SoB issue #AAA# was created by Clockwork in pure digital audio during the battle for editorship after Kilgore Trout's death. This is not the issue he distributed -- only a transcription done long after the fact.
I have not even attempted to describe the atmosphere of sound in the audio issue, only the intelligible words representing human speech, and all the audio-verité reality of uhs, ums, pauses, laughs, etc.
But since some people understandably need a newspaper instead of being important enough to make news themselves, this transcription is out there for the poor souls without an ear for art. (Also, for those with an eye for history, a slow 'net connection, and/or dwindling disk space).
Living in such a state etats a hcus ni gniviL of mind in which time sTaTEstAt emit hcihw ni dnim of does not pass, space EsTaTeSTaTeOF ecaps ,ssap ton seod does not exist, and StaTeSofOFoFO dna ,tsixe ton seod idea is not there. tAtEstAtfOfof .ereht ton si aedi Stuck in a place aTesTAteofOFO ecalp a ni kcutS where movements tEsTatEOfufOf stnemevom erehw are impossible estAteoFonOfo elbissopmi era in all forms, aTeofOnbf ,smrof lla ni physical and EofUnbE dna lacisyhp or mental - fofNBeI - latnem ro your mind is FUNbein 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 iNguN dna bmun era ouY unaware to events stneve ot erawanu taking place - not -iSSuE- ton - ecalp gnikat knowing how or what 10/18/'97 tahw ro who gniwonk to think. You are in --AAA-- ni era uoY .kniht ot a state of unbeing.... ....gniebnu fo etats a [FCC warning remix: "... listeners and children, might choose, which is, could possibly choose, by them, to tune out.."]
I'd like to welcome you to absolute fucking insanity.
SoB issue #-A-A-A-#.
Yes kids, this is Clockwork, and uh, I -- I'm the new editor, and, uh, I,... Kilgore is dead, as you may or may not know. Um. Tragic, tragic, thing, and mourned for about... a while, for about a while, and uh, we decided, you know, you just -- you just gotta move on, so here I am, the new guy, I'm the man, and and here we are with the brand new crazy/wack/funky format, um, this whole limit-yourself-to-text thing has gotta go, it's the nineties, you know what I mean, it's pure audio --
Maybe someday we'll include more, but I don't think so, because audio's where it's at, although, uh... sometimes I feel as though I've just become one of those talk radio wannabe left-wing / right-wing kinda lovin' guy who just sits there and yells at all his callers, don't want that to happen, don't want that to happen at all. So, we're gonna just free-flow, this is all improv-is-ashun-AL, no really pre-planned stuff besides articles and readings and and uh shit like that that you'll hear in a minute here, um... but me, talking now, like this -- improv. It's all from the edge of my lip. "Lip." Right, see, and that's what happens, you say dumb stuff, and... but it's silly, it's wacky, it's nice -- it's a lot more fun than sitting there, and uh writing out some kind of monologue thing and rewriting and revising and recording and going, "Oops, I didn't pronounce... 'dildo' correctly, I've gotta do it again, I'm sorry." Naw, see, this is real, this is what's happening, this is me. Uh, now you've got a voice to put to "writing style," I guess, maybe one day you'll have a face, that, that's a scary, scary thing, um.
So, so, that's about it. It's weird, crazy stuff going on at at our headquarters now, there's a lot of anarchy, chaos, there's bunkers, there's machine guns, there's mortars, there's mines, there's pure unadulterated danger. Everyone really hates everyone else, because you've got people going, "Hey, what's up with this," and other people going, "Hey, what are you doin'," and uh some people are trying to put out some kinda fake copy of of of uh SoB and and um I'm like, what is that, what are you doin', what are you doin', what are you doin', -- don't tread on me, that's all I have to say.
They are not -- they don't know where it's at. This is where it's at, right here, in my bathroom, on my mini-recorder, in my bedroom, through the mic... craziness. This is the real State of unBeing -- don't, don't, don't listen to the crap you get. There are a lot of people that wanna be State of unBeing, but this is it, this is now, and uh that shall be forever, kinda like a large elephant (they live long, right).
Um, so this is it, uh, audio format, whaddaya think, lemme knw, send me e-mail, blah blah blah blah blah, lemme know, cuz it's weirdness. I call it kind of a, an experimental audio journalism... thing. You could probably throw in the word "progressive" somewhere in there if you want to, if you're into that word, some people don't like the word, think it's got bad connotations -- hey, that's whatever you want to do, whatever you want to do.
Um, table of contents? Pssh -- good luck. I've got a lot of stuff, and a lot of it's improv, and there's, um, recording from me rambling, uh, there's recordings from other people, rambling. I'll also be reading some submissions, letters, and submissions, and and whatnot, and for those of you who have sent stuff and it's not been published yet, well, I, I really wish to issue you an apology, but like I said, right now, we're in a state of absolute cha-os. Things are being pinned to the wall, and they're not paper, if you know what I mean. So, it will be, I guar-on-tee you, unless you can't spell, mmm and maybe type in all caps, huh? I dunno, but, but, most likely, it's, it's uh it's gonna be printed.
So I want you to do now is -- uh, by the way, if you have any technical problems, e-mail me for that too, cuz, I, I did tech support, I know what's going on, so, and I, I don't want you people having trouble at all, wancha to hear my lovely lovely voice, uh, with pure crystal clear quality (but I'm not gonna buy you new speakers or anything like that), so, um! That's that, that's... on to the show, um, that's about it. Can hear me ramble on about it -- I don't sleep much, just to let you know, so I might just ramble too much, like I have, for the past couple of minutes here, obviously, I really smoke a lot, drink coffee, drink whatever -- if you're lucky, you'll get to hear me drink my own urine.
Um, other than that... by the way, all this is done on cheap cheap shit-ass equipment, we're not talking high-end audio editing stuff here, it's called me and my minirecorder and my stereo and my computer, and some shareware packages -- that of course I've registered, right, um. Ah, but but, you know, ah, it's uh ah, hopefully it'll turn out decently.
Uh, I am available... for any kinda audio-editing, uh, things, that you might need done, uh, parties, bar mitzvahs, your little kid's, uh, soccer... game, if you wanna put together an audio compilation of kicks, and whistles, and yellow flags, and whatnot. I can do it!
Um, so, <laughs> if you wanna employ me, for anything like that, I'm, I'm there.
Just lemme know.
Uh, that's enough, I'm gonna stop for now, and and, you just move on, right along, to the next thing, in fact throw in music stuff and... blah blah blah, uh. Have fun.
Hello Mr. Trout. I would appreciate if you would add me to the SoB mailing list. I have read several issues and find it quite, well, uh, I find it quite. I started reading it because I know one of the ppl that was a writer, I dunno if he still is, but that is neither here nor the other place. And besides, I'm hoping to learn something, I don't know what, but dammit, I will learn!!!!
(several exclamation points, 'dammit' with two 'm's, 'hoping' with a 'p' in the middle.) Uh, email@example.com, well, uh, I, uh -- thanks! You know, thanks for your letter, uh... in case you didn't realize it, Mister, Mr. Trout, as we affectionately refer to him, is, is no longer with us, uh, he's dancing about in the fairy-tale land of Oz, right about now, uh, along with uh all the Jims you can think of that mighta OD'ed. Um, hate to say such a thing, but, but, hate to break it to you like this, but, that that's the way it is, but uh, hey! I'll add you to the mailing list, and uh, hopefully... you will learn something, cuz after all, that's what we're here for, we're here to educate the public, we're better than Sesame Street. Uh, you you will learn. And uh uh who's that writer that you know? You should -- you should throw name -- drop names, be a name-dropper. You know, big capital 'N' Name-dropper, that's how you get stuff communicated. Uh, so, th-the-this that's it for that one here.
And next letter here, is -- just bear with me, um. <whistles> Letter numero dos. From, Heather... Stewart, firstname.lastname@example.org. Uh, refer to name disclaimer said earlier. Uh. Subject says: "Why you should send me mail." Uh.
Hi there, Kilgore! I just visited your page for the first time after hearing about it for YEARS (okay, just two). I believe I am worthy of being on your mailing list because I thought that Kilgore Trout was a real person. I thought Vonnegut was writing about some old crusty sci-fi writer, then I read Breakfast of Champions and I was enlightened. Well, sort of. Then I visit your page and your name is Kilgore Trout! Oh God! ... nevermind. Vonnegut is my favorite... getaway. The manifestations of his mind on paper are the best vacations into reality that you have ever taken.
(editorial note: apparently, she hasn't taken L.S.D.) [Bill Hicks: "Young men on acid realize that all matter is merely energy condensed into slow vibrations, that we are all one consciousness, experiencing itself subjectively, there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we're the imaginations of ourselves. Here's Tom with the weather.]
I would love to write more about Vonnegut with you sometime, ["write more?", right, yeah sure!]. I've assumed, of course, that you "like" [that's open-quote close-quote, I believe] him, because... since, you you chose the name "Kilgore Trout" [makes sense to me]. Please write if you're interested in him or any other subject, thank you for your time. [Um.] Ms. Fritz Lang.
Interesting, interesting, very interesting, interesting. Um. Please refer to ehlier -- euh -- earlier note referring to Kilgore's death. It still applies now. Uh. Also, refer to editorial comment referring to LSD. But, nonetheless here, you're, you're gonna be on the mailing list.
Letter, number THRRRREEEEEEEE! From Pete, Pete-o, Pete-o, "Pete," last initial "o," at email@example.com. Subject is "aaaaaarrrgh!"
Okay, well, I am back now after an unfortunate homeless hiatus. ;) If you could please be so kind as to slip me back onto the SoB mailing list I would be more overjoyed than any mouse with cheese, to say the least! :) Pete!
Well, Pete, perhaps you should look into that dairy obsession you have, and... maybe, give us a call, we could help you out... might be able to prescribe something for you, um, it it seems unhealthy, it really... does. But... I, I -- I, I wish to fully extend my mmmm... not "gratitude," -- that's really not the right word -- my condolences, I guess, I feel bad of your homeless hiatus, if you were actually homeless without a home, uh, I I -- my heart goes out to you, I give ya, give ya props for being able to truck through that, I know how it is. Been there. Heh. Several, couple, couple to three times in fact. Um, not, not fun, not fun, so. So, buddy, this one's for you. [movie clip: " SPOON! "] [echoes: This has been LETTERS TO THE EDITOR.] [radio: "That sounds like the cleaned-up edited radio version there, guys."]
the Super Realist
[Insert weak philosophy here. boop ]
[radio host: "Interesting mixture of things coming up here in an hour. In just about three quarters uh of an hour, we'll demonstrate I guess the old maxim that the acorn does not fall very far from the tree."]
[news anchor: "Mr. Clinton was act-- uh, asked about political troubles back home, the White House fundraising efforts."
news reporter: "Under the roar of the engines on Air Force One, President Clinton did not sound defensive. He explained in painstaking tones that he will do anything necessary to get information to investigators. The President did not promise to submit to questioning. When asked if he understood why Attorney General Janet Reno was mad about the delay in being told about video tapes of White House copies, the President shot back, 'You should have been there when I heard about it.'"]
["Clockwork Orange" theme song plays throughout]
Alright, first thing, uh, we're gonna do here is a little thing that I, I wrote, and uh, it's not exactly finished, but I'm gonna read to you what? What what I got here, and uh I'll throw in commentary in the middle and and and uh throughout the thing elaborate on the end, need be, to get across my whole, whole point here, um, so I'm just gonna go with it here and just see what happens. Uh, it's entitled, uh, "Beauty in Beauty in Beauty in Beauty." Uh, closest thing to an article that we have -- pretty much all we have is not articles -- but, that's not the point, uh, alright.
Obsession with the compulsive behavior of obsessive-compulsiveness leads to a disdained turn-about of medical extradordinariness. It's come to my attention that I've developed a Don Juan de Marco complex when it comes to women. Obsessed with the beauty of woman, not a single woman, or even a certain kind of woman, but all women. Beauty and woman are synonymous. The slight curves, or bends, glints of eroticism and divineness. Obviously, there are some who I consider more beautiful, more of a delight than others, then I come to find myself seeing delight in all women -- obese, heroin addict, thin, lopsided, flat-chested, black, Asian, white, handicapped, acne-infested -- it doesn't matter.
Half of the time I am stunned by their beauty, just wishing to admire it, to watch and breathe it in, not driven by any sexual desire. The other half of the time, there's still that feeling, but coupled with eroticism, with a desire to run my tongue lightly about their neck, wanting to not only to breathe in the beauty but taste it, and show them their beauty. I put them on a pedestal of ecstacy.
Of course, Don Juan had the unnerving power to draw women to him. They knew he was the greatest lover in the world without him announcing who he was. They knew. I, unfortunately, do not have such a power, at all. I do, however, possess the unnerving power of Counsel, Console, and Heal, all capitalized.
The human species, specifically women, tend to be unearthly drawn to me, seeing some kind of connection, feeling as though they can reveal their darkest secrets, hopes, dilemmas, and desires. And they do. Nine-and-a-half women out of ten feel this unknown draw. It happens, and has happened constantly. And at first, it was something I enjoyed and felt honored with. Too often, I am told I know what is going on, and asked for insight into their existence.
And honestly (not to sound egotistical at all, and I hope I don't sound that way, because it's not meant in that way at all), I know, I know what's going on, and I can provide insight. I enjoy providing insight, actually, it's, uh, that's what I think people are here to do -- help others. Big, big part of it.
But, too often, the conflict arises that prevents me from any romance-like engagements with women, the belief apparently being that I am placed here to be consulted by the many, and not loved by the few, or even one. Of course, that's a harsh, exaggerated statement, though, that I don't literally hold true whatsoever.
Humans seem to hold a trait in which, occasionally in their lives, they crave affection, affection from a relative or even a pet, may be used as an attempt to fill that hole, but doesn't seem to wholly satisfy. I definitely have that craving, definitely do. Perhaps more than the norm, for the life I lead involves little to no human affection. Of course, you may say, and I may say, it is my own fault -- I'm the one who imposes boundaries and limitations on myself, it's only my own fears. What is to keep me from walking across a room and stating how beautiful a lanky, innocent-faced creature may be, but myself. Perhaps some sort of divine power, but I believe it still trickles down to myself.
Um. There's more there but it kinda strays.
I also realized, after, uh, around when I finished writing that, is that, heh it's not just women, I uh, it's, I, I, see that same kind of beauty, physical and otherwise, um, with men. Um, I, I'm just more drawn to women, because that's who I'm attracted to. But, but, I definitely recognize it with beauty -- "with beauty" -- uh, with men -- but but um which it's uh I think it's overall just a wonderful, heh, it's a good thing, a lot of people say that's a total crock of shit, that kinda "seeing the beauty in everybody," um, and "everyone is good, treat everyone wonderfully even if they're the most evil creature on the planet," but, uh, I, I disagree, I think that definitely is true and definitely applies.
Um. Uh huh, not that, I know some people and, uh, uh that will see just the good in everyone. I used to see just the bad in everyone. Uh and now I see the good and the bad, and I would like to enforce the good, and also at the same time, help in any way to get rid of, repair, change the bad, and help that person progress in life generally and um, uh, just get better off, that, that's, heh, that's it.
Um... foop That's it.
[radio host: "You're being haunted by your ex." female: "Yeah." male: "Pretty much. Heh-heh."]
[Woody Allen: "I'm not, if you know this or not, but he was the first man ever to measure the soundwaves produced by an erection."]
[radio lady: "We play relaxing love songs at night for Austin."]
[Miracle Max from "Princess Bride": "True love is the greatest thing in the world. Except for a nice MLT, mutton, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, where the mutton is nice and lean and the tomato's ripe -- they're so perky, I love that."]
[from "12 Monkeys": "I, I guess they give you some chemicals [in these] drinks, huh?" "DRUGS!" "What'd they give ya? Thorazine, Haldol? How much? How much? Know your drugs, know your dosages, it's elementary."]
[Novaselic in concert: "Hey, security, bi-a-no, bi-a-no. Bi-a-no, security, bi-a-no."]
[Muppets theme plays throughout]
Ohh, right. Now we've got the first of many pieces coming from a friend of mine, uh, you'll s-- hear and hear and uh and in the future lots lotsa stuff goin' on with him, um. Jay-Joe the Psychotic Hypochrondriacic um Anoxeric Bulimic Clown, something to that effect, uh, not exactly what it is, but uh I don't remember it perfectly, so, if you hear anything having to do with Jay-Joe, Joe-Jay, Jo-Jo, the Superman / Hypochrondriac / Bulimic / Necrophiliac Clown, that's, anything around there, that, that's who I'm talking about.
Uh, good stuff, great awesome awesome stuff coming from this man. Um. First piece coming up here is, I believe it's called uh, "My Name is Joe," uh, uh, take a listen! By the way, if you happen to hear somebody on the side there that has maybe the same-sounding voice as me, it, uh, da da, it's uh, it's, just ignore it, ignore the man behind the curtain, pay no attention to man behind the curtain. Uh, it's all, it's all Jay-Joe the Crazy Wacky Clown. Uh, here ya go.
I broke the power of silence
I cast you on broken knee.
I'm a bastard.
["Hi. My name is Joe."]
I killed your cat,
Stole your wife, and
Ruined your life.
I'm a bastard.
["Hi. My name is Joe."]
Seven years a pencil flew
Into your mother's left eye
At the bingo parlor.
I'm a bastard!
["Hi. My name is Joe."]
[South Park: "Oh my God! They killed Kenny! You bastard! Come back here! COME BACK!"]
[Novaselic: "So all my comments are out of a book called "How to be Witty at Parties." ]
[friend of Clockwork's: "I'm microphone-shy. I have no idea what to say."]
[really slow yell]
[Jeopardy music plays]
Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full. Uh, all right all right all right all right all right all right! Now we have uh, utter proof, basically, that television is uh, ho! oh-so-leading the decline of Western civilization, as we know it.
[from "12 Monkeys": "There's a television." "It's all right there, all right there, look, listen, kneel, pray... commercials."]
Just a slight spiel from a lovely blue-headed, currently blue-headed friend of mine, um, apparently we're being infiltrated by the Blue-Headed Ones, seem to be about the scene whether you know it or not. Uh, take a listen. This is... Jamal.
I'm not being watched.
Actually, when I was little, I saw a Bugs Bunny cartoon. And uh it was one where, it coulda been Bugs Bunny is being watched by Sasquatch, Bigfoot, the evil monster, and, he keeps walking, and every time he turns around, the evil monster leaves, or disappears into thin air, and then comes back when Bugs Bunny turns back around. And ever since I watched that ----- cartoon, I've had this, like, weird thing where like I think I'm being watched at all times, and I owe it all to BUGS BUNNY.
Thanks a whole fuckin' lot, Bugs.
[Charlie and the Chocolate Factory: "Oompah doompah doompity doo,
I've got another puzzle for you.
Oompah doompah doompidah dee,
If you are wise you'll listen to me.
What do you get from a glut of TV?
A pain in the neck and an IQ of three.
Why don't you try simply reading a book?
Or could you just not bear to look?
You'll get no, you'll get no... you'll get no commercials!
Oompah doompah doompity dah,
If you're not greedy,
You will go far.
You will live in happiness too,
. . Doompah
. . . . Doompity
. . . . . . do!" ]
[radio commercial: "The thrill of the tropics without the pesky malaria."]
[Bill Hicks: "See, I think drugs have done some good things for us, I really do, and if you don't believe drugs have done good things for us, do me a favor: go home tonight, and take all your albums, all your tapes, and all your CDs, and burn 'em. Because, you know what -- the musicians who've made all that music that's enhanced your lives throughout the years? -- rrrrrrrrreal fuckin' high on drugs."]
[Pink Floyd's "Time" plays in background]
Time to continue the anarchy. Um. What we have coming up next is from another guy I've known waaaay toooo long, way too many years, but that's not a bad thing, definitely.
It's another untitled piece, but that's O.K. Um, uh, he used to, he's written before, but I'm not gonna tell you what his handle was, ha ha ha HA ha! Uh, this is a little thing by zer0 degrees.
The whole way, rain, ever so slowly, but equally as constant. There is very little traffic for this time of night, a long, almost neverending line of streetlights as slow and depressed night. I turn my windshield wipers down, just slow enough to let the rain gather and run up the glass in translucent streaks. It makes it so hard to see the road. It puts me into a sort of daze that goes away the instant the wipers wash away the rain. Then it happens, it happens again. Makes it hard to see the road. It lasts just long enough to make me nervous. I decide I like it that way and continue to drive, and just enjoy the music.
[Insert monologue here. doop]
[Swedish Chef sings]
[Max Headroom: "There are security guards outside Network 23 paid to stop you stop you stop you stop you from coming in, and paid even more to stop me me ME from getting out. <laughs>"]
[movie: "There isn't a government on this planet that wouldn't kill us all for that thing."]
[Gumby cartoon: "Did you want to try it, Pokey?" "No thanks, I prefer grass."]
Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes, more, more fun from the archives, shall we say. Uh. Interesting, interesting stuff happened not too long ago, seemed to have been raided by a vast amount of... sheriff people, shall we say, uh, looking for some underage females who are considered runaways, apparently, friends of my roommate, staying with my roommate for the past couple of days anyway.
<inhales> Not a joint, it's a cigarette.
Funny thing is, they found a bag of pot, in his room, therefore he got arrested, along with the two little girls. Uh, disagree? Yes. Yes yes yes yes yes. BUT -- heh, yeah, that's, it, a perfect time to to go off on the ANTI war-on-drugs spiel, but uh, that's something that we're definitely gonna cover, in the near near future. Um, but right now, we we'll -- just, just, a little tease there for ya. Along with various comments throughout the issue which you have probably noticed by now.
[speaker: "It's not a war on drugs, it's a war on personal freedom is what it is, okay, keep that in mind at all times."]
But, anyway, coming up here is uh more psychotic Jay-Joe Clownness. Um, first thing we have is, uh, cute, cute stuff. Uh, this is uh, "Punk Rock Ethic."
["punk rock ethic, take two"] [this is sung lounge-singer style]
spitting on you...
as i rip out your eyes...
and i piss on your spine...
the government sucks.
i've got combat boots to hurt you.
and spikes galore...
lighter fluid, lighter fluid, lighter fluid...
is a friend of mine!
[Dick Nixon: "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!"]
Five in the morning,
not fighting sleep,
just trying to
reason with it.
[Duckman: "Yes, well, warn us next time you're planning on thinking!"]
Did you see that star?!
[from "Airplane!": "It looks like I picked the wrong week to quit amphetamines."]
[Novaselic: "Yah, I think I see a guy with a cassette-a-phone out there. <audience screams> We know that all boot-people who bootleg shows or sell bootleg teeshirts, are all a bunch of pedophiles, they support murder in the third world, they're gonna -- they torture children, there's a reason not to support bootleggers."]
[DJs on radio: "It was a rock-n-roll party because everybody coming out of the bathroom, had, had the sniffles, man, it was the weirdest thing." <laughs>]
La dee dah, la dee dah. Allllrighty. Yup yup yup here I am again. Next piece here, from someone you may -- may -- have heard about, but um, not too sure, uh, some guy named Jay-Joe the Psychotic, Anoxeric, Bulimic, Mountain-Dew-Slammin', Sometimes-He-Huffs-Gasoline-But-Doesn't-Like-To-Admit-It Clown, may have heard his name before. Prominent, prominent... guy, here. Uh, you'll you'll hear stuff from the future, maybe not as much at the same time, but you definitely will. Um.
But, uh, this next piece has something that I wanted to touch on, is related to something I wanted to touch on, and that's uh, the issue of people treating celebrities as though they were gods. Um, not even gods, uh that's not the mmm correct word, but they place these people, um, on pedestals and and and refuse to treat 'em like humans anymore, um, as if they were just there for, for uh, these people's entertainment and uh worshipping nonetheless.
Um, and and it's it's really an inhuman, it's an evil thing, I really -- you notice in song lyrics, names that pop into my head are Eddie Vedder <laugh> -- obviously -- um, uh, even Michael Stipe, um... Counting Crows, uh... anybody -- Tool? in their lyrics, you notice that after their first album, you tend to see a trend in uh them saying that, how they don't, wish they were never famous, wish they never became famous, because of their life just goes to complete shit, they're, um, so much pressure from so many people that you you can't go out in public without being mauled, once you reach a certain level, and and uh <laugh> it's stressful, very very very stressful, and I don't blame, these, some of these people for at times, you know, acting like complete assholes to some of the fans that may run up to 'em and, and go, uh, "Oh-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-your-music-oh-my-God, kiss-me-kiss-me-kiss-me, sign-this-sign-that-let-me-touch-your-your-nose, oh-come-on-PLEASE!, oh-just-bite-my-flesh-off-I'd-love-that!"
No, it's a sick thing, it's a very very sick thing, um. And these people, that that, have <sigh> most of the time, important things to communicate, uh, to the populus, get, uh, just get completely, I mean, really shunned from society and forced to live in some kind of elite circles, and, and it's not something they'd, they really hope for, definitely, um. Nonetheless, I, I, you, you uh do know that I'm not referring to the Spice Girls, who uh <laugh> engineered by the record industry, see what happens when they go get a hold of things.
Um, it just, it's, it's completely gets out of whack, uh, it's a really really sad thing, and uh... everybody, I mean everybody's got a favorite band, right, and everybody's gonna wanna purchase-- put this person on some level, and, and and... so many people just treat them... uh, it's, you're some -- uh, I do it, I've done it in the past. Um. Put these people at such a level where they're, they're not people anymore, they're something between people and deity -- um, <laugh> --
It's a strange strange thing, and and I'd like to recommend to everybody to think about this, because, that, that that lead guitarist, that drummer, that that vocalist you listen to, uh, nine out of ten times when you pick a CD and that you love every single song, every single beat, every single rhythm -- um, all the words, you go to all their shows -- is, they're still people. And and and, uh, I wish, I wish uh, it it's -- still treat 'em like people. Um, you know, cuh-- it it's not, you can compliment 'em on the stuff they do, yeah, but, but there's a difference between loving the man and loving the artist, you gotta have at least respect for the man, uh, don't <laugh> don't throw yourself at 'em.
Um, alright, that's that's enough of my little uh rambling here, my little spiel, that's twice I've used "spiel," and way more than twice that I've used "rambling" -- pretty sick.
Next here, <sigh> on to the good stuff, get rid of my voice. Um. Like I said, Clownness. <laugh> He's gonna hate me for not getting his name right, and, he might even be embarrassed at being included in so much stuff, but, uh, he's, he's good, he really is good. This is called, uh, "Rock Star." Enjoy it.
Seconds before the sound leaps out, the silence deadens the crowd. Feel the movement surge through your body -- we're all alive here -- We take the energy, waiting for a climactic buildup or escape. Sweat builds on our bodies, our savior has reached the center stage. A crown of thorns wrapped around his holy dick. The groove kicks in and we are all the same -- "We love you, we love you, " Preach to the people, You psychotic messenger from the grave. Prance around the stage while we feed off of your sight. I don't want to lose you, stay in our presence, Oh lover of light, give me a lock of hair that which I can build an altar to. You are the one that makes love with me at night. You are fixated upon me. I am the one whom you adore. Take my life, take my virginity, walk across this sea of chaos and lift me up. Take me with you, take me with you, take me with you on your tour of the States.
["Insert racism here. *boop*"
"Throw some gang signs up in the air, and watch it all collapse."]
[Tony from "Scarface": "In dis country, you gotta make de money first. Then when ya get the money, you get de power. Then when y'get de power, then you get de woman."]
[Elvira from "Scarface": "Can't you stop saying 'fuck' all the time?"]
Yeeesss, okay... well, um, one of our last few pieces here, comin' up right after I finish introducing it, um. 'Cuz after all, I've wasted enough of your time, and enough of your hard drive space, to make you wanna, perhaps, sue me. But hey, <laugh> why? Why, what, what's, what's, what would the point of that be? Uh, anyway, um, two things here, both of them by the same guy -- no, it's not Jay-Joe -- um, it's by the Super Realist. Ummm. It's gonna be read by me, it's not recorded by the author, you're not gonna hear the Super Realist's voice, uh, maybe, maybe, maybe someday, if you're lucky, if you're good, if if you're real good, you might... this is gonna be me, and you're gonna have to put up with it.
Uh, the first one is called "Planes of the Existence."
Collide serpentine enter and exit
wound the hollow of the neck with a .45
alive then dead to bad she was such an interesting little girl
but a little too ratta-tat-tat for your liking
Blitzkrieging over all time and impossible Channel surfing
to find a replacement in this plastic non-recyclable self
serving grand reserve called existence.
The soul IS quantitative and I shoot up my ounces into
my mainline while her serpentine collides
into another plane of existence.
Yeah, good stuff, good stuff, um, piece number two, by the Super Realist, once again read by me and not the author, uh, unfortunately. This is entitled, "Cyclic Wars of Matter."
This time, the ground becomes hard again, solidifying it's presence. Too scared to run, too scared to cry out, too scared to break, Ground suffers UNDER Air's smothering influence. Again, Ground tries to fight back; Volcanoes erupting, earthquakes shaking, mountains forming, reaching to pierce the Sky. Sky laughs and surrounds mountains, muffles earthquakes, and douses volcanoes. Then Man came, he came naive and uncultured and innocent. Man was not aware of the mockery Air was playing upon Ground. Ground pounded hard against the arrow. "Man must be an AGENT of Air. I've never seen the likes of him before." Canyons to trip man, rivers to drown, forests and plains to bedazzle and lure Man. "Stop! Stop!" Man cries out. "I have yet to set foot on earth when I am barraged by beauty. I must build my home before the grand scale of things." Air, thinking Ground has a NEW and IMPROVED and WHITER ally, pours it's strength out onto Man. "Stop! Stop!" Man cries out again. "I have yet to set my eyes up to Heaven when I am barraged by Horrors! I must build my roof before I am swept away." Soon, Man has built himself a new home with a new roof and new walls and new aluminum siding from Sears; contemplating the existence of it all... Sky ground rain mountain wind canyon. Through all his self absorption and inner spiritual penetration, the mists of innocence part like a sea before Moses. Through all his self contemplation and inner experimentation the walls of naivette crumble like Jerhico. Man now sees the way waged by Ground and Air; becoming frightened influenced worshipful. Not wanting to lose scope and grasp of an unprecedented opportunity; Air - the quicker thinker of the two - burrows itself deep into the psyche of Man to take away the rest of his innocence and purity to replace it with God-Fear; a sense of a higher Power. Air - again being the quicker thinker of the two - plants a hatred and fear and virulent loathing of Ground; insinuating that Ground is all encompassing EVIL. Look at Air, air is cooling, air brings forth the rain (yeah, look at Noah). Look at Ground, ground is hard and uncaring, ground brings the FIRE! Man, in his dullness and ignorance believes Air. Air is God. Ground is EVIL. Through Air's theological bullshit, a small seed of resignation grows deeper and deeper into Man's soul. "What is the point? What are we all here for? We're all here to go. We're all here to go, into some kind of afterlife. Death is the only recourse available then," Man reasons (as if he could in the first place). Religions begins ... countries begin ... wars begin ... The END begins.
This time, the Ground becomes hard again, solidifying its presence.
More pauses to mull on stuff. Uh, because I'd like for you people to make your up your own mind, make your own posin-- opinions without the uh Influence of the Commentator. Um. He has another one that, uh, that we got um that is, uh it, it's just pure beauty. Pure, it's it's, it's great stuff. Um, but, there's some words in there that I'm not completely sure on the pronounciation and I'm gonna need to research that and uh and and get back because uh no, I don't wanna screw it up. Um, and and uh that that's that that's that's, uh, that's it. We'll move on to the next one.
[end of more Oompah songs]
[portion of Pink Floyd's "Bike": "I've got a bike / you can ride it if you like / it's got a basket, a bell that rings / and things to make it look good. / I'd give it to you if I could / but I borrowed it..."]
[game show host: "Here comes a new challenger!"]
[from "Kalifornia": "Where you from?" "Uh, Vernon, Florida." "Don't know, you any huntin'?" "Uh, and uh, turkey, sometimes." "Huuh! Yeah, turkeys are real smart. Smarter than most people think."]
And, that is the end, kids. Uh, upcoming in the, uh, next, forbidden... issue, more stuff from me, more stuff from, uh, Jay-Joe, uh, music, possibly? Crazy lotsa stuff, including improv recordings of, heh, manic beat stuff, manic beat obsession I g--, I, I guess, um, and other than that, that is all. Uh,
--AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-- State of unBeing is copyrighted (c) 1997 by Clockwork and Apocalypse Culture Productions. All rights are reserved to cover, format, editorials, and all incidental material. All individual items are copyrighted (c) 1997 by the individual author, unless otherwise stated. This file may be disseminated without restriction for nonprofit purposes so long as it is preserved complete and unmodified. Quotes and ideas not already in the public domain may be freely used so long as due recognition is provided. State of unBeing is available at the following places: CYBERVERSE 512.255.5728 14.4 TEENAGE RiOt 418.833.4213 14.4 NUP: COSMIC_JOKE THAT STUPID PLACE 215.985.0462 14.4 ftp to ftp.io.com (did I say that correctly? ftp.io.com?) at /pub/SoB and, on the fabulous World Wide Web which you just don't seem to hear that much about these days, at http://www.io.com/~hagbard/sob.html Submissions may also be sent to me at <firstname.lastname@example.org>. Uh, and, if you wanna join the mailing list, and have -- er, anything else, if you wanna me up and, well, guess not "call" but otherwise contact me and ask me what size shoes I wear, go, go right ahead, send, send me e-mail. Um, that is all. Have a lovely, lovely, existence. --AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA--