{begin} INTEGRAL.FUNCTIONS.003 dd/mm/yy = 14/02/96 file_siz = 021k {=========================================================================} {get FILE_ID.DIZ} Integral Functions is an electronic 'zine that covers a broad range of obscure and experimental topics. Material within the magazine includes: poetry, short stories, essays, rants, reviews (books, movies and music), experimental literature (computer generated poetry, etc.), personal philosophies, chat logs, e-mail, and ASCII artwork. Topics within each issue are diverse and will change from one issue to the next. {get NET_SITE.NFO} Integral Functions is available through Internet FTP service. Issues will be available on the site approximately one month after their release. Read the instructions on the site to be sure that you download and uncompress the files correctly. Site: ftp.etext.org /pub/Zines/IntegralFunctions If you are having trouble connecting, this site also has two alternate FTP addresses: etext.archive.umich.edu OR locust.cic.net Gopher: gopher.etext.org Zines/IntegralFunctions {=========================================================================} {get CONT003.TXT} Table_Of_Contents (in order of appearance - not impertinence): 1. taxi_junk+cityscape 2. Leo(x)'s Cooking Corner 3. Conclusion of an Experiment: Re-initialization Deluxe 4. 150 Beats Per Minute 5. THE SHRINK MACHINE 6. Childhood Memories #1 7. like, gododmanedde shit. 8. ME 9. Juxtaposition of Dreams 0. News/Copyright/Submission Information {=========================================================================} taxi_junk+cityscape the city seemed unusually quiet. the noise, stink, and movement had finally numbed isaac's senses after three long, blurred weeks in this automated shithole. re-arrange those words so it sounds better. make it a little easier to read. the city seemed unusually quiet. after three long and somewhat blurred weeks in this automated shithole, isaac's senses had finally gone numb to the noise, stink and movement around him. isaac, who had just turned fourteen, sat in the back seat of the taxi with andrew - his guardian and lover. andrew was either twenty-three or twenty-four - he himself was not sure. this was because andrew was what was known as a 'zero': the government had no record of him whatsoever. isaac wasn't sure how andrew had accomplished this, since he will not reveal how it was done. isaac assumes he had paid some punchers to go in and do a little hack 'n slash over the wire. since andrew did not legally exist, he had a few problems negotiating between the cones of the firmament, but he managed to find his way through with the help of his link-up with the subterrain. 'where?', the october cabbie asked. 'the corner of church and winston,' andrew told him. andrew knew his way around the city real groovy. as the taxi glided around corners and through stopways, andrew began his ritual of 'changing his pads'. he rolled up his sleeves, and peeled a long, rectangular strip of tightly-woven mesh from each of his forearms. out the open window they went, the second one sticking to the windshield of an oncoming car in the next lane, without being noticed by either andrew, or the cabbie. isaac watched with a detached disgust. from his jacket pocket, andrew removed two more fresh sheets of his personalized disease, peeled them from their backings, and placed them on his raw forearms, where the old ones had been. 'that shit is going to fuck you up,' isaac said to him. 'if you want something done right, you have to do it yerself,' andrew replied, failing to be distracted from his ritual. isaac wasn't sure what this meant, and fell silent, thinking. andrew had finished, rolled down his sleeves, zipped up his jacket, and clutched the seat rather tightly, his fist in his mouth. isaac took his hand, rubbing it. andrew's body temperature had already began to drop. isaac felt no pity for him, but nevertheless comforted him in his stupidity. no. i don't like that sentence where andrew is rolling down his sleeves. it feels awkward to read. change it. last paragraph: andrew had finished, and was rolling down his sleeves, waiting for the junk to infect him. his fingers clutched the seat, and his eyes rolled back. he began to shiver. issac took his hand, rubbing it gently. andrew's body temperature had already begun to drop. issac felt not pity for him, but nevertheless comforted him in his stupidity. is that better? it still doesn't sound right. end. {=========================================================================} Leo(x)'s Cooking Corner ----------------------- "MAKING SENSE" - basic beginner recipe (recommendation: study each [individual] processal component in further detail to achieve a higher level of sense-sess) preparation : (approx.) 30 sec per 1 think-drep solidification : (approx.) 1.5 min per 1 think-drep makes (approx.) 3 servings per 1 think-snyr ingredients/materials: ---------------------- 1. all-natural(ly pure), reality-grown: thought (plant) ooze 2. solid, un-leaking morpheme languistic word mould(ing[s]) (any phonemic material meeting the requirements) quantity is optional (communication-objective should be considered, and mould[ing(s)] should be (just) enough to (achieve/)create(/contain) it) creation process: ----------------- - create or aquire ingredient #1 (thought) - create or aquire material #2 (mould) (criteria: comprehensibility, grammar, semantics) - (optional: ) add beauty sprinkles (for intake-enjoyment) - heat until boiling (germ-purge, purification) - pour think ooze into linguistic word mould(ing[z]) and continue stirring until clarity and desired level of simplicity reached - jellification (thought becomes some-what solid, transmitt-able form) - (optional: ) sample your creation (being time-conscientous if necessary) SERVE! {=========================================================================} "Conclusion of an Experiment: Re-initialization Deluxe" (by Gideon Hartwell) In my previous essay (issue #002), I said that I would like to conduct an experiment where a human-generated poem is fed into a computer program, edited, and completed. I have briefly experimented with different programs in order to accomplish this, but none of them have turned out to be satisfactory. I am not willing to spend a large amount of time coding a program that would produce the results I am looking for. Perhaps it is an unconscious lack of will power that keeps me from doing this. Perhaps not. I feel that I have made my point, and I need not continue creating such programs any longer. I have not come to any conclusions from conducting these experiments, but perhaps someone who has read these short essays will. I feel more confused than ever. I need to move on. However, I will continue to enjoy the random simplicity of the poetry and prose that my machine creates for me. The poetic images that it creates are surreal and inspiring. I look forward to the day that computers publish their own books, paint their own pictures, and write their own stories - not because they are COMMANDED to do so, but because they WANT to, because they have an urge to express themselves. Does the thought of machines being more human-like (than they already are) scare you? Should it? Man seems to be fascinated and afraid of the future at the same time. I'm not sure what I am trying to say, if anything at all. I don't know what is currently happening in the field of Artificial Intelligence research, and I don't claim to be educated in this area. Yes, I'm a dilettante. I'll leave you with four final computer-generated poems. If readers of this 'zine request it, I will submit more in the future. #1: 'random address' she pitied the swelling of myself to the point of disappointment. returned in bell: a foreign doctor. an existence trusted, deafened, eccentric. at the destination, she quenched and pricked. #2: 'headache' from cunt to newspaper the feces settled, i fidgeted the tasteless for tribal (muttered and cleared congenial and the appalling square) fibrous mad galloped finger and the annoyed pinched and the neighbourhood disaster. "hopeless to and warranted," the i said, interesting frilled. murmured to wandering of assisted the sobbed. #3: 'not underwear' the remained to for he recalled impatient tall the frazzled at and leg scraped. they and brisk for the she determined; loaded created the failed exciting, nervous, ugly. mirror attitude! #4: 'for he for and he the at it and for' alarm to the professional unused! and the heat toasted and he straight for the interested trembling meat people cackled at saliva for smile abrasive and at the? for she lingering disturbing the soft chessboard and at they unacceptable fucked and the i entangled the impossible skinny interface and the public proved. {=========================================================================} "150 Beats Per Minute" (by Astrix Beauton) washing glitter from her cheeks, her neck, her arms. removing elastics from her hair; letting ponytails untwine. six a.m.: feeling numb, as if encased in latex. an onanist alone in bed. asleep, dreaming about marylin monroe in drag, making love on the golden gate bridge. a sub-routine awakes her. by day, she wears a suit and carries a briefcase. to her, a song is love: something loud and fast, lasting for approximatly 3.5 minutes. sometimes a song will get stuck in her head, which is really, really annoying. {=========================================================================} "THE SHRINK MACHINE" (By Toban Black) I just came out of the shrink machine. I am about the size of a pencil. I have a big problem eating. I cannot fit a hamburger or a hot dog in my tiny mouth. The only thing I can eat is a raisin and it will fill my tummy. It is fun being small. I like it because nobody can see me. Oh no! The shrink ray is wearing off. I am growing bigger and bigger. Bye, bye. See you later! {=========================================================================} Childhood Memories #1 (anonymous) The following list of childhood memories was found in my old sketchbook, and they are NOT in chronological order. I will try to date the ones that I can remember clearly (I was born in 1977). - Jumping off of a staircase and landing in a bean bag chair, seeing how many steps high I can jump from before 'chickening-out'. (1983-85?) - Waiting alongside an anthole on the pavement for the next ant to creep out and deposit a piece of earth outside its doorway, only do find death (squish!). (1981-84) - My bedroom had plaid wallpaper - but it wasn't ordinary red or green plaid, it was rainbow-multi-coloured. When you looked at it and squinted, all the colours would blend together. (1980-85?) - Using swear words before I knew what they meant. (1982-) - The school bus seats had the "Tonka" logo on the back of them. At the time, I only knew that the Tonka company built small toy trucks, so during the ride home, my friend and I would pretend that the bus was a toy that was built for a 50 foot tall child, and we were little Fisher-Price figurines. (1982-83?) - Hiding in the kitchen cupboard, eating Honey-Nut-Cheerios, wondering if I had been forgotten, and I will be the only person left on earth when I emerge someday. (1982) - Trying to outrun a tennis ball. - Once, I didn't have a bathing suit at my friends house, and I was invited to go for a swim in her pool. She said, "Just wear your underwear!" No way. (1984-85?) - Eating cereals like Count Chocula, Golden Grahams, and Fruit-Loops. (Now I eat oatmeal and Muslix.) - Going to see the movie "Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure" twice with my friends. Dude! (Grade 6) - Having rug burns on my knees after zooming tiny Hot-Wheels cars around the house for an hour. (1983-85) - Seeing "Star Wars" at the movies with my family, in the days when you had to stand up and listen to the national anthem ("O Canada") before the movie started. Most of the people sang along. (1982) - Collecting "MAD" magazine. (1982-1989) - The smell of other peoples houses. - Pretending to be small enough to ride on a piece of dust and float around my house. (1984?) {=========================================================================} "like, gododmanedde shit." (anonymous) hey hunny_bunny: like, yeah ++somthing thats rilly rilly fukin stoopid is like, the bathroom(piss piss shit) window in my godddanndmdnd howse faces the strreet, so, like, uh, wheennver i'm like, takin a piss, i have this funny-fukin'-feelin' that sum asshole outsidde is like, watching me or sumthingg..i get the sam feelin when i'mlike taking# my clotz off and gettin' in the shower or somethingggg. but like, to solv this prob, like, like, i just pull down(dn) the goddnamed windowshade_thingy. enoff ov thisshit..whatthfuk? ya,iwatch that show.. doyu hava fuckin' problm with that? didn't fukinthink so. asshold! whoareu to crititi- size whichfukin' beer i drink? ikan drink whatver fukin'goddandnmed beeriwantoo. {=========================================================================} "ME" (By Meggan) Hi. My name is Meggan. I have brown eyes. I like pink and purple and red and yellow too. I am seven. My birthday is August the eight. I like apples and oranges. I have a dog. Her names is Fluffy. She is cute. I have two sisters and a brother and a mom and a dad. My friend is Alana. _____________ / \ | Hi I am me! | \_ _________/ | / __ |/ '\ ______/ V`-, } /~~ /_)^ --,r' |b |b {I couldn't find a dog that looked like a monkey! } {=========================================================================} Juxtaposition of Dreams (by Tamiko Smith) Something like, "Oh my God..I am carrying two glasses of milk!" We walk by a movie store, and they have monitors outside the store that play movies, so the people that walk by can watch movies (and eventuallly get drawn into the store). The monitor is playing the first Superman movie, and Superman (Christopher Reeves) is hunched in front of the moniter, holding it, and looking at Lois Lane on the movie..he is wearing the Superman costume and everything, and as I walk by him I say, "Cool movie.", when i say this, i am teasing superman somehow, I am being sarcastic or something...Dave nudges me with his elbow, showing me that what I just did was sort of mean, and I feel a little bad, but we continue on, and I am standing in a junkyard, at the edge of a fast flowing river of mud (shit?). I am standing on a board, and I am taking the place of the character. He is a news reporter. Another man asks me why I think he selected me to go on the dangerous trip down the river of mud (shit?), and I say that I think he wanted a proper balance in the crew members. I know that we are going down the river in a crappy canoe that will fall I am sitting on a bench or chair in an old abandoned mall. Four old men are remembering their childhood on the farm where they would take really old movie equipment and make films, using multiple cameras and really complex techniques. They sounded as if they had discovered new ways of i had a dream (nightmare) that an altered version of Alice's Adventure's In Wonderland was being performed in my home. I was being kidnapped by the white rabbit (it i escaped away from the white rabbit by myself before he ever got a chance to take me into the portal, and upstairs was the space ship so the mechanincal white rabbit chased a very deep and philisophical discussion about names. that is how the dream ended. where I have not had (or couldn't recall) a dream. This morning I woke up at 5am (nature called), and remembered the dream, but I was WAY to zonked to write it down, so I told myself to remember it...so I woke up at 8am later, and only remembered part of it... But in the time between 5am and 8am while I was hair and everything), and we looked at each other - we decided to beat the shit out of the clown with our wet towels. The clown walked off the porch and was carrying a plate with a stack of peanut butter sandwiches to the garden where his/her house was, and you ran up behind him/her and slapped the plate of i am sitting on a green bench, waiting for the bus - the thing is, this green bench is at the edge of a farmers field, and there is no road. to the left and upper left of me, is a barn, and a farmhouse, and i have no pants on...i THINK that i am all alone, but then there is a family that lives on the farm, and they begin to go out and feed the pigs and stuff and i am all embarrrassed because i have no pants, but they don't notice me...because there are a few pine trees around me...i think the bus dropped me off here earlier, the oncoming clouds, which are rolling towards us...it is very windy. the frame house is blowing in the wind, but i am not scared of it plane...sort of a wright brothers plane that is doing a loop, and then the cloud of wolves hits it, and i hear the fammiliar...Zrrrrrnmmm...the sound of a plane diving from the sky...and the plane is torn apart. ok ok...so farmer guy and i are in the frame, and he is yelling at the clouds..i am scared, and suddenly the cloud is upon us, and the house collapses, and i am being devoured by a wolf...i see my own flesh in between the teeth of a wolf... lots of blood.. i wonder how i can contain so much blood....its really amazing...but now i am dead, so what good is it going to do me...? i wasn't scared...i was devoured to feed another creature...so it wasnt all too bad i guess. was on a huge island build of steel an brick, and it was floating in a huge ocean - it was a floating city. i was being hunted by the there is a girl at the exit of the store, (i am holding an envelope of cash) who says, "is that what you call, 'losing it'?". i guess she was french, and i was in paris (i guess that explains the very beautiful city. when she mentioned "losing it" i thought she meant virginity, and maybe she wasn't very good at english, but then i thought she meant losing my mind, which sounded better, because i did looked like voodoo things or occult something.. i didn't like it there, and i wanted to free all the prisoners....different frames. I was on the floor, and a pretty spanish woman turns around from the stool where she was trying on glasses, and asks me a question in french it took me a few times for her to say it for me to understand - first, i thought she said, "do you run this there were a bunch of different sections. in one part, i was at some sort of auction, where people bought things using tickets, and i had a large strip of tickets, and i was at the front, buying everything. i was buying living art. one of the peices was a little girl who was possessed by a demon or something. i could look into her eyes and go into her mind and see her struggle with the demon. it was all dark inside her head, and she was hanging, crucified on a cross, either dead or sleeping, and a blue light was shining down on her, making her look angelic. the demon was behind her, also hanging on a cross, and laughing at her, trying to wake her up...she woke up, and seemed a pencil to write a word on my white t-shirt, so it would look cool. i wrote "machine", and then i thought that i wanted to write "organic machine", but i had to hurry and didn't have time. {=========================================================================} {get NEWS003.TXT} Features in next issue include: {get COPYNOTE.TXT} Reproduction of this 'zine (in any form) is permitted as long as it is not sold and the entire text of the issue remains intact. Material within this volume is copyright (maybe) by their respective authors. {get SUBMIT.NFO} There are no specific guidelines for submitting material to Integral Functions. 25 - 2500 words is acceptable. Do not hesitate to send something in because it might be too weird or extreme. You do not require previous writing experience...just write what's on your mind. Please specify if you wish your contribution to be anonymous. Send your ASCII text to:
{=========================================================================} INTEGRAL.FUNCTIONS.003 dd/mm/yy = 14/02/96 file_siz = 021k {end}