Living in such a state          taTestaTesTaTe          etats a hcus ni gniviL
 of mind in which time         sTATEsTAtEsTaTeStA         emit hcihw ni dnim of
 does not pass, space         STateSTaTeSTaTeStAtE         ecaps ,ssap ton seod
 does not exist, and         sTATeSt        oFOfOfo         dna ,tsixe ton seod
 idea is not there.         STatEst          ofoFOFo         .ereht ton si aedi
 Stuck in a place          staTEsT            OfOFofo          ecalp a ni kcutS
 where movements           TATeSTa            foFofoF           stnemevom erehw
 are impossible                              fOFoFOf             elbissopmi era
 in all forms,                             UsOFofO                ,smrof lla ni
 physical and                            nbEifof                   dna lacisyhp
 or mental -                           uNBeInO                      - latnem ro
 your mind is                         UNbeinG                      si dnim rouy
 focusing on a                       unBEING                      a no gnisucof
 lone thing, or                      NBeINgu                     ro ,gniht enol
 a lone nothing.                     bEinGUn                    .gnihton enol a
 You are numb and                    EiNguNB                   dna bmun era ouY
 unaware to events                                            stneve ot erawanu
 taking place - not                  -iSSuE-                 ton - ecalp gnikat
 knowing how or what                 1/25/94                tahw ro woh gniwonk
 to think. You are in               THiR-TEEN              ni era uoY .kniht ot
 a state of unbeing....                                  ....gniebnu fo etats a



EDiTORiAL by Kilgore Trout



by Kilgore Trout

This month marks the one year anniversary of our little e-zine. It seems like only yesterday Griphon and Clockwork were handing me their first submissions. Of course, even THAT came out a month later then planned. But who cares about the past? Who cares that I made met some very interesting people, found some good writers, hoped that Dr. Graves would become the spokesperson of our generation... who cares about these things? Not I. We shouldn't dwell in the past, we should forge ahead. And so we shall.

Naturally, I didn't get any ideas for a new header, so we're stuck with the old one for the time being. But we're going to move forward. We shall make progress. Sure, the zine has the same look and feel. But it's also different than before. We rearranged the words so it wasn't like the last one. Yes, we are ready to try things anew.

Enough of the biting sarcasm, I can see this is going nowhere fast. Actually, this issue is very different than most of those in the past, and as you will see, most of the zine resides in a political area of discussion. I'm not sure if this is a new direction the zine will be taking--it all depends on what you out there send me. We're finally going to start making you learn because the current education system just isn't up to par. Okay, so we're not grade A teachers either. But at least we're free. And you don't have to go buy a dense book we wrote just so we could make money by selling it to our classes. And maybe you'll find us interesting. Want to learn about the Irish revolutionary James Connolly? You've come to the right place. Want to learn about our old buddy George Herbert Walker Bush (anagram: Huge Berserk Rebel Warthog)? We've got the info for you in a continuing series by Clockwork. Want to know about things you're not supposed to know? Read "Notes from the Underground," a new series with various authors writing to tell you exactly what THEY don't want you to know. Ever wanted to be a guerrilla in the jungles or even in your own backyard? Damn, we're smooth. This wealth of knowledge, obscure and usually hard to find, has now been collected for you. And we'll continue to do so until you shoot us dead or something of the equivalent.

But never fear, fellow readers, for just because we've suddenly grown all education doesn't mean we want to neglect those who like the literary aspects of this magazine as well. Although not as big as it usually is, the fiction section does contain two very good pieces. As for the poetrie, I had some people complain that there was just too much of that "mindless dribble" and even though it was an honor to read our innermost thoughts, it should be cut. In honor of their requests, we have cut the number of poems down to three. Of course, one of them is 10k long, but we tried to do as much as we could to be compassionate to the needs of our readers.

Two little logistical notes and then I'll shut up. Hagbard's coming up with an SoB WWW page in about a week, but we are still unsure of the address, so we'll post a little readme or something in the ftp directory to let you know when that comes up. We'll see if we can't make some nifty little goodies that you wouldn't be able to find anywhere else. Also, The Lost Issue will be coming out next month, regardless of whether or not it is totally reconstructed. I feel it's time to get it off of our shoulders and stop worrying about it. It's about a third of it's original size (40k) at the present moment, but come the end of February if that's all we've got, that's all we've got. Still, the articles are very enlightening...

And that's all I really have to say. To the people who send Hagbard nasty hate mail when SoB isn't in the directory, stop. Send it to me. I'll field your questions, comments. I might even tell your fortune. And you might get your own personal Kilgore Hate Mail (tm) if you are extremely rude or I'm just pissy. How's that for an ending?

I'll work on it for next issue. Promise.



Kilgore Trout

Bobbi Sands
Captain Moonlight
Dark Crystal Sphere Floating Between Two Universes
I Wish My Name Were Nathan
Ivy Carson
Nemo est Sanctus
Sir Lizard Guts


[=- ARTiCLES -=]


[Editorial | Next]

"Biology, Conspiracy, History"

by Bobbi Sands

We have a new type of rule now. Not one-man rule, or rule of aristocracy or plutocracy, but of small groups elevated to positions of absolute power by random pressures, and subject to political and economic factors that leave little room for decision. They are representatives of abstract forces who have reached power through surrender of self. The iron-willed dictator is a thing of the past. There will be no more Stalins, no more Hitlers. The rulers of this most insecure of all worlds are rulers by accident, inept, frightened pilots at the controls of a vast machine they cannot understand, calling in experts to tell them which buttons to push.

-- William S. Burroughs, Interzone

In today's multicultural classroom many glosses -- ways of perceiving -- are used in the study of history. The feminist reading of history has been popularized by women coming to the fore of academia. Minority views of history have gained popularity as more is discovered of formerly lost cultures. The Marxist gloss has had a great impact on the modern world. One view, however, has been largely ignored: the conspiratorial view of history.

The conspiratorial view essentially holds that a number of people have had some measure of control over the events of human history. This is opposed primarily by the accidental view of history, which holds that history is the work of random forces and elements. This latter is the view taught in schools across the country and around the world, although the conspiratorial view has some proponents.

The major objections to the conspiratorial model stem from the belief that no person or people could control all the aspects of history. Objectors claim that a conspiracy would be rapidly exposed, that insufficient power could be brought to bear, or simply that such a conspiracy could never be established. They hold that all events are the result of blind forces because no man could guide all the forces that would be necessary.

Let us take a step back now, and look at biology, where it is argued all political structures essentially originated. What is the primary interest of any biological organism? To survive. Some hold that this is a temporary drive and that they survive only for the purposes of reproduction. Either way, as long as it perceives of itself as a viable organism, the primary purpose of any creature is to survive.

This can be extended to all aspects of reality. The primary purpose of a corporation is to continue to exist as a viable corporation; the primary intent of any religion is to continue to exist as a viable religion; and the primary intent of any government or State, for all its rhetoric, is to continue to exist. Anything in power plans to remain in power, and generally things out of power intend to come into power.

What is the second intent of any biological organism? To reproduce or to expand. To take more land, or feeding grounds, or power. This too holds for States. Any government, once the government takes power, intends to take as much power as possible. If it cannot conquer externally it will conquer internally, by taking power from its people. Likewise, this principle holds true for entities within the power structure, viz. the Republican and Democratic parties who have used their positions as rulers to insure their positions as rulers.

Although it generally implies an evil or illegal act, in the strictest sense, the term conspiracy can be applied to any group that organizes -- i.e. "conspires" -- to gain or keep power. By this definition, it is naive to deny that conspiracies exist, as it applies to even political parties and existent governments. The implication of immorality should not be ignored, though, as in a free nation the government exists to serve the people at the will of the people. This "conspiracy" (simple organization to hold power) then becomes conspiracy (an illegal or immoral example of the same) whenever this organization becomes more important than the will of the people in the perception of the conspiring group.

(Many of these groups no doubt believe that, in the "big picture", their actions are in no way immoral, as their chief motive is the betterment of mankind. This distinction is peripheral, though, to the object of this discussion, as if they have become a group conspiring to hold power then their chief motive has in the short term eclipsed their chief motive in the long term.)

Once a conspiracy has been accepted, the next objection one meets in presenting the conspiratorial view of history is, "But that's not what I meant; you are talking about a conspiracy that holds all power." Does this gloss imply an omnipotent entity? For some, no doubt, this is true. To accept an omnipotent conspiracy, though, would be a meaningless decision, as this omnipotent conspiracy first, being all powerful, already has all power and cannot have it wrested from them. Second, this person must accept that they are too controlled by this omnipotence -- or may be -- and therefore only believes what this conspiracy wants them to believe. Conceivably, this is true. It is, however, not a useful historical gloss.

Now it becomes a concept of degree, and when this gloss is presented it becomes a bartering game where the presenter grants less power and the viewer grants more power until a believable conspiracy is reached. For example, the "government conspiracy" (e.g., in early 20th century Russia, the "conspiracy" of Tsar Nicholas) has the power to write the laws and to order their enforcement. This is generally not thought of as a conspiracy, though, as they have the power. Compare the "revolutionary conspiracy" (e.g., in early 20th century Russia, the conspiracy of Lenin and his comrades to overthrow the Tsar). This group clearly did not have such powers, yet is generally accepted as a conspiracy. Obviously, conspiracies exist, and obviously, they have a variety of potencies.

What, though, is the potency in the modern world? The "conspiracy" that guides history -- and this conspiracy can be used with or without quotes, as legality becomes meaningless in the scope of history -- need not have a large amount of power given sufficient time, but must have a fair amount of power to guide history. But here we return again to history.

The conspiratorial model of history does not necessitate that one conspiracy has guided all history. Far from it. Rather, the conspiratorial model of history holds that history has been guided by a number of conspiracies as time has progressed. The amount of time is unnecessary; perhaps the first six cavemen were controlled by a cabal of three, or a chieftain, or perhaps "the conspiracy" formed yesterday, as indeed probably many conspiracies do form frequently. The number of conspiracies is likewise superfluous. Possibly one, possibly infinite, the concept of the conspiratorial view of history does not exclude either, though logic and history does refine the concept to a few important groups and a period of time not less than a couple of hundred years.

This, though, is misleading, as it restricts itself to knowing conspiracies. There is a vital form that is generally ignored even by conspiratorial historians. Indeed, especially by conspiratorial historians, as they tend to have a pet conspiracy of their own. This frequently forgotten concept is the conspiracy of the system. As we -- humans -- as evolved from a biologic base, so too are our politics evolved from a biologic base. Our sociology reflects biology.

How does biology effect the conspiracy of the system? We must first accept that society is organic. Society is not organic, of course, insofar as being carbon based or living in any biological sense of the word, but society is -- all societies are -- organic insofar as society acts in a way similar to organisms. Society, too, tries to keep and hold power. Why it does this is an irrelevant question. Society does not have a centralized mind, but it may be viewed as that the people who are in a society want to preserve this society -- mankind is generally reactionary -- and so their actions preserve the system. Either way, the system "acts" to preserve and expend its own existence.

This alone is almost another model of history, and as so seems misplaced in the current discourse. This is not so, as the organic model of society -- and hence of history -- merges with the conspiratorial model of history -- and hence of society -- into one form, among others. In this, the various "conspiracies" of society are no more knowledgeable of their meanings than the system is itself. When certain patterns are set up, knowingly or unknowingly, by people, other people will act in a predictable manner. For example, when the pattern has been set up -- by human actions such as the industrial revolution and modern education -- to foster a drive for profit as an end goal and a separation of families and communities, people will in general act to gain for themselves, even at the expense of those whom they would "naturally" protect. So too is there no need for a controlling conspiracy; a conspiracy of the system will enable "control" through causing certain Pavlovian reactions, and control by those who know and can exploit -- or even cause -- these controlling system conditions.

And so again: What is the potency of this conspiracy or these conspiracies in the modern world? For obvious reasons, only the potential potency will be discussed. Potentially, there could be much centralized yet concealed power in this world. First, one would have to examine the concealment. To enable concealment in this world, one would simply have to control various media. A typical objection to the conspiratorial model of history, as has been discussed, is that it would be impossible to conceal. This, in the most extreme case, is true. Some would find out, and some that find out would not be able to be let into the conspiracy. Those who are in the organization would have to be numerically small and leaks would have to be avoided or eliminated. As Franklin said, "Three men can keep a secret, if two of them are dead." These leaks would have to avoided, but only another conspiracy would be a danger to an exposed conspiracy, as a general rule. For example, a government is a danger to a terrorist group. A government "conspiring" to hold power is endangered from another group "conspiring" to take it. An individual, though, could cause little or no damage to a conspiracy, and most individuals would seem to be indifferent.

This is only one aspect, however, of the concealment. Aside from avoidance and elimination of the flow of information (and, one would assume, disinformation), much is to be said for the concept of avoiding people looking in the first place. Whether there is or is not some measure of conspiracy that intends to remain hidden, it is obvious that most people do not, for one reason or another, believe in such. This would work for this alleged conspiracy. Our schools teach that history is the work or impersonal forces, and this slant is increasing in newer texts that downplay heroism and heroes. If people have never heard a concept, they are unlikely to come to believe it. If a whole society has never been exposed to a concept, those who think of it are branded madmen.

This, then, represents an odd symbiosis. Power exerted over media and education develops into power derived from media and education. Any conspiracy would then be advised to be prevalent in media and education if they were capable.

Of course, though, no one could ever tell how far conspiracies or a conspiracy spread unless they had access to documents from all these conspiracies. It would be naive to believe in omnipotence in conspiracy, and this model expects conspiracies to rise and fall just as traditional models expect civilizations to. Power in concealed groups are hard to estimate even under the best of conditions. The only point addressed here is how much is conceivable, and this is tremendous. Under the best conspiratorial circumstances -- i.e. assuming control of some degree of the media either through hierarchy, infiltration, economic censorship, or information flow control and some degree of control over the educational system such as beneficial patterns of belief in teachers and especially those who teach the teachers -- and if sufficient time is allotted, much power could be amassed in the hands of a few. The members would have to be patient, but it could be accomplished.

So, clearly a conspiratorial view of history is a possibility. It is beyond the scope of this paper to present arguments for or against such a model, and indeed history is generally never purely one model, but it has been established that such a model is possible. To answer the previously presented objections (paragraph 3): "No one can control all aspects of history": Probably not, but the model encourages looking for those cases where some aspects of history were controlled, and those who control the flow of history can influence much more than they control directly. "A conspiracy would be rapidly exposed": Secret groups have existed. Of this there is no doubt. Obviously, those we know of have been exposed. It is conceivable that a group that was disciplined could avoid exposure, especially provided they had some measure of media control and no one was looking for them. "No conspiracy could be established": Some conspiracies have been established. Conditions today are not so different from the past as to indicate that if a secret or semi-secret could, in the past, have come about that they could not now.

Therefore, a conspiratorial gloss is a possible gloss. It is, again, not within the scope of this paper to "prove" this gloss, or even to prove that this is the best gloss. Rather, this has shown that it is a gloss among many, and one that should not be ignored. In the future, it would be advisable not to simply ignore such a claim.



If you strike at, imprison or kill us,
Out of our prisons or graves,
We will still evoke a spirit that will thwart you,
And, mayhap, raise a force that will destroy you.
We defy you! Do your worst.

-- James Connolly, December 1914


[Prev | Next]

by Captain Moonlight about a song by Larry Kirwan (of Black '47)

The Irish Rising of 1916 is a theme which has shown itself very often in the annals of literature. W. B. Yeats praised the Rising in several of his poems; Lord Dunsany talked of his part of fighting for the British forces in his autobiography; H. P. Lovecraft spoke out against the Rising leaders in his now-famous published letters, calling them "the slippery sons of Saint Patrick" and their American supporters "migrated Micks" (Selected Letters, Volume I, pg. 23; letter of 6/4/16 to Reinhardt Kleiner). Indeed, the famous novelist James Joyce (author of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Ulysses, and Finnegan's Wake, among others) fought as a private in the Irish Citizen Army during the Rising. However, no matter what is said about the rebels (and, indeed, Dunsany spoke very nobly of the rebels, though he fought against them) these men fought for what they deemed right and just. Now, the Rising has been mentioned in many of the new Celtic revival Irish music groups, such as the Cranberries' song "Zombie", as well as songs by the Irish-American group Black '47. However, since most people have not had the exposure to Irish history (dang public schools), I have here compiled an annotated edition of the text to Black '47's excellent and moving song "James Connolly". I have not received Kirwan's permission to do this, but I believe he would not object, and therefore here humbly present to the public my attempt at making this song more enjoyable to American audiences.

James Connolly

Marchin' down O'Connell Street [2] with the Starry Plough [3] on high
There goes the Citizen Army [4] with their fists raised in the sky
Leading them is a mighty man with a mad rage in his eye
"My name is James Connolly, I didn't come here to die . . .

"But to fight for the rights of the working man
And the small farmer too
To protect the proletariat from the bosses and their screws
So hold on to your rifles, boys, don't give up your dream
Of a Republic for the workin' class and economic liberty"

Then Jem yells out "Oh Citizens, this system is a curse
An English boss is a monster, An Irish one even worse
They'll never lock us out again [5], and here's the reason why
"My name is James Connolly, I didn't come here to die . . .

And now we're in the GPO [6] with the bullets wizzin' by
With Pearse [7] and Sean McDermott [8] biddin' each other goodbye
Up steps our Citizen Leader and he roars out to the sky
"My name is James Connolly, I didn't come here to die . . .

"Oh Lillie [9], I don't want to die, we've got so much to live for
And I know we're all goin' out to get slaughtered [10], but I just can't
take any more
Just the sight of one more child screamin' from hunger in a Dublin slum
Or his mother slavin' fourteen hours a day for the scum
Who exploit her and take her youth and throw it on a factory floor
Oh Lillie, I just can't take any more

"They've locked us out, they've banned our unions [11], they even treat
their animals better than us
No! It's far better to die like a man on your feet than to live forever
like some slave on your knees, Lillie

"But don't let them wrap any green flag around me
And for God's sake, don't let them bury me in some field full of
harps and shamrocks [12]
And whatever you do, don't let them make a martyr out of me
No! Rather raise the Starry Plough on high and
sing a song of Freedom
Here's to you, Lillie, the Rights of Man and International Revolution"

We fought them to a standstill while the flames lit up the sky
'Til a bullet pierced our leader and we gave up the fight [13]
They shot him in Kilmainham Jail [14] but they'll never stop his cry
"My name is James Connolly, I didn't come here to die . . .

* * * * *


  1. James Connolly was born in an Edinburgh slum to Irish immigrant parents, and, after becoming involved with the Socialist movement in Scotland, moved to Ireland and worked with James Larkin to further Irish Socialism. Connolly did much work to further the cause of Republican Socialism in not only Ireland, but also the U.S. (where he spent about ten years with labour organizers) and Britain. One day Connolly found himself kidnaped by P. H. Pearse (see note #7) and Sean McDermott (see note #8), two major leaders of both the Irish Republican Brotherhood and the Irish Volunteers. Together with other leaders of the Volunteers and Irish Citizen Army (see note #4) they planned the Easter Rising, which took place Easter Week of 1916, and inspired the nation to fight the Black and Tan War, the Irish War of Independence. The Rising lasted for six days, at that time longer than any other since Wolfe Tone's Uprising in 1798. The Rising was praised by such people as the poet W. B. Yeats (who knew the Rising leaders personally), Vladimir I. Lenin, Leon Trotsky, and President Woodrow Wilson, and such people as George Bernard Shaw fought for the release of the Rising leaders. The Irish Volunteers would later become the Irish Republican Army.
  2. O'Connell Street. Rebel HQ were located on O'Connell Street, which was the first area of Dublin seized during the Rising. At the time the street was actually named Sackville Street, later being renamed, probably after the nineteenth-century rebel Daniel O'Connell.
  3. "Starry Plough." The Starry Plough is an Irish Socialist flag, a Plough of Stars on a field of green.
  4. "Citizen Army." The Irish Citizen Army was founded by Connolly and James Larkin and fought with the Irish Volunteers (later the Irish Republican Army) during the Rising. While a separate entity, the ICA often cooperated with the Irish Volunteers.
  5. "They'll never lock us out again." See note #11.
  6. GPO. The GPO was the General Post Office, which was an easily-defendable location on Sackville Street and was seized as the Rebel headquarters. It was held for several days before it was destroyed by fires caused by looters and artillery.
  7. Patrick Henry Pearse was a poet, school teacher, founder of St. Enda's School for Boys, and the first President of the Republic of Ireland, as well as the only President to preside over the entire nation of Ireland, including Occupied Ireland (a.k.a. Northern Ireland).
  8. Sean McDermott, or Sean MacDiarmada, was one of the major Rising planners and leaders. McDermott was one of those who kidnaped Connolly and informed him of the Rising, and, along with Connolly and Pearse, plays one of the three key roles in Kirwan's one act play "Blood."
  9. Lillie Connolly, James Connolly's wife.
  10. Shortly before the Rising, according to William O'Brien in his áintroduction to Connolly's Labour and Easter Week, as Connolly was leaving Liberty Hall, seat of the Irish Transport and General Workers' Union, Connolly said to O'Brien, "We are all going out to be slaughtered," to which O'Brien replied, "Is there no chance of success?" The answer: "None whatever."
  11. "They've locked us out, they've banned our unions". This is a reference to the Lock-Out of 1913. During this time the Irish Transport and General Worker's Union, led by James Larkin, led a series of strikes to protest poor wages and working conditions. The bosses, led by William Martin Murphy, retaliated by closing factories to union members. British military men also took the place of dock workers who had been fired. This eventually left about one third of Dublin's population jobless and often-times homeless. A series of baton charges was led by the Dublin Metropolitan Police after Larkin managed to illegally address a crowd outside the Murphy-owned Imperial Hotel, and two men were beaten to death by police, with another dying due to poor treatment in prison. Robert Monteith, a British NCO who later joined the Irish Citizen Army and went to Germany to help Sir Roger Casement, had his fourteen-year-old step-daughter beaten into unconsciousness by a British policeman. During this time James Connolly came down from Belfast where he was working for the Belfast branch of the ITGWU and, with Larkin, formed the Irish Citizen Army to protect the workers from the Dublin Police. Though it dwindled in number after the Lock-Out, it usually kept a steady core of two-hundred strong until after the Easter Rising. After the Lock-Out Larkin went to America to raise funds, becoming involved as Connolly had been earlier with the Socialist movement there, and spent almost a decade there. He was not in Ireland during the Rising.
  12. "And for God's sake, don't let them bury me in some field full of harps and shamrocks". Connolly got his wish. The bodies of all those executed for the Rising (with the exception of Sir Roger Casement who was, in 1965, finally given a hero's burial in Ireland) were destroyed in quicklime. The British Government wanted to destroy all memory of the Rising and destroyed the bodies so that they could not be given a funeral.
  13. "'Til a bullet pierced our leader and we gave up the fight." During the Rising, while he was deploying troops behind the GPO, Connolly was hit in the leg by a sniper's bullet ricocheting off the pavement. This wound shattered both his lower leg bones. Being out of sight of both the troops he had just deployed and those in the GPO, he had to drag himself several yards to the front of the GPO before he was seen and could be given medical attention. After the rebels were forced to evacuate the burning GPO, President Pearse decided to negotiate surrender "In order to prevent the further slaughter of Dublin citizens, and in the hope of saving the lives of our followers now surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered". He was forced to give an unconditional surrender.
  14. "They shot him in Kilmainham Jail." As a result of the Rising sixteen men were executed: fourteen in Dublin, one in County Cork, and one in London. Connolly himself was dying of gangrene as a result of his leg wound and could not stand or even sit up before the firing squad. He was carried by stretcher into the yard of Kilmainham and tied upright in a chair to be executed. The other rebels shot in Dublin were: Patrick Henry Pearse; Thomas J. Clarke, a major leader in the Irish Republican Brotherhood; the poet Thomas MacDonagh; the poet and strategist Joseph Mary Plunkett; Edward "Ned" Daly; P. H. Pearse's brother William Pearse; Michael O'Hanrahan, quartermaster of the Irish Volunteers; Major Sean MacBride; Eamonn Kent; Michael Mallin, Connolly's second in command; Cornelius "Con" Colbert, Sean Heuston, and Sean McDermott. Thomas Kent, Commandante of the Volunteers in County Cork, who had been on the run during the Rising, was cornered in his family's house by British soldiers who intended to arrest the entire family. A gun battle lasting several hours ensued, during which Thomas and his three brothers fired at the British while their eighty-four-year-old mother reloaded. The family surrendered when their ammo ran out (after the British had already brought in military reinforcements), but Thomas' brother Richard died of injuries incurred during the gun battle. Thomas was executed for the death of Head Constable Rowe of the Irish Royal Constabulary, who was killed during the stand-off. Sir Roger Casement, who had been caught after disembarking from a German U-boat, was tried for treason in London. In order to discredit him, the British Government released his "Black Diaries", which indicated that he was a homosexual. If it had not been for this move, public opinion against the British because of their secret court martials in Dublin and Cork probably would have had him released. Of those executed, Sean MacBride and William Pearse were not even Rising leaders -- W. Pearse was executed because of his relationship with P. H. Pearse, and Sean MacBride, who had been going to a wedding when fighting broke out, was executed because he had had a long history of fighting against the British, even forming and Irish Brigade to fight against them during the Boer War in South Africa. More than ninety other executions were ordered, including one against the Countess Constance Markievicz, subcommandant to Michael Mallin (deferred due to her sex), and Eamon de Valera, who would later become the head of the IRA (deferred due to his U.S. citizenship), but none of these were carried out.


Black '47.  Fire of Freedom.  SBK, D 101418, 1993.
      One of the albums from which "James Connolly" came.

Connolly, James.  Labour and Easter Week.  Edited by Desmond Ryan;
    Introduction by William O'Brien.  Dublin: At the Sign of the Three Candles, 1949.

de Rosa, Peter.  Rebels: The Irish Rising of 1916.  New York: Ballantine Books, 1992.
    ISBN 0-449-90682-5; LCCN 91-72955.

Hickey, D. J. and Doherty, J. E.  A Dictionary of Irish History Since 1800.
    Totowa, NJ: Gill and Macmillan, 1981.
    ISBN 0-389-20160-X.

Kirwan, Larry.  Mad Angels: The Plays of Larry Kirwan.  Mt. Vernon, NY: '47 Books, 1993.
    ISBN 0-9639601-0-5.
Pay especial attention to the play "Blood", about the days during which Connolly planned the Rising with Pearse and McDermott.


Marshall, Brig. Gen. S. L. A. (USAR, Ret.).  The American Heritage History of
    World War I.  New York, NY: Dell, 1967.

Incredibly inaccurate as to the Easter Rising, this book, though devoting a section to the Rising (pgs. 226-227), does not even get Connolly's name right, calling him O'Connell. The majority of the section is devoted to bashing Casement, even calling him the mastermind of the Rising. (In fact, Casement did not even know of the Rising until very late in the venture, and he left Germany for Ireland with the intention of stopping the Rising or, if he were too late to stop it, to fight alongside his comrades in Ireland.) What is not entirely inaccurate is often misleading. If Marshall is this inaccurate in the rest of this book, it is definitely a book to avoid.


"Better to die on your feet than to live on your knees."

-- Spanish Revolutionary slogan


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by TOkemASTer

I find myself constantly wondering where society as a whole went wrong. At one point or another, we all must ask ourselves this question. I mean, look at us! 99% of all Americans are conformist pigs. They want to drink a beer, sing the "Star Spangled Banner", and send their sons and daughters off to fight to preserve our un-freedom. How is America "The Land of the Free" when the fucking pigs can force you to wear a seat belt when you're in your car, on roads you pay taxes for. If you have a certain species of hemp on you (cannabis sativa), you can go to jail for life. Now, if you were FORCiBLY making someone OTHER THAN yourself smoke it, you'd be screwed, but, what I can't see is: If it's my body, why do they have jurisdiction over it? Our government is out of control. Society projects an image of what's "cool", and we're supposed to follow like lambs to the slaughterhouse. Being "cool" is nothing more than becoming the one "cool" image, therefore all becoming like one, also therefore repressing individuality. Once individuality is gone, all forms of respect for anything but the system is shot to hell. Well, I've got something to say! "Fuck the system!" Look at people remembered by us streetfreaks throughout history. The people I respect are the people who stood out. The people who broke the mold. Most of them went to prison or court for what they believed, they the DiDN'T conform to society's expectations.

And what pisses me off ROYALLY is that OLE UNCLE SAM, A.K.A. the U.S. FUCKiN' GOVERNMENT, wants me to join the Army and fight for a country that shits on me and rejects me for the way I dress.

At age 18, you can't buy beer, but you can go to a foreign country and get slaughtered and be called a hero.

Fuck 'em.


"The streets shall flow with the blood of the unbelievers."

-- Butt-Head


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by Captain Moonlight


"Don't use the color of my skin as an issue
Hey politician, your lies are gonna get you
Chickens comin' home to roost in the White House
Blood on the streets if you don't shut your big mouth"

-- Larry Kirwan (of Black '47), "Fire of Freedom"

This essay, which will stretch out in a series of sections throughout several (I'm not yet sure exactly how many) issues of State of unBeing, is borne out of the need for a text of this sort to the community in order that it may end any tyrannies it perceives cast upon it by a government it believes to be corrupt. This text is designed to address the serious questions as to tactics in a guerrilla war, and while it will discuss to some extent the weapons of the guerrilla war, it is not designed as a text for terrorists, but rather as a text for the serious guerrilla warrior and social reformer. The majority of the articles put forth in SoB thus far have dealt with why revolution is necessary, now we shall go into how it can be brought about.

It should remembered that this text is entirely based on theory, and that the current author has had no experience in this warfare. Also it cannot be stressed enough that everything in a guerrilla war is variable, and that nothing is constant to all regions. Everything in this text must be adapted by the guerrilla force as to the territory they are in. Failure to adapt will end only in the annihilation of the popular force. No set guide can be written for the guerrilla warrior for the reason that each experience and each region will be different. No-one can expect to be able to copy a revolution. A fighter in the cities or suburbs of the United States or Canada, for instance, cannot expect to rely on the tactics employed in the Cuban and Chinese Revolutions. In such a setting Che's Guerrilla Warfare, while containing useful tips, proves obsolete. A street-fighter such as this would rather look to the ghetto fighters of the Resistance forces of the Second World War or the tactics of the Irish Republican Army for an example as to how to fight. A rural fighter, however, would look to the Cuban and Chinese fighters for an example as to tactics. The revolutionary can copy ideas, but he cannot copy situations, and thus he must be willing to adapt or he will die. This work was written with the intent that it would be adapted for use in all matter of regions.

Whoever uses this work, it is hoped it will be used for the good of mankind, as for this reason was it written.


"Justice without force is powerless; force without justice is tyrannical."

--Blaise Pascal

First of all, I believe a few things should be said as to when guerrilla warfare should be used in a society. It should always be remembered that warfare is always the absolute last resort when trying to achieve social reform. It cannot be stressed enough that one does not fling oneself into combat unless there is no other alternative. The system, no matter how corrupt, should always be worked through unless there is no other option. I suggest reading Alinsky's Rules for Radicals for information in this (see the recommended reading section). Guevara said, in his cornerstone work Guerrilla Warfare, that whenever the system has any semblance of democracy, the system must be worked through, no matter how corrupt. While this is not always entirely possible, it should always be remembered that a guerrilla cannot win without enough public support to keep him from being turned in to the authorities. For instance, when he was leading his band "The Twelve Apostles", the toughest hit-squad in the IRA, Michael Collins had a 10,000 pound (British) price on his head (1920's currency) after the first few hits, as well as a 10,000 pound reward on the rest of the Squad. However, due to his popularity with the people, he was never turned in. The guerrilla band must have this much popularity with the people.

It should always be remembered that guerrilla warfare, the first step in an armed change in government, can only be fought with the full backing of the people: anything else will lead to annihilation of the guerrilla force. It should always be remembered that guerrilla warfare brings down a great burden on those of the area in which the war is being fought. The guerrilla force must remember that the regular army will bring sweeping retributions against the area's populace for each act of defiance brought out by the guerrilla forces. An example of this is the recent legislation allowing searches without reasonable cause or warrant in the Chicago Housing Authority's complexes, despite public disapproval. This legislation was followed by extensive searches for weapons and drugs in these complexes. While this was to stop gang violence, guerrilla bands will obviously be acted against even more severely. The guerrilla warrior must always remember that he relies on this public support to obtain his supplies, and to hide when the heat is put on by the government troops.

In order to keep the public support, the guerrilla band must keep the true interests of the people at heart, and each guerrilla action must be immediately followed by propaganda detailing the reason for that action. The best weapon of the propagandist is truth, and all propaganda must only contain the truth, else the entire guerrilla force will be discredited. The propagandist, while not always a member of the fighting guerrilla force, must always be as secretive as the guerrilla fighter. The propagandist should deliver the propaganda as anonymously as possible, for it should be remembered that the authorities will arrest the propagandists if at all possible. One good way to get out the information with minimal risk to the propagandist is to send it to whatever newspapers will print it. The propaganda should probably be sent out by giving stacks of the material to trusted people, to be passed on as a chain, or to drop it off in stacks in public meeting places. Great ingenuity must be used to get out this information without the arrest of the propagandist.

Also in order to keep the public support the guerrilla band must be as benign as possible towards the general populace. If the guerrilla band ever turns against the populace it becomes a bandit gang, and will be eradicated. While the governmental forces will perform atrocities against the civilian population, the guerrilla band must not perform any of these actions, and rebel members of the guerrilla band who do perform these actions must be tried and punished for their actions. If such is not carried out, the guerrilla band will lose its public support and thus lose the war. The guerrilla fighter, as a social reformer, must also undertake non-military actions to benefit the community. These actions will gain the guerrilla valuable allies in the civilian population which will help him immensely later on. By performing such actions he will also come into contact with others whom he can recruit to the guerrilla force, thus spreading the movement.

The guerrilla force must be non-dogmatical, meaning that it must work for the good of the people at all times, without setting a specific code to which all must adhere to. The only set aim of a guerrilla band is to work for the good of the people; all else can be compromised. When fighting a revolution each fighter must be willing to fight alongside those who do not believe the exact same way as him, for if he tries to divide himself too much from others with like goals, he stands no chance. The guerrilla fighter must be willing to work out his differences with other members of the guerrilla band off of the battlefield, and to work for the common good, rather than for his own. To quote Benjamin Franklin's remark to John Hancock on Independence Day, 1776, "We must all hang together, or, most assuredly, we shall all hang separately." Differences within the fighting force can be settled in council or after the conflict; in the heat of battle the revolutionaries must all act as brothers.

When war is declared, niceties used in peace are often done away with. The guerrilla force must unfortunately take part in some desperate actions which, in peace-time, would be unheard-of. Due to the inability of the guerrilla band to hold prisoners, executions for crimes which would normally not be considered major offenses must be carried out. These executions are not carried out as punishment, but for the mere reason that the offenders cannot be left on the streets. Another means of this to avoid execution would be knee-capping, as performed by the Irish Republican Army in their role as police officers in their territories. In kneecapping, the offender is asked to drop his pants, in order that no fabric-fibres may get caught in the wound, thus losing the leg, and then a bullet is shot behind the kneecap. While extremely painful, the offender regains use of the leg if proper medical attention is obtained. Enemy soldiers, however, must always be treated with respect by the insurgent army. Torture and needless killing do not fit into the guerrilla's protocol of reform. Such brutality is what the guerrilla must fight against.

Each time the guerrilla band takes part in these, however it should be remembered that the public opinion will turn against them: a risk the guerrilla band must avoid. Applications of force are used only when they are absolutely necessary, and indiscriminate violence can never be used on the population. As stated earlier, the guerrilla fighter is not a terrorist. Still, these acts of force, when absolutely necessary, must be carried out without reservation. Carefully consider each act before it is done, but once a decision is made, carry it out all the way. There is no middle-of-the-road for a guerrilla warrior.

The guerrilla warrior must remember that he will not win without a political ideology. As Chairman Mao said in On Guerrilla Warfare, "Without a political goal, guerrilla warfare must fail, as it must if its political objectives do not coincide with the aspirations of the people and their sympathy, cooperation, and assistance cannot be gained" (pg. 43). Thus, the guerrilla band must have an ideology, and a highly popular one; one that appeals and is just to the people. Even the Zapatista National Liberation Army (Ejercito Zapatista de Liberacion Nacional), a non-dogmatic army, was working for democracy and help for the people. This strong ideology should be spread throughout the people with the propaganda mentioned above. Che says in Guerrilla Warfare that captured soldiers, as they cannot be kept, should be given a meal and a speech on the guerrillas' beliefs and then an offer to join the insurgent army, and, if they choose not to join, be released. That way, the enemy army would at least know why they are being fought against. Also, this helps spread revolutionary ideals throughout the enemy army, making it an easier target. Deserting troops should always be encouraged to join the guerrilla band, and then they must not be treated as outcasts, but as members of the guerrilla family. This also brings up the question of conscription. Conscription is a tool of the oppressive army; it has no place in the guerrilla band. The guerrilla army is such that those forced into its service will merely hinder it. The guerrilla fighter must be willing to fight with all his might and all his soul. Courage is the ability to bring all of your love and all of your hate and all of your just rage and all of your fear and draw power from it, channeling it into a great explosive force, enabling you to perform superhuman feats. When a person is forced into this service, he cannot perform in this way. A single person who truly is willing to fight and die for the cause is worth ten conscripts.

The two basic requirements to be a guerrilla soldier are:

1. A true love of the people; and

2. A willingness to turn all of one's feeling towards the cause.

Without these two requirements, one cannot be a guerrilla fighter. It must always be remembered that in wartime desperate measures must sometimes be resorted to, and that when this occurs, these measures must not be flinched from. Thirdly, it must always be remembered that the guerrilla fighter must have the people's true interest at heart, and their ideology must reflect this. A strong ideology is vital to the guerrilla movement, and this ideology must always reflect the will and needs of the people: bread, work, and freedom. Believe strongly in your cause and back yourself with actions, and people will follow you. Waver in your resolve or be a fool, and you shall die with your movement.

[Part II]


Here's a partial bibliography and suggested reading for this work. A full bibliography will be contained in the final piece.

Alinsky, Saul D.  Rules for Radicals: A Pragmatic Primer for Realistic Radicals.  
New York, NY: Vintage Books, 1972.
    ISBN: 0-394-71736-8; LCCN 70-117651.
This work, while written during the Vietnam War, is still relevant today, and is of great use to the social reformer. While not a text on guerrilla warfare, this book gives good insight as to the alternatives to guerrilla warfare, as well as how to organize people and how to look at various problems in working with people, and the ethics of your actions. It is available in modern printing, and is available at most large new and used bookstores. Pay special attention to the chapter "Of Means and Ends."
Guevara, Dr. Ernesto "Che".  Guerrilla Warfare.  Translated by J. P. Morray.
    Preface by I. F. Stone.  New York, NY: Vintage Books, 1961.
Another printing, with more notes:
Guevara, Dr. Ernesto "Che".  Guerrilla Warfare.  With an Introduction and
    Case Studies by Brian Loveman and Thomas M. D. Davies, Jr.  Lincoln, NB:
    University of Nebraska Press, 1985.
This work is the standard work on guerrilla warfare in the country. It is highly recommended; it is also extremely hard to find.
Mao Tse-Tung.  Mao Tse-Tung on Guerrilla Warfare.  Translated and with
    Introduction by Brigadier General Samuel B. Griffith, USMC (Ret.).  New
    York, NY: Praeger Publishers, 1961.
This is one of the earliest, and most important, works on this subject. Keep your eyes out for it. I found two copies in the public library of Cedar Park, a small town just outside of Austin, Texas. Even if you're like me and don't agree with Mao's political methods, he was very skilled in guerrilla warfare.

Paret, Peter and Shy, John W.  Guerrillas in the 1960's.  New York, NY:
    Praeger, 1966.
    LCCN: 62-17978
This work discusses the role of the guerrilla fighter, as well as basics of guerrilla tactics. Unlike Che's work, and like this one, the authors were working entirely on theory, and this should be remembered when reading the piece. Also, it is not written with the guerrilla, but rather with the anti-guerrilla in mind.


"There is something so massive, stable, and almost irresistibly imposing, in the exterior presentment of established rank and great possessions, that their very existence seems to give them a right to exist; at least, so excellent a counterfeit of right, that few poor and humble men have moral force enough to question it, even in their secret minds."

-- Nathaniel Hawthorne, The House of the Seven Gables


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by Nemo est Sanctus

And after the scribes and the Pharisees fell silent, a single man stepped forward from the crowds: Matthias, a tax collector.

Lord, he said. I came to hear you speak so I could hear how the scribes and the priests refuted you, so I could rest in my old beliefs.

But the teachers cannot refute you; their arguments sound hollow and fall stillborn from their lips.

But I am troubled, Lord. All my life I have followed the Law, and I have felt protected by the Law, and I grew up to be a tax collector and enforce the Law.

And you come and teach us that the Law was wrong, and call for us to tear it down.

And Jesus said, It is true the laws of man must be torn down, but the Law is not now, nor has it ever been, wrong.

With my life I bring about a new covenant, a covenant of love, not one of restriction.

The Word of the Law was restriction for your forefathers, for man was yet a child, and, like a child, he needed the guidance of a strict father.

Man is even now in his coming of age, and the Word of the Law is wisdom, for the Law is now a wise father teaching his son the ways that will soon be his.

I say truly unto you: The day will come when man will be in his adulthood, and he will come into his inheritance with the Lord.

For a Hebrew begets a Hebrew, and a horse begets a horse, and an ass begets an ass (cf GosPhil 51,29 and 75,25), and the Lord your Father, can he beget less?

For the Lord your Father has claimed you as his sons, and He is your Father (cf Ps 82:6 and Jn 10:34).

In my body I show the last Word; the Word of the last Law is Love.

In love, the laws of man are torn down and pass away, for he who loves does not wish to see his beloved in chains.

It is only he who hates that needs to see his brothers enslaved. He who hates and he who fears.

And Matthias asked, But Lord, is not the world filled with those who hate and those who fear? Is this truly the time of the last Word?

Jesus replied, No, that aion has yet to come.

I will die, and rise again, but in this form I will be lost to man until the last days dawn.

And many who follow me and oppose the archons will die, and they will be lost to man until the last days.

But death is the price for and the path to freedom, and if you truly believe in love, the path of the zealot is the only path open to you.

The choice of the zealot must be yours. You must follow me through the cities, carrying the cross upon which you will hang,

Or you may fly to the mountains and prepare in brotherhood for your deaths and the last days.

The law of David will stand until the end, that he who stays at the camp and prepares for his brothers will receive the same share as him who went down to the battle (cf 1 Sam 30:24-25).

But I say truly, to refuse both these paths is even death too, but death without rebirth.

For those who have loved will be the Lord's holy ones, with whom he will come in the last hour (cf Zech 14:5).

To refuse love is the death of the soul.

And Matthias looked around, and found the marketplace still, and, seeing that Jesus had spoken only to him, cried out, Truly, you are the Christ.

And Jesus kissed him, and the people began speaking once more.

Matthias said, Truly, you are the wise teacher; tell us what we must do.

And Jesus said unto them:
Eat not in another's hunger
But reach to him your hand;
Food is of earth -- is here always.
Man passes into sand.
One man is rich, one man is poor
A sharing man wants not
This year a vagabond may knock;
Last year he had no want.
Do not allow greedy thoughts now
Your end is mystery
Next year the beggar may be you
Needing someone's mercy.
You won't hurt your arm reaching out
Nor bending break your back
Don't pounce on he who begs your help
Reach out to he who lacks
Do not deny a stranger drink.
Drink, rather, to his health.
God honors him who loves the poor,
Not him who worships wealth.

* * * * *

And Jesus said, Matthias, read to us this scroll.

But Matthias cried out, saying, Rabbi, this is a pagan scroll. It would be unlawful to read this here in the Temple of the Lord.

And Christ said, My child. Do you fear the heathens so much that you would plug up your own ears and out your own eyes? If the heathen are wrong you need not fear to hear their teachings. Rather, read them and refute them, that you may teach those who believe wrong right. If they are right, however, woe be to you who closed your ears because you feared the source. Open your eyes; open your ears. Knowledge cannot harm you. Study all, and so not fear. Simply refute the false, and trust in the Lord. Was it not said, Nothing good can come out of Nazareth (cf. Jn 1:46)? Yet, here I am. Would you have closed your ears to my words because you disliked my origin?

After I had read the scroll, he admonished us once again, saying, Judge not the teacher, but judge the teaching. Do not ignore the words because you would rather ignore the man.

* * * * *

The Saviour said: You speak of resurrection because you do not know death. If you do not know death, how much less must you know life! Any man may take a woman and produce an animate creature, but only God may grant a soul. Man cannot force God's hand, nor may man dictate to God what body may be with soul. There are many men, even today, wherein dwell no soul. But I say unto you, whoever brings a man to think that does not, he has raised that man from the dead.

And the Apostles lamented, saying: But you promised that those who follow you would find the secret to eternal life!

And Christ made answer, saying: Fools! You speak this way for you are drunk in the ways of this world. I say unto you that your drunkenness is so great that you do not even perceive your state. The treasures of this world are nothing. Why, then, do you want nothing forever? The treasures of the Kingdom are infinite. Why, then, do you fear to claim your birthright? But I speak to you truly, to conquer death you only have to die.


"One of these days I may fight in earnest and altogether so that I won't have to fight any more."

--James Simon Kunen,
The Strawberry Statement: Notes of a College Revolutionary


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by Clockwork

There is only one person I really despise on the face of the earth, believe it or not. Because despise is such a strong word. It's a nice word, though. So is loathe. Loathe just slides out of your mouth, sounding dementedly erotic. It too is a strong word. And I use them both in a single sentence, along with George Bush.

Why, you ask? I could write a book. Hell, there are already books. This one man has held so many -- too many -- power positions in the government that it is simply unbelievable. When he got involved in politics, he had no prior political experience at all -- he majored in economics and was involved in the oil business in Texas. He was in the U.S. Senate from 1966 - 1970, Nixon appointed him as U.S. Ambassador to the U.N. from 1971 - 1972 (why, I have no idea), he became director of the C.I.A. from 1976 - 1977, Vice-President in 1980 - 1988, and then President from 1988 - 1992. Why? Why? Why? I keep mumbling those words.

Interestingly enough, Bush also became involved with two very related, very powerful, and very unknown organizations -- the Council on Foreign Relations and the Trilateral Commission. Time for a brief, or not so brief, history lesson...

Next to the Freemasons, the Council on Foreign Relations (CFR) and the Trilateral Commission (TC) are probably the most misunderstood organizations operating on American soil. Yet all three organizations are part of a global conspiracy to dominate the world. Interestingly enough, George Bush's coin phrase "New World Order" is taken straight from the Freemason's handbook.

The CFR has about 2500 members, the majority of whom live in New York, Washington, and Boston. It has 38 branch affiliated in the United States. The entire organization was financed completely by the Rockefeller and Carnegie foundations. Former Congressman Jack Rarick asserted: "The CFR is 'the establishment.' Not only does it have influence and power in key decision-making positions at the highest levels of government to apply pressures from above, but it also finances and uses individuals and groups to bring pressures from below, to justify the high-level decisions for converting the U.S. from a sovereign Constitutional Republic into a servile member state of a one-world dictatorship."

And the CFR does not hide it's intentions. On February 17, 1950, CFR member James Warburg (of Warburg Bank of Hamburg and Amsterdam, one of the top eight stockholders in the Federal Reserve System) told the Senate Foreign Relations Committee: "We shall have world government whether you like it or not you like it -- by conquest or consent." In the 1940s, the CFR had so much influence in the State Department, they were responsible for getting the U.S. to create and join the United Nations. In fact, the land which housed the United Nations buildings was donated by John D. Rockefeller, Jr.

The CFR was the catalyst behind the creation of the Trilateral Commission, established by David Rockefeller in 1973 to promote world government by encouraging economic interdependence among the superpowers. All eight American representatives to the founding meeting of the TC were members of the CFR.

The Reagan Administration appointed no less than 75 members of the CFR or TC, but when Bush entered the White House, an unbelievable 350 members of those two organizations received positions in the executive branch.

Also, way back in his college days at Yale University in Connecticut, he was inducted into a very elite secret society, with roots stemming from Freemasonry, called the Order of Skull & Bones. This society consisted of white, wealthy, males, and nothing else. If anyone else even set foot in a Skull & Bones meeting place, the place would have to be torn down. Silly, eh? Bush's involvement in the Skull & Bones laid the foundation of his beliefs that are behind every action throughout his governmental career. You see, the Skull and Bones believed in constructive chaos -- using covert actions to maintain order. Keep that in mind. Bush is the poster child for constructive chaos.

* * * * *

"A covert operation is, in its nature, a lie."

-- Oliver North in his testimony before
the Iran-Contra investigations

* * * * *

Covert actions. Alrighty. Before we get into what covert actions he participated in, let us look at how he accomplished them. During the Reagan administration, Vice-President Bush created the Vice-Presidential Task Force on Combating Terrorism. Seems like a nice idea to the public, since throughout Bush's terms he told the public that there is a terroristic threat to the United States. However, this task force was allowed to bypass normal channels to initiate policies, avoiding the opposition of other branches of government, or government officials. Nobody had to know about the things they did.

During the same term, in 1981, they came up with, and passed, a proposal permitting the C.I.A. to undertake covert actions inside the United States and on U.S. citizens. This included searches without warrants, surreptitious entries, and the infiltration of political organizations. All of this "to combat terrorism in the U.S." Once again, they continue to use this "terrorist threat" theme.

Along with that nifty thing, the executive branch came up with something called National Security Decision Directives (NSDD). These were just like an executive order, having as much power as an executive order, but NSDDs were not required to be revealed to any other branch of government, specifically Congress. So, theoretically, war could be waged against anyone without the Congress or the public knowing about it, as long as U.S. Military troops were not used -- this does not exclude C.I.A. members. And it just so happens that during the Reagan-Bush administration, about 300 NSDDs were issued -- to this day only 50 have been declassified.

Of course, this was after Bush was director of the C.I.A. How did he get involved with the Presidency? Not specifically by voters. Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Of course not. In 1977, 800 or so covert operators were thrown out of the C.I.A. by Carter. They, in turn, allied themselves with the conservative element of the Republican party and set a goal -- to get Bush elected as Vice-President or President. It didn't really matter which one, both were a power position that could be worked from. They were going to do in the U.S. what they did in Africa and Central America in the 60s and 70s -- rig elections and overthrow the government. And they did.

Let us jump back a little, back to 1976, when Bush ran the good ole patriotic C.I.A, and talk about a little thing called the Nugan Hand Bank. The Nugan Hand Bank was founded in 1976, by two men -- one with the last name Hand. Obviously where the name Nugan Hand came from. The funny thing is, Michael John Hand, one of the two, was an ex-Special Forces member, ex-Green Beret, and ex-C.I.A. agent. Interesting, eh? So interesting, in fact, that the bank was run entirely by ex-C.I.A. agents and ex-U.S. military officers. It turns out that the bank held and laundered profits from opium fields across Southeast Asia (a totally different story about the C.I.A.).

Right after the establishment of the bank, it boasted deposits of $25 million dollars. Sort of unusual. Branches were spread around six different continents, several times appearing on the same floor as D.E.A. offices. Of course, when the D.E.A. was asked about this, they offered no explanation. All in all, the Nugan Hand bank was involved with drug operations, laundering, tax evasion, and investor fraud. No actual banking was done there -- it twas a front. After lasting for seven years, the bank was declared insolvent, and all the papers were shredded -- this left them owing around $50 million.

Much of the trafficking was run by Edwin Wilson, a career C.I.A. officer, who in 1983 began serving a 52 year sentence for selling arms to Libya. But no one has ever been convicted of any crimes relating to the bank.

Unfortunately, many of the CIA activities during that time have yet, if they ever will be, to be uncovered. But it is easy to see the clear base of support and network of contacts Bush set up while directing the C.I.A.



-- uncovered operations controlled and authorized by Bush throughout his Vice-Presidency. And there are tons of them.


[=- POETRiE -=]


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by Paradigm

. . . go away.
Leave me alone,
with my thoughts,
I'm feeling antisocial.
Is this a crime?
Why does it matter to you
if all I want to do
is sit,
staring at nothing,
or everything?
The world will not end
if . . . oh . . .
nevermind . . .
just leave me alone.


"Nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower."

-- William Wordsworth


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by Ivy Carson

Dark are the souls who enter these gates.
As you creep with caution, ecstasy awaits.
The naughty night cats whisper as they draw you near
"Come closer, come in. Don't be afraid, my dear."
The mysteriousness is too much to resist.
"Come closer, come in," the voices insist.
You enter the night with warnings of regret,
but you must see for yourself, and you seem to forget
about the lost and lonely you've seen in that place,
and how you've always believed it was quite a disgrace.
A mere child, corrupted and torn inside.
She has nowhere to go, and she feels she must hid.
Look at you now, you're becoming one of them.
A black, cold stone, once a vibrant gem.
You are poisonous now, playing in a deadly game.
Known only by your face, no one cares about your name.
Black lips devour you, pulling you deeper within.
Once you've arrived, don't fight. You can't win.


"The philosophers have only interpreted the world; the thing, however, is to change it."

-- Karl Marx


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by Sir Lizard Guts

Dawn is creeping
Through slits in the cell.
There are no birds chirping,
No sound at all.
Far away, where no one wanders
Deep inside, no way out.
There in agony struggling to survive.
Crying out to anyone who will listen,
No one to talk to except the parasites.

Yelling, screaming please God let someone hear him,
Yes the guards do, and they come to beat him.
Broken and bloody on the floor,
Cold and shivering, trying to survive even less than before.

The world around him through his eyes,
The walls are misty and damp
The bars of the window are his only way to sanity.
No it's the dragon again...

"Stay away dragon bother me no more!"
Thrashing about, slamming into the walls.
No one is near him, his mind is gone.
He better be quiet or the guards will come again.
Clawing his eyes ripping off his skin,
How did all this start.
Oh no, here comes the guards.

In to his mind, we can not understand.
On the battlefield I can see it all.
The constant pound of bombs over and over.
There, his best friend just died,
There, his captain, now his brother.

Blood covers his body, mud binds the blood to his skin,
Was he once human, did he used to live?
He's barely alive when they came to take him away...

Stare at the light, look at it sparkling,
Light cleans everything, Light is white.
White is pure, Pure is salvation.
If you stare at the light it will sustain you,
The beam from the window crawls across the floor, its fingers
stretching out to the corner where he is curled up.
It illuminates his face, stunned, his burning eyes turn towards
the window.
Is this what he has been waiting for,
It cleans him, for a second he smiles and laughs out.
Then the guards return.

Cold everywhere,
It is biting into him, so many small stings.
The wind comes through the window, he hates it,
curses it.
He hates the window, he hates the wind.
Winter and no clothes, just rags that he wore on the day.
What was it like then to be free, to be outside.
Prickles, they hurt, pain he can not stand,
If he complains the guards will make him sleep.
He likes the idea, he yells....

White, everywhere he looks is white.
It comes through the window, it covers his curled form.
No more feeling of cold, no feeling of anything.
No remembrance of what life was like.
A young boy has been visiting his dreams,
What is reality anymore to him though,
Who was this young boy.

Look at the rain,
Crystals falling to the earth.
Diamonds come through the window.
Tear at the bars, Feel the sting of the rain.
It rips his body apart,
Down goes the last bit of humanity
Out the drain, with all his waste.
No more, it washes out his open wounds,
A child laughing in his crib, he laughs in his cell.
Such joy to know what he is.

Back to the savage, back to hate.
Back away from society.
What is hope.
Something that no one can take away.
Back away from hope,
What is its use for someone who is lost.

Laughing at what he once was,
It turns to crying.
Let the pain come again,
Give me back my childhood, my son, my dreams,
Here come the guards.

The pain lets him know he is alive,
Without it there is nothing else.
Except the light.
The precious light that gives him purpose,
And the rain, and snow, and heat, and cold.
Without that there is nothing more.

He clings to the window
Even as they beat him.
Don't give up your last hope.
Down he sinks into the dreams,
The salt of his blood runs through his cracked lips.
Burning, letting him know that there is nothing left.

What are they doing.
His window, it is gone, boarded up.
Rip out the wood.
His flesh gives way to wood.
His fingers are ground to brick and stone.
But what does it matter, to one who has nothing else.
What is it.
The guards see what he has done.

Yes! come and hit me,
I can stand up to them,
I have my light back.

The window, the bars.
With only stone to replace it.
Nothing at all now.
A broken body, a broken mind.
A torn soul.

Still continuing though.
He has no moved in months,
Nothing moves.
Except the parasites through the excrement that
covers him.
What is time though to someone who does not see.
They have taken his eyes.
They have taken his light.
They have taken his hope.

Lots of time to think.
Why should I not die,
Why to continue on.
Life is so precious.
My captain did not want to die,
My brother did not want to die,
My friend did not want to die,
Should I want to die.

I used to have a name,
What was it.
What does it matter.
Where is my arm, why can I not move.
It matters because that is who I am.
A name is who you are.
Who I was.
I am nothing now.

I had a child, I created life.
I loved that life, and I still do.
What was his name.
What does it matter.
How can I say I love anything.

No stop it, do not think of her.
No, I can not stand it,
Does she love someone else now.
Why did I have to remember.
Guards come make me sleep.

Twitch, roaches crawling over him.
He can imagine them, they are his brothers now.
One scuttles across the room in darkness.
Doubt creeping into the mind,
What am I, what was I,
Now he can not make the guards come,
They have taken his tongue.
Now they are taking his beliefs, his morals.

A smile spreads across his face as he thinks of his light,
What was it like.
Then he thinks about how it was taken away,
Back to hate.

Throughout time he sits, sleeps, lays.
No muscles to stand, just to live.
The war can not go n forever,
Someone will come,
Someone will free him.

He doesn't think this.
Why should he.
He has no hope.
The primitive will to survive keeps his heart beating.
His wild lapses have stopped.
His mind is solid.
It holds his body together.
On heartbeat after the other.
The mind is not conscience.

The only thing he holds onto is his name,
It runs through his mind.
What was life like.
Her again, his mind comes to life, the burn in his heart
feels good.
How he loved her. The smallest thing mattered.
I love you, he says, only it comes out as an unintelligent moan
without form.
Holding her, feeling the pressure of her against him was all
that he cared about.
Her breath upon his brow, her arms around his waist.

How he cried tearless sobs as he remembered.
But this time it feels good.
Memories flood him,
In the dark he smiles.
Peace, nothing like the timeless peace of love.

At least he had told her he loved her.
All the time, and when he left how they both had wept.
He wanted her love from the beginning.
And she had given it to him unambiguously.
Her love, that's what is was all about.
The love of everything,
Her hand in his, that love was better than the bed.
His arms around her, his hands to touch her.
Her skin so soft.

How everything around him was so hard now.
He suffered for her,
How everything he did was for her.
No, he knew she still loved him.
Somehow he knew that she still knew he was alive.

God he loved her,
Nothing meant so much to him.
Her voice in his ear,
"I love you", he could hear her one last time.

Then it all went away,
His mind blanked and he could feel no more.
The fleeting moment of sanity,
All the feelings gone, but not.
It would always be burning what he felt.
His mind went back to the cockroaches.

On and on, forever more
I will be nothing.
Crawling around, hands stretched out searching.
There biting into his hand,
He pulls it out.

Up, he can see it with eyes he no longer has.
Standing, barely he leans against the wall.
The sane mind gone, the primitive will to survive no longer
Years of darkness, no more memories of love.

The bones of his legs, the absence of feeling.
His jaded existence,
The shard of a bottle in his hands.
The basic instinct of survival,
The flames of life died out.

He holds it up to the window that is not there,
The light that does not exist shins through on him.

The cold press of glass against his wrist,
Building of the adrenalin.
The blood pounding in his ears.
He feels her crying out. Why?
It hurts to much, the thought of her.
He falls, the glass slides across a blind floor.

Crying, he can't stop.
He crawls around now,
Frantic, mindless, thoughtless.
Waiting to end the uselessness of it all.

The shard again,
Stabs through his hand as he sweeps it across the floor.
Laying there holding it, weeping.
Sleep now. One last time before you die.

Morning, or afternoon, or night
It does not matter.
Pressing the glass against his face,
How it has changed since the beginning.
The scars, the lumps from the beatings, he misses the

He touches his eyelids with his fingers, only seeing the
endless haze of nothing.
Remembering what sight was like.
Now, end it now.
Slice the flesh across the wrist.
Feel it, feel all the world slide away in dreary happiness.
The few seconds of life as it all comes out.

Lift the wrist up to your mouth and
Taste my life as it passes out of me.
Feel the burn of the end.
I know I am going and I am ready for whatever
is there.
I now know I never wanted to die,
I never wanted to kill myself.
I feel the last of it drain out.
I can not concentrate on anything,
Darkness, come to me my sweet, sweet darkness.
I love it, I love everything on last time.
I love you, I did to the very end.

Now everything is done, Quiet.
The parasites run to feed on the blood.
The substance of life, the end of hope,
The end of love.


[=- FiCTiON -=]


[Prev | Next]

by Dark Crystal Sphere Floating Between Two Universes

The Old Goblin stands at the top of his Tower of Hypocrisy and laughs at those who drown in the Sea of Lies, yet see not that their feet are wet with False-Hood. He spews forth blasphemies and lies and counter their lies with lies he believes not, yet others believe he believes, while they themselves say lies to seem better than they are, and in their prejudice and arrogance believe they are better than True Seekers of the Light. Yet within the Goblin weeps, and hopes that they will climb forth from the Sea and find that within his Tower, where he hides those Truths which he gathers from the beaches which surround the Tower, and where he discovers those Truths laying screaming within the Tower's foundation of That. Still he scoffs at those whose Truth washes away with the tide in the Sea before they themselves notice it. And he sees the tops of other Towers across the Sea of Lies, and smiles within. And he thinks of what Truths he has sent out in boats of gibberish to avoid the angry Sea's wrath, and weeps though he laughs, and means not what he seems to say.

And still he delves into the silent Abysses to find those Truths lying hidden Within, and still he looks out beyond the Sea of Lies to find the Truths that lie without, which are really all one Truth, and looks to the day when the Sea of Lies shall be no longer flooded with that which is untrue, and when Truth shall grow in great forests from the That, and his Tower walls shall be unnecessary.


"The opposite of a correct statement is a false statement. But the opposite of a profound truth may well be another profound truth."

-- Niels Bohr


[Prev | Footer]

by I Wish My Name Were Nathan

Coach Durnan stormed into the principal's office, pulling a frightened-looking Victor close behind him. After quickly scanning the room, he spotted principal Kane and shouted, "Sir, we got here another foul-mouthed little... student here, and I want you to --"

His words were so fast that principal Kane hadn't had time to raise his hand to signify that he was on the phone. He gestured his finger toward the row of seats along the wall of the office and apologized into the phone.

Coach Durnan pointed fiercely at the seat. "Victor, you sit down right there, and think about what you did, and tell principal Kane the truth! I don't want you coming back to the gym without a signed note from him!" Victor nodded humbly and sat down, all the time looking at the floor. With that, Durnan left the office, mumbling under his breath.

Victor sat quietly in the chair, one of five lining the wall of principal Kane's office. Alas, the rigors of fifth grade required so many chairs, probably even more. Fights were the most common reason for students to visit the office. Principal Kane often referred the students to the nurse's office first, because he didn't like the sight of blood all that much, and sometimes the students would leave the nurse's office and go back to class, hoping to pass off the nurse's pass as the principal's. It usually worked, unless the teacher was on to such trickery. Most of the students knew about this trick -- at least the little boys and girls who were contenders for warming these five seats for a good deal of time -- and the general consensus was that if you had to go to the office, make a fight out of it.

Unfortunately, Victor had neither the time nor the desire to start a fight when he had said those dirty words while running laps around the gym. In fact, Victor hadn't even sensed trouble. He and Eddie Franklin had been running around the gym, as usual, seeing as how Coach Durnan made them run ten laps every day. The excitement had long gone out of the act, so he and Eddie weren't being very fast about it. The excitement had gone so long ago that they no longer had a peevish desire to run as fast as they could, risking those cramps in their sides and parched throats, just to get it over with.

As they jogged around the floor, Victor and Eddie had been having quite a nice conversation about how they could write a program in BASIC to come up with all the four-letter words in existence. Victor had had a clear vision of four loops in his mind, but Eddie saw some flaws in the idea. Eddie was trying to calculate twenty-six to the fourth power in his head, and started to lag behind. It was at this time that Victor was jogging by himself in the big wide open of the gym, and Mark Nessman sped up around his last lap to pester Victor.

"Hey, Vickie, you run as slow as a 'tarded girl who's cons'ipated!" he cried as he approached Victor. He was already smiling with grade-school delight at his brilliant insult.

Victor lost his train of thought and scowled at Mark. "I don't give a shit," he muttered, and returned to think about how to eliminate the letter "q" from the program, because cuss words never have "q" in them. Mark once again said something, but Victor missed it. It sounded different -- almost fearful -- and Victor was confused and looked up again. Mark was running alongside him with wide eyes. "What?" he asked.

"You said the 's' word," Mark said, in a tone of voice both fearful and joyful. Coach Durnan didn't like cursing. That was the fearful. "I'm gonna tell on you," he threatened, smiling grimly. That was the joyful.

Victor rolled his eyes and droned, "Oh no, holy fuck, please don't. Leave me alone, I'm trying to think." He looked down again at the floor as he jogged on, considering the possibilities of a printout of all the words, maybe, uh, ten or so on a line, hmm, what was eighty divided by four, uh, wait, there are spaces there...

Victor was jolted out of deep thought by his arm. Or more precisely, Coach Durnan grabbing his arm as he ran by. Victor spun around and righted himself. "What the HELL...?" he started, when he saw Coach Durnan looking 'bout ready to explode.

"Victor, Mark told me you were using toilet language with him! Is that true?!" he cried, in coach fury. Victor squinted his eyes, and realized what had happened. Coach Durnan was the one, who at the beginning of the year, promised to be harsh with people who cuss, because that's what makes all the bad things in the world -- like disrespect, laziness, and stupidity -- happen. Victor was neither disrespectful (except to assholes like Mark), lazy (except in P.E.), or stupid (but to the rules of sports), but he had forgotten this cardinal rule when Mark so rudely interrupted his grand train of thought. He admitted what he had done. He had already had a feeling that Coach didn't like him much anyway, because he wasn't as jockish as the other boys. Now Victor was going to take his first trip to the office.

And, in the third chair along the wall of principal Kane's office, Victor sat and thought these things over. It had been well over five minutes since he sat down, and he glanced over at principal Kane's desk to see if he was still on the phone. He saw Kane replacing the receiver.

"Okay, your turn," principal Kane said to Victor. Victor nodded and walked over to the three seats in front of the principal's desk and sat in the middle one.

Victor raised his hand before principal Kane could start. "May I ask you something first?"

"Sure, go ahead. But tell me your name first," principal Kane said.

"It's Victor. Victor Gardner." Principal Kane turned around and pulled open the drawer on his filing cabinet labeled "G-J". Victor's folder was the first one he found. He noticed that it was decidedly thin, and looked inside to make sure it wasn't empty. It was. He turned around to face Victor.

"Are you an authoritarian or a humanitarian?" Victor asked. Principal Kane's eyes grew wide.

"Son, I'm neither. You could say I'm in the middle, but a little closer to the authority side because I'm a principal. I have to exercise discipline, you see," principal Kane explained in a slow, condescending voice.

"I was just wondering, because from what I hear about going to the office in general, kids don't get a fair shake. You know? Like when someone goes to the office, they're already convicted. And the principal's job is to give them licks. And then they go back to class."

Principal Kane shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "Coach Durnan said you were cursing. Are you saying that you did not?"

"No. I admitted it. But seeing as how you're not a complete authoritarian, I thought we could discuss it."

Principal Kane's expression soured slightly. He had the impression that he had a little bastard on his hands -- the kind who appear to be respectful and polite, but who are only working to achieve their own means. Kane had an expression for these kids, one which he never uttered outside the teacher's lounge: "sincere bastards." Victor saw the souring of principal Kane's expression and feared losing his chance. He realized he was leaning toward the principal like a shyster would, and realized that principal Kane may get angry, so he sat up straight and started into his discussion.

"Now, wait a second, sir. I didn't mean it that way. I was just thinking about how silly the rules are, and wondered if you ever noticed. Like, it's seen as a mortal sin to use bad words, but only for us kids. Only kids 'cuss'. Adults 'talk spiritedly'. But we all use the same words, right?"

Principal Kane admitted, "Yes, Victor, they are the same words, but for adults to use them is..., uh.... --"

"-- different, I know," Victor interrupted. "A privilege, maybe? I'm just saying that 'cuz I know what all the words mean. You know, like referring to bowel movements or sexual acts. And I'm pretty sure that most of us students know what the words are and what they mean. But we're not supposed to use them or know them."

"No, Victor, you're not. It's a matter of stature. Do you know what that word means? It's how people see you. It's what people think of you when you talk. Stature. S - T - A --"

"-- I know the word, sir. But I think you're looking for the word 'non-contamination', right? I mean, I know that there are some kids out there who don't know these words. I, though, won't use these words around them, you know? I prolly don't even want be around them enough to use them. Kids like that tend to be either like really sheltered, and boring, or they're really rich, and stuck-up. I guess you could say they have stature. But they're hollow inside."

Principal Kane relaxed a little. "Well, son, you seem to know what you're talking about. But have you heard the theory that when you curse, it's because of a lack of vocabulary skills? There's an educational reason to prohibit cursing too."

"I hope you don't truly believe that, sir. I've been talking for ten minutes and haven't said 'shit' or 'fuck' once." Victor held up his hand at the shocked principal. "Now, sir, you know I was only being lighthearted. If just referring to those two words gets me in more trouble, then that oughta demonstrate the audacity of the rule. I didn't use them as an insult, an exclamation, or, as you imply, a replacement for other words missing from my vocabulary."

Principal Kane sat up straight, sensing an advantage. "You did use them for shock value, though. That was uncalled for. I can't let that pass." He picked up a pen and started to scribble on a pre-printed form.

Victor sighed and continued. "Sometimes shock itself is a reason for cussing. I know full well that a kid can fall over, and cuss about it, or drop their books in a puddle, and cuss about it, or even hear a great story, and cuss to express amazement. But, I used the words as an illustration, and that was premeditated. And it seems to me that you were desperately searching for some reason to punish me. So, alright, sir, punish me for shock value, too."

A look of despair came over principal Kane's face. He admitted to himself that Victor was right, but in his principal's skin, did not say so aloud. He put down the pen. "Victor, I've listened to what you've said. I'm going to make an exception in your case, because you're smart enough to think about what you did, although I can't agree with your reasons." He smiled at his humanitarianism, but inside he was feeling nervous and guilty.

"No sir, I can't let that pass. I'm representing all the students at the school who get in trouble for cussing. We all cuss for the same reasons. I'm no different from them, besides being able to hold the attention of an authority figure long enough to get my point across. I'm surprised you even let me talk this long. Was it my empty student folder that made you allow it? If my folder had been full of those little forms, would you have paddled me and sent me on my way? Come to think of it, just how many of those forms have the little box checked next to 'cursing'? How much paper does that use in a week? Does --"

"Stop it! Just shut up!" principal Kane growled. He ripped off the top pre-printed form and balled it up and threw it aside. He drew an "X" on the next form, signed it, and shoved it in Victor's hand. "Go back to class!"

Victor stood up and nodded and headed for the door. A secretary on the other side of it scowled at him as he left. He walked down the hall and looked at the form. The little box next to "excused" had been marked with an "X", although the lines crossed several other choices. Victor knew the rule would stay, and he remembered to rub his rear end in pain when he entered the gym and continued to think about his programming idea.


State  of  unBeing  is  copyrighted (c) 1994 by Kilgore  Trout  and  Apocalypse 
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