qn, d&&&&&&&&P ;P d&b d&&P ;P d' d' d' d&; d' ;P ;&,e&q, .c&&q, ;P`&; ;P .c&&q, ,c&&q, d' dP~ `b ;P' `& d' `&; d';P' `& ;P' `d ;P ;P ;P dB&&&&P ;P `&;;P dB&&&&P d P d&&P d' d' d' &, , d' `&d' &, , &, .,d' d&&P &&& &&& `&&&P' d&&P `P `&&&P' `&&&P , ,e&&&q,a ,nP' d' ;P' `d' "' d&&&P d' " ,c&&q, q&,e&q,e&q, q&P q&,e&q, ;P' ,c&&q, q&,e&q q&,e&q, ;P ;P' `d dP~ `B~ `b dP dP~ `b d' ;P' `& dP~ `P dP `b d' , d P ;P ;P ;P ;P ;P ;P ;P dB&&&&P ;P ;P ;P &, .,d' &, .,d' d' d' d' d' d' d' d' , &, , d' d' d' `Y&&&P' `&&&P' &&b ;P d&P &&b &&b d&P `&P' `&&&P' &&b &&b d&P odO$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.odO$|$Obo.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$Obo t h e n e o - c o m i n t e r n e l e c t r o n i c m a g z i n e I n s t a l l m e n t N u m b e r 5 1 .WE ARE THE 5th INTERNATIONAL .Month Date, 1999 .Editor: BMC .Writers: .Cog .Gnarly Wayne .BMC odO$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.odO$|$Obo.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$Obo ";P' Featured in this installment: `$ $ A Thread Of Red- Gnarly Wayne $ Departurism- Cog ;P True Love- BMC d' ;P d'. .,;::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;,"*,; EDITOR'S NOTE Now let's get serious for a moment. Fifty-one is the number of this issue, and we all know how serious of a number that is. We've been known in the past to get a bit silly, but there sha'nt be a single grain of humour in this issue. Observe the serious side of Communist Global Empire writing. odO$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.odO$|$Obo.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$Obo ";P' A THREAD OF RED d' by Gnarly Wayne ;P d'. .,;::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;,"*,; A plastic flower was put in my room to brighten it up. I sat there staring at it, but my gaze was continually drawn to the tag embedded in its stem. Who was it trying to fool? But, all it would take would be for me to effortlessly rip the tag out and perhaps begin to believe in the illusion. A small tear in my sock has begun to grow. My big toe fits out of it. Tomorrow, maybe two or three toes. The tear, no doubt, will get bigger, just like the tears in the fabric of society. There is no way to reverse it. Or is there? Just like a mother mending the sock, so too can humankind. With a thread of Red. But how many people actually take the time to mend an old sock? More likely, they would get a new sock, a new religion, a new form of government. Better to alter the old ways to make it more convient for us, they say, instead of using the old ways like the way they were meant to be used. It's not perfect, but what object is? The flaws must be taken with the sugar. "It's amazing", I think, as I sit in this 10 foot by 8 foot room and type on my old 486, the force and momentum that can be created with a simple 5K strand of ASCii characters. A whole revolution could be started by it. A revolution of such scale that history is re-written. But the Neo-Comintern won't get credit for it. My fingers touch the keyboard in a vain attempt to convey my thoughts for the masses. But a mere 101 enhanced keyboard could never truly bring about absolute understanding of my cranial pattrens. My mouse lies upside down after it wagged the American flag in my face. A sickle lies embedded in its innerds, a hammer by its side. Where's your precious demograph now, I sneer at its corpse. It twitches helplessly. A pathetic attempt to grab onto what it used to have. I see the future in this little mouse. You won't need your drivers anymore, I scream. As the dominoes fall, I acquire more memory, which means more power, and more drivers and programs fall beneath me. Free me!, I cry as I repeatedly hit the Delete key over and over and over and over. Free me, I whisper. The little H.D. light flickers on and off rapidly until it stops. It has been done. I grab the manifesto and insert it into A:. I type the word which would start a new beginning. install. Ideas, instructions, colour, joyous! The H.D. light has new life, but this time he flashes a little more bright, a little more fast, with new understanding. And he is happy. As am I. After the new reigme has been implemented, I check the statistics. A smile graces my face. More power, more resources available to the masses. They are happy. A tiny red flag with a smattering of yellow blows endlessly in the corner. I sink back into my sleeping bag and regret that I never took up smoking as now would a perfect time. Instead, I eat a litre of yogurt. Cherry yogurt. The one thing they can't take away from me. They tried. I sat in my aqua-blue jailcell. The same bars which would not let me escape also let life-giving air into my body. I wish it didn't. A world without the Left is not a world worth living in. At 2:27pm, BMC and Komrade B arrived in the Jeep and fought hard and valiantly to free me from facist arms. But their grip was too tight around my neck. The world around me started to go red, for which I was grateful. As my steaming body fell to the hard, unwashed floor, I begin to forget the joys I had while working for a brighter tomorrow. Then .... darkness. I awoke to bright lights and the sounds of gunfire and shouting. Komrade B was giving me CPR, tears staining his face, while BMC drove. Darkness once again ........... Apparently, it had been close. I had no physical injuries to speak of, but the concern was focused on my brain. Just how much I had absorbed was not known, but BMC and Komrade B re-trained me to hate capitalism just like the days of yore. I took to it as fast as I did as a toddler. Now, once again, I am sitting here, back at my computer command post, continuing the struggle, and justifing the cause. odO$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.odO$|$Obo.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$Obo ";P' DEPARTURISM d' by Cog ;P d'. .,;::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;,"*,; "The night was moist." -Larry and Owen ("Throw Mama From The Train") Sorry, no; I'm not leaving. I just wanted to see what it was like to write something in a more serious vein, and if you can see it right now, that means it's at least readable. It's a departure from the usual fare of The Neo-Comintern, hence the title. Think of it as a rest stop on the rollercoaster of comedy that we have come to know as The N-Com. It's not autobiographical, or anything. I wanted to see what it was like to write in-character as someone else. Although, I have climbed a tree to look at a lingerie-clad woman in her apartment. Ask Wayne. He was there. I felt like George McFly. It was great. So, here it is. It has no title yet, and I only have the first two chapters ready. Maybe I'll continue it in future installments. Maybe not. Mail me and tell me what you think at high_cog@hempseed.com, good or bad, and let me know if you want to read more. (By the way, that's a journal entry at the beginning. It's more obvious in my word processor, since it's in a handwriting font.) ----------------------------------------------------------------------- UNTITLED by: Cog Friday, June 19th The seed has been planted, and I cannot stop its growth. CHAPTER 1 The knocking came again. James sat in his easy-chair with the blank tv screen in his line of vision. He was thinking over a few things. Why his building didn't have locks on the outside doors was at the top of his list right now. "...keep a knockin' but you can't come in," he sang under his breath. James was now staring at a point in space about a foot from his eyes. He didn't care much for Little Richard, but the man was right about one thing; they would come back tomorrow night to try again. So-called friends. Secretly he hated them. He only heard from them when they needed something, and if it was the other way around you could just forget about that. And since James was the guy with his Own Place, well you can just guess who had company every weekend whether he wanted it or not. Sure, the other guys had their own places, but there must be an absence of wives and girlfriends (there was no chance of that changing for James anytime soon) before it becomes your Own Place. And if you had your Own Place, it became the weekend mecca of entertainment. "How long does it take you fuckers to realize I'm not home?" Except they knew he was home (where else would he be?), just like they knew he didn't want them there. James knew they didn't care. Just like they didn't care whether or not James wanted them to hot-knife hash on the stove. Or how they didn't care if James got evicted because of the noise they made (or the smell of burning hash, for that matter. They didn't care that James had been given a couple of warnings for that!). And it didn't seem as if they cared whether he was home or not. CHAPTER 2 After the party (and assurances from his "friends" that they would be back tomorrow), James went for a walk. He made sure to walk past the window that looked in on apartment 102, since the couple that lived there were usually in various states of undress in the living room. Right out in the open! He wondered if they knew there was a loyal viewer. Someone who studied the woman's face as it tightened in orgasm. Someone who had stolen that look, and brought it out to study again on lonely nights in his bedroom (as if there was any other kind of night in his bedroom). The lights were out, though, and he looked to see whether the couple's car was parked in its spot. It was a Volkswagen Rabbit. A Rabbit, he thought. Fitting. If there was a car called the "Insatiable", they'd probably own one, too. The car wasn't there. It had been a horrible night, and he had thought that after having his apartment invaded, he had a right to some entertainment. It didn't seem the couple cared about his needs. He didn't notice his fists clenching. odO$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.odO$|$Obo.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$Obo ";P' TRUE LOVE d' by BMC ;P d'. .,;::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;,"*,; As we return from our slumber into the conscious world we often do things that are only 5% conscious and 95% sleepwalking. This is pretty cool when you find yourself doing things like escaping from your "jail cell" which is actually your bedroom, or subconsciously raping your girlfriend in the midele of the night. These are a couple of the small things that I have taken pleasure in the past, but lately I have taken up a slightly more disturbing habit. There is no way to put this delicately, so let me just say that I shit the bed last night. It was a messy sight, and the spectacle was not nearly as funny as it was the night before when I also shit the bed. Actually, I have been shitting the bed for about 8 or nine nights in a row, but until now I haven't considered it to be much of a problem. I'll see what happens in the near future. If I shit the bed every night for the next three months then I'll go and see the doctor about it. Three months might seem to be a bit long, but it dosen't hurt to make sure, does it? Then the doctor can tell me what's wrong with me. Maybe I'm not eating a healthy diet. Maybe I'm shooting too much H. Maybe it's because I hold it in all day, or maybe it's because I give myself an enema every night before I go to bed. Ahh well, I'll go see Dr. Bombay, and he'll let me know fer sure. FUN FACT! Q. Do you know what Terry Jacks, General Tojo, the greek god Uranus and Edgar Allan Poe all had in common? A. All were regular bed-shitters! odO$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.odO$|$Obo.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$Obo ___________________________________________________ |THE COMINTERN IS AVAILIABLE ON THE FOLLOWING BBS'S | |~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~| | BRING ON THE NIGHT (306) 373-4218 | | CLUB PARADISE (306) 978-2542 | | THE GATEWAY THROUGH TIME (306) 373-9778 | |___________________________________________________| | Website at: http://members.home.com/comintern | | Email BMC at: thebmc@home.com | |___________________________________________________| odO$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.$Obo.odO$|$Obo.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$.odO$Obo Copyright 1999 by The Neo-Comintern #51-02/03/99 All content is property of The Neo-Comintern. You may 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. Made in Canada.