___________ __ _______ \__ ___/| |__ ____ \ \ ____ ____ | | | | \_/ __ \ / | \_/ __ \/ _ \ ______ | | | Y \ ___/ / | \ ___( <_> ) /_____/ |____| |___| /\___ > \____|__ /\___ >____/ \/ \/ \/ \/ _________ __ __ \_ ___ \ ____ _____ |__| _____/ |_ ___________ ____ / \ \/ / _ \ / \| |/ \ __\/ __ \_ __ \/ \ \ \___( <_> ) Y Y \ | | \ | \ ___/| | \/ | \ \______ /\____/|__|_| /__|___| /__| \___ >__| |___| / \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ .......... ......... ........ ....... ...... ..... .... ... .. . . . . . . . . .. ... .... ..... ...... ....... ........ ......... .......... 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 1 4 5 We Are the New International March 11th, 2001 Editor: BMC Writers: Margarina Cataclysma BMC d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b. ;P Featured in this installment .b $ $ $ Metal Streets - BMC (with Margarina Cataclysma) $ `q p' `nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn' EDITOR'S NOTE (please do not read the following) Ok, I feel the need to say something exceptionally brilliant this week, so here it is. Umm... Sartre, no... umm... Descartes... umm... Foucault This isn't working, is it? In fact, it seems like I'm just trying to list off a bunch of cool French names. How embarassing. Maybe I should try again. This one should be more brilliant. Agdestis... Rhea... Gaea... Oceanus... Charon... Semele... Phlegeton Ok, that's a bit better. At least I can show a bit of comepetence when listing names of characters in Greek myth, but I just don't know what to do next. Ahh yes, I should say something about them. That would seem intelligent! The story of Agdestis is a metaphor for something. Oh, I'm so close! I used a big word like metaphor and after looking it up in the dictionary I even understand what it means. But I still don't think it makes any sense. Damn, this is the hard part. Ok, I'm going to do it this time. I must succeed or I will look like a fool in front of you (well I'm not so worried about you because of our former intimate relationship, but what about all the others??? Thay'll hate me!) Ok so the metaphor in the story is like an allusion... allegory... umm... Agdestis... Zeus rock.... AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I'm going to kill myself! That's it! I can't do this anymore! I can't take it! I can't be something I'm not, can I?!?!? Or.... can I? Yes, that is the solution... The version of Arnobius--Timotheus is the most interesting one. According to it, Zeus found his mother Cybele sleeping in the mountains. Zeus, filled with incestuous desire, tries to possess her but fails. His semen flows out on a mountain rock, which becomes pregnant and bears the androgynous Agdistis (Agdestis), a being of male/female nature. This Agdistis, like the androgynes of Plato, was extremely mighty and had strong sexual feelings toward both men and women. The gods are afraid of Agdistis' debauchery and so they send to him the god Bacchus the Liberator. He gives wine to Agdistis and when this creature, Agdistis, is asleep from drunkenness, Bacchus castrates him. Agdistis thus loses his male nature and changes into a womanly nature--the Earthly (the second) Cybele. But the drops of the blood of Agdistis nourish the soil and it bears a blooming and fragrant tree. The nymph (the daughter of the river god Sangarias) puts the branch of the tree under her clothes. She then becomes pregnant and bears a son, who is Attis, the bearer of the male sex of Agdistis. The earthly Cybele meets Attis and falls in love with him, because in reality he is her own half of herself. But the relatives of Attis want him to be the husband of the daughter of the king. During the wedding, party Cybele-Agdistis enters the palace; she is in a fury. Everybody feels horror. The king castrates himself, the princess cuts her breasts off. Attis runs to the forest and there castrates himself, too. Then he dies from the loss of blood. The earthly Cybele is full of repentance. She prays to Zeus (Phrygian Sabasius or Papas?) to resurrect him and make him eternally youthful and immortal. Resurrected Attis, together with Cybele-Agdistis, ascends into the celestial world (apotheosis). Did that work? I am not sure. Just please don't let anyone know that I stole all of that stuff from Dr. Evgueni Tortchinov or they'll all get mad at me and then they won't think I'm smart. Please, for their sake, don't ruin the illusion. d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b. ;P METAL STREETS .b `q by BMC (with Margarina Cataclysma) p' `nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn' Benjamin Horatio Algier lived with his mother and baby sister in a chateau in of one of those old Swiss alpine villages. The town was old and creepy and slightly futuristic. Benjamin Horatio attended the local kindergarten and was an exceptionally talented colourer. That was really the only thing that he could do well. His peers made fun of him and his teachers and friends would say, "Ha h ha," or, "That child is useless!" But someone would usually defend him and say, "Well not entirely, after all, for he can colour and that is my word of truth." One day, the teacher consulted with him after class. "How come you can't do anything well except for colouring?" asked his teacher. "That is my life, madam," replied Benjamin, "I can't do things other children do. I got to be one thing, Mrs. Teacher - a colourer." Mrs. Teacher put him over her knee, whipped him, and gave him his report card to take home to his mother. The marks were all low F's. With tears dripping down his cheeks, he buckled his skis on and slowly skied home through the metal streets in the cold twilight. When he got home, he showed the report card to his mother and she said, "Oh my boy, do not worry. We do not judge you by your grades at school, for school is unimportant. It is how you ski that makes the difference." Benjamin pretended to cheer up because then his mother would feel better and then he wouldn't have to worry about that. He went to bed early that night with no supper because he felt like he deserved to be punished. He fell into an instant sleep and dreamt of a time and place where there was no school and no cruel teachers, where instead children skied back and forth upon the metal streets with their skis crunching over the rusty shards of metal every day. Around eight o'clock, he woke up sweaty with a beautiful new idea implanted in his mind. He ran down the stairs to tell his mother all about the ski competition, for which first prize would be freedom from school forever. He said, "Mother! There's a race, and I'm going to enter, and whoever wins never has to go to school again!" She smiled at him in that way that mothers have and said, "Oh Benji, I am so glad. I am so proud of you, I knew that you would have this dream eventually. When I was a girl, about your age, I was no good at anything but math. The teachers thought I was great, 'cause math is better than colouring, of course, but still I was pretty much the same as you." Benji blinked. His mother continued, "Yes, well, this race of which you speak, is it here in this town? On our beautiful metal streets?" Benji was confused. "No mother, it is in the dream world!" he answered. Mother stopped what she was doing and looked directly at Benjamin, "Well, Benji, then this is an exclusive race, by invitation only. From the very day of your conception I have hoped that you or your little sister Emily would have the dream, but quite frankly I don't think this small child will ever have what it takes." Emily continued to smile, and Mother continued to speak of the race. "Since everyone in our family has special talents (with the exception of Emily), we have all won our races. After we win our races, we retire and do fun stuff like... whatever we want!" and she trailed off and went back to making soup. Now that was food for thought. Benji was stunned by the range of possibilities that would be open to him if he could win his race. He went through the paces of the day, waiting patiently for night to fall so he could dream again. Well, perhaps patiently is an overstatement. Benjamin was eager to learn more about the big race, and as his skis ground against the cold metal streets that morning, he could think of nothing else. He was restless through his six hours of school, so excited that he was barely able to colour. He did colour though, and his pictures were better than ever before. He was inspired by the dream, and this filled his young artistic soul with enough passion to take him to the higher heights of creativity and spirituality. One of the pictures he coloured was a portrait of himself with an expression that had never been seen on his face before. It was a smile. Mrs. Teacher came up to him and asked what the picture was of. He proudly said it was of him never having to go to school again. For this she beat him and even scolded him. Benjamin cried until school was done. When the siren blared he strapped on his skis and shuffled to the door, still weeping. As soon as his skis touched metal, though, his sadness disappeared and the hellish day of school was left in the past. The screeching of ski against metal soothed Benjamin and as he turned a sharp corner, he noted that the flying sparks might just as well have been the lights of heaven for all of the beauty he saw within them. When he returned home, Benjamin ran, nearly flew, through the house and into the kitchen. He had a big bowl of lentil soup and ran upstairs to his room. He dove toward the bed and the sheets rose to meet him, wrapping themselves around him. As warm yellow light poured from the swirl of sheets and subconsciousness, the other world was there to welcome him. Here he was in the Dream World. It was different than he remembered it. He had learned so little about it the first time and this time he needed to find out. Where was the race? What did he have to do to win? Benjamin believed that since dreams are a creation of the mind he should have been able to control it a bit, at least enough to figure out what to do next. He looked all around but the landscape kept changing and it was difficult to control what he was doing! Apparently there were different rules for functioning normally in this world. The ruler of Dream World, who called himself the Por of Pades, walked up to Benjamin and asked him if he was excited to be part of the upcoming race. Benjamin didn't know what to say - no, he didn't know how to speak! He stood there silently, and the Por looked at him, waiting for a response until several hours later when Benjamin's dream finally came to an end. What a sad dream that turned out to be. Benjamin began to weep as he rolled out of bed. He went downstairs to tell his mother. "Mother!" Benjamin said, "Last night I talked to - " "The Por of Pades?" asked mother. "Yes, how did you know?" "We all meet the Por of Pades from time to time, Benji. I remember the first time I met him, and that was when he personally invited me to enter the ski competition when I was young." Benjamin was envious. He hadn't been invited to the race by the Por himself, but by a mysterious quadruped. "So what did you say to him, Benji?" Mother asked. "Nothing," he replied. "I didn't know how to talk. I didn't know how to move." "Ahh, that is a fair obstacle!" said Mother. "So how are you going to race then?" He didn't know. He ate his breakfast potato and begged his mother to let him stay home from school. She said no, the same answer she gave him every day. Benjamin slowly scraped his way through the metal streets to school. His first lesson was math. As the other students were learning to add numbers, Benjamin coloured a picture of the Por of Pades. It was exact. The skin tones were identical, and the blackness of his suit and hat were exact. The colouring was so accurate, in fact, that the shadow of the Por would actually shift depending on what angle you viewed the picture at. It was amazing. The siren sounded, and that meant it was time for colouring class. This was the one class that Benjamin excelled at. He got respect from all of the other students because of his extreme skill and willingness to teach and serve as an example to others. Colouring was more than a class for Benjamin, though, it was an art. It was a way of life. It was a subject. The teacher gave the class a few minutes of instruction, and then the students began their colouring lab. Benjamin's ravishingly excellent colouring kept everyone narcotized. Though the students were supposed to be working, they gathered around Benjamin, who sat cross-legged on the floor with his head pointed downward and his work-in-progress immediately ahead of his eyes. From each angle, they could see something different. To one child it looked like an ice cream truck and to another it looked like a camping trip. Each person saw the best in Benjamin's colourings, and when Benjamin looked at the colouring, he saw his dream, the strange-looking streets, and a figure that he couldn't quite make out. He continued to colour and waxed the figure in more and more until he was out of orange crayon. It was a giraffe on skis. How silly to us, but to Benjamin it was nothing out of the ordinary. His colourings were different from, yet better than what was considered to be normal, and that was what made people love them so much, even if they didn't understand them. Benjamin didn't understand it either. It was raw natural ability, know-how knowledge. He couldn't describe the colouring process or what made it so amazing, he just did it. In his mind the giraffe spoke to him and this is what he heard: Millie: "Hi, Benji." Benjamin: "Hey how's it goin?" Millie: "Pretty good." [Silence. Benjamin is confused] "So, since this is your picture, you must know who I am, right?" Benjamin: "Ummmmmmmmm... yep! I mean... nope!" Millie: "Sigh. I'm Millie the ghost giraffe." Benjamin: "Were you supposed to say the word 'sigh' out loud, or was that supposed to be an actual sigh?" Millie: "Well, I guess it was a combination of both, wasn't it? You heard it, didn't you? Oh! I get it, you were clearing it up so the reader would know. Well, you had better stop talking like that or you will ruin the suspension of disbelief... if it ever existed." Benjamin: "How couldn't there be a suspension of disbelief? Doesn't it sound reasonable that there would be a real world like this, metal streets and all, and I would have weird skiing dreams and talk to coloured pictures? Oh, by the way, my name is Benjamin." Millie: "I know your name. I'm here to tell you..." Benjamin: "So how do you know my name anyway? Is it going to be explained or does the reader have to guess. Hi, reader." Reader: "Hi." (this is the part that YOU are supposed to say... go ahead, say it!) Millie: "Oh, now look what you've done, Benji. Good one. I know your name because I'm from your subconscious. I'm from the dream world. Plus, you just coloured me, so why in the world shouldn't I know your name?" Benjamin: "But why should you?" Millie: "I just told you, you punk kid!" Benjamin: "But I don't understand those words... I'm just a little boy!" Millie: "I'm part of your mind. If you didn't understand those words neither would I, so shut up and start listening." Benjamin: "But..." Millie: "Do you want me to tell you about the race, or what? Ahh, now that got your attention, you little rabble rouser! When you race, Benji, you will have to do your best. You will have to do everything you can to win. Ask your mother how she won..." ...and Millie became a stationary character on the page again. Benjamin was excited to learn the secret of the race and when he got home he spoke to his mother. "Mother, mother!" cried Benjamin, "I must know how you won your race!" "Well," said mother, "it is not a long story. The race is a difficult one to win, but if you rely on your talent you will be able to do it. I don't know if I ever told you this, but I was good at mathematics when I was your age. I've forgotten everything about it now, mind you, but at the time I would have been able to tell you the distance across this room, the number of corners on that picture frame, the number of fingers on my hand, or the volume of root stew in this bowl. When it was my time to race, I had to calculate which angles to hit on the ski hill, I had to align my skis, position my body in the most aerodynamically efficient manner possible, and a bunch of really complicated stuff that I don't remember the terms for. Would you like your soup now, Benji?" Without stopping, Benjamin ate the soup and continued to his room to get ready for the ski competition of a lifetime. Mother said nothing more. Benjamin went upstairs with a good idea of how he must win his race. Somewhat distractedly, he opened his backpack and pulled out his box of crayons. He sat down on the floor next to his skis and started to colour on them. On each ski he drew a mural more beautiful than Arachne's tapestry. On the left ski he drew the Alps, each mountain in exquisite detail. On the right ski, he drew a map of the city's metal streets and back alleys. Then he flipped them over and coloured the bottoms. He drew the oceans of the world, even the unexplored Southern seas, and he drew all of the fishes in them. On the other ski he drew all of the stars and all of the stars' satellites. And then he fell asleep, with his head resting on the ski, with the last nub of a crayon in his little clenched fist. Would tonight be the night? Benjamin was ready. As the dream world poured all around him and filled his subconscious, he felt once again as though he was a traveler in his own mind. Benjamin looked around and saw the great slopes in plain view. They were directly in front of him. He walked toward the hill. There was a mysterious substance on the ground that appeared to be made up of crystals of frozen water. It was something that Benjamin had never seen in his world before and in the subconscious they called it snow. He walked through it. Crunch, crunch, Crunch, crunch. His right foot was like an anchor. It dropped onto the ground and secured his position. His left foot was like a hook. One foot held the ground in place, the other one pulled him forward. Hook and anchor. He had a strange way of walking, but then again, we all do. Most of us don't notice it like Benjamin did, though. He had plenty of credit in the boredom bank, and he always carried plenty with him, even in the subconscious world. He continued to look at his feet as he walked and when he finally looked up again he was at the top of the mountain that he would ski from. It was the beginning of his moment. It was what he had been anticipating for days. But then he woke up. The school siren was blaring, and this meant that Benjamin was late for school. Not concerned with the outside world, he tried to fall asleep again to re-enter the dream, but the siren was too loud and Benjamin was not tired enough. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could and tensed his body, hoping for sleep to fall over him like a bucket of rolled oats and warm water, but he had no such luck. His mother came in the room. "Benji," she said, "why aren't you up yet?" "I don't know," he replied, and closed his eyes again. Benjamin decided to give up on the idea of sleep. He smelled his mother's porridge in the air and got up and into his woolens. He went down the stairs and there at the bottom were the skis, glowing in the early morning light that came in through the window. He picked them up and walked into the kitchen with them. His mother spooned out a glop of porridge for him, and smiled at him and his skis. He ate, slightly stunned by the strangeness of it all, and then his mother said to him, "You'd better get going. You'll be late for school, Benji." And so Benji got up, grabbed his skis under his arm and said, "Can I stay home, mom? Can I stay home and ski?" His mother looked at him with disapproval, but as she remembered the Por of Pades and what special meaning the race had for her, her eyebrows straightened out and she looked into Benjamin's eyes with compassion. "Yes Benji, yes you can stay home and ski. But you must go to school this afternoon or the firemen will come to the house and burn it down." Benjamin couldn't argue with that. Ever since Viscount Edgar Death came into power, the villagers had followed the town rules obediently for fear that he would execute anyone who stepped out of line. (It wasn't true, by the way. The Viscount never really had anyone killed. He was actually a benevolent ruler and a really nice guy if you got to know him personally, but people had always been fearful of him because of his name. Years later, when Viscount Edgar Death learned that the people of Benjamin's village had been afraid, he wept.) But that was in the future, and the present was not a place for tears. Hell, the present isn't the place for the Viscount at all... he isn't even a part of this story from here on. Mother said that Benjamin could stay home and ski, and that's exactly what he did! He ran up the stairs, strapped his skis on, and skied down to the bottom, crashing into the bookshelf and destroying several valuable texts. That didn't matter though, his mother reminded him. All that mattered was how well he skied because that was his key to freedom. If he didn't win this race he would be doomed to be ordinary like everyone else and grow old and die with his dreams unfulfilled. Don't worry though, because he won the race. Oops. No wonder people don't like watching movies with me. Should I even continue? This Section Left Intentionally Blank I'll take that several minutes of silence as a yes. Benjamin skied all day, leaving scrapes and black marks all over the non- metal stairs inside his house. After hours of practice and hundreds of climbs up the stairs though, Benjamin had accomplished something amazing: he had mastered skiing. Mother was proud of him and kissed him on the forehead as he left for school to attend his afternoon classes. What they didn't realize was that the crayon colourings on Benjamin's skis would eventually be known as ski wax, the greatest invention for the sport of skiing since the ski! Oh there I go fucking up the foreshadowing again! Ok, forget what I just said about Benjamin winning the race because of his new invention called ski wax, and we'll go on and finish the story with an unusual surprise ending that you wouldn't have expected. Shit. Let's try this one more time. Ok, forget everything that you have read up to this point. METAL STREETS Benjamin Horatio Algier lived with his mother and baby sister in the flat and he skied on metal streets and he liked to colour. He had a dream about this ski race where the winner gets to do whatever they want for the rest of their lives, even make soup like Benjamin's mother if they want to. So the thing is, the race takes place during a dream, but he doesn't know this. It gradually unfolds through dreams and discussions with his mother and the tension builds as the big race seems to come closer with every dream Benjamin has. Eventually he colours his skis with wax and this will one day become known as ski wax. Blah blahblah blahblah. So that is the synopsis up to this point, including the part where I ruined the ending for you. The second lunch siren sounded and Benjamin ran out the door into the metal streets of his hometown. He had the confidence of someone who knew they could not fail. He had the confidence of Benjamin Horatio Algier. He bolted out into the sunny street and ran toward the school as fast as he could, knowing that today would be his last day. Yes, tonight would be his ticket to freedom. Benjamin knew the big race was waiting in his next sleep. Benjamin leaped through the door of the school just as it slammed shut. He had made it in time for his afternoon class without a moment to spare. He paused to catch his breath and then proceeded to his classroom. As he entered the room, Mrs. Teacher looked at him and her eyes narrowed. She was angry. "Why weren't you here this morning?" she barked. "I was... sick," said Benjamin. The teacher didn't believe him. She asked him what he was sick with and if his mother would say the same thing when she contacted her via telegraph. Benjamin caved in and told her the truth. He had been skiing. He was a champion and he was going to win the ski race and live forever and go to school never. The teacher didn't believe Benjamin. She didn't believe in him. "I've had enough of you, you little troublemaker!" she screamed, and smothered Benjamin with a pillow until he fell into unconsciousness. The ski competition was about to begin. Benjamin stood at the start line amidst a league of young people. The hill was steep and covered with snow. Benjamin didn't realize that the crayon colourings on his skis would one day become known as ski wax! The Por of Pades and his entourage watched from a tower at the finish line as the racers prepared to ski. Millie the giraffe stood by the start line with a starter pistol. Benjamin felt he was prepared. He was ready for anything as he heard Millie squeeze the trigger. Bang. And the group of skiers took off down the hill, racing wildly. The wind whipped through their hair as they achieved velocities that could only be felt and appreciated in a dream. In a matter of moments the race was won and the Por of Pades declared the winner. It was Katie from down the street. Benjamin looked down. He was still at the start line. He had left his skis at home and was unprepared for the race. He was sabotaged by a teacher with no regard for the hopes of a young generation. Benjamin fell to his knees in the snow and began to cry. Just then, the Por of Pades approached him and attempted to comfort the young boy. The Por of Pades said, "You live by the heart and by the crayon, young man, and for that you should be proud." Benjamin didn't understand. He didn't win the race; he was a failure. "What now, sir?" asked Benjamin. "Now do I have to go back to school forever?" "Benjamin, not everyone wins the ski race... Benjamin, when someone loses the ski race... Benjamin, when I was your age I lost my ski race. That is why I must stay here. That is why I am the Por of Pades. Now you must stay here too, live in our cities, and ski our slopes until the end of time." "Is there school here?" asked Benjamin. "No, there isn't. There is also no war, no poverty..." "No school? That's great! I wish I would have died a long time ago!" "Well it's not death, really... it's where we go when we lose our races. When your father, me, lost his ski race..." "Wow! I can't wait to not go to school! I'm going to start right now!" And he did. The End. .d&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&b. ___________________________________________________ |THE COMINTERN IS AVAILIABLE ON THE FOLLOWING BBS'S | |~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~| | TWILIGHT ZONE (905) 432-7667 | | 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 | |___________________________________________________| .d&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&b. Copyright 2001 by The Neo-Comintern #145-03/11/01 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.