Ć*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*Ć * __ __ * + _____ ____ ____ ______/ |_____ ____ ___ ______/ |___________ + * \__ \/ \ / __ \/ ___\ __\ \ _ \/ \/ ___\ __/__ \_ __ \ * + / __ \_ | \ /_/ >\__ \| | Y Y \<_> ) | \__ \| |\ ___/| | \/ + * (____ /_| /___ /____ >|__|__|_| /___/__| /___ >|__| \__ \|__| * + \/ \/____/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ + * 04.21.03 angstmonster issue 25 * Ć*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*Ć Ąedited (poorly) by girĄ angstmonster takes no prisoner and bites the heads off retarded children §+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ĄcontentsĄ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§ + + + Brief words from gir + + A T-FILE? I CAN'T! brian + + The Gilded Age tex + + SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE: Observations st0vbold + + Reversals of old thought patterns 1 - love / hate voronika + + Jobs and Shit steak + + Surprise Me gir + + Confess, You Dancing Fool! oregano + + People who hate milk should drink paper juice kool peith + + picnic tables in rainy woodlands tex + + a fond farewell ch33z-1t + + + §+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ĄcontentsĄ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§ sorry about the size that is what I have to say to all my women i am not gir: do you have glasses? fanking: negative fanking: i burned those a long time ago along with my fears of rejection I'd give my left nut for a pizza right now send that nut and I'll get you a pizza tempting hey man you have two of them for a reason being icelandic is automatically a point towards pretentiousness since you come for a nation with a population of 7 DON'T INSULT BJÖRK LIKE THAT! matrix/#cDc injects gir with a sedative. =] s/seditive/manlove with a manlove? s/lo/glo/ s/lo/\ glo/ is the manglove involved in some manlove? well.. you don't know where my hands have been.. i do and i dont approve not one bit SignOff magpie: #cdc (fuck this shit) --------------- : Brief Words : : from gir : --------------- Dear angstmonster readers, I've gone retarded. The only words of wisdom I might be able to impart on the readers of this installment of angstmonster is to NOT date someone with a knowledge that matches or is superior to your own. If you do not follow that rule, you will live to regret it. Let's say that a girl decides to leave you, without reason, and suddenly you're the single father of a very beautiful hamster daughter. What then? How do you go about revenge? It's quite simple: YOU WRITE A WHOLE MESS OF TFILES ABOUT HER! Being the crafty and resourceful tfiler you should be after all the experience you gained from being in "the game" for so long, you begin a tfile to end all tfiles that retells the story of heartbreak and turmoil. To avoid any confusion, you change the names of the parties involved and then say all of the events in question took place on Mars. The casual reader won't know that you are slyly retelling YOUR VERY OWN story of heartbreak. However, this girl will. You could place the lovers of your tale in the seventh dimension where they can't be seen, on a distant moon of Jupiter, where only tourists go on the off season because the food is better and the second anyone tries to plug in a toaster, SHE KNOWS and your mission has failed. For a brief second, under the light of failure, you consider deleting the entire file. Instead you forge onward and tell all the good readers of importance and substance that pertains to the current issue of your zine. Hi! My name is gir and this is angstmonster #25! It marks the death of our first ever regular column: "Surprise Me" which has died at a very young age. The death of "Surprise Me" is a death that we tried to stop using every resource available to us, but there was no hope. Some ideas were meant to die young and "Surprise Me" was one of them. In it's memory, I'd like to thank Ed, who inspired us all with his first angstmonster submission known as "Surprise Me." There's a lot going on in the world we live in. Let's not let this sad moment in our history stop us from enjoying everything else going on. Please? If you can't get over the death of "Surprise Me," fear not! The soon to be MOST FAMOUS INSTALLMENT A TFILE GROUP COULD RELEASE also known as the angstmonster hamster and laser theme issue is set to be released on June 30th. That means that everyone reading this has over two months to send us their thoughts concerning hamsters, lasers, OR hamsters AND lasers. Get them sent to gir@angstmonster.org and you shall have your spot in the history of tfiles, angstmonsters, hamsters, and lasers. Keep in mind, I've gone retarded. Anything I say or do doesn't count. If I could teach the things I said or did to count, I'd also teach them statistics so I could sleep in on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Then maybe I'd teach some of my other abstract forms to write tfiles, believe in evolution, and maybe religion. This would enable me to take a step forward in world domination by getting all of my sleep at once and upon awakening from the slumber, becoming ruler of the world. Then and only then, would I be able to create an army of squirrels to battle intergalactic space demons for fun and profit. -------------- : A T-FILE? : : I CAN'T! : : by brian : -------------- It's just one of things you never really feel like doing. I mean, you have these great ideas that sound good in your head . . . they'd probably sound okay on paper, too. You hate writing free-hand, though. But the idea, man, think about the idea! A little notebook, nothing fancy, nothing too abstract, just a notebook. And a bend in the middle of the cover, with creases trailing off in- to faded words, beautiful drawings you had spent hours on as they slowly leave their home and journey into dust. That sounds nice enough. You dropped your notebook once, and I picked it up, after you had left the room. I only thumbed through it, so don't get mad just yet. I flipped through the pages. I didn't really read anything, but I think you got some talent. I just have this feeling you'll be great. The way that . . . you had this thing. I feel really awkward saying this, but I just loved the way you blended your words with your art. It's beautiful. I'd really enjoy reading your work. Were you actually prepared for all of this? Oh, you're being rhetorical? Everything sounds so good on paper. And. Yet. Why can't you record it, close the pages, and feel satisfied? It. Is. Just. So hard, man. I mean, let's think about this. I have to buy a blank notebook. Right. I have to sit down and create something on a blank white page? Well. I mean, I guess I can. I'm writing you in this new notebook I got. It's red. I don't know why I chose red. I guess I just like the color "red". That's not bad, is it? Do you think people will see me with this red notebook and think I'm a writer? Hope not. Am I a writer? I'm writing right now. Most people aren't writers until they're published. Wait, or is that authors? And so you close another chapter in your writing career. Until, of course, you decide that you've found your new style. Another notebook is purchased. Even a new pen. So you scribble a few poems that you've been trying to write down for months. It's perfect. Days pass, and your meetings with your notebook slowly reside, until you close yet another chapter in your writing career. All of this said, how am I supposed to accomplish this? Can't I just live in an idea? It'd be so much easier to live inside of an idea. And believe me, I've done it more than once. It's nice. ------------------ : The Gilded Age : : by tex : ------------------ I'm entirely new to the textfile thing, and right now I'm listening to Henry Rollins. That dude is angry. But there are really two things I want to discuss: Coffee and DayQuil. Used properly, they are the strongest stimulants known to man. They can turn every banal day into an orgy of hyperactive tics and nervous laughter. Used together, they are horrifying. They can turn every banal day into a veritable carnival of vomiting. It's funny; I used to just take DayQuil when I was coughing really hard. Then one day I was like, "Jesus, this stuff tastes like ass" and I looked at the bottle and it was peppermint oil that made it taste so bad. And I thought about it, and orange peppermints loaded with carcinogenic chemicals sounded like something from a Kurt Vonnegut book. But anyways, it made me feel tingly inside. I was happy, peppy, frisky, all those things healthy cocker spaniels are supposed to be. It was a generally fine state of affairs. I spent a good month or so jacked up on DayQuil before people started to question why I needed 4-5 bottles a month when I wasn't coughing. I was starting to see orange, too, like you see blue on Viagra. It was crazy, because it was very much akin to "seeing the world through rose-colored glasses". The problem, aside from trying to explain my chronic bouts of almost-coughing, was that it became damn near impossible to sleep. I'd be lying there, staring at the clock, seeing how many times I could count to a hundred within a minute, and it usually got to be about 3 or 4 AM before I drifted off. Considering I have to wake up at 6 AM, this is bad. As such, I started counterbalancing the DayQuil with NyQuil. You have to admit, there's a certain logic to it. This, though, brought a whole new slew of problems. For example: under a good dose of NyQuil, you can sleep twelve hours and wake up feeling completely unrested and unready in the morning. I did, several times. Each day was a new cycle of grogginess and pain inevitably leading towards and ending in the bedroom. Don't interrupt the sleep of people on NyQuil, it makes them murderous. Finally, though, I was able to break the cycle. My parents got pissed at having to replace half the medicine cabinet on a weekly basis and just stopped buying it. Now I have some super-strong cough pills from when I had bronchitis instead. They'll be good for a rainy day. This, then, leads me to coffee. I'm sure most of you know what I'm talking about here, at least. You wake up wanting to die, and after a few good cups of steaming java you're... very jittery and paranoid about wanting to die and not entirely sure what was on that bagel. It's all good, though. Generally speaking, coffee brightens up really dull days. It teaches you how to dance, sing, engage in political debate, and all those other things that alienate your friends. I'm really not too discriminating; I'll drink basically anything that at one point brushed against a member of the coffee family. Good examples include: 1) Boiling, painfully bad-tasting black coffee from Holiday Inn's continental breakfast; 2) A glass half-full of milk and half-full of coffee left over from the night before; 3) a quarter-pound of chocolate-covered coffee beans (feed one to a dog, it's funny); and 4) a quadruple espresso. This last one is a bit of a fudge; it was a double double espresso. The Ukrainian lady behind the counter got confused and made me a double double, and I can't confess I knew the difference, but she only charged me for a single double. Being environmentally conscious, I suppose I should say "And I don't drink Starbucks!", but I really don't care, because we all bring the world closer to obliteration in our own individual ways, and I live two hours from the nearest Starbucks. Isn't that crazy? I was talking to my friend Eric who lives in Sacramento and he said he could list five of them within walking distance. That's my tribute to coffee. I'm going to encourage you all to listen to "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots" by the Flaming Lips, because if you've read this far then you're obviously discriminating people of refined tastes, and it really does make life better. ---------------------------- : SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE : : Observations... : : by st0vbold : ---------------------------- Have you ever stopped for a second and wonder about things that always happen? Or things that never happen? I have, and I have compiled this little list of things I have noticed during this week, even though some of them go back a long way but never seem to change. The list as of now: Brushing your teeth while wearing a coat feels weird. A lot of old women actually look like the members of Monty Python dressed as old women. There is something suspicious about fleamarkets selling new stuff. You are always a little afraid to pet a horse. Old women with cell phones look weird. No one has ever seen squirrel babies (pups? kittens?). If you are out eating with a bunch of friends, someone always brings up the idea of leaving without paying. You never run out of salt - but often you run out of sugar. Even though people in shops wear nametags, it feels misplaced to call them by name. Everybody hates putting clean sheets on the bed. You never meet a person, who has had his arm broken by a swan. Everybody has had his or her nose "stolen" by an uncle. Insects in other county always look creepy and dangerous. A wrong number is never busy. Did I miss anything? Have YOU had your arm broken by a swan? Have you seen squirrel babies? Or are you just a single older woman, who doesn't look weird with a cell-phone? Send me pictures! :) ---------------------- : Reversals of old : : thought patterns 1 : : - love / hate - : : by voronika : ---------------------- When we were young, our parents would tell us not to use the word HATE. It was too powerful a word to use without understanding. "It's such a strong word" I'd hear. But, the equally opposite word, its softer sister, would flow like honey in the promised land. LOVE, made for you and me? possibly... It is still a powerful word though. Sometimes too powerful to describe things. Most certainly this word is too powerful to use without the same scrutiny as its darker brother. Perhaps there should be level words. Words equating out to the amount of amour you pour forth for the target of objectification. As kids we break it up into 3 levels... Like, REALLY Like (if like didn't describe it enough), and Love. I feel these levels need new distinction, and definition. First we'll title the new Levels... Attraction, Like, Adore, Smitten, Love, Love Personified. Then we define these levels. Attraction - finding more than acknowledgment of the person necessary... you feel a connection, subtle, yet, unrefined. Like - An attraction pursued by inquisition. Adore - Finding a desirable attraction, based upon common interests or admiration of their interests/mantra/morals/etc. Smitten - when their love for you overtakes you, and pulls you into an attraction. Love - a force of power within you, pulling your soul toward them. Love is gravity of the hearts, entangling you in synchronous orbits. Love Personified - A love so strong, it becomes an entity of itself... seeming to have lived forever, it doesn't grow, but instead shows more of itself, until you are engulfed. Perhaps Hate has different levels too, such as Detest, Mortal Enemy, Hate, Hate Personified. Who knows? ----------------- : Jobs and Shit : : by steak : ----------------- Every fucking job interview is the same. Well not the interview as such, but the type of person who is interviewing you, and more to the point the type of person that the person interviewing you is looking for, it's always the same. They are looking for a hard working human who will think little, show a great willing devotion to the work that they are doing, be able to interact with customers and trick them into thinking that the person serving them (namely, you) is not thinking about one hundred and fifty three different ways to remove their rather important internal organs with a rusty butchers knife. They want someone who will shut up, do what they are told, quickly, quietly, efficiently, think very little and just get on with the boring medial task that they set for the person. I'm not one of those people, I like to ask questions, I like to wonder what exactly the fuck it is that is going on, I don't like wearing suits or talking to people or making people think I like them when all I want to do is get home, get out of the suit and into some warm and friendly corner with something that is going to make me feel relaxed and at peace with myself. They don't want a person like that. Which I guess is ok, it's up to them. They want to make money, they want to get greedy, make their business more and more intricate and annoying and get the most they can out of said individual for the smallest amount of monetary spending possible. But the thing is that this world is very hard for an individual who doesn't want to conform, it's possible to live your entire life off the land, not having to worry with horrid things like jobs or corporate shafting or bullshit like that. But the problem with this wonderful way of living is that is damn near impossible if you want to have a lifestyle that is anything better than you average puritan fundamentalist might like to endure on a daily basis. In the end I think that the only thing you can do is just bite the bullet and get a job that means nothing. I job where you don't have to wear a mask, a job where you still get treated like a bitch but where they leave you alone for long enough after said treatment has concluded for you to just sit there and remind yourself that you are eternally better than they could ever be. That's the kind of job you want, one where you can think about shit all day long, not bother worrying about the actual task at hand and just get on with life. And at the end of the week, you get paid for it. That's the sort of job you want, honestly, there's nothing to it, except easy money. --------------- : Surprise Me : : by gir : --------------- AN UNAPPRECIATIVE CROWD MUST BE CUT OFF! If strawberry season doesn't come soon, I'll go mad for sure. When people whisper in caves, it drives the bats peopleshit insane. The last time I had any money, it was promptly spent on cds. I hope you've enjoyed the special friendship. ----------------------------- : Confess, You Dancing Fool : : by oregano : ----------------------------- oregano ran the match against the friction strip and the match flared to life. He held the flame to the end of the Marlrobo Red in his mouth and breathed in. He shook out the match and took another puff, letting the smoke into his mouth, then, a second later, huffing the smoke deep into his lungs. He blew a stream of smoke up towards the ceiling, "I am supposed to tell you guys everything I know," he said, "though I really don't get what this is about. But go ahead ask away." He took another pull from the cigarette, then inhaled deeply, then blew out. "Mr. oregano, you have mentioned Little Kings Night as a time you danced," said a voice out in the gloom, oregano could not see the face. "Let's start there, tell us about Little Kings Night." "I see," said oregano, "I see where this may be going. Okay, lets get it all on the table. I did indeed dance on Little Kings Night. This was a while ago," oregano sat up in the chair and snubbed out his cigarette while blowing a stream of smoke. "There was this bar Cochran's in Champaign. No I better start further back." The observers stood in silence. They stopped pacing the room. The air under the single light over the table was alive with swirls of smoke. "Heck with it, let me explain Little Kings," oregano said, he settled back into his chair, his body language suggested they were in for a long story. "This bar, Cochran's had a drink special on Wednesday's They sold mini-cases of Little Kings, which is a type of beer. It's a type of Cream Ale." One of the interrogators interrupted, "They sold cases of beer? This is a liquor store?" "Nothing doing, this is a bar," said oregano. "And they sold cases of beer?" The interrogator raised one eyebrow. "Naw, nothing really that weird about it, Little Kings are small bottles, maybe 6 ounces. So you'd need a bunch to get drunk. They sold them in 10 packs. At least I remember them as 10 packs. And you went to the bar and bought a 10 pack and it was very social, everyone carrying these packs around. And when someone ran out they'd borrow a bottle. Or take a bottle coming off the dance floor..." "Dance floor!" shouted the taller of the interrogators. "Yeah," said oregano, "there was dancing at this bar. Anyway, Little Kings Night had a weird social quality to it different from other nights by the nature of the Little Kings bottles being so small." "Nothing so simple. I am not much of a dancer, but there was that one night, Little Kings Night that I went with a group of people, but how did that start? I think I have to mention Fred Flintstone." oregano put another cigarette in his mouth and lit it up and let the smoke slowly waft over his head. "We were living in the dorm, and a there was this girl who I had a fondness for, she was rather sturdily built and she got the unfortunate nickname of Fred Flintstone. In fact her getting that nickname rather soured the deal. The night in question she did not have the nickname. I think once I thought of her in those terms I lost interst. Weird how those things work." "So you and Fred Fintstone would go dancing at Cochran's?" "No, nothing doing. This was in the summer, so the dorm only had about 20 people living in it. And so we all ate together and socialized together. And the women in the dorms wanted to go out for a night of dancing and they dragged me and my buddies with. Realize I was a lot shyer with the woman back then, and I was pursuing this girl who would later have an unfortunate nickname, and being a dorky young lad, I agreed to go with, thinking myself a young Lothario..." "huh?" "Ladykiller...stud...whatever..." "Continue" "So we went out, on Little Kings Night, to Cochran's, where they had a dance floor," said oregano. "And you danced and loved it. Case closed, bring on the next one," said the interrogator. oregano laughed. "Never been much of a dancer. But I promised this girl I'd dance with her that night. I had my 10-pack of beer. And then at some point, she beckoned and I went out on the dance floor with her. It was really loud -- the music and the people -- and there were a lot of lights. And it was okay, or seemed that way until the screen came down." The interrogator hopped off the table, "What screen?" oregano said, "It was a video screen, it came down by remote control and they started showing a Salt and Peppa video, and I knew I was just in the totally wrong place; well out of my element. The place came alive. It was really sick. They did not cheer the video, it was not a celebration, but there came a new life to the crowd when the Salt and Peppa video came to the screen, and I knew I was out of my depth, and I soon left the dance floor." "And you never danced again?" sneered the shorter of the two interrogators. "Later that night," oregano took a sip of water from the styrofoam cup in the table. The water hit the back of his throat, which the smoke had dried out, and oregano coughed, then took another sip and it went down smooth, "Later that night, after we left Cocahran's we headed to Trito's -- a place with the best onion rings I have had. We went there, I guess the women had not gotten dancing out of their system." "Let me guess," said the shorter interrogator, "you just sat there and ate onion rings all innocent?" "Nothing doing," said oregano, "there was this crappy dance floor, rather ad hoc in a corner, with lights and annoying music..." "ah ha, the music is annoying now, is it?" oregano ignored the challenge, "The place was empty, we had out group from the dorm, of maybe 6 people, and we outnumbered the rest of the place. And so this girl I was interested in dragged me onto the dancefloor and it was so embarrassing. I was drunk enough to not care, but I cared and I gave it a little effort, and then I walked off. It was too forced. I pretty much didn't care by then." "And you want us to believe that is the sum total of the dancing in your life?" "Well, I have documented before my being humiliated on the South China Sea." "Yes, we have that documented fully, no need to get into that again." "Well, the other time that I can remember in in a movie house," said oregano. "We are running out of time, tell us quickly, then you may leave." "Well, this movie was running at the midnight show, Stop Making Sense. A live concert of the Talking Heads. And," oregano laughs and seems to remember something particularly funny, the interrogators look at him and wait for a response. "I remember the first time we went, and walking there with my friends and we were all toasted, and just randomly on the street Costo yells out, 'This ain't no party!' which is a line from a song in the movie, and this drunken girl, out of nowhere yells back, 'this ain't no disco!' Man, what fun." The interrogators look at each other and then one asks, "Get to the dancing." "All right. So this one guy in our group, Costo, he had been at a theatre in downtown Chicago where people come to the same movie every week and dance in the front part of the theatre, and he decides this is going to happen in Champaign too. So we all go to the theatre and the film starts and everyone is in their seat. Oh wait, I have to back up, I forgot the insane part of this." oregano lights another cigarette, then takes a puff then crunches it out right away, his body language perks up, "So Costo says it has to look spontaneous, so we all sit in different parts of the theatre. This is all college thinking. What geniuses we were. So we are all in different parts of the theare, and Costo gets up and starts dancing to the movie, and a few other people get up too and, then I get up to help fill the scene and two songs later the whole place is in dancemania. And so I sat down and enjoyed the movie and the craziness." "And you went back often?" "Yeah, we went to the movie a lot, it was the midnight show for a long time, but I never danced again. The people did thought, it was a thing, Costo really started something. But no, I just watched and rocked out quietly in my seat." The taller interrogator took a folder off the table and said to the other, "I think that's all we'll need tonight. Call the guards and take him back to his cell." The two interrgators left the room. Soon a guard came in, oregano stood up, let himself be cuffed and was led away. ------------------------ : People who hate milk : : should drink paper : : juice : : by kool peith : ------------------------ Appreciate your good health. My ankle really hurts. Here is a picture of what it normally looks like: 0 Here is a picture of what it looks like right now: _ (_) Its huge. I fell down some stairs and it made a crunching sound. Now i have a monster ankle. It is so big that things fall to it from the gravity. Its so fat when i jumped into a pool i floated upside down. My ankle is so swollen up that it makes Fred Durst's ego look slim. I did have a worse injury one time though. It was when my arm bent abKf^Ě^WeăŚ^E0` Ŕ^X'^Ú^\z^ÉI=^E^Gjţđî^]˝Ša^[[ćĺO>^ÔX^Z°^Ó0vŮ^H#^Ţ} $ň^HĐ^DŔ#ď{^ßjqwA'} áw1Ü*Ä^Q^R^Ĺ^ĚyA×ľIIč^ż^?ÓřVGm§qČôĘ=@?^Ř^C^Á^Î1J^H ÷^Aă^ÓéR÷@´c^ÖFF^D|Ŕ^Î^Ô^Ě^H^G^DóĐg˝6?{^ß^?ÔřR4Ć ^CďM^Ô^SÉ^AH>´j÷^Uěľ^QÝ^ÁVC^Üö^C^ŃARäł^ŃĎZoQ0^Í^Ę^Ü(^G=^GzVv^DŽ~`{w^TŰ°ôh ^Ü^BĄ^Čď^ÓĹ |^Î0^WÜőŠqś ^ÝĎ^?Őř9_?Äägľ(^Ôçä zć^Ć^Úi^ÓÄ^AHď^Ţő"Š^_1b3Ç=hjú č=ăe [^[Opy¨Ë^É^X^H¸^CšŁaĹÝ\ˇj^ÂŢ^S#ng>˝)ˇW^FD%ÜÉ&;t¤ś*.Č^?ÖřJŃÄrî^Ňľě/ŢĘO2 60^YPWp>źT>kčKą^Ývţd^Î^[^E^Ů^Ë^CUî#`^Ý0xÍimu*C@ÇC^Ó×^TÓ^ÓË?ľ7^R`ĚC ^ŢźĐ $ă9÷ŚőŘ?^?×ř~kČăć6çÜqU^ÍâĎ ^AB^Ŕr}Í8ĆČ^Ő-IŁťH^Ôc^GĐ^Ú^ĘkŇç^ÖÂ^Ţ¸ďWk^ÉjEšb ^_^ŘuÁéVôĂ´ť¨8^]?)˘$ľ/<^Áđ^U˛qŔ5^ŰŤEš˛:^Ţő^Ë^ýÍ%ŹO^?Đř)Ą`7c"^ßkn×^R^E^Čuŕ^ĘŃYč^Ě Ü^Ú;O?iŤa -------------------- : picnic tables in : : rainy woodlands : : by tex : -------------------- I wrote a really sick thing about killing a goth chick in someone's "post disgusting stories" LiveJournal once only to realize that their journal had been defunct for half a year. All that wasted effort, and now nothing to show for it. That's the way of things: the internet is decay. Sometimes I'll sit in front of my monitor, looking for something worthwhile or else just profoundly bored, and I'll come across a web site that looks like I designed it. Green text, lame tiled background, and a little notice across the bottom that reads "Last Updated 6/03/1998". At first, it's a little embarrassing, like seeing someone on the john by accident, or funny, like all those naked baby pictures. Inevitably, though, it makes me feel profoundly sad. I'm looking into a dusty corner of infinity that has long since been abandoned. I wonder, too, what happened to the person who wrote it. Did they ever get that job they were so nervous about applying for? Do they still listen to all that crappy music on their bands page? Did they run their car into a tree a few years ago and just never get a chance to leave a goodbye post? I don't know, and I won't know, because all of their links go to pages that are themselves missing, and all the email addresses are gone, too. (You know how that goes: Everyone knows your address, or it becomes too bogged down with spam, and it becomes simpler to make a new one than to sift through all the useless mail.) So here I am, alone with an enigma. Who was this person? What was their relevance to me, as a living, breathing thing? It's tempting to just close the window or find something else to do, I suppose. But that's not the point. All I've ever done or could ever hope to accomplish will one day be nothing more than the text on this webpage. All my words will settle down into the meaninglessness of their component letters. That, in essence, is the day I will cease to matter forever. That's the problem. The internet is about connection: to a phone line, to a server, to another person. The enticing thing about being online is the chance to relate to someone outside of yourself, or choose not to, without actually chancing the exertion or pain or sheer frustration of the real world. All of these derelict web pages are loose cables whipping in the wind, hitting against something from time to time but never actually connecting. When you lose the ability to connect, something vital has been lost. Time to get moving again... ------------------- : a fond farewell : : by ch33z-1t : ------------------- This file is for all you old school ch33z-1t fans. I have recently realized that my writing is no longer as good as it used to be. Actually gir brought this to my attention when going over the new issue and my only article was about flipping pancakes with one hand tied behind my back. This was the best I could come up with. So he suggested that I step down as a writer of Angstmonster and make this my last tfile. I was heartbroken and asked "What about my fans?" "You have no more fans, you are a washed up tfile writer." I cried for many hours and then I decided I must let the world know about the abusive nature of gir. In the beginning, gir was jealous of my writing, so he would whip me. I refused to let the continous beatings bring me down. But it has since gotten far worse. He not only whips me, but he uses me as his human toilet. Pissing and shitting all over me. I think he gets joy out of seeing his feces in my mouth. I know this may be gross to some of you, but it i er all that has happened to me, I am quitting angstmonster. It has left too many scars on me. I am no longer having fun in between the beatings. Gir is relentless with the whip and shit. I will still be on irc, when gir allows me to be, so you may be able to catch me on there, or you may not. But for now, I bid thee a farewell and hope you can keep angstmonster running strong. As this is ch33z-1t's farewell. ććććććććććććććććććć ć Ćfterthought(s) ć ćććććććććććććććććać Well, now that ch33z-1t is gone, there's an opening for the position of angstmonster whipping boy. Any takers? _____ / |\ |\ /\ |\ | \ | | |/ |/ < > |/ | * / |_| | | \/ |\ | * FRIENDS: http://www.bubblemonkey.org/cheesencrackers/ !CHEESENCRACKERS! http://www.neo-comintern.com *THE NEO-COMINTERN* http://www.textscene.com CURRENT TEXTFILE SCENE OTHER THINGS WE DO: http://www.angstmonster.org/txt/turd THE UNDEAD RISE, DAMMIT! http://www.angstmonster.org/txt/il +iMPULSE LAMEALITY+ ?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż?ż? What you have just read was a step into the unknown spontaneous and poorly edited thoughts for sharing collectively known as "Angstmonster." All thoughts on the matter can be sent to or you can just visit the site http://www.angstmonster.org and see what you think. Submissions of all sorts are welcome! Everything from prose and poetry to rants and opinions, creative text art, recipes for yummy food, reviews of stuff, etc. Thanks and enjoy your day... copy-spwep 2003 issue 25 angstmonster.org 04.21.03 Feel free to redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and the content must not be altered or modified in any way. Unauthorized use of any part of this document is prohibited. All rights reserved. (and stuff)