being just awfully, awfully nice, they don't, of course descend to fucking -- that's uncouth -- rather they make love, commune by means of their bodies and establish sensual rapport; the literary ones are attuned to the throb of Eros and attain a clutch upon the Universe; the religious have spiritual communion with the Divine Sensualism; the mystics merge with the Erotic Principle and blend with the Cosmos, and the acid heads contact their erotic cells.

On the other hand, those females least embedded in the male `Culture', the least nice, those crass and simple souls who reduce fucking to fucking, who are too childish for the grown-up world of suburbs, mortgages, mops and baby shit, too selfish to raise kids and husbands, too uncivilized to give a shit for anyones opinion of them, too arrogant to respect Daddy, the `Greats' or the deep wisdom of the Ancients, who trust only their own animal, gutter instincts, who equate Culture with chicks, whose sole diversion is prowling for emotional thrills and excitement, who are given to disgusting, nasty upsetting `scenes', hateful, violent bitches given to slamming those who unduly irritate them in the teeth, who'd sink a shiv into a man's chest or ram an icepick up his asshole as soon as look at him, if they knew they could get away with it, in short, those who, by the standards of our `culture' are SCUM... these females are cool and relatively cerebral and skirting asexuality.

Unhampered by propriety, niceness, discretion, public opinion, `morals', the respect of assholes, always funky, dirty, low-down SCUM gets around... and around and around... they've seen the whole show -- every bit of it -- the fucking scene, the dyke scene -- they've covered the whole waterfront, been under every dock and pier -- the peter pier, the pussy pier... you've got to go through a lot of sex to get to anti-sex, and SCUM's been through it all, and they're now ready for a new show; they want to crawl out from other the dock, move, take off, sink out. But SCUM doesn't yet prevail; SCUM's still in the gutter of our `society', which, if it's not deflected from its present course and if the Bomb doesn't drop on it, will hump itself to death.

Boredom: Life in a society made by and for creatures who, when they are not grim and depressing are utter bores, van only be, when not grim and depressing, an utter bore.

Secrecy, Censorship, Suppression of Knowledge and Ideas, and Exposes: Every male's deep-seated, secret, most hideous fear is of being discovered to be not a female, but a male, a subhuman animal. Although niceness, politeness and `dignity' suffice to prevent his exposure on a personal level, in order to prevent the general exposure of the male sex as a whole and to maintain his unnatural dominant position position in `society', the male must resort to:

1. Censorship. Responding reflexively to isolated works and phrases rather than cereberally to overall meanings, the male attempts to prevent the arousal and discovery of his animalism by censoring not only `pornography', but any work containing `dirty' words, no matter in what context they are used.

2. Suppression of all ideas and knowledge that might expose him or threaten his dominant position in `society'. Much biological and psychological data is suppressed, because it is proof of the male's gross inferiority to the female. Also, the problem of mental illness will never be solved while the male maintains control, because first, men have a vested interest in it -- only females who have very few of their marbles will allow males the slightest bit of control over anything, and second, the male cannot admit to the role that fatherhood plays in causing mental illness.

3. Exposes. The male's chief delight in life -- insofar as the tense, grim male can ever be said to delight in anything -- is in exposing others. It doesn't' much matter what they're exposed as, so long as they're exposed; it distracts attention from himself. Exposing others as enemy agents (Communists and Socialists) is one of his favorite pastimes, as it removes the source of the threat to him not only from himself, but from the country and the Western world. The bugs up his ass aren't in him, they're in Russia.

Distrust: Unable to empathize or feel affection or loyalty, being exclusively out for himself, the male has no sense of fair play; cowardly, needing constantly to pander to the female to win her approval, that he is helpless without, always on the edge lest his animalism, his maleness be discovered, always needing to cover up, he must lie constantly; being empty he has not honor or integrity -- he doesn't know what those words mean. The male, in short, is treacherous, and the only appropriate attitude in a male `society' is cynicism and distrust.

: Being totally sexual, incapable of cerebral or aesthetic responses, totally materialistic and greedy, the male, besides inflicting on the world `Great Art', has decorated his unlandscaped cities with ugly buildings (both inside and out), ugly decors, billboards, highways, cars, garbage trucks, and, most notably, his own putrid self.

Hatred and Violence: The male is eaten up with tension, with frustration at not being female, at not being capable of ever achieving satisfaction or pleasure of any kind; eaten up with hate -- not rational hate that is directed at those who abuse or insult you -- but irrational, indiscriminate hate... hatred, at bottom, of his own worthless self.

Gratuitous violence, besides `proving' he's a `Man', serves as an outlet for his hate and, in addition -- the male being capable only of sexual responses and needing very strong stimuli to stimulate his half-dead self -- provides him with a little sexual thrill..

: All diseases are curable, and the aging process and death are due to disease; it is possible, therefore, never to age and to live forever. In fact the problems of aging and death could be solved within a few years, if an all-out, massive scientific assault were made upon the problem. This, however, will not occur with the male establishment because:

1. The many male scientists who shy away from biological research, terrified of the discovery that males are females, and show marked preference for virile, `manly' war and death programs.

2. The discouragement of many potential scientists from scientific careers by the rigidity, boringness, expensiveness, time-consumingness, and unfair exclusivity of our `higher' educational system.

3. Propaganda disseminated by insecure male professionals, who jealously guard their positions, so that only a highly select few can comprehend abstract scientific concepts.

4. Widespread lack of self-confidence brought about by the father system that discourages many talented girls from becoming scientists.

5. Lack of automation. There now exists a wealth of data which, if sorted out and correlated, would reveal the cure for cancer and several other diseases and possibly the key to life itself. But the data is so massive it requires high speed computers to correlate it all. The institution of computers will be delayed interminably under the male control system, since the male has a horror of being replaced by machines.

6. The money systems' insatiable need for new products. Most of the few scientists around who aren't working on death programs are tied up doing research for corporations.

7. The males like death -- it excites him sexually and, already dead inside, he wants to die.

8. The bias of the money system for the least creative scientists. Most scientists come from at least relatively affluent families where Daddy reigns supreme.

Incapable of a positive state of happiness, which is the only thing that can justify one's existence, the male is, at best, relaxed, comfortable, neutral, and this condition is extremely short-lived, as boredom, a negative state, soon sets in; he is, therefore, doomed to an existence of suffering relieved only by occasional, fleeting stretches of restfulness, which state he can only achieve at the expense of some female. The male is, by his very nature, a leech, an emotional parasite and, therefore, not ethically entitled to live, as no one as the right to life at someone else's expense.

Just as humans have a prior right to existence over dogs by virtue of being more highly evolved and having a superior consciousness, so women have a prior right to existence over men. The elimination of any male is, therefore, a righteous and good act, an act highly beneficial to women as well as an act of mercy.

However, this moral issue will eventually be rendered academic by the fact that the male is gradually eliminating himself. In addition to engaging in the time-honored and classical wars and race riots, men are more and more either becoming fags or are obliterating themselves through drugs. The female, whether she likes it or not, will eventually take complete charge, if for no other reason than that she will have to -- the male, for practical purposes, won't exist.

Accelerating this trend is the fact that more and more males are acquiring enlightened self-interest; they're realizing more and more that the female interest is in their interest, that they can live only through the female and that the more the female is encouraged to live, to fulfill herself, to be a female and not a male, the more nearly he lives; he's coming to see that it's easier and more satisfactory to live through her than to try to become her and usurp her qualities, claim them as his own, push the female down and claim that she's a male. The fag, who accepts his maleness, that is, his passivity and total sexuality, his femininity, is also best served by women being truly female, as it would then be easier for him to be male, feminine. If men were wise they would seek to become really female, would do intensive biological research that would lead to me, by means of operations on the brain and nervous system, being able t to be transformed in psyche, as well as body, into women.

Whether to continue to use females for reproduction or to reproduce in the laboratory will also become academic: what will happen when every female, twelve and over, is routinely taking the Pill and there are no longer any accidents? How many women will deliberately get or (if an accident) remain pregnant? No, Virginia, women don't just adore being brood mares, despite what the mass of robot, brainwashed women will say. When society consists of only the fully conscious the answer will be none. Should a certain percentage of men be set aside by force to serve as brood mares for the species? Obviously this will not do. The answer is laboratory reproduction of babies.

As for the issue of whether or not to continue to reproduce males, it doesn't follow that because the male, like disease, has always existed among us that he should continue to exist. When genetic control is possible -- and soon it will be -- it goes without saying that we should produce only whole, complete beings, not physical defects of deficiencies, including emotional deficiencies, such as maleness. Just as the deliberate production of blind people would be highly immoral, so would be the deliberate production of emotional cripples.

Why produce even females? Why should there be future generations? What is their purpose? When aging and death are eliminated, why continue to reproduce? Why should we care what happens when we're dead? Why should we care that there is no younger generation to succeed us.

Eventually the natural course of events, of social evolution, will lead to total female control of the world and, subsequently, to the cessation of the production of males and, ultimately, to the cessation of the production of females.

But SCUM is impatient; SCUM is not consoled by the thought that future generations will thrive; SCUM wants to grab some thrilling living for itself. And, if a large majority of women were SCUM, they could acquire complete control of this country within a few weeks simply by withdrawing from the labor force, thereby paralyzing the entire nation. Additional measures, any one of which would be sufficient to completely disrupt the economy and everything else, would be for women to declare themselves off the money system, stop buying, just loot and simply refuse to obey all laws they don't care to obey. The police force, National Guard, Army, Navy and Marines combined couldn't squelch a rebellion of over half the population, particularly when it's made up of people they are utterly helpless without.

If all women simply left men, refused to have anything to do with any of them -- ever, all men, the government, and the national economy would collapse completely. Even without leaving men, women who are aware of the extent of their superiority to and power over men, could acquire complete control over everything within a few weeks, could effect a total submission of males to females. In a sane society the male would trot along obediently after the female. The male is docile and easily led, easily subjected to the domination of any female who cares to dominate him. The male, in fact, wants desperately to be led by females, wants Mama in charge, wants to abandon himself to her care. But this is not a sane society, and most women are not even dimly aware of where they're at in relation to men.

The conflict, therefore, is not between females and males, but between SCUM -- dominant, secure, self-confident, nasty, violent, selfish, independent, proud, thrill-seeking, free-wheeling, arrogant females, who consider themselves fit to rule the universe, who have free-wheeled to the limits of this `society' and are ready to wheel on to something far beyond what it has to offer -- and nice, passive, accepting `cultivated', polite, dignified, subdued, dependent, scared, mindless, insecure, approval-seeking Daddy's Girls, who can't cope with the unknown, who want to hang back with the apes, who feel secure only with Big Daddy standing by, with a big strong man to lean on and with a fat, hairy face in the White House, who are too cowardly to face up to the hideous reality of what a man is, what Daddy is, who have cast their lot with the swine, who have adapted themselves to animalism, feel superficially comfortable with it and know no other way of `life', who have reduced their minds, thoughts and sights to the male level, who, lacking sense, imagination and wit can have value only in a male `society', who can have a place in the sun, or, rather, in the slime, only as soothers, ego boosters, relaxers and breeders, who are dismissed as inconsequents by other females, who project their deficiencies, their maleness, onto all females and see the female as worm.

But SCUM is too impatient to wait for the de-brainwashing of millions of assholes. Why should the swinging females continue to plod dismally along with the dull male ones? Why should the fates of the groovy and the creepy be intertwined? Why should the active and imaginative consult the passive and dull on social policy? Why should the independent be confined to the sewer along with the dependent who need Daddy to cling to? A small handful of SCUM can take over the country within a year by systematically fucking up the system, selectively destroying property, and murder:

SCUM will become members of the unwork force, the fuck-up force; they will get jobs of various kinds an unwork. For example, SCUM salesgirls will not charge for merchandise; SCUM telephone operators will not charge for calls; SCUM office and factory workers, in addition to fucking up their work, will secretly destroy equipment. SCUM will unwork at a job until fired, then get a new job to unwork at.

SCUM will forcibly relieve bus drivers, cab drivers and subway token sellers of their jobs and run buses and cabs and dispense free tokens to the public.

SCUM will destroy all useless and harmful objects -- cars, store windows, `Great Art', etc.

Eventually SCUM will take over the airwaves -- radio and TV networks -- by forcibly relieving of their jobs all radio and TV employees who would impede SCUM's entry into the broadcasting studios.

SCUM will couple-bust -- barge into mixed (male-female) couples, wherever they are, and bust them up.

SCUM will kill all men who are not in the Men's Auxiliary of SCUM. Men in the Men's Auxiliary are those men who are working diligently to eliminate themselves, men who, regardless of their motives, do good, men who are playing pall with SCUM. A few examples of the men in the Men's Auxiliary are: men who kill men; biological scientists who are working on constructive programs, as opposed to biological warfare; journalists, writers, editors, publishers and producers who disseminate and promote ideas that will lead to the achievement of SCUM's goals; faggots who, by their shimmering, flaming example, encourage other men to de-man themselves and thereby make themselves relatively inoffensive; men who consistently give things away -- money, things, services; men who tell it like it is (so far not one ever has), who put women straight, who reveal the truth about themselves, who give the mindless male females correct sentences to parrot, who tell them a woman's primary goal in life should be to squash the male sex (to aid men in this endeavor SCUM will conduct Turd Sessions, at which every male present will give a speech beginning with the sentence: `I am a turd, a lowly abject turd', then proceed to list all the ways in which he is. His reward for doing so will be the opportunity to fraternize after the session for a whole, solid hour with the SCUM who will be present. Nice, clean-living male women will be invited to the sessions to help clarify any doubts and misunderstandings they may have about the male sex; makers and promoters of sex books and movies, etc., who are hastening the day when all that will be shown on the screen will be Suck and Fuck (males, like the rats following the Pied Piper, will be lured by Pussy to their doom, will be overcome and submerged by and will eventually drown in the passive flesh that they are); drug pushers and advocates, who are hastening the dropping out of men.

Being in the Men's Auxiliary is a necessary but not a sufficient condition for making SCUM's escape list; it's not enough to do good; to save their worthless asses men must also avoid evil. A few examples of the most obnoxious or harmful types are: rapists, politicians and all who are in their service (campaigners, members of political parties, etc); lousy singers and musicians; Chairmen of Boards; Breadwinners; landlords; owners of greasy spoons and restaraunts that play Muzak; `Great Artists'; cheap pikers and welchers; cops; tycoons; scientists working on death and destruction programs or for private industry (practically all scientists); liars and phonies; disc jockies; men who intrude themselves in the slightest way on any strange female; real estate men; stock brokers; men who speak when they have nothing to say; men who sit idly on the street and mar the landscape with their presence; double dealers; flim-flam artists; litterbugs; plagiarisers; men who in the slightest way harm any female; all men in the advertising industry; psychiatrists and clinical psychologists; dishonest writers, journalists, editors, publishers, etc.; censors on both the public and private levels; all members of the armed forces, including draftees (LBJ and McNamara give orders, but servicemen carry them out) and particularly pilots (if the bomb drops, LBJ won't drop it; a pilot will). In the case of a man whose behavior falls into both the good and bad categories, an overall subjective evaluation of him will be made to determine if his behavior is, in the balance, good or bad.

It is most tempting to pick off the female `Great Artists', liars and phonies etc along with the men, but that would be inexpedient, as it would not be clear to most of the public that the female killed was a male. All women have a fink streak in them, to a greater or lesser degree, but it stems from a lifetime of living among men. Eliminate men and women will shape up. Women are improvable; men are no, although their behavior is. When SCUM gets hot on their asses it'll shape up fast.

Simultaneously with the fucking-up, looting, couple-busting, destroying and killing, SCUM will recruit. SCUM, then, will consist of recruiters; the elite corps -- the hard core activists (the fuck-ups, looters and destroyers) and the elite of the elite -- the killers.

Dropping out is not the answer; fucking-up is. Most women are already dropped out; they were never in. Dropping out gives control to those few who don't drop out; dropping out is exactly what the establishment leaders want; it plays into the hands of the enemy; it strengthens the system instead of undermining it, since it is based entirely on the non-participating, passivity, apathy and non-involvement of the mass of women. Dropping out, however, is an excellent policy for men, and SCUM will enthusiastically encourage it.

Looking inside yourself for salvation, contemplating your navel, is not, as the Drop Out people would have you believe, the answer. Happiness likes outside yourself, is achieved through interacting with others. Self-forgetfulness should be one's goal, not self-absorption. The male, capable of only the latter, makes a virtue of irremediable fault and sets up self-absorption, not only as a good but as a Philosophical Good, and thus gets credit for being deep.

SCUM will not picket, demonstrate, march or strike to attempt to achieve its ends. Such tactics are for nice, genteel ladies who scrupulously take only such action as is guaranteed to be ineffective. In addition, only decent, clean-living male women, highly trained in submerging themselves in the species, act on a mob basis. SCUM consists of individuals; SCUM is not a mob, a blob. Only as many SCUM will do a job as are needed for the job. Also SCUM, being cool and selfish, will not subject to getting itself rapped on the head with billy clubs; that's for the nice, `privileged, educated', middle-class ladies with a high regard for the touching faith in the essential goodness of Daddy and policemen. If SCUM ever marches, it will be over the President's stupid, sickening face; if SCUM ever strikes, it will be in the dark with a six-inch blade.

SCUM will always operate on a criminal as opposed to a civil disobedience basis, that is, as opposed to openly violating the law and going to jail in order to draw attention to an injustice. Such tactics acknowledge the rightness overall system and are used only to modify it slightly, change specific laws. SCUM is against the entire system, the very idea of law and government. SCUM is out to destroy the system, not attain certain rights within it. Also, SCUM -- always selfish, always cool -- will always aim to avoid detection and punishment. SCUM will always be furtive, sneaky, underhanded (although SCUM murders will always be known to be such).

Both destruction and killing will be selective and discriminate. SCUM is against half-crazed, indiscriminate riots, with no clear objective in mind, and in which many of your own kind are picked off. SCUM will never instigate, encourage or participate in riots of any kind or other form of indiscriminate destruction. SCUM will coolly, furtively, stalk its prey and quietly move in for the kill. Destruction will never me such as to block off routes needed for the transportation of food or other essential supplies, contaminate or cut off the water supply, block streets and traffic to the extent that ambulances can't get through or impede the functioning of hospitals.

SCUM will keep on destroying, looting, fucking-up and killing until the money-work system no longer exists and automation is completely instituted or until enough women co-operate with SCUM to make violence unnecessary to achieve these goals, that is, until enough women either unwork or quit work, start looting, leave men and refuse to obey all laws inappropriate to a truly civilized society. Many women will fall into line, but many others, who surrendered long ago to the enemy, who are so adapted to animalism, to maleness, that they like restrictions and restraints, don't know what to do with freedom, will continue to be toadies and doormats, just as peasants in rice paddies remain peasants in rice paddies as one regime topples another. A few of the more volatile will whimper and sulk and throw their toys and dishrags on the floor, but SCUM will continue to steamroller over them.

A completely automated society can be accomplished very simply and quickly once there is a public demand for it. The blueprints for it are already in existence, and it's construction will take only a few weeks with millions of people working on it. Even though off the money system, everyone will be most happy to pitch in and get the automated society built; it will mark the beginning of a fantastic new era, and there will be a celebration atmosphere accompanying the construction.

The elimination of money and the complete institution of automation are basic to all other SCUM reforms; without these two the others can't take place; with them the others will take place very rapidly. The government will automatically collapse. With complete automation it will be possible for every woman to vote directly on every issue by means of an electronic voting machine in her house. Since the government is occupied almost entirely with regulating economic affairs and legislating against purely private matters, the elimination of money wand with it the elimination of males who wish to legislate `morality' will mean there will be practically no issues to vote on.

After the elimination of money there will be no further need to kill men; they will be stripped of the only power they have over psychologically independent females. They will be able to impose themselves only on the doormats, who like to be imposed on. The rest of the women will be busy solving the few remaining unsolved problems before planning their agenda for eternity and Utopia -- completely revamping educational programs so that millions of women can be trained within a few months for high level intellectual work that now requires years of training (this can be done very easily once out educational goal is to educate and not perpetuate an academic and intellectual elite); solving the problems of disease and old age and death and completely redesigning our cities and living quarters. Many women will for a while continue to think they dig men, but as they become accustomed to female society and as they become absorbed in their projects, they will eventually come to see the utter uselessnes and banality of the male.

The few remaining men can exist out their puny days dropped out on drugs or strutting around in drag or passively watching the high-powered female in action, fulfilling themselves as spectators, vicarious livers*[FOOTNOTE: It will be electronically possible for him to tune into any specific female he wants to and follow in detail her every movement. The females will kindly, obligingly consent to this, as it won't hurt them in the slightest and it is a marvelously kind and humane way to treat their unfortunate, handicapped fellow beings.] or breeding in the cow pasture with the toadies, or they can go off to the nearest friendly suicide center where they will be quietly, quickly, and painlessly gassed to death.

Prior to the institution of automation, to the replacement of males by machines, the male should be of use to the female, wait on her, cater to her slightest whim, obey her every command, be totally subservient to her, exist in perfect obedience to her will, as opposed to the completely warped, degenerate situation we have now of men, not only not only not existing at all, cluttering up the world with their ignominious presence, but being pandered to and groveled before by the mass of females, millions of women piously worshiping the Golden Calf, the dog leading the master on a leash, when in fact the male, short of being a drag queen, is least miserable when his dogginess is recognized -- no unrealistic emotional demands are made of him and the completely together female is calling the shots. Rational men want to be squashed, stepped on, crushed and crunched, treated as the curs, the filth that they are, have their repulsiveness confirmed.

The sick, irrational men, those who attempt to defend themselves against their disgustingness, when they see SCUM barrelling down on them, will cling in terror to Big Mama with her Big Bouncy Boobies, but Boobies won't protect them against SCUM; Big Mama will be clinging to Big Daddy, who will be in the corner shitting in his forceful, dynamic pants. Men who are rational, however, won't kick or struggle or raise a distressing fuss, but will just sit back, relax, enjoy the show and ride the waves to their demise.

- end -

-- Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. From max@sentex.net Wed Jan 16 09:10:57 2002 Date: Sun, 26 Aug 2001 17:31:45 -0400 From: Sylvia Morscher To: tomj@wps.com Subject: yet more old files [ Part 2: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj Fri Dec 10 16:10:49 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Fri, 10 Dec 93 19:21:20 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA28707; 10 Dec 93 16:10:49 EST (Fri) Received: from fido.wps.com ([140.174.77.1]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <54821(5)>; Fri, 10 Dec 1993 16:03:46 -0500 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA00602; Fri, 10 Dec 93 13:03:31 -0800 From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9312102103.AA00602@wps.com> Subject: wanna be on my SHIT-LIST To: sylvia@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell) Date: Fri, 10 Dec 1993 16:03:31 -0500 X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 577 Hey, heh heh, wanna be on my shitlist? You'll get... shit... in the mail. It's mot hyper sophisticated. Mostly fun stuff, some "serious" if it's interesting enough... the other people in the list are WPS users, friends, mostly non-techies. Though I dump techie stuff. Flesh (my friend and soon, TLG intern) generates some, and he's doing the gopher server (gopher to wps.com). We'll be putting up a WWW server soon. -- Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork [ Part 3: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!hookup!fido.wps.com!flesh Wed Dec 22 21:49:57 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Thu, 23 Dec 93 01:31:22 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA19603; 22 Dec 93 21:49:57 EST (Wed) Received: from fido.wps.com (fido.wps.com [140.174.77.1]) by nic.hookup.net (8.6.5.Beta5/1.72) with SMTP id AAA24309; Wed, 22 Dec 1993 00:54:32 -0500 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA06150; Tue, 21 Dec 93 21:52:42 -0800 From: flesh@wps.com (Flesh) Message-Id: <9312220552.AA06150@wps.com> Subject: Re: People like this should be KILLED Date: Tue, 21 Dec 1993 21:52:42 -0800 (PST) Cc: shit-list@fido.wps.com In-Reply-To: <9312201920.AA11220@wps.com> from "Tom Jennings" at Dec 20, 93 11:20:17 am X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 462 Well. You know, we all could reply to Mr White. A nice little message like.... Mr. White. Having recieved your xmas greeting, I would like to take this opprotunity to point out that it is this holiday season, the most suicides a year occur. I would've been one of them, however, I decided to happily imursh myself in my work. It was working too! Was, until I recived your letter. I'm going to slit my wrists now. Thanks for pushing me over the edge. [ Part 4: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj Mon Dec 20 16:10:21 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Tue, 21 Dec 93 01:02:04 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA19752; 20 Dec 93 16:10:21 EST (Mon) Received: from fido.wps.com ([140.174.77.1]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <53864(1)>; Mon, 20 Dec 1993 14:27:12 -0500 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA11220; Mon, 20 Dec 93 11:20:18 -0800 From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9312201920.AA11220@wps.com> Subject: People like this should be KILLED To: shit-list@fido.wps.com Date: Mon, 20 Dec 1993 14:20:17 -0500 X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 5232 ...and all traces of their existence wiped from every database on the planet, every phonebook every phone-sex hotline. Maybe through extreme vigilance we can stamp this kind of thing out! Probably not. But we can try!!! *This* is what poison, rabid rats, blow-darts, electrical torture, and being run over slowly by a truck as your family is forced to watch, are for! Self defense! The crime?! Bad taste? Idiocy? Foolishness? No -- the pinheaded assumption other people want to indulge in this mall-inspired rubbish. Happy fucken holydays indeed. Forwarded message: > From white@interval.com Mon Dec 20 11:02:46 1993 > Message-Id: <9312201858.AA24545@interval.interval.com> > Mime-Version: 1.0 > Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" > Date: Mon, 20 Dec 1993 11:00:55 -0800 > To: everyone@interval.com, lubdub@aol.com, MOONUNIT@orange.cc.utexas.edu, > pavel@parc.xerox.com, electric@netcom.com (F. Randall Farmer), > "frank chen" , Diane Li , > , > knutson@itsa.ucsf.EDU (Brian Knutson), > Joshua.Loftus@Forsythe.Stanford.EDU, msomol@us.oracle.com, > tmeritt@leland.stanford.edu, arnoma01@dons.ac.usfca.edu, > rauchway@leland.stanford.edu, johnmcw@violet.berkeley.edu, > sunrise@Euphrates.Stanford.EDU, esquivel@Euphrates.Stanford.EDU, > jtsherman@aol.com, renosboy@aol.com, rachelc106@aol.com, kjj@tenet.edu, > jonathan@casa.stanford.edu, skropf@us.oracle.com, jwishnie@vivid.com, > ellen@cs.stanford.edu, ly@cs.stanford.edu, dli@us.oracle.com, > chun@mcc.com, srinija@MCC.COM, vemuri@CS.Stanford.EDU, > dianazon@leland.stanford.edu, opel@leland.stanford.edu, > piggie@leland.stanford.edu, shazam@leland.stanford.edu, > goose@leland.stanford.edu, asd-board@Euphrates.Stanford.EDU, > pcd-students@Euphrates.Stanford.EDU > From: white@interval.com (Sean Michael White) > Subject: Happy Holidays > Cc: asb@MEDIA-LAB.MEDIA.MIT.EDU, electronic.cafe@pro-palmtree.socal.com, > mark@path.net, tomj@fido.wps.com, kathyr@aol.com, > ullmer@bigcheese.math.scarolina.edu, hlr@well.sf.ca.us, > emma@csli.stanford.edu, HARTFIELD@AppleLink.Apple.COM, > 75030.1004@CompuServe.COM, claudlee@aol.com, > workinger@leland.stanford.edu > > Happy Chanukah, > merry Christams, > joyous Kwanza, > happy New Year, > and safe passage to you all. > > If I've left you out, you have different needs this season, or even if you > have everything you need, I wish you hope and fulfillment in the coming > year. And please remember to have fun! > > With my love, <--- I can see tears running down your cheek now...;-) > Sean > > > > *%\@/*%$%*\@/*%$%*\@/*%$%*\@/*%$%*\^/*%$%*\@/*%$%*\@/*%$%*\@/*%$%*\@/*%* > * X ! X ! X ! X ! . ! X ! X ! X ! X * > * O O O O .|. O O O O * > * -*- * > * Athbhliain Faoi Mhaise! '|` _ Happy New Year! * > * Inpakaramaana Vidumurai! *:* ("D Chag Sameach! * > * Frohliche Weihnachten! * . * ~(=r Boas Festas! * > * Sarbatori Fericite! ** ** .../__\ Gut Yontif! * > * Joyous Solstice! *** o *** [MJ] Iyi YIllar! * > * Mele Kalikimake! *\ O * Hyvaeae Lomaa! * > * Merry Christmas! ** \\ ** Wesolych Swiat! * > * Happy Hanukkah! *** \\ *** Stastny Novy Rok! * > * Pari Artsagourt! * o \\ * Kellemes Unnepeket! * > * Shub Naya Baras! ** O \\** Blwyddyn Newydd Dda! * > * Vesele Vanoce! ***\\ o \*** Ching Chi Shen Tan! * > * Feliz Navidad! * \\ o * Felichan Jarfinon! * > * Joyeux Noel! ** o \\ O ** Joy to the World * > * Bom Natal! **** \\ o **** - And to All a * > * God Jul! ** o o \\ o ** Good Night! * > * Cheers! *** O \\ *** * > * *:D o_ ***************************** e@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ > * _ <' )~ ___ ##### _v_ @@@"""""""""""""* > * /<~ ["""] V o [___] _@_ #####__|~|_ A @" ___ ___________ > * %'= @|HHH|[~] U |\ /|/^^^\##[{}{}{}{](") ! II__[w] | [i] [z] | > * %' ) /%|HHH||$|/V\|XXX|~~~~~##[}{}{}{}](:)<*> {======|_|~~~~~~~~~| > * %(__6 |==D|HHH||$|\^/|/ \|=====##[{}{}{}{](:) V /oO--000'"`-OO---OO-' > ************************************************************************ > > I don't know the original creator of this ascii-art but I thought > it was the closest thing to the season. > > ------- > white@interval.com "I'm being followed by a moon shadow..." > > > -- Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork [ Part 5: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!uunet.ca!fido.wps.com!tomj Wed Dec 8 00:09:14 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Wed, 08 Dec 93 14:43:35 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA26904; 8 Dec 93 00:09:14 EST (Wed) Received: from relay2.UU.NET ([192.48.96.7]) by mail.uunet.ca with SMTP id <53998(1)>; Tue, 7 Dec 1993 23:09:50 -0500 Received: from fido.wps.com by relay2.UU.NET with SMTP (5.61/UUNET-internet-primary) id AA02831; Tue, 7 Dec 93 22:29:39 -0500 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA28732; Tue, 7 Dec 93 19:28:17 -0800 From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings) Message-Id: <9312080328.AA28732@wps.com> Subject: Re: Cu Digest, #5.89 (fwd) To: max@exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Sylvia Maxwell) Date: Tue, 7 Dec 1993 22:28:16 -0500 In-Reply-To: from "Sylvia Maxwell" at Dec 5, 93 08:49:48 pm X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 970 > What is happening with the erotic magazine? Which erotic zine? My new one, yet to be? (Zine that is -- it wasn't going to be an erotic zine, but a fag/punk/technology zine. Probably with a readership of 1: me!) > i guess you won't get the painting for a couple of days. I told you > i had mailed it, but actually it was sitting parcelled in the hallway > and i was about to mail it, but i couldn't find your address. which > i didn't find until days later, after locating the last person to > whom i'd leant your mail art. so it was really mailed on Friday. I really look forwrd to it! Really! > Subj: living a life > All: You are a deviant control freak struggling with decontructing the > rules of games. I wonder if this doesn't preface every possible user of email and related stuph... -- Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. The Little Garden -- admin@admin.tlg.rg.net -- S.F. Bay Area Internetwork From max@sentex.net Wed Jan 16 09:11:02 2002 Date: Sun, 26 Aug 2001 17:32:59 -0400 From: Sylvia Morscher To: tomj@wps.com Subject: even more [ Part 2: "Attached Text" ] >From tdkcs!hookup!fido.wps.com!flesh Thu Dec 30 23:45:17 1993 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Fri, 31 Dec 93 09:04:31 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA02585; 30 Dec 93 23:45:17 EST (Thu) Received: from fido.wps.com (fido.wps.com [140.174.77.1]) by nic.hookup.net (8.6.5.Beta5/1.76) with SMTP id XAA12353; Thu, 30 Dec 1993 23:45:23 -0500 Received: by fido.wps.com (5.67/wps.com-hackery) id AA03707; Thu, 30 Dec 93 20:42:24 -0800 From: flesh@wps.com (Flesh) Message-Id: <9312310442.AA03707@wps.com> Subject: End of Year E-Zine Listing (fwd) To: shit-list@fido.wps.com Date: Thu, 30 Dec 1993 20:42:23 -0800 (PST) Cc: zorca@aol.com, zorca@well.sf.ca.us, cs000rrs@selway.umt.edu, tjames@netcom.com X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Length: 18314 Forwarded message: >From owner-cypherpunks@toad.com Thu Dec 30 18:43:27 1993 Date: Thu, 30 Dec 93 21:26:34 -0500 Message-Id: <9312310226.AA28681@bsu-cs.bsu.edu> From: Anonymous To: cypherpunks@toad.com X-Remailed-By: Anonymous X-Ttl: 0 X-Notice: This message was forwarded by a software- automated anonymous remailing service. Subject: End of Year E-Zine Listing Organization: Anarchy for Tentacles Once again, we find ourselves facing a new jahre and pondering the untold wonders of the anarchy of cyberspace! In celebration of this joyous occasion, I've decided to post a compilation of electronic 'zines for your perusal. I especially like the reference for Practical Anarchy and will probably send a copy of this message to our old chum, Larry "the squid" Detweiler. Enjoy, - Spooge /---------------- good stuff follows ------------------/ Last updated: 27-Aug-93 by John Labovitz This is a summary of electronically-accessible zines. The format should be fairly self-explanatory. In most cases, descriptions are excerpted from the masthead of the zine listed. [For those of you not acquainted with the zine world, "zine" is short for either "fanzine" or "magazine," depending on your point of view. Zines are generally produced by one person or a small group of people, done mostly for fun, and often irreverent, bizarre, and/or esoteric. Zines are not "mainstream" publications -- they generally do not contain advertisements (except, sometimes, advertisements for other zines), do not have a large subscriber base, and are not produced to make money.] If you have any additions, deletions, or changes to this list, please email them to johnl@netcom.com. I will post this list (and/or changes to the list) to various mailing lists and Usenet news groups. It can also be obtained via anonymous FTP from netcom.com as "/pub/johnl/zines/e-zine-list", and via email (either single issues or subscriptions) from e-zines-request@netcom.com. If you publish an e-zine, or know someone who does, please send a copy to e-zines@netcom.com and I'll add the relevant info to this database. All comments, suggestions, changes, deletions, etc., are welcomed and encouraged. John Labovitz johnl@netcom.com ----- Arm The Spirit "Arm The Spirit is a anti-imperialist/autonomist collective that disseminates information about liberation struggles in advanced capitalist countries and in the so-called 'Third World.' Our focus is on armed struggle and other forms of militant resistance but we do not limit ourselves to this. In Arm The Spirit you can find news on political prisoners in North America and Europe, information on the struggles of Indigenous peoples in the Americas, communiques from guerrilla groups, debate and discussion on armed struggle and much more. We also attempt to cover anti-colonial national liberation struggles in Kurdistan, Puerto Rico, Euskadi and elsewhere." Editor(s): Autonome Forum Format: ASCII text FTP: etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/Politics/Arm.the.Spirit E-Mail: aforum@moose.uvm.edu, subject: "ATS: e-mail request" Postal: Arm The Spirit, c/o Wild Seed Press, POB 57584, Jackson Stn., Hamilton, Ontario, L8P 4X3, Canada Arm The Spirit, c/o Autonome Forum, POB 1242, Burlington, VT 05402-1242, USA Phone: +1 416 527 2419 (FAX for Canadian group) Armadillo Culture "Being the excremeditation of a hyperactive armadillo's activities, opinions, and other stuff..." Editor(s): Steve Okay Format: ASCII text FTP: etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/Zines/Armadillo.Culture Postal: Armadillo Culture, 2857 Foxmill Rd. Herndon, VA 22071, USA ART COM "An online magazine forum dedicated to the interface of contemporary art and new communication technologies." Editor(s): Carl Eugene Loeffler Format: ASCII text Usenet: alt.artcom Postal: ART COM, POB 193123 Rincon, San Francisco, CA 94119-3123, USA Phone: +1 415 431 7524 (voice), +1 415 431 7841 (fax) Other: Whole Earth 'Lectronic Link (WELL): ART COM Electronic Network (ACEN) BLINK "BLINK would like to be a forum for the issues surrounding the intersection of consciousness and technology. This is our best defense against postmodern angst: To critically look at and anticipate the cultural and social changes spurred by the rapid development of technology." Editor(s): Justin Kerr Joe Germuska (managing editor) Danny Dunlavy (chiphead) Jake Eldridge (assistant editor) Format: ASCII text FTP: blink.acns.nwu.edu:/pub/blink Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us Computer Underground Digest "An open forum dedicated to sharing information among computerists and to the presentation and debate of diverse views." Editor(s): Jim Thomas and Gordon Meyer Format: ASCII text FTP: ftp.eff.org:/pub/cud etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/CuD/cud halcyon.com:/pub/mirror/cud aql.gatech.edu;/pub/eff/cud ftp.ee.mu.oz.au:/pub/text/CuD (Australia) nic.funet.fi:pub/doc/cud (Finland) ftp.warwick.ac.uk:pub/cud (United Kingdom) Gopher: etext.archive.umich.edu Postal: Jim Thomas, Department of Sociology, NIU, DeKalb, IL 60115, USA Phone: +1 815 753 0303 (voice), +1 815 753 6302 (fax) Usenet: comp.society.cu-digest CompuServe: DL0 and DL4 of the IBMBBS SIG; DL1 of LAWSIG; DL1 of TELECOM Other: GEnie: PF*NPC RT libraries; VIRUS/SECURITY library America Online: PC Telecom forum under "computing newsletters" Delphi: General Discussion database of the Internet SIG PC-EXEC BBS (+1 414 789 4210) Rune Stone BBS (IIRG WHQ) (+1 203 832 8441) NUP:Conspiracy RIPCO BBS (+1 312 528 5020) via Fidonet File Request from 1:11/70 ComNet in LUXEMBOURG BBS (+352 466893) Bits against the Empire BBS (+39 461 980493) (Italy) Crash "A guide to traveling through the underground. Alternative travel stories, hints, and tips." Editor(s): John Labovitz Miles Poindexter Nigel French Format: ASCII text FTP: netcom.com:/pub/johnl/zines/crash Postal: Crash, 519 Castro #7, San Francisco, CA 94114, USA CTHEORY -- Virtual Review of Books for Post-Modem Theory "CTHEORY is a new international, electronic review of books on theory, technology and culture. Reviews are posted monthly of key books in contemporary discourse as well as theorisations of major 'event-scenes' in the mediascape. Editors and contributors include: Kathy Acker, Jean Baudrillard, Bruce Sterling, Arthur and Marilouise Kroker, Deena and Michael Weinstein. CTHEORY will also offer the possibility of interactive discussions among its subscribers in the electronic theory 'sim-posium/salon.'" Editor(s): Format: ASCII text E-Mail: LISTSERV@VM1.MCGILL.CA with text body: "SUBSCRIBE CTHEORY " Cyberspace Vanguard "News and Views of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Universe" Editor(s): TJ Goldstein Sarah Alexander, Administrator Format: ASCII text E-Mail: cn577@cleveland.freenet.edu Cyberspace Vanguard@1:157/564 (FidoNet) CVANGUARD (Delphi) Postal: Cyberspace Vanguard, POB 25704, Garfield Heights, OH 44125, USA Drum "Drum is not an isolated event but an ongoing process." Editor(s): R. Patrick Jones Format: ASCII text FTP: etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/Zines/Drum Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us Ego Project "This 'zine is a product of me and as such will contain anything I feel like putting in it. Whatever I feel like putting in it shall include, but is not limited too, anything I feel applies to Gothdom in general. Album/single/tape reviews, book and movies reviews, etc. The Sisters of Mercy and the Mission are my main focuses, but since neither of them put out music on anything resembling a frequent basis I imagine other groups will be featured quite frequently." Editor(s): Corey Nelson Format: ASCII text Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us Postal: Ego Project, 1717 Monroe #b, Bellingham, WA 98225, USA Factsheet Five / Factsheet Five - Electric "FactSheet Five is the central clearinghouse of information about zines, those opinionated publications with press runs of 50 to 5000 (often done through surrepticious use of on-the-job supplies and xerox). Mike Gunderloy of Rennsalaer, NY published 44 editions of F5. Hudson Luce published the final issue, #45. I opened my big mouth (or, rather, let my fingers blab away) about doing an online, net-accessible version of FactSheet Five." Editor(s): Jerod Pore (electronic version) Seth Friedman (paper version) Format: ASCII text FTP: etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/Factsheet.Five nigel.msen.com:/pub/newsletters/F5-E src.doc.ic.ac.uk:/literary/newsletters/factsheet-five Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us WAIS: nigel.msen.com Postal: Factsheet Five, 1800 Market St., San Francisco, CA 94102, USA (This is for *BOTH* the electronic and paper versions; or for items that can't be delivered to a PO box) Seth Friedman, POB 170099, San Francisco, CA 94117-0099, USA (This is for the paper version *only*, especially subscriptions) Other: The WELL BBSes around the world FUNHOUSE! -- The cyberzine of degenerate pop culture "Dedicated to whatever happens to be on my mind at the time I'm writing. The focus will tend to be on those aspects of our fun-filled world which aren't given the attention of the bland traditional media, or which have been woefully misinterpreted or misdiagnosed by the same. FUNHOUSE! is basically a happy place, and thus the only real criteria I will try to meet is to refrain from rants, personal attacks, and flames -- and thus FUNHOUSE! is an apolitical place. Offbeat films, music, literature, and experiences are largely covered, with the one stipulation that articles are attempted to be detailed and well documemnted, although this is no guarantee of completeness or correctness, so that the interested reader may further pursue something which may spark her interest." Editor(s): Jeff Dove Format: ASCII text FTP: netcom.com in /pub/johnl/zines/funhouse High Weirdness by Email random Internet information Editor(s): Format: ASCII text Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us International TeleTimes "International Teletimes is a general interest magazine. There are several recurring monthly columns but the rest of the content changes from month to month as new themes are chosen. The goal of Teletimes is to attract a large variety of writers from all over the world so that the readers will be exposed to a great variety of ideas and opinions." Editor(s): Ian Wojtowicz Format: Macintosh Doc-Maker application FTP: sumex-aim.stanford.edu:/info-mac/per/teletimes-*.hqx Postal: TeleTimes International, 3938 West 30th Ave., Vancouver, BC V6S 1X3, Canada Other: OneNet (network of FirstClass BBSes) InterText "InterText is a bi-monthly fiction magazine with over 1000 subscribers worldwide." Editor(s): Jason Snell Geoff Duncan Format: ASCII text PostScript FTP: etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/EFF.journals/InterText CompuServe: Electronic Frontier Foundation's "Zines from the Net" section, accessible by typing "GO EFFSIG" Obscure Electronic "OBSCURE is the zine that profiles the people in this publishing subculture." Editor(s): James P Romenesko Format: ASCII text FTP: etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/Zines/Obscure.Electric Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us Postal: POB 1334, Milwaukee, WI 53201, USA People Power Update The newsletter of the bicycle advocacy group "People Power" Editor(s): Ron Goodman Format: ASCII text FTP: netcom.com:/pub/johnl/zines/ppu Postal: People Power, 226 Jeter Street, Santa Cruz, CA 95060, USA Phone: +1 408 425 8851 (voice/fax) Play by EMail "Electronic 'zine about free play-by-electronic-mail wargames. Reviews, game openings, information." Editor(s): Greg Lindahl Format: ASCII text FTP: ftp.erg.sri.com:/pub/pbm/PBEM-Fanzine Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us Usenet: rec.games.pbm Practical Anarchy Online "An electronic zine concerning anarchy from a practical point of view, to help you put some anarchy in your everyday life. The anarchy scene is covered through reviews and reports from people in the living anarchy." Editor(s): Chuck Munson Bitnet: cmunson@wiscmacc.bitnet Mikael Cardell Format: PostScript ASCII text FTP: export.acs.cmu.edu:/pub/quanta ftp.eff.org:/journals/Quanta lth.se:/documents/Quanta catless.newcastle.ac.uk:/pub/Quanta Gopher: gopher-srv.acs.cmu.edu (in the Archives directory) Postal: Quanta, 3003 Van Ness St. NW #S919, Washington, DC 20008, USA CompuServe: "Zines from the Net" area of the EFF forum (accessed by typing GO EFFSIG) Scream Baby "What do I want? Besides world peace, a sexy Mexican maid, and someone to use their fucking brains around here, I want a really good all-encompassing-sub-culture zine. Music, literature, art, television, film, weird space-time kinks, events, information, news, humor, interviews, and re:views of 'Stuff I Think Is Cool.' Not all at once, of course. Each issue of Scream Baby will come out whenever I can scrape together 25-30 kilobytes of really good stuff." Editor(s): Blade X Format: ASCII text FTP: etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/Zines/ScreamBaby ftp.eff.org:/pub/journals/ScreamBaby Postal: Cyberlicious , POB 4510, Austin, TX 78765 USA Other: WWIV: 46@5285 Unplastic News "the odd e-mail magazine w/a fever" Editor(s): Format: ASCII text FTP: ftp.eff.org:/pub/cud/misc/journals etext.archive.umich.edu:/pub/EFF.journals/Unplastic_News quartz.rutgers.edu:pub/journals Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us Voices from the Net "There are a lot of folks with at least one foot in this complex region we call (much too simply) "the net." There are a lot of voices on these wires. From IRC to listservs, MUDspace to e-mail, Usenet group to commercial bbs -- all kinds of voices -- loud and quiet, anonymous and well-known. And yet, it's far from clear what it might mean to be a "voice" from, or on, the net. Enter "Voices from the Net": one attempt to sample, explore, the possibilities (or perils) of net.voices. Worrying away at the question. Running down the meme. Looking/listening, and reporting back to you." Editor(s): Bookish CountZer0 NEURO Format: Macintosh HyperCard stack ASCII text FTP: sumex-aim.stanford.edu:/info-mac/per/voices-*.hqx etext.archive.umich.edu:pub/zines/Voices E-Mail: Voices-request@andy.bgsu.edu to subscribe: subject: Voices from the Net body: subscribe Whole Earth Review "We are dedicated to demystification, to self-teaching, and to encouraging people to think for themselves. Thus our motto: 'ACCESS TO TOOLS AND IDEAS.' Tools in the Whole Earth sense include hammers, books, and computer conferencing systems. Our readers are a community of tool-users who share information with one another. The ideas we make accessible have not often been found in university courses, but are becoming recognized as part of what you need to know to be truly educated. Our readers contribute to the editorial content as well, with both reviews and articles." Editor(s): <> Format: ASCII text Macintosh PageMaker 4.2 files Gopher: gopher.well.sf.ca.us E-Mail: wer@well.sf.ca.us Postal: Whole Earth Review, 27 Gate Five Road, Sausalito, CA 94965, USA Phone: +1 415 332 1716 (voice), +1 415 332 3110 (fax) ----- Sites archiving e-zines with FTP: ftp.eff.org etext.archive.umich.edu ftp.cic.net quartz.rutgers.edu ftp.msen.com ftp.halcyon.com world.std.com netcom.com in /pub/johnl/zines) nigel.msen.com in /pub/newsletters grind.isca.uiowa.edu (128.255.19.233) in /info/journals Sites archive e-zines with Gopher: gopher.eff.org etext.archive.umich.edu gopher.cic.net gopher.msen.com gopher.well.sf.ca.us world.std.com gopher.unt.edu ----- [ Part 3: "Attached Text" ] [ The following text is in the "iso-8859-1" character set. ] [ Your display is set for the "US-ASCII" character set. ] [ Some characters may be displayed incorrectly. ] Date: Thu, 1 Sep 1994 23:52:49 -0700 (PDT) From: Tom Jennings Subject: Re: talk a bout a transfiguration whoooa! To: Sylvia Maxwell In-Reply-To: Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII > may i please put this in snoozie? Um, did I answer you already? My computer is senile and cannot remember. Yes is the current answer. > > Tom Jennings writes: > > > I know exactly what I want my building to look like. I don't care abou > > stuff like rooms or value or wood or concrete or steel. It needs a place in > > back with dirt. It cannot be flat. There is a particular combination of > > pale light brownish grass that everything dies into in the semi-arid > > high-desert (newly raised sea bottom) that most of the West coast (or north > > america) is. There must be a pile or iron for plants to grown in, old > > tangled rusted on top but filthy with 40 year old caked grease down amongst > > the weeds where you go to grab them to clean up the yard on odd five year > > intervals, and when you realize just how heavy, filthy and tangled the iron > > objects really are you give up (pulling your hand back, think layer of old > > grease, dirt, dead grass, cobwebs and dead bugs, hot thread of a sore > > muscle you pulled on a little too hard at the wrong angle and a bright > > white and red scrape on your bare shin where the cast iron steering gear > > rose and fell at an unpredictable angle when you tugged at the pile). > > That's what smart plants wrap themselves in to get away from thoughts of > > lawnmowers or even human interest in their existence. > > > > I want to take up again my practice of putting unwanted vegetable sexual > > parts into the dirt outside the kitchen. In our last warehouse 666 Illinois > > st I did this. Friends live there now so I get to visit. There is 3rd year > > stunted corn, big pile of peppermint, inedible green beans, wild flowers, > > and an avocado tree nearly 6 feet high and six feet wide with a 2 inch > > diameter trunk! It can't have sex though, only masturbate, because it's the > > only avocado tree around. > > > > In the impentrable scrabble in the corner of the parkin lot I scraped out a > > tiny hole to bury my old lizard in. There is now a giant fennel growin on > > top of it; this has no bearing to the lizard buried there, as fennel grows > > everywhere here anyways and the lizard had no water or flesh in it's 2-foot > > long body (strange beast; the sort of animal that makes you wonder about > > existence itself. It requred 105 degree temperature, ultraviolet radiation, > > it ate only bugs and mammals, and drink literally no water. It would > > urinate after eating mice. It was utterly solitary, apparently approaching > > one of it's own to mate in some violent ritual. It was flatly terrified of > > all and any humans, even me, who fed it reliably. Nearly all animals lke > > me, even wild ones. It lived in it's intensive care station at the end of a > > 40 foot hall way, and would bask on it's electric rock under the 100 wat > > red heatlamp and blacklight bulb; as I approached, it would rise up on all > > four legs, hiss, and **BOLT** at high speed under its rock pile to peer at > > me until I left. The only thing that would bring it out while I was aroun > > was a small white mouse dropped into it's cage, which caused it to speeed > > out, grab the mouse with no unnecessary motions, suffocate the mouse and > > inhale it. Utterly no cruelty, nor recnognition of the mouse. Strange > > beast. It actually grew abou 6" and gained about half a pound of weight, > > the vet at SPCA was furious I was able to buy one, he explained the rather > > extreme requrements for it's survival and assumed I would not meet them. So > > when we moved to 666, and it no longer was the solitary occupant of 120 sq > > ft of dark hallway, and had to be within visibility of humans most of the > > time, and it stopped eating. It lost weight. After a month of this, I > > simply couldnt take it any more. A lizard expert (sic) told me that lizards > > hibernate/sleep when it gets really cold, and the least awuful way to kill > > them is to put them in a box, in the freezer. They sleep. Then freeze to > > death. I puzzled the ramifications of this contrast for a long time.) I > > always wonder about it's skeleton, should I go dig it up. > > > > My friend Erika has a little house in Santa Fe. Her and her boyfriend Scot > > have a chaotically controlled garden. She has a large patch of Datura. It > > really is a > > > > -- > > World Power Systems -- San Francisco CA > > > > > > Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. ^@^A^@^A^@^A^@^AFrom tdkcs!hookup!wired.com!hotwired-owner Fri Sep 2 08:48:34 1994 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Sat, 03 Sep 94 03:02:18 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA17031; 2 Sep 94 08:48:34 EDT (Fri) Received: from get.wired.com (wired.com [140.174.72.1]) by nic.hookup.net (8.6.9/1.230) with ESMTP id IAA12023; Fri, 2 Sep 1994 08:5 5:18 -0400 Received: by get.wired.com (8.6.9/8.6.5) id BAA19256; Fri, 2 Sep 1994 01:09:43 -0700 Received: by get.wired.com (8.6.9/8.6.5) id VAA06581; Thu, 1 Sep 1994 21:59:29 -0700 Received: from [140.174.72.163] by get.wired.com (8.6.9/8.6.5) with SMTP id VAA06573; Thu, 1 Sep 1994 21:59:22 -0700 X-Sender: hotinfo@pophost.wired.com Message-Id: Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" [ Part 4: "Attached Text" ] [ The following text is in the "iso-8859-1" character set. ] [ Your display is set for the "US-ASCII" character set. ] [ Some characters may be displayed incorrectly. ] Date: Sat, 3 Sep 1994 04:10:51 -0400 Message-Id: <199409030810.BAA00895@wps.com> From: tomj@wps.com (Tom Jennings) To: <@uunet.ca:tdkcs!exlibris!max@xenitec> Subject: I am overloaded beyond belief Apparently-To: <@mail.uunet.ca:tdkcs!exlibris!max@xenitec> I'm sorry, but I am nearly unable to read email here due to the incredible volume of mail. If it's not of critical importance I may not get to it for weeks. It's not that I don't value it, but a measure of desperation. - If you are writing about Little Garden business, please write to admin@tlg.org (The Little Garden), and it will be routed to the appropriate person in the office. - If it's personal mail, rest assured that I will eventually get it, but if it's important and time-sensitive you're better off calling me on the phone, though be warned that I go weeks at a time without playing back the messages. This is an automatic response; your message is here waiting for me to read it. ^@^A^@^A^@^A^@^AFrom tdkcs!hookup!wps.com!tomj Sun Sep 4 19:24:36 1994 remote from exlibris Received: by exlibris.tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (1.65/waf) via UUCP; Mon, 05 Sep 94 03:01:37 EST for max Received: by tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (smail2.5) id AA14724; 4 Sep 94 19:24:36 EDT (Sun) Received: from fido.wps.com (root@fido.wps.com [140.174.77.1]) by nic.hookup.net (8.6.9/1.232) with ESMTP id TAA22826; Sun, 4 Sep 19 94 19:32:13 -0400 Received: from localhost by fido.wps.com (8.6.5/wps.com-hackery) id QAA04657; Sun, 4 Sep 1994 16:31:09 -0700 From: flesh@fido.wps.com (Flesh) Message-Id: <199409042331.QAA04657@wps.com> Subject: Another 800 number ((Jesse's) (fwd) To: w00f@fido.wps.com [ Part 5: "Attached Text" ] Date: Mon, 24 Oct 1994 09:42:29 -0700 (PDT) From: Tom Jennings To: Sylvia Maxwell Subject: Time's up (fwd) Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII What fun FidoNet is!!! :-) Don't publish... georeg sent this to me for amusement purposes, I guess. I love that Steve Winter! I would never have thought it possible to dream up such a character... Tom Jennings -- tomj@wps.com -- World Power Systems -- San Francisco, Calif. ---------- Forwarded message ----------