ÚÄ Ü Ü Ü Ü Ä¿ Ûßß ÛßÛ ß Û Û Ûßß ÜÜÛ ß ÛÛÜ Û Ü ßßÛ ÛÜÛ Û Û Û Ûß Û Û Û Û Þ ÛÜß ÛÛÛ Û ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ Û Þ ÛßÛ ÀÄ ÄÙ Ä electronic literary 'zine Ä *ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ* ù ÄÄ´ volume five ÃÄÄ ù *ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ* stop plagiarism - let out your soul Copyright 9/95 ú úùcompiled & edited by Twilightùú ú ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ þ Table of Contents þ ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù 1. Angel Child - Blue 2. Anonymous - Andree Lachapelle 3. Crippled Inside - John Oko Lennon 4. Drown Soda - Hole 5. Drowning Survival - Twilight 6. Genius On Panic Street - Angel Alice 7. Ghost - Emily Saliers 8. Godhead Is Dead And I Feel Fine - C.E. Nelson 9. Guardian - Bloodshot 10. Here For You - Twilight 11. Incomplete - Angela J. Smith 12. Injury - Andree Lachapelle 13. Jennifer's Body - Hole 14. Kissing - Armand Mayer 15. Muse - Black Orchid 16. Plastic Dummy - Twilight 17. Plunge - Twilight 18. Stronger Now - Jani Lane 19. The Big Hurt - Janet Dowd 20. The Great Escape - M.G. and G.E. Nelson 21. The Moon Is Broken - Angel Alice 22. The Waltz Eternal - Angel Alice 23. Transformation - Twilight 24. Untitled - Autumn 25. We'll Always Have Tomorrow - Stephen Lush þ Including Quotes From: Andy, Tom Gogola, Carole King, D.H. Lawrence, Courtney Love, Newsweek, and Amy Raphael ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ Angel Child þ Blue ùúùúùúùúùúù Laughing here all alone echoed in the darkness i step down to look around at my world little girl beside me holding my hand shake her off watch her cry i cover my ears to hear her screams to wake me up to watch me fall he kissed her tears to heal her pain she turned her head to cry i cover her mouth to shut her up i cover her eyes to shield her view to look back to see him walk away lock her up muffled screams inside my pain let her out cover my ears sitting in my corner i kiss my tears with her angel hair melting strands cover my hands honey lips on sour eyes to bury her inside of me to let her screams burn through to muffle my painful cry "Grunge is what happens when children of divorce get their hands on guitars." Ä Newsweek Anonymous þ Andree Lachapelle ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù She has started to suspect that she might be an alcoholic, as long as she has a partner in crime. It looks like she may have found one. She met him in a bar, as these things often happen; that night at the Anonymous Lounge she was drinking whiskey-soda on ice, hold the soda. "It feels like I met you in a dream I had long ago," he tells her, and sits on the stool next to hers. "In my dreams," she thinks, "I have touched your body; in my dreams I have already made love to you." The ones who usually choose her are not the ones she herself would care to choose. This man is over six feet tall, too tall, with sandy-blond hair she thinks would feel incredibly soft, blue eyes surrounded by tiny sun-wrinkles and a pointy upturned nose. The lips are a bit too thin, and closed too often. His is not a perfect face, but the quirky smile turns her day into a sunny day. Her hand reaches out but doesn't touch; when he touches her hand, lightly, it's a burst of heaven. It's not that from the start she wanted a relationship with him, not at all. What she wanted was a short-term friendship, an ear to talk to. She did not want a nightly affair but she can't control her urges, her needs. She cannot, could not possibly resist him. She constantly craves his presence, his body close to hers. It wasn't like that with the others. "Maybe," she thinks, "I'm a nymphomaniac as well as an alcoholic. What a nice combination." Tonight she thinks of the bottle of tequila in the fridge, and wonders how long she'll be able to resist it. Of course there isn't enough in there to get pissed, so she'd have to walk to the store to buy some more. If he were to call, hung-over from the last night they spent together - last night - and tell her he will give up drinking, she would quit too. She refuses to drink by herself. Well, more accurately: she refuses to get drunk by herself. If, however, he should call and arrange to get together over cocktails, no doubt she would brush her hair, her teeth, put on a sexy outfit and meet him at the drinking establishment of his choice with a purseful of aspirin and vitamin B-12. But in case he simply feels like coming over for a while, there is also some beer in the fridge. Tequila and beer chasers. Later she would lick the sweat off his neck, swallow the fire and bite the juicy wedge of lime. She downs a beer. She would kiss him and let her tongue linger on his, tasting strong American cigarettes, beer, lime, tequila, salt and a little bit of her own perfume. He has never been to her apartment; she has never been to his. Over the last few months they have made the Anonymous Lounge their meeting place, their home away from home. They have yet to make love. She wishes that she didn't think about him so much. Every time she suspects that she is telling herself rose-colored lies about his feelings towards her, he smiles and lights up the room, does something or says something that lets her know he feels about her as she feels about him. "You drink too much," he says, "You look like hell." She smiles and loves him all the more for his honesty. She doesn't know how to be loved and she herself loves badly, but thoroughly. At this point in time, more than four months after their first encounter, she would do just about anything for him. He would not even need to ask. She is ready to be consumed by eternal flames; she is willing to burn in Hell for their love, if he were to feel it necessary. She would slay a dragon for him. "Maybe we'll learn to hate each other as quickly as we learned to love," she fears, but she is perfectly clean, straight and sober at this point, and soon after having her first cocktail of the day, that fear and all others disappear. He says, "I like you more than you could possibly know, more than you could possibly imagine." He does not use the word 'love'. But she knows he loves her. He makes her feel like no one else can make her feel, like she is queen of the world, like she is beautiful, wonderful. They go to smoky jazz clubs at 2 a.m. He teaches her to play pool. He wants to take her to a smelly, sweaty, boxing match, but she refuses. He kisses her. "You're drunk," she says, and he is. "You're beautiful," he says, but truly she isn't. "Take in every single second," she says to herself, "Don't let the moment end." "I went to the art gallery today," she announces, trying hard to get him interested in her life. "How was it? Did you see anything good?" he asks, obviously not caring much. "Naked men with swords, on horses, bodies out of proportion, Elvis drawing a gun. Nothing that impressed me, nothing that moved me. What did you do today?" He leans over and shuts her mouth with a childish kiss. She wants to kiss his mind. She wants to kiss him in the rain. She thinks of him for hours late at night and does not sleep. She cannot sleep without the pills; she merely passes out, slipping into unconsciousness for a little while before starting another day with a new bottle. How quickly you get attached to someone, and his smell. She loves his neck and the skin behind his ears and the feeling that they're doomed. Something about Hell and damnation, pain and suffering, games and lying and cheating. Desolation and hopelessness have always appealed to her. Late one night she bundles up and sets off to meet him at the Anonymous; it's freezing out and she is sick as a dog, combining a bad cold with a brutal hangover. "This is penance for your sins," he tells her, "for drinking and loving too much." She is depressed today and in desperate need of an embrace she will not receive. The blues move into her heart, and there create a comfortable home. He did not call last night, and the evening was spent drinking bourbon with a bunch of guys who turned out to be a local band. They wore spandex shorts and pants, which really offended her sense of aesthetics: if she wants to know whether or not a guy is circumcised, she will ask him. They were friendly, but dumb. She feels incredibly frustrated sexually: he is a fruit she longs to devour. There is so much sexual tension between them. She comes home and washes her face and smokes the last of her cigarettes and plays wild, sexy music really loud, moving her body until the tension goes away, for a while. But later the tension comes back and she has nothing to relieve it but her hands. She wanted to fuck him, not just be fucked. She wanted them both to be in control, that is, drunk enough for them to do it, but sober enough for them to do it well. One night she brings up spending the night together and his cold blue eyes stare at her; "What color would his eyes be," she wonders, "if he were to look at me like he loves me?" "This is just lust," he tells her, "If we go on like this, we'll burn in Hell. Only in death could we truly consummate this relationship. Here, it's lust, but in Heaven, we'll be together in Love." She calls him one night when she is really drunk; he sounds in a bad mood, not happy to hear her voice, and she ends up irritating him, pissing him off when all she had meant to do was turn him on. He tells her that she is sinful and will burn in Hell, and she believes it. He tells her that her behavior goes against the word of God, and she believes him. She feels like he has put a spell on her: though everything feels strange when he's around, it feels perfectly normal for it all to be strange. Everything is foggy and disturbing, but it only gets scary once the picture becomes clear. "I want a real relationship," she tells him one day, "I want a real lover." He suggests she gets one. She wants to cry, but instead kisses him passionately. Here's a kiss, she thinks, the only one I'll ever give you, so cherish it always; keep it next to your heart forever. He does not kiss her back. She asks, "We'll never see each other again, will we?" and he answers "No, we won't," and he says "Good-bye," and she says "Good-bye," and walks away and goes home and goes to bed with a bottle of tequila and a bottle of sleeping pills. She finds peace in death and waits for him in Heaven, where she feels they will be reunited. He never shows up. "After every tragedy, some people get tattoed while others have plastic surgery. When I got through a lot of pain, I take a razor and cut my arms. It's more for effect than anything. And yes, it's a cry of help." Ä Courtney Love Crippled Inside þ John Oko Lennon ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù You can shine your shoes and wear a suit You can comb your hair and look quite cute You can hide your face behind a smile One thing you can't hide Is when you're crippled inside You can wear a mask and paint your face You can call yourself the human race You can wear a collar and a tie One thing you can't hide Is when you're crippled inside Well now you know that your cat has nine lives babe Nine lives to itself But you only got one And a dogs life ain't fun Mamma take a look outside. You can go to church and sing a hymn Judge me by the colour of my skin You can live a lie until you die One thing you can't hide Is when you're crippled inside. "how Conceit is a pejorative how I miss having a stage mother, canopy bed & Mary Janes, how yr innerchild is somehow stupid and the narcissism involved with it is like an embarrassing haircut Moms watching their sons Looking wasted and lost on MTV, not tears but with joy & triumph. Maximum Rock and Roll. Better Homes and Gardens. What's the Difference?" Ä Courtney Love Drown Soda þ Hole ùúùúùúùúùú He wants to take you Take you away from your life He wants to take you Take you away from your lies He wants to take you Get you away from my life He wants to take you Take you away from my life Just you wait 'til everyone is hooked Just you wait 'til everyone is hooked Just you wait 'til everyone is hooked Just you wait 'til everyone is hooked Ooh, he wants to take you Take you by the hand I want to kill you Baby, I know you understand You're gonna watch me Watch me while I go down You're gonna watch me I take you by the hand Yeah, I want to kill you Baby, I know you understand You're gonna watch me Watch me while I go down You're gonna watch me Watch me while I drown He wants to take you Take you away from your life I want to kill you Tell you about my life It's my lie and I believe in it It's my lie and I lie in it It's my bed and I believe in it It's my bed and I lie in it Drink drown soda on an abominable stair "Sixty or seventy percent of suicides don't leave notes. Out of those who do, more than half leave really mean ones. Lots of them are about contradictions: I hate everybody, I love everybody; I'm too empathic, I can't feel a thing." Ä Courtney Love Drowning Survival þ Twilight ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù The ache of the emptiness carves out its hole As the excruciating pull of the yearn tugs with force at my sides... Meddled is my mind - stuck on that emotional track, Where concentration cannot endure. Images, both in vision and on paper Bring back snips of laughter gone past, And lost I become, trancelike... Traveling the turbulent hall of memories, Searching, in vain, for some comfort In my bleak and dreary loneliness. Out of my reach by the dreaded, haunting miles - Alas, my worst enemy! Desperate for this miserable soul to be consoled... Truly does it make my heart grow fonder Or shut it down in the overload of misery and of longing pain? Even the soothing of your voice would aid me - or perhaps just the knowledge That you are not so far away. My star, my sun, my Apollo - By some cruel act of trickery, You shine so briefly upon this twilight Before the sudden plunge into the absolute darkness Pulls you from my tight embrace, into the mourning black. For, alas, I cannot breathe... you are my oxygen. I cannot eat... you are my nourishment. I cannot drink... you are my intoxication. I need you - To end this ache, this yearning, these tears, to fill in this piercing hole. I cannot live this life... without you. Genius On Panic Street þ Angel Alice ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú a lonely star falls through the sky, with wishes shackled to her ankles - plunges over the edge of the earth and back into the Chaos; the cosmos tremble catastrophically at such a cataclysm, like a dog with a new collar: uncertain whether to protest violently or grudgingly submit to higher will. the world pauses in mighty expectation, holding its breath, until the signal: life may resume (a little less sweet for the want of a star) A girl - bone white, raven of hair - sits at a window in a house of glass, singing a soft song with no words nor melody, vulnerable, and not - many rocks thrown, many windows shattered, much blood let; aeons and she sings, waiting patiently for another star to wish on. Ghost þ Emily Saliers ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù there's a letter on the desktop that i dug out of a drawer the last truce we ever came to from our adolescent war and i start to feel a fever from the warm air through the screen you come regular like seasons shadowing my dreams and the mississippi's mighty but it starts in minnesota at a place that you could walk across with five steps down and i guess that's how you started like a pinprick to my heart but at this point you rush right through me and i start to drown and there's not enough room in this world for my pain signals cross and love gets lost and time passed makes it plain of all my demon spirits i need you the most i'm in love with your ghost i'm in love with your ghost dark and dangerous like a secret that gets whispered in a hush (don't tell a soul) when i wake the things i dreamt about you last night make me blush (don't tell a soul) when you kiss me like a lover then you sting me like a viper i go follow to the river play your memory like the piper and i feel it like a sickness how this love is killing me but i'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly and dance the edge of sanity i've never been this close in love with your ghost unknowing captor you'll never know how much you pierce my spirit but i can't touch you can you hear it a cry to be free or i'm forever under lock and key as you pass through me now i see your face before me i would launch a thousand ships to bring your heart back to my island as the sand beneath me slips as i burn up in your presence and i know now how it feels to be weakened like achilles with you always at my heels and my bitter pill to swallow is the silence that i keep that poisons me i can't swim free the river is too deep though i'm baptized by your touch i am no worse at most in love with your ghost in love with your ghost shadowing my dreams in love with your ghost in love with your ghost "Every lost memory is a withering away of self." Godhead Is Dead And I Feel Fine þ C.E. Nelson ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù this is what everything means to me the rumble of slow moving trains and something like cyan bleeds from every smile i've seen today. yet, i am smiling the paper skins from sipping sticks and licking my boots which taste nothing like licorice or quite not as salty as your flesh though leather nonetheless. we could bleed together like melted crayons in a box, small flat near university ripping pages from the spine of keats or kant or should or could? we might never know the sun like some have known such or the sum of the sun in the shape of fame and damn you, i have known a few in my time. i could love you. i do even now say these words to your ear and it is bending not with guilt anymore, but with love for me and in time i will lay between your long bones and cry for you Guardian þ Bloodshot ùúùúùúùúùúù Her eyes focused on an ecstasy life Her strong grasp of reality Her hands of premature counseling Oh, those ears, I'll never forget them Listening to every word of every human being She sits there holding her hand, Guiding her lifeless soul through the vast confusion of the cesspools Knowing the poison that struck the soul The soul of a hyper, joyful youth For she has also felt the power of the poison She knows the pains and the curses of it Comforting her, she tries her best to help Her duties forced to the max, her hopes in the sky I sit in the background, praying for recovery Now is there such a marvelous thing in this case? I hope so, for this victim, I truly hope so For the sake of humanity and life I hope she gets through the pain she now endures I hope that the Guardian can give her power, once again So, she be that cheerful youth. I saw so long ago. Here For You þ Twilight ùúùúùúùúùúùú demons playing chess on the tabletop of my mind shrieking cries of bats swarming in my head they take control of me my worst enemy, oh how they haunt me. all functions are lost in this immobility productivity, in the past, these thoughts drown me cannot think...on my own this leaden weight, upon my chest, heavily. plagued by emotions that do not belong to me i hold myself and another in false security protecting, shielding, with my so-called wisdom, and the abundant empathy. i wait for the storm to pass while holding on tightly volunteering to take the bullet to shelter innocence and na‹vety wishing away the pain but knowing that experience is the only healing entity. fighting for one's happiness i find my own as well and through the sharing of souls exists a new intimacy seeing a bright light ahead a hope for peace...and love, but alas, only through bravery. so, be brave for me... and proud of your decisions put courage and pride in the place of guilt and self-pity everything happens for the best and i will always be here... if you should ever need me. Incomplete þ Angela J. Smith ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù Pretending there is something left is like pretending there was anything at all. Pretending I existed in your twisted noxious world sacrifices nothing except my last precious breath. Your adoration a reverie, an embrace intangible to those roaming Reality; something just out of reach; your knife cut my threads of sanity. Gazing into your void I swear I saw a light (a tiny flicker of a flame)... Advancing towards it I stumbled into your mind attempting to see attempting to hold what trembled inside. Yet you, confined... alone...away... I reached for your hand you extinguished the light and without a chance you whispered good-bye. "Courtney may joke about Kurt as she remembers his reluctance to play the millionaire - 'He always saw himself as a bum and a janitor' - but ultimately she feels betrayed by him. He not only let her down by not keeping to their suicide pact, but she is sure that they were soulmates and that she will always be alone, no matter who she is with." Ä Amy Raphael Injury þ Andree Lachapelle ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù I think of her with Bob. I imagine them both lying on their backs on a cliff far above the postcard-blue ocean, staring at the stars. She's the kind of girl you would take to see the stars, a child of Nature. I'm the type of girl you take to watch rockets fall, or at least I used to be. She is wood and earth; I am plastic and metal and have faith in future technology. I do have dreams, but very little hope of fulfilling them. My dreams are architectural, promising a way to house the masses, albeit not very comfortably - glass and steel skyscrapers as salvation. But sex is as important to me as the fate of mankind: I think of new sexual positions for the physically challenged. Stainless steel triangles and rubber sheets so white. Restraints. Flimsy curtains on heavy metal rods. Incense smelling of ether... One must make the best of the materials at hand. Hospital beds so narrow, inviting intimacy. I live from day to day, with very little change. Even though my mind is active, my body has become lazy - it refuses to cooperate. I find it difficult even to talk; in fact, I shudder at the thought of communication. Loneliness is both appealing and scary at the same time. I am alone with others, naked in a roomful of strangers. I think of Bob with her, and wonder if he will ever leave her white beach to return to my white walls. "I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself." Ä D.H. Lawrence Jennifer's Body þ Hole ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù I know it, I can't feel it Well, I know it enough to believe it And I know it, I can't see it But I know it enough to believe it It's bettering you, it's bettering me My better half has bitten me It's bettering you, it's bettering me Sleeping with my enemy Myself Myself The pieces of Jennifer's body Found pieces of Jennifer's body Found pieces of Jennifer's body Just relax, just relax, just go to sleep Just relax, just relax, just go to sleep You're hungry, but I'm starving He cuts you down from the tree He keeps you in a box by the bed Alive, but just barely He said, "I'm your lover, I'm your friend I'm purity, hit me again" With a bullet, number one, kill the family, save the son Himself Himself The pieces of Jennifer's body Found pieces of Jennifer's body Found pieces of Jennifer's body Just relax, just relax, just go to sleep Just relax, just relax, just go to sleep Now you're mine... "He hit me, and it felt like a kiss; he hit me, and I knew I loved him." Ä Carole King Kissing þ Armand Mayer ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú It was dark and in the darkness he was standing holding her arms grasped behind her held in his hands gently. He was kissing her in the dark in the midevening blue-black only lit from below by the street and street lights. he was kissing him pressed against him held there by him not struggling not resisting not pulling back leaning into him up to him held by him there. And there was nothing inside him had emptied not in a hollowness not in vacancy but in freedom as if all the walls everywhere had come down and there was nothing else and inside he spun holding her mouth against his touching her lips sensing nothing and feeling everything for the first time. For the first time and she there pressed against him warm through their clothes standing in the middle of the room filled with nothing standing not leaning nor lying not sitting he felt this. When the sensation came into him from where he couldn't tell couldn't feel it wasn't from one spot a place it was a wave slow and gentle but when it came into him he saw it there in him and regarded it first as a stranger a friend he should have known. And then he recognized it this feeling this unconstrained freedom maybe a gentle sort of passion and later he'd wonder whether she'd felt it too but he knew then he felt it and it was new so when it came the moment that he understood that the walls were gone that his eyes grew moist and his nose grew cold and he stopped kissing her just pulled away slowly not letting her hands free he leaned his forehead against hers then she sensed this change and he knew she saw it he slowly let her go and pulled back. What's the matter she said Nothing he drew the back of his forefinger across below his nose Nothing Sorry then he sat and she sat. Wiping what was there the damp spots at the corners of his eyes like a small child not gracefully he drew in air through the dampness in his nose and said it again said Sorry. Why. This isn't me this isn't me I I I I just for a moment I'm sorry. And maybe she didn't understand she didn't after all know him that well but he understood and he wanted to tell her even if he wasn't sure he loved her then it was that he could. This isn't me really I don't do this it's not like I break so easily I'm really kind of embarrassed. Her hand was on his shoulder now making small circles and she leaned over she wasn't close so she leaned over and lightly pressed her lips against his head thinking she understood thinking it was all confusing and maybe touched she worried too while he looked at the place between his feet. Look he said it's just that I don't want to make you uncomfortable but it's just that I felt something then I never have before and her hand made small circles on his back but he still couldn't look at her and she sat quietly in the blue-black while the light of the street flickered and faded in a room with four walls. "Mystery is the key to enchantment." Muse þ Black Orchid ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú I was going about thirty-five in the rain when the faerie hit my windshield. I swore and stomped on the brakes, sending my car into a spin that took me in nauseating slow motion across the wrong side of the road and rocked me back into a ditch. There was a moment of stunned silence; the blood pounding in my ears nearly drowned out the sound of rain on glass and steel as I sat there blinking, seat belt fastened, foot still clamped down securely on the brake. What the hell. I got out of the car without even turning off the engine and slammed the door, surveying the wreckage. As my eyes swept from hood to hatchback I began to curse again, in earnest this time. It didn't look like that baby was going anywhere without a tow truck. It was two A.M., I was *almost* home, Todd probably thought I was out having an affair, and I didn't know a single person in this neighborhood. Just like me to get myself into such an appalling situation all because of some stupid... My mind tried to form the thought "bug," but the proper neurons didn't seem to be firing. Suddenly a brief flashback of the events leading up to the accident caused me to bolt to the front of my car in astonished recollection. A quick glance at the windshield told me there was nothing on it but water. The hood, the insanely thrashing wipers, the rain-dappled glass itself; everything was clean. But something had hit me. I had seen it. Something *bizarre*. I knew I ought to turn the car off, but a faint feeling of unease made me slosh my way out of the ditch and out into the street. Except for the two beams of my car's headlights slicing a skewed path through the darkness, there was very little light along that stretch of road, but nonetheless I carefully scanned the black oily stretch of road. With my hands on my thighs, squinting myopically at the pavement, I tried to find the spot where I had lost control of the car, but the water had left no skid marks and the surface of the street was oily-smooth and featureless except for the glittering kiss of the rain. Inch by inch I covered the pavement, feeling a vague fluttery nausea at the thought of what I might find, but despite my persistent scrutiny I turned up nothing but a soggy little wad of tissue paper, half-dissolved in a shallow, rain-lashed puddle. I poked at it absently. A panicky little sound escaped me as I jumped back, wiping my hand on my jeans. Whatever it was, it did not feel like tissue paper. Its texture was firmer yet slightly resilient, vaguely insectile. I bent down for a closer look, my lips pulled back from my teeth in revulsion. A strange sickening feeling told me that I'd found what I was looking for. I had to get down on my knees, my nose nearly touching the road, to get a better look at the thing. The smell of oil and tar rose warmly from the cement and did nothing to soothe my stomach at the sight. She was the tiniest and most alien creature I could possibly have imagined. She was mangled slightly; heart-rendingly delicate, translucent as frost. She lay drifting slowly near the bottom of the puddle, not even the size of my littlest finger, with ghostly hair half hiding her miniature face. She was a mind-bending sight, hauntingly perfect in her tininess. I could even see fingers, four on each hand, tiny eyelashes, nostrils producing some foul white substance and a trail of nearly microscopic bubbles as she sank. She was wrapped in a shapeless gossamer garment that had begun to unwind from her body, giving the effect of strange filmy parasites swaying in the water. White fluid seeped from her ribs and from one of her tiny knees, not dissolving, but hanging thickly in the water like glue. I had just killed a faerie. That was the word my mind supplied for the creature in front of me. She lay there in the puddle, so real I could feel prickles dancing over my scalp and the backs of my arms, and all I could think of were the delicate little drawings in the picture books my little girl loved so. I had mowed down Tinkerbell. It was so ludicrous I began to laugh, but looking at the creature floating there limply on the road, something twisted inside of me and I choked. "Oh God," I said out loud, feeling more than a bit mad. "What have I done?" I tentatively reached the tip of my littlest finger into the puddle, easing some the hair away from her face. One of her cheeks was torn nearly off, the flesh waving aimlessly in the water. Her translucent lids gave an eerie view of black eyes beneath, like a baby bird's. I felt huge, awkward, lethal. "Jesus, what did I *do*?" I said shakily. I stared at the carnage, transfixed. I don't think I was there too long, when suddenly I saw the headlights in the distance. Someone was coming in from town. I looked up, a little wild-eyed. They were coming toward me; I was in the left lane. I looked down at the faerie, who was right in the tire-path of the oncoming car. What if there was something I could do to fix her? What if she was just stunned, and needed to dry off and fly away? I'd seen baby birds and insects make it through worse injury than a smashed up face and a few flesh wounds. Maybe she just needed to be someplace warm and dry. The car was coming toward me fast, weaving a little around the curves. She didn't have a chance. Shaking almost convulsively, I fished the faerie out of the water, laid her across my palm, and bolted back to my car, half-sliding down the side of the ditch in my panic just as the sportscar whipped by, creating a shock of warm foul air in its wake. I swayed and shuddered, jealously guarding the limp little creature as though she were a candle flame in danger of going out. I got back in the car, killed the lights and the wipers, took the key, and locked the door behind me. My latest course of action had made it rather awkward to seek help from a neighbor, so I was left with only one choice. It was a safe neighborhood and a warm night despite the rain. Shielding my little victim from the onslaught of the weather, I began to walk. "Honey." The word fell like a pebble into my dream-pond, gently shattering the images on the surface. I opened my eyes and rolled over in bed. My hair was still damp and tangled, and I could feel an aching stiffness beginning to creep into my calves and the backs of my thighs. There was no room for confusion; I had every recollection of the events of the previous night. I hadn't said a word to Todd about the real cause of my accident; I simply blamed it on my own carelessness. Now as I slowly awakened I smiled up at him, squinting as the light from behind him gave him a slightly angelic aspect. "Morning, honey," I mumbled sleepily. "What time is it?" "It's just before noon," he said, smoothing my hair from my face. "I thought you'd want to get up." "Where's Eden?" "I fed her breakfast already; right now she's having a blast playing with Baby Grand." He grinned wryly. "Better than pots and pans, but not by much." "Thanks for letting me sleep, hon," I said, pulling Todd down for a kiss. "I'd better go and work a while, though." "Already?" He looked almost concerned. I shrugged, then gave him a reassuring grin. "I'm inspired." He tugged on a strand of my hair. "I'm beginning to think the whole thing's just an excuse not to indulge in the little joys of motherhood." I winked, kissed him on the cheek and hopped out of bed, snatching up my robe on the way out. I was headed for the studio, but I had no intention of picking up a paintbrush just yet. The matchbox was sitting on the bay window where I'd left it, just behind the sunlit, white-shrouded easel that concealed the portrait of Todd I'd been working on for a month. I raced over to the window with my gut half tied up in a knot, but of all the things I had expected to find, *nothing* had not been one of them. The soft peach toilet tissue still lay in the box, slightly flattened, where I'd stuffed it last night in an attempt to give the little creature a trace of comfort. However, the object of my concern was nowhere to be found. I knew I wasn't genius enough to be crazy, so I refused to write off last night's experiences as hallucination. She was real and had somehow escaped me. At least I could tell myself I hadn't killed her. But if that were the case, then where was she? With a sharp little twinge of dismay, I realized that there was no way I would ever find the creature if she didn't want to be found; she wasn't much larger than the needle in the proverbial haystack. Futilely I searched the room and then forced myself to give up, disappointed and confused. It was all just so odd; I couldn't get it out of my mind. Nevertheless, I was an adult and I couldn't afford to play the tomboy whose pet caterpillar had crawled away. I drew the sheet off of my portrait, picked up my palette and a clean brush from the table at my side, and contented myself with staring critically at the golden-lit face before me. I could at least get some work done. I had laid down about three brushstrokes when I heard the faerie's voice in my ear. There was not a moment of doubt as to what I was hearing; that soft, whirring sound hinting at glass and bells could only belong to one creature. It was clearly a greeting. "Well hello," I said without turning from my portrait. My hand shook slightly. "How are we feeling this morning?" She didn't answer me in words, but there was another brief glassy song in my ear with a few jagged shards in it. I received a distinct image of pain. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm very sorry. You must be a mess. I won't look at you if you'd like." Somehow I had already gotten a clear impression of vanity from the creature. She crooned soothing melodies into my ear, melodies that brought with them images of healing, a healing that took place with inhuman rapidness and completeness. "Well, I suppose I needn't have worried then," I said, feeling a bit foolish. I received a strong sense of negation, followed by a tremulous song of fear, fear of sinking, drowning, suffocating. Apparently she wasn't too keen on water. I felt the blessed air on her skin; I felt her slowly regaining energy and life force. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by a sensation of gratitude. No, it wasn't gratitude, the emotion was too reluctant, too sulky. It was more like... obligation. "Oh, no," I said. "You go your merry way. I don't ask anything of you in return." Again I was cut off sharply by an argumentative trill. Those were the rules, she told me in her song. I laughed incredulously. It was like something out of a fairy tale; apparently she had to do something nice for me, according to some sort of law. I could also sense that she was very unhappy about it. "Alright, fine," I said. "I understand. But the thing is, I don't really want anything that I can think of. I'd really rather you just be on your way." Suddenly the fragile thrumming of her song was in my other ear, playful. I sensed her doubt. *Everyone wants something*. "Not me," I assured her. "I just sold a painting, I have a loving husband and a precious little baby--" I was cut off by a loud jingling chord of triumph. She seemed to seize upon my image of the child, wrap it in iridescent radiance and cascades of bells. There was something oddly acquisitional in the sound, and for a brief horrible moment I remembered the tales of changelings. I calmed myself, amused at my own irrationality. How could something that tiny make off with Eden? "What about her?" I said warily. Suddenly her song changed, and I found myself on the receiving end of a multitude of prophetic visions. I saw Eden at three, picking up a tiny violin and producing beautifully clear strains of music. I saw Eden at four, solemnly poring over an encyclopedia. I saw Eden at five, standing at a tiny easel and producing a brilliant impressionistic rendering of the front yard. I laughed, then suddenly realized that this was not exaggeration for the sake of compliment; this was the faerie's *offer*. These images were all *options*. I turned and faced the faerie for the first time. She hovered erratically in front of me; from a distance I might have mistaken her for a bizarre dragonfly. The sunlight streaming in from the window was thrown off of her wings in impossible chords of radiance; her shadow flickered over my painting like a tiny bat. I was faintly unnerved as I gazed into her eyes; they were as black and depthless as the eyes of an insect. But her song was endless in its promise. "Can you *do* that?" I whispered. By way of answer, she filled my mind with images of Mozart, Einstein, Van Gogh, and others. Was I to believe that all these people had received their genius at the hands of faerie godmothers? I was skeptical, but when I objected I was assailed by a cacophonous rendering of sincerity compounded with disbelief. She was astounded by my ignorance. "It's true, isn't it," I said, amazed. I stretched out my palm; she lighted on it comfortably and met my eyes. Her hair floated about her shoulders like cobwebs, the individual strands too fine to be seen by the naked eye. She leaned back on her hands like an overconfident teenager and regarded me with a wide smile the size of an eyelash. Her weight was so slight I felt as if I held a butterfly in my palm. She waited. "I don't know," I said. "I just don't know. It's all so... weird." Suddenly an idea occurred to me. It wasn't too late for me to make millions of dollars with my paintings; I'd only just gotten started. "Couldn't you make me a genius instead?" I asked. Her wings vibrated a negative without moving her, then produced a series of delicate tinkling sounds which perfectly conveyed the malleability of an infant's soul; the tenuous grasp it had on the young body. Children were hardly alive at all; a strong wind could blow their souls away to Heaven. Even the tiniest of faeries could easily... *shape* them. I felt her hesitation. "What do you do to them?" I asked. "What did you do to Mozart, to Einstein?" Her song rather discordantly absolved her of personal responsibility. "What did your *people* do to them?" I insisted, refusing to be tricked by technicalities. I sensed that she could not lie to me. I received images of glory, of fame, of artistic immortality. "But how?" I said impatiently. "How did you do it?" There was a brief pause. She seemed to be collecting her thoughts. At last her wings strummed forth a single crystalline chord: *magic*. It was our TV time, the time when Eden slept peacefully upstairs and Todd and I could unwind, but there I was, flipping idly through one of my library books while *Northern Exposure* unfolded its little dramas in the background. Every now and then I heard Todd's laughter, but other than that my awareness was sunk deeply into the pages of one of a stack of biographies. Nowhere, not anywhere, was there a single speculation as to *why*. The writer was all too eager to detail every facet of Mozart's genius, but never once did the woman question the very existence of such a mind-boggling talent. What deal had his mother made, and with what strange being? What were the consequences? Was I playing Faust, or fairy godmother? Todd's uproarious mirth broke my concentration. I looked up to find him breathless with laughter, his face red and his eyes teary. He pointed to the television. "Honey, you're missing a great episode," he said, wheezing slightly and wiping tears from his eyes. "Shelley can't talk at all, just sing. It's hysterical." I started to ask how a person could communicate that way, but suddenly I remembered the extremely communicative little faerie lurking somewhere in my studio and thought better of it. Todd gave one last little chuckle. "You should stop reading just long enough to watch this. It's great. Why all the biographies, anyway?" "I'm... well, I'm thinking of trying something more abstract after I finish this next project. A kind of... mood painting, capturing the... the *quality* of genius. I just thought these might help somehow." It occurred to me that I had just lied to my husband, and I found it a distressingly unremarkable feat. "Research? For a painting? Well, whatever works." He shrugged and turned his attention to his salsa. I was just thinking of closing the book when I came across a letter written by Mozart to a friend. I was drawn to it and found myself reading it, my eyes narrowing as I studied the translation intently. The man was obviously insane. He seemed to play his own strange private little games in the letter, tacking on irrelevant rhyming words to the ends of sentences, injecting random expletives, and other nonsense. Was all genius madness? Was this what I was considering offering to my child? But more disturbing than Mozart's madness was the form in which it took. There was something *fey* about it. The way his mind worked was alien, calculating, playful. A deep suspicion began to form inside my mind, and I shut the book in alarm. On the television, Shelley was singing a jazzy version of the fable "The Old Woman and the Snake." A rerun. "I've seen this one," I said to Todd by way of explanation. "I'm going to go work on my painting." I ignored Todd's look of concern and bolted upstairs. The faerie was perched atop my canvas, her tiny form glittering strangely in the moonlight. She seemed more a part of the moonlight than a reflector of it, silvery and insubstantial. I didn't bother to switch on the light, but instead went to sit in the bay window, throwing my shadow across her. Only then did she seem to notice me. She was slightly backlit from the open door, her wings and her hair a halo around a tiny, featureless dark form. I shuddered. "The stories about changelings," I said. "Are they true?" There was a long silence. I was afraid she would not answer, but then her song began, a tiny cricket's trill in the darkness. She showed me a glimpse of her world, a strange, shifting dreamlike landscape full of intense color and harmonious song. Then she showed me my world: full of patterns, ruled by logic and predictability. After I absorbed this I was presented with a pair of alternate worlds. One: a swirling mass of chaos with no form, no rhyme and reason. The other: a gray, colorless nightmare of mundane order and stasis. The first was meant to be her world, the second mine. The solution: an exchange of souls. In the tremulous notes of her music, I saw a child leave my world in a faerie's body, and in its place I saw a fairie live a human life, bringing to the human world joy, color, and genius. "And madness?" I said. She purred her agreement. Unabashedly she sang to me of madness and its unsettling effect on my world. She seemed to think it was a world that needed to be unsettled now and then, lest it gather dust and cobwebs. Her chords rang with balance and harmony, and her song stirringly spoke of the need for exchange between the two worlds. "Well, you can find your exchange somewhere else then," I said coldly. "I love Eden the way she is, and I don't want to spend sixteen more years raising you. I want Eden here, and you where you belong. You'll have to find some other way to 'repay' your debt to me, because you won't be doing me a favor by taking my daughter away and leaving a mad genius in her place. I may be a mere mundane human, but I'm not stupid." The motion of her wings became rapid enough to create a shrill buzzing sound as the room filled with her anger. Suddenly I wanted to make a dash for the lightswitch, but I refused to budge or to take my eyes from her. She was only two inches high, for God's sake. *So be it*. The words rang sharply out in song, as clearly as if she had spoken them. I realized that she would haunt my studio and my mind until I further instructed her; out of spite as much as out of loyalty to her laws. I had to think of some appropriate payment for her wretched little life, or else I would have to live with her for the rest of mine. She was not pleased with me. "All right," I said. "I'll stay up all night thinking if I have to. But when I come in here tomorrow morning I'm going to tell you what I want you to do, and you will comply with that. I want you out of here. Do you understand?" The faerie did not deign to flutter a wingtip, but sat there in sullen silence. When I refused to move or take my eyes from her, she produced a single abrupt note of comprehension. "Good then," I said, rising from the window seat. "I'll see you tomorrow morning. I shut the door behind me. The next day dawned cool and clear, with a breath of winter in it. It was the day after Labor Day; Todd had to go to work. He woke me before he left so that I could watch Eden, who was sitting in the living room absorbed with her new favorite toy, "Baby Grand." It was just like a piano only smaller, made of cheap plastic, and painted in garish shades of pink and green. Any toy that made noise was a big hit with Eden. I watched her with an involuntary smile as Todd put his jacket on. Her little golden head was bent over the keys in a parody of prodigious musical genius, but she was making nothing but noise, thank God. She looked up at me and smiled. "Bye-bye Daddy," she said, waving crookedly. "Bye-bye honey," he said. "Bye-bye, honey number two," he said to me, and kissed me on the cheek before he walked out the front door. I went into the kitchen to make myself and Eden some breakfast. I knew I would have to deal with the faerie soon, but I was having a hard time thinking of something within her power that I would want her to do for me. I began to sing the song from last night's show as I got a trio of eggs out of the refrigerator. Singing usually helped me think; I hummed the parts where I couldn't remember the words. The kitchen was filled with sunlight; I cracked an egg and hummed away, half-listening to Eden's babyish prattle. "Burr-fy!" she said suddenly. I dropped an egg on the kitchen floor. It shattered, sending yellowish slime in all directions. *Butterfly*. I raced into the living room, leaving the egg all over the kitchen tile. The faerie was there, its wretched wings moving silently, secretively next to my baby's ear. It was sitting on her shoulder; they looked like old friends. I felt a wave of nausea nearly overcome me. "Get away from her!" I shrieked, racing over to snatch up my daughter from the floor and hold her to my heart. The faerie fell away from her and hovered in the air around the toy piano, looking confused. "Don't you touch her! Do you hear me?" The faerie trilled a little bewildered note and began to follow me as I backed away. "Get away, do you hear me? Get *away*!" The faerie's sharp little black eyes bored into mine, her face was a parody of innocence. Dragonfly wings whirred the question, *why?* She approached me slowly, as if trying to gain some sort of advantage. I continued to retreat into the kitchen, never taking my eyes from the creature, reaching slowly back for the utensil drawer. Suddenly my foot slipped in raw egg; I felt the floor slide underneath me. I was still holding Eden to me as I fell backward; my head struck the cabinet with a resounding crack. The world dimmed. Eden slipped from my arms and fell to the floor as the pain swallowed up my consciousness; I might have passed out but for the shrill alarm of her cries. I forced my eyes open and put my hand to the back of my head. Blood. Nothing serious, I hoped, because I knew I had to kill that thing; I had to kill it now, and this was no time to lie unconscious and bleeding on the kitchen floor. I staggered to my feet, sliding crazily in egg yolk, and clutched the counter for balance when a wave of dizziness assaulted me. It passed quickly enough for me to reach into a drawer, grab a spatula, and make a heroic swing at the damned insect. My attack was quick, violent, and took her completely by surprise, but still I only managed to strike her on the wing. I knew that a better aimed swing would have killed her. She trilled her sudden fear and began to effect her escape. Her flight seemed a bit off balance, though; she spun around twice and nearly slammed into the kitchen doorway on her way out. I followed her into the living room, where she bobbed crazily in the air like a yo-yo. Her wings produced a shrill, frantic, pleading whine that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. She couldn't seem to gain altitude; she was begging for mercy. "Oh, no." I said viciously, feeling the blood slowly ooze down the back of my neck. "You're not getting away this time. I should have left you in the goddamned road. You would have taken her, wouldn't you?" I swiped at her, just missing. She spun crazily toward the stairs, but I followed her. "I've thought of what I want," I said to her calmly as I climbed the stairs. "I want your sneaking, lying, thieving little guts, and I want them all over my brand new spatula. How does that sound?" Whether because of obligation or shock, her flight faltered for a moment, and I took the opportunity to strike her one hard, final blow. I heard a sound like shattering glass, and her battered body fell to the floor. I bent down to look at her. This time there was no pity, no horror, only triumph mixed with revulsion. I lifted her broken body with the spatula and carried her, like a dead insect, to the bathroom. I'd had it with strange and wondrous creatures. I tipped the spatula and watched her fall into the swirling water of the toilet. With a final gurgling choke, the water washed her out of my sight. I shuddered one last time and shakily returned to the kitchen to make myself an ice pack. I wasn't sure if I would need a doctor or not, but in any case my head was throbbing miserably and I was sure it needed attention of some kind. Eden, the picture of childlike resilience, had crawled back to her piano, seeming not to have noticed her mother's atrocious behavior. I stopped to ruffle her soft golden curls on the way to the freezer. Plucking ice cubes from the tray and placing them in a dishcloth, I began to sing again: "Oh shut up, you silly woman Said the reptile with a grin After all, you knew I was a snake Before you took me in!" I had gotten halfway through the refrain when I stopped again. Surely I hadn't heard it. I froze, my heart pounding, ice melting in my hand. There was a profound silence. Then one, two, hesitant notes on the piano. Oh.. shut.. up.. you.. silly... woman... the piano echoed. ...said the... reptile with... a... grin... The ice cubes slipped from my trembling hand to join the egg on the floor. ...after all... you... knew I... was a... SNAKE The note was wrong. It was subsequently corrected. ...snake... I turned my head, slowly, and looked out into the living room. ...before you took me in! I met my daughter's eyes as she looked up from her toy piano. The sun shone in her face, making her eyes dilate almost to black, and making a halo of her hair. She smiled at me. The world broke into pieces. "*Music*," she said. Plastic Dummy þ Twilight ùúùúùúùúùúùúù a face without a name an object without a face i am a nobody just a plastic dummy with no brain fuck you i'm not taking your shit i'm not just an attachment like some arm or leg i am a person too i have thoughts and dreams like you do if you would only give me a chance talk to me, get to know me you would know that i have hopes too when i cry i'm not a water faucet you can't turn off but there are reasons and feelings inside of me that spark the flow when i pass won't you shed a tear for me but no, only for the body to whom i'm attached some prized possession a trophy for show and tell yeah, fuck you, ignorant bastard condemn what and who you don't know instead of opening your eyes and discovering the unknown the asinine prick the foolish asshole you'll forever remain as you choose to be blind it's just too bad that it took me this long enduring way too damn much for me to finally see the light "It's either I suck or I get steroid shots." Ä Courtney Love, regarding criticism about her singing. Plunge þ Twilight ùúùúùúùúùú intrinsic in depth weave into bones swirl in and outwards pounding breaking shielding reflecting yet still penetrating blackness the void plunging twisting furious gripping the throat constricting passageways evaporating squeezing flexing into knots or pretzels oozing red in the light enveloping swallowing reaching for the edge slipping screaming voice emanating then disappearing down the hole the drain where no light shines Stronger Now þ Jani Lane ùúùúùúùúùúùú I held you for a moment in my hands The moment with you slipped away like sand Through my fingers now In front of me a choice I have to make To carry on or simply fade away I lose you either way I'd like to say that it was easy, It was hard To say goodbye, I thought that I would die Letting go of you, Was so hard to do And I thought that it would kill me But I made it through somehow, And I'm so much stronger now I gave to you my love and my respect But I could never make you love me back I denied it so I grew bitter watching you grow cold My life became your prison, Took its toll I decided like a bird that's trapped Inside a gilded cage It's right to set it free, Hurts to watch it Fly away Letting go of you, Was so hard to do And I thought that it would kill me But I made it through somehow, And I'm so much stronger now "'Rolling Stone' had a new category of rock stars most likely to die within the year. Number one was, of course, 'moi'. Number two was Eddie and number three Trent. The joke is that all of us would outlive a nuclear war." Ä Courtney Love The Big Hurt þ Janet Dowd ùúùúùúùúùúùú now I hurt as much as I loved then. then, had I known this hurt that is now - I would have kept a little more of myself for me - how good it is to say: I'm leaving you for someone else - that someone else is me. "Fuck. I hate it when some dork and his girlfriend come to the computer lab together and and up making out. Get a fucking room. I like to tongue wrestle as much as the next person, but I don't think the computer lab is the place to do it. If they start making out again, I'm going to throw a major shit fit right here in the lab. 'Slurp slurp slurp slurp' - the two morons across from me making out." Ä Andy The Great Escape þ M.G. and G.E. Nelson ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú (Look up) There's no man on the moon tonight Guess he's turned his back on me (once again) The wicked walls of this dead-end town are closing in and I can't breathe (Sail away) Down the river of shattered dreams; My destiny's disguised (but I will find it) Empty promises flow my way, adrift in shame; do you feel the same? Another time, another place, we won't be prisoners of fate Somehow, we'll find a way to get out of here Oh, why don't we make the great escape and set our sights on higher ground? We're taking the ride all the way to the other side (Step inside) See the man with the cracked guitar Selling tales of sonic gray (the skies are falling) No one gathers to sympathize or pay tribute to his fading flame Tattoo girl on a butterfly Sowing seeds of boundless hope (and devotion) Follow me through a leap of faith; I know the way, I heard her say Another time, another place, we won't be prisoners of fate Somehow, we'll find a way to get out of here Oh, why don't we make the great escape and set our sights on higher ground? We're taking the ride all the way to the other side We've got to make the great escape and leave behind what can't be saved We're taking the ride all the way to the other side "Kurt isn't dead yet; he's in video purgatory, and we watch his beautiful, tormented soul splayed across our screens, over and over again until his death becomes real." Ä Tom Gogola The Moon Is Broken þ Angel Alice ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú in the night sky she shines less brightly than yestereve; tonight she is swollen and hurt by the ignorance and anger of the people in the dirty cities, and I notice for the first time, a spider-web branch outside my window traces a fragile split through that silver orb; her smiling face is chipped by faraway skyscrapers that revolutionize the world, and now sits shyly behind the clouds like a broken teacup in the back of the cupboard, a little faded, a little jaded, and all the worsened for the wear: the moon is broken, it's dark out. The Waltz Eternal þ Angel Alice ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù the call of the sea drew her to him - Diana descended, clothed in silver light with the seven seas trailing from her ebony hair - into the arms of Posiedon; his wild waves cascading all around them as they waltzed on the ocean to the sweet melody of the wind; then the chill maiden and the lord of chaos lay on the bed of water and made beautiful love; eternal lovers bound by the laws of Nature - the consumation of the marriage between the moon and the sea, until Posiedon slept, and Diana softly slipped over the horizon. Transformation þ Twilight ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú swirling, the mists encircling my feet weaving through my toes bringing me to my knees tongues, they lick with lingering resi-dew the hasty wetness fills the desperate lungs choking out the pungent air making me become one with the haze, the fog the cloudy surroundings thick humid sweat dripping, soaking, gasping merciless, it reeks and i hunch down, back arched transform, re-breathe and emerge, up again into the mists, i dance about frolicking, playing twisting and turning swimming upon air currents as i laugh the dolphin laugh amidst the pixie dust and the faerie glitter. Untitled þ Autumn ùúùúùúùú Like a wilted flower longing for the touch of a driving rain I stand, weary, arms crossed waiting for you. Like an adrenaline addict desiring the rush of another close call I pause, glancing at my watch, waiting, for you. Like a lost lover, knowing the emotion, but feeling only pain, I close my eyes, shivering inside waiting, for you. Like an ungiven kiss, fluttering in the heart of my sweetest desire I burn untended, waiting, waiting for you. We'll Always Have Tomorrow þ Stephen Lush ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú we'll always have tomorrow but we had today what were we thinking its not all right but its not all wrong tip toe past the guards enter the king's court be the rulers for one moment as if we never had control look at me aren't I close enough to you? where are our times are they ahead or did I miss them? I don't know but I sure am sad lost in the moment would be so nice lost in the moment for just one night lost in the moment is best over alarm clocks, I choose the voice that feels at rest slow me down to sleep I feel closer to you is that fine? some moments to not care about the plight with time look at me. "Those are my public service announcements: wear a condom and make up with your enemies." Ä Courtney Love ßÜ ÜßÜÝÜßÜ ßÜÞÜß Ü Ü Üß Ü ÜßÜ ÝÜßÜß ÜßÜßÜ ßÜßÜ ÜßÜßÞÜß ÜßÜ Ü ßÜÜßÜß ßÜßÜÜß Ü ßÜßÜÝÜßÜß ÜßÜ ßÜ ßÜ ß ßÜßÜß Üß Ü Ü ßÜÝÜß Üß ÜßÜ ßÜÜßÜßÜ Üßßß Üß Û Ü ÜßßÜÞ ÜßÜß Ü ßÜßÜÜ ßÜß Üß ßÜÜß Üß Ü ßßÜßÝßÜß ÜÜ ßÜßßÜ ß Üß ÜßßÜÜß ÜßßÜ ßÝß ÜßÜ ßÜßßÜ ß Üß ÜßßßÝÜß ÜÜßÜÞÜßÜß ÛÞßßÜ ß ß ÜÜßÜßÜß ÜßÜÞÜß ÜßÜÝßÜÜß Ü Üßßßß ßÜßÝÜßÜÜßÜß Ü Ü Ü Ü ßÜ ßÜ ßÜßßßÜÜßÝÜÛßÜßÜÜß Üß Üß Üß Ü ßÜßÜ ßÜÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜÜÛÛÛÜßßÜßÜßÜßßßÜÜß ÜßÜß ßÜßÜßÜßÜßßÜ ßÜ ßÜßÜß ß Ý ß ßÜ ßÜßÜ ßÜßÜßÜßßÜ ÜßßÜßÜ ßÜßÜ ßÜ ß Þ ß ß ß ß ß Ý Ý Þ ß Legalize. ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù Submit your original literary works for Spilled Ink, [volume six], to Twilight via Internet e-mail: twilight@mail.utexas.edu ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù