ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oo oo oo the unplastic news issue #2 oo oo oo oo August 1991 oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo TTTTTTTTTT HH HH EEEEEE oo oo TT HH HH EE oo oo TT HHHHHH EEEE oo oo TT HH HH EE oo oo TT HH HH EEEEEE oo oo oo oo oo oo UU UU N N PPPPPP L AAAAAA SSSSS TTTTTT II CCCCCC oo oo UU UU NN N PP P L A A SS TT II CC oo oo UU UU N N N PPPPPP L AAAAAA SSSSS TT II CC oo oo UUUUUU N NN PP L A A SS TT II CC oo oo UUUUUU N N PP LLLL A A SSSSS TT II CCCCCC oo oo oo oo oo oo N N EEEEEE W W SSSSS oo oo NN N EE W W SS oo oo N N N EEEE W W W SSSSS oo oo N N N EE W W W SS oo oo N NN EEEEEE WWWWWWW SSSSS oo oo oo oo ....... the unplastic news ........ oo oo oo oo america's active global peace press-------->> oo oo oo oo special REALITY issue special REALITY issue oo oo oo oo special R E A L I T Y issue oo oo oo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !! !! !! DISCLAIMER: !! !! ^^^^^^^^^^^ !! !! !! !! The Unplastic News is published by !! !! Todd Tibbetts who is solely !! !! responsible for its contents. !! !! !! !! Views and thoughts herein are not !! !! necessarily those of !! !! 3M Health Information Systems !! !! or 3M in general. !! !! !! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ___________________________________________________________________________ =========================================================================== The Unplastic News is a compilation of quotes and stories, all credited to the proper sources, and arranged in absolutely no order whatsoever. We present this material for entertainment and for it's communication value. Computer networks are a wild form of global human interaction and we hope to post ideas and thoughts to be read and digested. Also, we love the tons-O-mail you've been sending. We want more, please. Send us anything. Plus, include WHERE you are writing from (if it is not obvious in your address) because we are curious. We hope you enjoy............................. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXX INTERNET XXX Pass Address: XXX This XXX On. tibbetts@hsi.hsi.com XXX Send to a friend. Connecticut, U.S.A. XXX XXX ========================================================================== __________________________________________________________________________ the reality issue issue #2 the reality issue ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ C O N T E N T S: ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 1. Quotes. Quotes. Things. Thoughts. Quips. 2. SHORT FICTION: Tense by todd tibbetts 3. Quotes. Thoughts. Stuff. Pieces. Parts. 4. SHORT FICTION: The Continuing Story by eric mielke 5. Quotes. Pieces. Thoughts. Quotes. Chunks. 6. SHORT REALITY: The Unplastic News Visits The Rainbow Family by thaloneous platypus 7. Quotes. Stuff. Things. Randomicity. Faroutedness. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ the reality issue issue #2 the reality issue ########################################################################## "Knowledge is one. Its division into subjects is a concession to human weakness." --->> Sir Halford John Mackinder <<--- ########################################################################## "I don't understand guys who call themselves feminists. That's like the time Hubert Humphrey, running for President, told a black audience he was a soul brother." ..... Roy Blount, Jr ..... }}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}} }}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}} "I have a simple }}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}} philosophy: Fill what's empty. Empty }}}}}}}}}}}}}} what's full. Scratch }}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}} where it itches." }}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}} }}}}}}}}} Alice Roosevelt Longworth }}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}} ########################################################################## ## ## ## "Moving amidst my own people I was never impressed by any ## ## of their accomplishments; I never felt the presence of ## ## any deep religious urge, nor any great asthetic impulse: ## ## there was no sublime architecture, no sacred dances, no ## ## ritual of any kind. We moved in a swarm, intent on ## ## accomplishing one thing-to make life easy. The great ## ## bridges, the great dams, the great skyscrapers left me ## ## cold. Only Nature could instill a sense of awe. And ## ## we were defacing Nature at every turn. As many times as I ## ## struck out to scour the land, I always came back empty- ## ## handed. Nothing new, nothing bizarre, nothing exotic. ## ## Worse, nothing to bow down before, nothing to reverence. ## ## Alone in a land where everyone was hopping about like mad. ## ## What I craved was to worship and adore. What I needed was ## ## companions who felt the same way. But there was nothing ## ## to worship and adore, there were no champions of like ## ## spirit. There was only a wilderness of steel and iron, of ## ## stocks and bonds, of crops and produce, of factories, mills ## ## and lumberyards, a wilderness of boredom, of useless ## ## utilities, of loveless love...." ## ## ## ## Nexus ## ## The Rosy Crucifixion III ## ## ## ## Henry Miller ## ## ## ## Grove Press, 1965 ## ## ## ########################################################################## ########################################################################## If your beard catches fire, may others light their cigars. __________________________________________________________________________ BIOGRAPHY #1 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Aldous Huxley (1894-1963) Educated at Eton and Oxford, was blocked from a career in biology by his poor eyesight. During the 1920s he wrote several ironic novels satirizing the decadence of European intellectual life. Migrating to California in 1935 Huxley devoted the rest of his life to studying and writing about transcendental philosophy, futurism, and the evolution of intelligence. Doors of Perception, Heaven and Hell, and the utopian novel Island made him the world's most influential advocate of psychedelic drugs. Huxley traced his interest in brain-change drugs to his childhood reading about Erasmus Darwin (1731-1802), who anticipated his grandson Charles' work by explaining organic life in terms of evolutionary principles. Erasmus Darwin is also famous for having grown England's first marijuana plant (cannabis indica) with Sir Joseph Banks, president of the Royal Society. The plant was eighteen feet tall. Flash Backs An Autobiography Timothy Leary J.P. TARCHER, INC., 1983 All other biographies in this 2nd issue of u.n. are also taken from this same book by Timothy Leary. ____________________________________________________________________________ ...have you found the reality yet?.... _____________________________________________________________________________ "The superintendent of the Floyd County, N.C., school system apologized in February for the mistake of one of his teachers. In the lesson on Martin Luthar King Jr., the teacher had instructed the class that Rosa Parks (who actually set off the Montgomery, Ala., bus boycott in 1955) was the person who assassinated King in 1968..." Funny Times August 1991 //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// "We are all born charming, fresh, and spontaneous and must be civilized before we are fit to participate in society." **** Miss Manners (Judith Martin) **** ___________________________________________________________________________ ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ___________________________________________________________________________ SAVE JAMES BAY STOP HYDRO-QUEBEC SAVE JAMES BAY STOP HYDRO-QUEBEC ============ Damming the Rivers of James Bay FOLLY OF THE CENTURY Hydro-Quebec wants to build five dams to generate 3,060 Megawatts of electricity. Hydro-Quebec claims its James Bay dams produce Clean, Safe, Cheap Electricity For Quebec and the Northeastern United States. What's the Price of Cheap Electricity ? ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Ecological Disaster Cultural Genocide ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ The destruction of the entire James Cree hunters, trappers, Bay ecosystem- the heart of the largest and fishermen are remaining wilderness in North America loosing traditional means of subsistence. ____________________________________________ "They are telling the Americans this is cheap and clean. But it's not cheap for us. When you turn on your switch, you're killing us." --> Robbie Dick, Cree Chief of Great Whale River Village ____________________________________________ "The right of indigenous people and the commitment we have to the land, the environment, should be universal and unbending. The environment should not be forsaken on a whim to create economic benefits. Human rights should not be abandoned on a whim to assure that the air conditioners of New York City can run full force. Not if we as a people, as a planet, want to survive." --> Matthew Coon-Come ____________________________________________ "I don't want to live like my great grandfather lived in the farmlands somewhere in Quebec. I need television, radio, electricity. I don't believe native people want to live in the Stone Age." --> Jacques Guevremont, Vice-President Hydro-Quebec ______________________________________________ SAVE THE BAY SAVE THE BAY SAVE THE BAY SAVE THE BAY SAVE THE BAY SAVE THE BAY Northeast Alliance to Protect James Bay 139 Antrim Street Cambridge, Ma. 02139 (617) 491-5531 Ban the Dam Bulletin Sierra Club Northeast Regional Office 85 Washington Street Saratoga Springs, NY 12866 (518) 587-9166 _____________________________________________________________________________ ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo _____________________________________________________________________________ "Mother Earth is pregnant for the third time For y'all have knocked her up I have tasted the maggots of the universe And I was not offended For I knew I had to rise above it all Or drown in my own shit." Funkadelic ALBUM: Maggot Brain ))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((()))) reality dreams are under your desk !@#$%^&*()_)(*&^%$#@!@#$%^&*()_+_)(*&^%$#@!@#$%^&*()_+}{":<>?/.,;'][=-=-=!!2 Originality and the feeling of one's own dignity are achieved only through work and struggle. ---- Dostoevsky ---- !@#$%^&*()_)(*&^%$#@!@#$%^&*()_+_)(*&^%$#@!@#$%^&*()_+}{":<>?/.,;'][=-=-=!!3 Trying to define yourself is like trying to bite your own teeth. @@@ Alan Watts @@@ }}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}} SHORT FICTION SHORT FICTION SHORT FICTION SHORT FICTION SHORT FICTION ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Tense ^^^^^ by todd tibbetts Today I actually moved in with Waldo. Waldo's been my chum for some twenty wicked weird years. We have never lived together before as housemates. And it was our fucked up marriages that slapped us together just recently. We were rushing to get somewhere when we were kids, struggling to grab a goal. Any goal. Now we are nowhere and things are fucking bad. I've always told myself that it would be impossible for me to live with someone like Waldo...not to mention someone who actually IS Waldo. I have a desperate need to practice my bassoon at least five hours every day...and that's only counting the time I put in playing scales, that's not counting composition time. I have definate goals and I think of them while I play. And Waldo needs to smoke crack and masturbate. It is amazing that he can still be a dentist. This new apartment that we moved into today is cramped. The windows are closed. The air is musty. We are wrapped in a giant sock. Waldo makes a lot of money. He has a private practice. His earnings are spent on rent, food, car and crack. And cable t.v. He earns the exact amount he spends. Even to the untrained eye, it is obvious what Waldo spends the largest portion of his money on. But one might not notice that the second largest portion of his earnings goes to t.v. But I, on the other hand, have seen his lifestyle first hand. He spends more money on t.v. than rent, food and car combined. He receives EVERY channel. He owns EVERY extrainious gadget. He subscribes to EVERY pay-per-view wrestling match...including those Brazilian ones, the ones with subtitles. Waldo is the only man I know who's external t.v. speakers are taller than he is. Waldo is one of those Americans who has given up on growth. He pushed himself to a point in his life where he was emotionally and financially able to live a life away from a dependence on his parents. That was the point where he decided that learning was no longer necessary. He is one of the Platau People. Reach for comfort! Reach for lack of opposition. Grab at promotions and car phones but, dear God...don't make me think! This trend will kill everyone. His wife walked out on him one bright afternoon. His wife is now having sex with a professional body builder whom she met at the health club Waldo forced her to go to. He said one day to her: "You know, the back of your legs looks flabby. I am buying you a membership at the gym." When she got so crazy with him that she had to leave she said: "Your cock is like limp frozen-dinner turkey and you fuck like jello." Later she told him about her body builder lover: "Now I know what it means to want it. Now that I've had a thick man between my legs, I know what wetness is." And just a few minutes ago Waldo turned on the t.v. The air around the set began warming. From my bedroom I could hear the static crackling before the volume kicked in, full tilt. He clicked to number seven. Circus of the Stars was on and these bright stars were having a circus. Swirling organ crashes came loud like mufflers. Stars in a circus. Did the producer plan the irony or was he merely an idiot? A part of the thick American middle. T.v. drum rolls knocked me off my stool. I placed the bassoon in it's case and gave up, hoping that the situation did not foreshadow an unhealthy pattern...the vices of others creeping at me, shattering my practice. I needed a grilled cheese sandwich. In our new thin kitchen, I turned the stove knob. And through the kitchen doorway rolled the shouts of spectators and the oooohs and aaaaahs of children. And the ego ramblings of microphone-holding people crept louder above the rest. With the stove knob turned, I searched for a pan in the lower cabinet. I was on my knees. I heard a scream. I tried to bolt upright. The back of my neck caught firm wood. Waldo was yelping out screeches of excitement. Sitting bent legged on the musty kitchen floor, I squirmed and softly rubbed the back of my neck. I felt warmth. There was blood. I lay in a bent ache for some minutes. The pan in one hand. The other hand grasping my neck. I waited. I stewed in thought. I reveled in quiet anger. Those eight-foot speekers rambled with stereo symbol crashes. Clowns were throwing pies. I finally stood, dizzy-like and panting. I moved slowly at Waldo...that smoking thing on the living room chair. He couldn't suck the last half-a-hit from the dirty pipe chamber so he offered the rest of the white smoke to me. The glass above the water in the pipe was stained a chunky brown. He slipped his hand into his pants. I yelled. I wanted to know why he was so unstable. I wanted to know why he was strungout and stagnant. I wanted to know why he put himself to sleep EVERY night by smoking and then jerking off to a sticky magazine. No tenderness to the self -- No concept of others. I wanted to know why I was so mad and screaming, and why I felt dizzy from the boob tube flickering and dizzy from moldy air and dizzy from dizzy. He did not make me mad. I made me mad. I made me. Now he is lighting his pipe. He owns a powerful lighter. And I smell LOTS of stove gas. SHORT FICTION SHORT FICTION by todd tibbetts. +-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+ | | | If one is master of one thing and understands one thing | + well, one has at the same time, insight into and under- + | standing of many things. | | | | * Vincent Van Gogh * | +-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+ "A Kitchener, Ontario, radio station, sponsoring a 'What Would You Do for $10,000?' contest last fall, permitted such stunts as eating a dung-covered apple and regurgitating spaghetti and going snorkeling in a tub of worms, but rejected the idea of a woman who wanted to hand out bumper stickers while nude on a downtown street corner. Said a station spokesman, 'We didn't want to be associated with that.' " Funny Times August 1991 _____________________________________________________________________________ "The varying levels of reality in the second issue of the unplastic news are awe inspiring. Readers find themselves searching...and that is enough. Simplicity. Two thumbs up." Gene Siskle & Roger Ebert ___________________________________________________________________________ BIOGRAPHY #2 ^^^^^^^^^^^^ Allen Ginsberg (1926- ) One of the most influential American poets of the mid-twentieth century, was born in Patterson, New Jersey and graduated from Columbia in 1949. He was chief spokesman for the Beat Generation, a movement that flourished in New York and San Francisco during the 1950s. Essentially anarchic, Ginsberg and the Beats rejected conventional culture and artistic forms. They sought altered and intensified states of consciousness, novel experiences, and mystical perceptions through drugs and oriental yogic techniques, especially Zen. Continually "on the road," usually accompanied by Peter Orlovsky, his companion for thirty years, Ginsberg traveled the world preaching a Buddhist quietist philosophy layered with socialist anger and a pagan celebration of life. During this era his stance was anti-scientific, anti-technological, anti-future, non-evolutionary. In the 1980s Allen Ginsberg functions as a genial poet laureate, meeting regularly in international conferences with his "opposite numbers" in China, the Soviet Union, and the Third World. ___________________________________________________________________________ Trust in God, But tie your camel. ___________________________________________________________________________ "ADMONITIONS boys i don't promise you nothing but this what you pawn i will redeem what you steal i will conceal my private silence to your public guilt is all i got girls first time a white man opens his fly like a good thing we'll just laugh laugh real loud my black women children when they ask you why is your mama so funny say she is a poet she don't have no sense" Lucille Clifton ___________________________________________________________________________ ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| "the mother Abortions will not let you forget. You remember the children that you got that you did not get, The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair, The singers and workers that never handled the air. You will never neglect or beat Them, or silence or buy with a sweet. You will never wind up the sucking-thumb Or scuttle off ghosts that come. You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh, Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye. I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed children. I have contracted. I have eased My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck. I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized Your luck And your lives from your unfinished reach, If I stole your births and your names, Your straight baby tears and your games, Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches, and your deaths, If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths, Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate. Though why should I whine, Whine that the crime was other than mine?- Since anyhow you are dead. Or rather, or instead, You were never made. But that too, I am afraid, Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said? You were born, you had a body, you died. It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried. Believe me, I loved you all. Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you All." Gwendolyn Brooks |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ____________________________________________________________________________ BIOGRAPHY #3 ^^^^^^^^^^^^ Wilhelm Reich (1897-1956) Was one of the most brilliant and iconoclastic members of the early Vienna-based Freudian psychoanalysts, a circle from which he was eventually expelled. His concept of "muscular armor" and his theories about sexuality and the body later became the basis for a number of therapies, including bioenergetics and Gestalt therapy, whose founders were once his students. His classic treatises The Sexual Revolution (he coined the phrase) and The Function of the Orgasm, written in the early 1930s, were epochal statements. Ironically, he personally disapproved of playful erotic behavior. An M.D. at heart Reich was mostly interested in the medical aspects of orgone, the lack of which he believed resulted in cancer and destructive tendencies. Reich designed a container in which a person could sit and absorb the healing energy. His work was scorned by the American medical establishment, which considered him dangerous. He went on with his experiments, attempting to comply with restrictions placed on him by the Food and Drug Administration. Finally he was jailed for selling orgone boxes. He died in prison, unsupported by the psychiatric establishment, persecuted by federal agents who confiscated and burned his books. These books later became standard texts in sociology and psychology. ___________________________________________________________________________ PATIENT: Doc, I got a weak back. DOCTOR: Yea? When did you get it? PATIENT: Oh, about a week back... +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= SHORT FICTION SHORT FICTION N SHORT FICTION SHORT FICTION SHORT FICTION SHORT FICTION SHORT The Continuing Story ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ by Eric Mielke Chapters in this Issue: ----------------------- 1. Moving In 2. The Church 3. The Dream 4. Father Knows All I. Moving In ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ After every box was filed and sorted through, after the last signature had been placed on the landlord's forehead, it became apparent to me that I had just begun an exciting and somewhat mysterious new life in a three room, six-hundred- and-fifty-dollar-a-month apartment in Idaho. It was a nifty neighborhood, pleasant and friendly (at first.) I was not aware, when I first moved in, that the massive church directly across the street would have an effect on my life greater than that of the Australian flea bite I received on my testicle back in '72. The fortress of God loomed grim and mysterious across that road and little did I know the true horrors which were taking place inside. I had just been released from the mental institution in Cuba and was happy to be out on my own. The new apartment was nice except for the occasional disturbance from upstairs. Two groundhogs lived above us and would mate endlessly. This was inconvenient because their intercourse was often extremely noisy. The rodents also had a horrid wind chime that was a thousand times more revolting to the ear. The thing would TINKLE constantly, usually on cold, moonless nights as I walked down the long alley to the front of the complex. The tinkle, tinkle, tinkle drove me nuts. For months I searched for the source of this incessant tinkle without success. It hid like an infernal deamon waiting to slash at my ears with it's tinkle, Tinkle, TINKLE !!! Finally, I found it and shoved it down my garbage disposal. My girlfriend, Debbie, and I arranged the apartment to resemble the inside of a Poptart box. We argued only once about the decor of a particular room. It was my third grade science project that started the dispute, Mrs. Needlestein's kidney. I wanted it displayed proudly above the mantel with two strips of maroon track lighting and an accompanying sound track. Deborah didn't want the soundtrack. "I'm not listening to George Jetson sing Metallica!" Deborah screamed after an hour of rational pie throwing. Deb was a sensible girl with a large brown mole that covered her entire face. "It's not George Jetson," I replied defensively, "or even Metallica. It's Anal Flapjack." "It's manure from Hell and it is not being played in this apartment!!" We finally agreed to play a one note, four-hour operatic duet sent to me on tape from my Uncle Sheckie in Paris. Tyler, Debbie's cat, also had free run of the suite. Although I never admitted it to Deb, I was quite fond of the old bugger. Though one day, after it devoured my marijuana plants and finished the last of the chocolate mousse, I set the bastard on fire. And, you know, it was strange, but after disposing of the cat I could have sworn I heard an erie voice chant, "Father is Unpleased...Father is Unpleased." II. The Church ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ One thing that attracted my attention more than the groundhog's lovemaking was that church directly across the street. It was called St. Googiewoogie. The building was of the old Gothic variety with the usual statues of Mary, Christ and Sidney, a large pink-marble platypus which rested on the very center of the roof's pinnacle. The church also provided a perfect curtain blocking the sight of Mrs. Snodgrass's eggplant farm. The church was the public attraction on Tuesdays and Thursdays... bingo nights. (NOTE: Those wishing to stop by the church should make a note of Friday's elderly members meeting. The elders pick the sexiest member of the congregation and then pelt the nominee with rotting brussel sprouts.) The very first morning of apartment life I noticed a shopping cart on the front lawn of the church. It displayed a sign which read {in bright yellow letters} "Father says, 'Eat Jelly- Fish.'" Each morning for a week the cart moved two inches to the north. I inquired to the orcish landlord about the cart, but the mumbling bugbear only replied with a statement about orange brush men displaying his wife's legs on yield signs two blocks from some store. He still had the signatures on his forehead and we both forgot about the shopping cart problem after drinking paint thinner together in his garage. III. The Dream ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ During the fourth night of occupancy, I had a bizarre dream in which I was surrounded by shear black. Now that I look back on it, I understand that the dream must have been caused by the deamonic magical aura which St. Googiewoogie radiated. In the dream I was physically supported by unidentified confines in that pure darkness. The void had an odd feeling of boundaries, it felt almost roomlike - though I never found a portal. Perhaps I was searching for a way out. Perhaps I wanted to let whatever existed beyond in. I never found a way out. I awakened from the black, as if still in a dream, and found two loosely restrained pit bulls viscously growling at the foot of my bed. Suddenly Debbie made a gallant entrance into the room dressed only in red and green argyle socks which covered the entire length of her arms. Ignoring the foaming canines she proceeded to perform Macbeth with her had puppets. During the final scene of Debbie's performance, a serious looking priest emerged from the other room. He began screaming something about my destiny and then lopped Debbie's head off. Soon the dogs leapt into the air, landed on my chest and I AWOKE in a chilling perspiration... It was all a dream, from the dark non-room to the dogs...all of it was a wild nightmare within a nightmare. Debbie was standing above me holding two socks in either hand. The dream put a hazy, unreal focus on the entire week. IV. Father Knows All ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Approximately two weeks went by in our new haven without anything unusual happening. The shopping cart had been removed. The groundhogs had replaced their windchimes with a mobile of human bones. A team of four gorillas worked most of saturday morning replacing the faulty furnace with an energy efficient blueberry muffin. However, the following monday held events which still make me shudder with disbelief. That morning Deb and I were running late due to the strange clump of flesh we found in the bathtub. As we finally exited the flat, a priest approached Debbie and began accusing her of being a foul. "Chicken," he yelled. "Turkey! Chicken! Duck!" The priest was identical to the man in my dream. He screamed loudly as he tap danced on the sidewalk. After about four verses of this abuse, Debbie joined him in harmonization and they happily galloped across the street and up the adjoining sidewalk. She seemed somehow dazed and confused as if in a trance or under a spell. I called to her and then passed out............. T H E E N D ?? { the saga continues next issue... read it, it's cool } &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&& "The great end of life is not knowledge but action." --> Thomas Henry Huxley <-- __________________________________________________________________________ r e a l f a k e n e w s __________________________________________________________________________ BIOGRAPHY #4 ^^^^^^^^^^^^ Ken Kesey (1935- ) Legendary American novelist, was born in Colorado. He received a B.S. from the University of Oregon in 1957. In 1962 Kesey published One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, a satirical anarchic novel about institutional attempts to crush individuality. Sometimes a Great Notion (1964) established Kesey as a first-rank American novelist. Kesey is widely considered father of the hippie movement. He had his first LSD experience as a paid subject in a CIA sponsored research project. His later adventures became know to millions through The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe. Kesey and his wife Faye have carried out the American populist lifestyle of independence, humor, ecological consciousness, and gentle resistance to authority. __________________________________________________________________________ "Man, if you gotta ask, you'll never know." -- Louis Armstrong (asked to define jazz) -- >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< LEE (To Dusty) Frederick's done this whole new series that I'm sure you would really love. DUSTY Well, are...are they big? LEE Yea. Some of them...yea, some of them are very big. DUSTY Cause I got a lot of wall space there. FREDERICK I don't sell my work by the yard! HANNAH AND HER SISTERS a film by Woody Allen /\> Lenny Bruce <....... <^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^> BIOGRAPHY #5 ^^^^^^^^^^^^ Aleister Crowley (1876-1946) World-record mountain climber, was one of the most controversial figures of the early 20th century. With leading members of the Irish literary renaissance, Crowley was an original member of the Hermetic Order of the Gloden Dawn, which he broke from to start his own circle of adepts. Crowley then journeyed to the East to climb the Himalayas and to study oriental yoga and esoteric philosophy. In 1904 he claimed to have established telepathic communication with Higher Intelligence through the medium of his wife Rosemary. He foresaw the beginning of a New Aeon, to which he contributed these aphorisms: "Do what thou wilt' shall be the whole of the law" and "Every man and every woman is a star." Over the next two decades he experimented with every available drug as a means of transcendence. In 1910 Crowley went to the Detroit headquarters of the Parke-Davis pharmaceutical company to secure their newly developed extract of peyote, which he brought back to England and used to turn on the audiences at his lectures. In an article on the effects of cocaine, published during World War I, he articulated the viewpoint that drug prohibition was not only useless but actually intensified the problem of drug abuse. Throughout his life and travels Crowley produced a flood of articles and books on spiritual subjects, devising a new Tarot (The Book of Thoth) and a streamlined version of the I Ching in addition to many significant and sardonic works on occult magic. ___________________________________________________________________________ A duck walks into a pharmacy And says: "Gimme some chap stick and put it on my bill." OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOO OOO OOO S T A Y T U N E D..... OOO OOO OOO OOO Next Months Issue: OOO OOO OOO OOO ---> top ten zillion albums of all time OOO OOO OOO OOO ---> the unplastic news field trip II OOO OOO OOO OOO ---> Newz OOO OOO OOO OOO ---> Quotes OOO OOO OOO OOO ---> Letters from the Net OOO OOO OOO OOO OOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOO OOO OOO OOO the unplastic news OOO P A S S OOO OOO OOO OOO OOO tibbetts@hsi.hsi.com OOO T H I S OOO OOO Connecticut, U.S.A. OOO OOO OOO OOO O N OOO OOO OOO OOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO