And let me introduce you to my cousin ___ _ _ _ __ ___ _ __ | |_) |_| |\ | (_ | |_ |\ | | | | | |\ | |_| | (_| | | \ | | | \| __) | |__ | \| | |__ |_| | \| | | |__ __| / ___ __ __ __ | |_| |_ / | |\ | |_ | | | |__ /_ | | \| |__ . (Hay! A nother one? This is most unorthodox...) XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Well in following with the last issue of Lansient Trunacy I have my little (subliminal?) Xs to split things up since I am mostly stripped of all traditional visual aids that are common in zines. Ah, yes, and I have my little intro. My little space to chat with You. Now. This is issue two of the zine. Ha ha!!! For all of you who honestly thought that I wouldn't get another copy of Transient Lunacy out... (I don't blame you) ... it's out. I would've liked to do a really zineish thing for the Holiday Season like distribute a raw pickle with every copy but I didn't have enough pickles and translating a pickle into binary is not my idea of fun. So forget it. Though I guess I could have some sort of sendaway... Someday... I will think about it until the next issue and then get back to you on that. Well, read it and digest what you will. Eh? -> Voi <- To reach the Transient Lunacy headquarters call: (604) 261-8474 at 2400 baud (sorry you high speed users... Guess you'll have to live with downloading a txt zine at 2400... Awww... ;) XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Poetry, anyone? An eyefull for you and eyefull for me... Lah Dee Dah... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX A muse ------ Who sees the seas with a whistling breeze? What ivy under their toes? With flowering clouds sailing by in the sky What bouquet inhaled by the knows. And more wise to the why's in a carefree disguise Dreams that pass for conscious thought To be so inclined as the days might unwind But I do less and more than I ought. -Gored Gelean- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Celeste (Vision ]I[) -------------------- (revised October 26, 1994) Celeste killed the best And now she must dress For the battle of the gods is within the hour And she has nothing to wear but this little white flower What shall she do? Who shall she be? The angry mob of life Is a thousand times more free The Falcon and the Prey have suddenly switched roles The depressions of life have suddenly grown to holes The beast and the angel are playing in the mist Our schoolmaster is sulking And clenching tight his fist The Christian god and devil Are battling for control Celeste's caught in the center Not knowing how to fall Should she accept the goodness Or is it all in vain If she chooses darkness Will he end it all in pain? She disregards the stigma She follows her own path She comes upon a railroad bridge She bellows out in wrath A horn sounds in the distance is this at last her chance? She lays down on the tracks, and waits for the advance I've talked to the conductor We can't slow down this train But it doesn't really matter I can feel us fall again. -Wonko the Sane- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX raw meat -------- raw meat bleeding on life support machine dead or alive? lost in between screaming true pain raw & pure chewing on razor wire sharp & cold wrapped in flesh blind to the soul -Radha-Vinoda dasa- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The Rose Garden --------------- In moments past, I've stumbled across a courtyard A garden of roses in the midst of my labrynthian being Each flower supple and deep crimson And bearing a haunting and beautiful aura each to its own Also borne are thorns Some are thin, needlelike and nearly invisible Some are thick and barbed at the tip They rip my flesh out, tear me to helpless oblivion I've tried to scream, in the past The lingering pain I've endured and always will endure It never seems to run its course Always, when I try to forget it, it flows Strength renewed The rosebushes divide : Those who dwell on beauty, and those who obsess with pain The passionate side become less hurtful, more comforting, Like the sweet words of a loving admirer But the dark half take on a bloody scarlet hue They lash out with their whipping claws And screech my sins to the world Slowly the destruction of my heart commences Those beautiful petals that I've given myself to Begin to fraternize with the evil ones And become them, leaf by leaf Or die, stricken and sunstarved, trampled into the rocky dirt In the center grows a single rose More beautiful than Athena, more beguiling than Helen of Troy It grows firm and healthy and alone And I may never get to breathe its refreshing aroma Or caress its tender lips Or possibly not even lay eyes on it Because it alone is being imprisoned and blocked away By headless roses, merely blackened stems and poisoned thorns My rose garden is a place of demon wonders And overpow'ring emotion of the heart So kill me, you evil garden, you place of black magic Uproot me from my precious soil as you have done so often before -Coyote- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX At every corner the blunted arrows rain When shadows rage the self away The glare of undone things again Surrounding souls becoming prey While temporal grips of plastic chains Choke blood for gifts forgetting aims That did once cry and choose the ways That hearts have spoken through the days So I give tears cupped in my hands The love that's left of what does seep From walks upon demanding lands While hopes and blood are mine to keep. -Voi- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Hide here in the down Feathers stuck in my throat Left here by that great bird a beating shadow in the sky Draw what comfort you can What comfort can I find From these feathers left behind discarded, shells, refused Do not sorrow for what has past laments will not carry like birdsong You may turn from pain I'll look to the ground You may hide deep in the nest The wind pushes me down So you can only feel warmth A musty imprint Too high up in this tree to climb down I'll just fall Too naked and flightless to rise up But I'll sing Bird song will not carry like laments I'll coo little melodies to myself The wind will rob you of breath I'll loose myself in melody The beating wings will not be still Ignore the ones who shake my nest This nest was never yours -Ka-Lyras and Age- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Now it's time for a nother review, wheee! Apparently this cd is fresh on the shelves. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Okee dokee. I just thought I'd begin by saying this particular cd purchase was extreme value for my few and far between dollars. It's a whole seventy some minutes and cost me somewhere under ten bucks. It's one of those maxi singles that to me could be a full length album if it wanted to be. The single's name is "Dirty Epic/Cowgirl" by Underworld. This is yet another cd on the Wax Trax! label, and no, I am not plotting to review only their stuff or anything. Well the cd gives you that real warm feeling when you pop it in and discover it's over seventy minutes long and also discover that most of the lyrics are completely incoherent. I beleive this cd is of the experimental house persuasion, though the beat is about the only housey part of the songs. The music overall is sprinkled with lots of neat-O stuff that makes it sound really dense and gives you something a bit different to listen to every time. The tracks are all quite long which is nice because each of them seem to work themselves up to a nice dark dance feel and stay like that for a while and then slowly ease you out of your danciness. The overall continuity of the cd works really nicely because the moods follow quite well and the themes are developed quite thoroughly, but this could be mostly due to the fact that there are several version of most of the songs. (Mind you each version is very different from the next which leads me to think that this is more of an LP than an EP.) There are three versions of "Dirty Epic" and three versions of "Cowgirl" on this EP as well as a copy of "Rez" (which is not found on the latest Underworld LP) and "River of Bass". The "Dirty Epic" and "Cowgirl" tracks are very moody and the whole cd is quite trippy. "Rez" is a more uplifting track and is a very good rave track. "River of Bass" has a more laidback feel than the other tracks and for some reason it seems fairly R&B-ish, probably because it's so groovy and slow. The lyrics are generally fairly difficult to decifer but this is really neat-O because you're never really sure whether the vocalist is saying "wash the dog" or "watch the god" or both. The lyrics, when you can hear them, are pretty darned cryptic and seem like cool disjointed poetry. The music has some pretty original uses of sounds and is quite beautifully layered together to make a floaty dark mass of cool stuff. It's delicious. In this cd your ears get jam packed with beautiful layered sounds and dance beats and it's great music to cry to and to dance to and great music to stare at things to. Yeah. I pronounce this a good purchase. -Voi- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Oooh I actually got dust to write me a record review!!! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX PlastikMan: Musik - (novamute): 73:11 Richie Hawtin (aka Plastikman, aka FUSE), has been producing his own unique blend of techno almost since Roland made its first TB-303. Now that little, squelchy unit is practically the defining characteristic of most ambient, techno and trance music. As one of the creators of the Detroit techno sound (despite living in Windsor, Ontario), Hawtin has been fortunate enough to avoid the cheesy excesses that offer embarassment to other artists. That doesn't mean his music is always bliss to listen to, though. As well as it works on a dancefloor, a Hawtin track can just as easily produce a general state of anesthesia at home. Fortunately, the new Plastikman album, appropriately (or inappropriately, depending on your opinion of dance music) titled Musik, while preserving the Hawtin vibe has a comparatively low boredom element. The tracks feature incredibly innovative uses of the aforementioned 303, and some truly trippy analog sounds complement it. That isn't to say there's a hint of melody, because that would interrupt the sparse, cut-down groove that Hawtin specializes in. There are enough reverb-laden noises added to the reverb-laden synths to create an eerie, dark throb, resembling a transmission from the cold depths of space.* The rhythms are eminently danceable, and original enough to be worth listening to as well as dancing to. Of course, this is recommended for people who like trancy, rave-style techno already, since to the uninitiated this will sound unrelentingly repetitive. If you're willing to listen though, there are enough slow evolutions of the sounds and moods of the tracks to offer an elevated state for connosieurs of the genre. Particular standout tracks, such as the electro-analog-tribal rhythms of "kriket" are at first difficult to notice, since all the tracks flow beautifully from one to another, courtesy of some spooky ambient interludes. Ocassionally, certain tracks such as "ethnik"** offer the hint of hauntingly beautiful riffs, a Hawtin rarity. Such deviations are mixed subtly though, since this is definitely an album where the sounds are more important than what's played with them, such as the beautiful analog diggeridoo of "outbak", a track that uses that instrument without owing anything to the Aphex Twin's similar explorations of that instrument. So, if you're looking for something to tide you through the raveless months of winter, you'll find Plastikman's Musik to be a CD thankfully lacking the disposable nature of its creator's namesake. * Voi: Hey dust weren't you the one talking about cheeze? ;) ** Voi: More cheeze, anyone? dust: Hey that's not my fault the name is cheezy. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Zeee traditional book column by StJoan shall now be served XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX I hope this holiday everybody got what they had been hoping to find under the tree! Christmas usually brings about a rash of new releases in hardcover, as publishers try and cash in on the generous spirit. However, at over $30 being the average price for new hardbacks, most publishers are moving into quicker releases for their paperbacks. So if you didn't get the latest by your favorite author this season, start asking around for paperback release dates about four or five months after the hardcover has been released -- someone should be able to give you a firm date at that point (if not a book reservation). This Christmas one big surprise I had was The Politically Correct Collection of Bedtime Stories by Garner. At $12.95 this is a surprisingly inexpensive book, with a new twist on some of the old favorites. Everyone from Cinderella to the Billy Goats Gruff go through modern re-evaluations in this book, with side-splitting results. Garner does an especially good job with "Little Red Riding Hood".* I know this book had sold out in some areas of the Lower Mainland, but if you can find a copy, its well worth the money. Other titles swapped around the house were If You're Not From the Prairie, a children's book that would be a delight for anyone who was raised in the wheatfields, The Shipping News, a Pulitzer-prize winning book that takes place out in the Canadian Maritimes, and Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha, the latest by Roddy Doyle after such works as The Commitments. All of the titles mentioned are well worth looking into. Most have been out for quite some time, and should be easy to find, especially the works by Roddy Doyle. This year has been a good year for good titles, and Canadian authors. Here's to hoping that we can expect more of the same in 1995. Happy New Year! -StJoan- * dust: No, it should be "Height Challenged Red Riding Hood." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Now, I thought I would let you read the story of Keek which was given to me by Charlie Brown. I personally found it very moving. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Five years ago, I purchased an English Budgie. My son named him Keek. He was a personable little fellow, just fledged. When he first came to our home he was a little nervous. It didn't take long however for him to become a friend. I left his cage open so he could fly freely around the house. He was always searching for something high to perch on. I had a swag lamp that he could climb on but it did not allow firm purchase for his claws and he balanced precariously while up there. It didn't take him long to discover that a head is as good or better than a lamp chain. He would wait up there, on his perch, for a human to enter the front room and then lean forward and launch himself at their hair. This was disconcerting: especially when he was in Sneak Mode. I got him a companion, hoping it would calm him down. Anthony named her Beaujolais. Oooh she was a bitch! She totally dominated poor Keek. He could not perch anywhere without her flying over and pushing him off. It was a continual contest between them to see who was King of the Castle! Translated into Bird, that meant Highest Budgie was Boss. She beat him something fierce. Keek came back for more. They loved each other. New year's day, 1991, Beaujolais got out a window. We never saw her again. Shortly after her disappearance, Keek went into molt. He sat on his perch, no bounce in his legs, he was not caring for himself. His vent was fouled and crusty and he had sleep around his eyes. I tried to make things comfortable for him. I was resigned to ending his misery if things didn't improve. I applied vegetable oil to the area around his vent and put little containers of fruit and fruit juices in his house. The vegetable oil eased his intestinal troubles allowing the passage of wastes. The fruit juice just plain tasted good, encouraging his appetite. He began to perk up. Anthony came to visit and I was happy not having to explain the death of a second budgie. He told me that Keek was feeling bad because Beaujolais had left. I hadn't thought of that. Soon, Keek was back to his old self, flying into hairdos, gnawing at the philodendron and being a happy nuisance. Keek had always sang the songs of birds who lived outside. He began to take an interest in the songs of his humans and their things. He made telephone noises and wolf whistles. He made tiny ambulance sounds! You know the pursed lips sound you make to call a cat? Well, when I made that sound, he would imitate it and then rub his bill on whatever he was perched upon. I could snap my fingers and hold my hand up and no matter where he was in my house he would fly over and land on my finger. Anthony was always a little hurt that Keek never came and alighted on him. One day we prepared Ichi Ban noodles and the bird took a keen interest in them. He flew over to our table and started to madly yank the noodles from my dish and shake them to pieces. From then on Ichi Ban noodles became a lunchtime favourite for Anthony and Keek. They had found a common interest! The two became fast friends. One evening we had guests over for a Dinner Party. A new acquaintance took a liking to our precocious budgie and said, "She is a lovely little bird" Anthony said, with malice, "My bird is NO GIRL BIRD!" Our guest was a student Veterinarian and she assured us that, indeed, Keek was a hen. Anthony took this philosophically and decided that Keek would always be a cock to us. I humoured him and so Keek remained. I went to the forest last year to make a few dollars. One evening I phoned home and my room mate informed me that Keek had gotten out and never returned. This was a great loss in our household and Anthony had to be told. When he asked what became of Keek I was honest and said that Keek was surely dead as it is wintertime and the crows are very hungry. Anthony took our loss very well, he said, "Crows must eat, dad. They are not bad birds." My son and I talk about Keek often. We three shared a bond. Like all lifelong friendships it didn't end because of death. Our friendship was a special one and my son and I shall treasure those memories until we too become crow food. I hated the Waltons. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Released on December 30th 1994. (c)Adriane Prat and respective authors.