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              yj # 3  -  yellow journal numero three  -  yj # 3
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 --- -- -]

 "look at me. i pierced my fucking anus!@" 

                                 -- big hurt

 i didnt really piercy my anus, i just go around saying it in the adam 
 sandlers bafun voice.

 "i looked at my ass in the mirror. it blew my fucking mind!@"
                                                    -- adam sandler, bafun    


 --- -- -]


 =01==========================================================================

 -+ editoral +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-

 yet another issue for your reading pleasure or whatever pleasures you would
 like fulfill while digging the information out of this third issue of yellow
 journal.

 for those of you that havent read yellow journal before and want to know what
 this zine is about. well, i'm here to tell you that. so here it goes. 

 yellow journal is a magazine that i started in march of this year and i just
 sit down and write stuff on the computer and put it in here for your reading
 enjoyment. i really like to see people write for yellow journal, but since i 
 havent had the chance to spread this magazine. so that may be one reason that
 you havent gotten a chance to read the first two issues. but here it is 
 anyway.

 one reason i havent been able to spread this magazine and get to anyone on
 the internet, is because of my protocols are not currently working on my
 internet providers server. which does really suck, because i was hoping to 
 get this magazine to many more people by using the internet.

 without further ado, here is yellow journal issue number three. break out 
 your silverware and start grubbing for the juicy tidbits in the magazine.


 =02==========================================================================

 -+ table of contents +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-

 yellow journal table of contents:

 01. editoral
 02. table of contents
 03. walk in the park, part 1 - new beginning
 04. adam sandler songs
 05. tutty fruity
 06. jonas' legacy
 07. second king installment
 08. umney's last case, part 2 - stephen king
 09. seduction of the needle
 10. ways to contact yj
 11. adventures of charlie, part 1
 12. a season coming to a close
 13. search engines
 14. humiliation
 15. just my luck
 16. issue 6
 17. deep down
 18. hasta la vista bebe


 =03==========================================================================

 -+ walk in the park +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-

 it was another normal day. but a little breeze on this day, with the nice 
 cold flow of the wind. it made my body relax as i walked down the paved
 sidewalk, that started to get old. you could tell by cracks starting to 
 weather it.

 counting the cracks i continued moving forward, only looking at my feet,
 trying to miss the cracks. it was like i was playing a game of it. one of
 those games that you would play when you were little. you know, the game
 that if you accidently stepped on a crack you would break your mothers back.

 it seemed as time stopped. as my feet kept me moving on the sidewalk that
 went through most of the park -- boy was this a big park. my feet kept me 
 going on this most beautiful day, that you could put a trade mark on it. it
 was my day off and the sun was shining as i could feel it get hotter as the
 sun shined down on my skin.

 thinking, i decided to stop and sit down for a little bit and just sit and
 admire the creation by mother nature. since i had nothing better to do, it
 sounded like a wonderful idea. so i proceeded. 

 young kids off in the distance, near the swings sets could be seen pushing 
 one another back and forth on the swings. them laughing and having the time
 of their life, brought a smile to my face. not just a normal smile, but a
 smile that i was happy to be alive. 

 i could remember just months ago, before i got my job. which i have to admit
 was hard getting. you know when you have a criminal record, it is hard to 
 get a job. espically when your crime was dealing with computers and the job
 you are going after is the only thing you know, computers. i've been working
 several months with this firm doing work with maintaining the firms computers
 and making sure that they don't have those stupid virus trying to destroy the
 files that are so valuable to them. also, another job that i had there was to
 make sure that no one hacks into the firms computer network system via a
 modem.

 the funny thing was that i went to jail for 3 years for hacking into a firm,
 quite like this, but they dealt with more of the governments matters. this 
 one just does things for some big guys that are running around in california.

 to think i was in jail for three years for simply hacking a computer network
 system and stealing some information from that one firms computer. i remember
 those seconds that i served very well. thinking of what i would do. would i
 continue to hack computers and systems? would i get a real job for once? 
 would i find a girl that i actually could have a stable relationship with?
 
 many things came into my mind while i was in the joint. yeah, the big house.
 you know, just the normal thoughts that seem to always enter you mind while
 sitting on the shitter reading the local newspaper that seemed to get that
 coffee ring stain on it.

 but while sitting or sometimes laying in my bed during the early hours of
 the morning while i stay those three long years in prison, i decided that
 i was going to become famous or die trying. i was going to make something
 out of my life. no matter what. if i had to climb that ladder with things
 getting in my way, then hell, i would do it.

 prison was not the life you wanted to live. when i was there, one person
 from death row got his turn to go the gas chamber. and inhale the gases
 that only that person that stepped foot in that room. 

 i spoke to him once, briefly while in the prison yard, one afternoon. he 
 gave me much advise during that conversation. that short talk that we had, 
 came two days before he was executed into oblivion. he was put to rest for
 the killings and rape of three girls, which of two where twins. one ended
 up being a friend of the twins that spent the night. the night that he came
 and raped and then dragged them off into the dark forest of the night and
 finally killed them with a knife that he had strapped to his left calf.

 but he gave me so much knowledge on that day that we spoke. he was not a 
 cruel and devient person, like the papers made him out to be. he was a 
 quiet guy without a family to turn to. 

 arthur riggs was his name. and arthur gave me this advise. i remember the
 words so clear and i recite them every morning i wake up and every night 
 before i call it a day. i hold this advise so dear to my heart. these are the 
 words that he spoke to me: "...life is a mystery with many adventures. you
 must choose the right path, to turn life out the way you wish. but study and
 think over every choice before deciding..."

 i never saw his face again, until i read the prison newspaper a week or so 
 later, which had a picture of him. along with the rest of my items that i
 had in prison, i brought out with me, i took that picture and article that
 spoke about him. and today in my apartment, i have it pinned up on my 
 bulletin board that hangs slightly askew on the pale white wall near the
 frig.

 i can remember all the advise that arthur gave to me about people, life, and
 many intersting things. if i had to choose to be someone else, i would pick
 him out of all the billions of people on the face of the earth.

 --- -- -]

 getting my limp body off the park bench was a tough stride, but i managed to
 pick it up. it was a task. i stretched out my body from day dreaming and
 thinking of the old memories. but it was starting to get late and i planned
 on just staying for a little bit at the city park in orange.

 orange, california is where i was born and raised and then finally arrested
 for the computer crimes of fraudlent use of a computer, a fraudlent use of
 a device, theft of passwords, theft of government documents, and finally 
 resisting arrest. if you can resisinting an arrest when they bust down your
 moms front door and not even showing you a warrant to search your house and
 arrest my ass.

 they through me into the slammer that night and i couldnt have any post me
 bail until four days later. a half of a week in the slammer with the donut
 eating pigs treating me like garbage. not something i really wanted to be
 doing. you really don't have a a option at that point, when you can't post
 bail money or when you're stuck behind the cold steel bars.

 those days were kind of unbelievable. but i managed to get through the nights
 and days, until my mother came down to the station to post bail. the first 
 thing she did to was slap me in disgust, like i did do something wrong. i
 did do something wrong, but i was just being curoius. but they say curiosity
 kills the cat. after she gave me a mighty wack to the side of my head, she
 rejoiced and gave me a hug. she hugged me tighter than she had ever hugged
 me before.

 i went home that night and she made my favorite meal. spaghetti with garlic
 glazed bread sticks that would light up anyones mouth and get those juices
 flowing like a raged river forming into a waterfall.

 that week that ended up being my last week, until i visisted that house once
 again after i stayed my last night and day in prison. 

 the trial started the week after and they decided it would be best for me to
 stay in the local police station prison until the trial was over. well that
 was correct, but i never got to go home after the trial. there was no jury at
 this trial. but if there was, it would probably be all family members of the
 government or the firm in which i broke into there computer. cause i'm sure 
 they wanted to see this puppy along as quick i could. the judge decided and
 he said he was going lite on me and only sentencing me for three years of
 prison. 

 after i got out, i went home to visit my mother. but my sister gave me the
 news as we got about half way home from the prison and said that mom had 
 passed away about five days ago. 

 this pissed me off. "why didn't you tell me that mom croaked? you know i 
 have a right to know. she is my mom for fucking christ sack. she is my 
 mom!" i knelt down and let the tears fall down my checks until they dried
 for themselves.

 my sister, rachael, comforted me. "i know she is your mom. she is both of
 our moms. i miss very much. but not as bad you do," she spoke so softly
 into my ear.

 the funeral was two days later and i cried there also. still trying to get
 the pain of the whole thing out. i don't think i really recovered from the
 shock of her death. i wasn't expecting that to even happen. she was suppose
 to see me when i got out of prison, but that is one mom that didn't get to
 see her son return home.

 the last words that i could even recall of her telling me was "i'll send you
 the books and magazines that you asked for with your sister the next time
 she goes to visit you." i still hold onto those boosk and magazines, just of
 a reminder. because those were the last things that my mother touched that
 i layed my hands on and read.

 there was a note on a white piece of lined notebook paper with the following
 words in her handwriting: 

 dear james, i think of you every day and hope that you are learning and 
 trying to do your best. here is the books and magazines you asked for. i know
 you think about me alot too. please take care and don't do anything stupid.
 with much love, nancy.

 that note is also pinned up to the picture of arthur. on that askew bulletin
 board. that board is filled with many memories, that sometimes make me hurt
 when i look at the things pinned on it.

 i eventually got an apartment after staying a few weeks at my sisters house.
 i didnt try to out stay my weclome, but rachael didn't mind me staying there.
 she even encouraged me staying with her and her husband robbie a little bit
 longer.

 i probably would've, but i found the apartment of my dreams. i could fit all
 of my things in it and have enough room. i had to do with my computer at the
 time, until upgraded it with my first paycheck. and then with my fourth and
 fifth paycheck i bought a new ibm laptop. i still kept the old junky one
 around, but i seemed to use the laptop more often. i have everything on the
 old 486 that is on the 200 mhz pentium laptop.

 shortly after moving into the apartment, i found my job at the firm. mr. 
 rivet was the man that interviewed me and turned out to be my boss. i made
 friends quickly there. because people had many questions about the network
 system and computers. and that was my job to give tech support and i decided
 since i was there doing my job, i would get to know more people.

 --- -- -]

 i met a man that was did use to do most of the tech support and still gave
 advise to one's that seeked the information, but got a promotion and was now
 doing other work at the firm. richard hancock, was a tall and bulky gentleman
 that looked like he was in his late 20's or early 30's. 

 --- -- -]

 richard and i where sitting down for coffee on our break in the employees
 kitchen. 

 richard must have enjoyed that nutra sweet sugar. because there was five open
 poches of them and only one of them was mine that i emptied into my coffee.
 by the looks of his coffee, the four of them were his.

 it was getting to the end of my break and i soon had to head back to the 
 main computer room to check for some virus that a short, lumpy guy with 
 black hair reported.

 he said that it was called something like: "wu-tang".

 after finishing my coffee and ending up the conversation with mr. hancock
 i proceeded to the main computer network. 

 i popped in my floppy disk with the virus cleaner on it and scanned the 
 computer that had the initial virus on it. and the thing came up clean. so
 i rescanned the computer again and it was the same exact result. no virus.

 then continued to check for the virus, hoping it was not a worm, that would
 ruin the network. the system came up clean. then i scanned once again for
 good measure and once again it came up virus free.

 the lumpy guy that reported it must have imagined it.

 but, just wondering since i was pondered. looking through the list of virii
 it showed that there wasn't a single virus with the name of "wu-tang" or 
 anything that resembled the name.

 --- -- -]

 ... to be continued ...


 =04==========================================================================

 -+ adam sandler songs +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-

 adam sandler is probably one of the funniest comidians in my eyes. but, that
 is for you to judge. 

 so right now, i'm going to list a all of his songs that appear on his latest
 album which was released somewhere in jan. - feb. its called "what the
 hell happened to me?"

 it is funny. i like the the following things on the album. "joining the 
 cult", "the goat", "the excited southerner gets pulled over", "do it for
 your mama", "memory lane", and "sex or weight lifting".

 here are the following songs as they appear on the album.

 --- -- -]

 "ode to my car"

 here we go

 piece of shit car
 i got a piece of shit car
 that fucking pile of shit
 never gets me very far
 
 my car's a big piece of shit
 'cause the shocks are fucking shot
 and my sandbelt's fucking broken
 i got to tie it in a knot
 (it's a piece of shit)

 i can't see through the windshield
 'cause it's got a big fuckin' crack
 and the interior smells real bad
 'cause my friend puked in the back
 (it's a piece of shit)

 (piece of shit car)
 piece of shit car
 (he's got a piece of shit car)
 it sucks royal dick
 (that fuckin' pile of shit)
 100% crap
 (never gets him very far)
 oh fuck you car

 it's got no CD player, it only gpt the 8-track
 whoever designed my car can lick my sweaty nut sack
 (they can bite his ass too)
 and i got no fuckin' brakes
 i'm always way out of control
 elevein times a day i hear "hey, watch it asshole"
 (you fuckin' piece of shit)

 (piece of shit car)
 i got a piece of shit car
 (he got a piece of shit car)
 diesel gas sucks my ass
 (that fuckin' pile of shit)
 that pile of metal shit
 (never gets him very far)

 oh what the fuck did i go
 what the fuck did i do
 what the fuck did i do
 to get stuck with you
 you're too wide for drive-thru
 and you smell like the shoe
 but i'm too broke to buy something new
 oh fuck me

 well the engine likes to flood
 the car always fuckin' stalls
 and the seat cushion's got a big rip
 so a spring always pokes the balls
 (ouch, ouch, ouch)
 plus the door locks are busted
 i gotta use a fucking coat hanger
 (what a pain in his ass)
 and if a girlie sees my car
 there's no chance i'll ever bang her
 (he never ever gets da pussy)
 hey shut up
 you piece of shit car

 you piece of shit car
 bald fuckin' tires
 no rearview fucking mirror
 seven different colors
 fucking rag for a gas cap
 tailpipe makes the sparks fly everywhere
 oh the whole town thinks i'm a loser
 cabby give me a push

 --- -- -]

 "the chanukah song"

 put on your yarmulke
 here comes chanukah
 so much funukah
 to celebrate chanukah
 chanukah is the festival of lights
 instead of one day of presents, we have eight crazy nights
 when you feel like the only kid in town without a christmas tree
 here's a list of people who are jewish just like you and me
 david lee roth lights the menorah
 so did kirk douglas, james caan and the late dinah shore-ah

 guess who eats together at the cargnegie deli
 bowser from sha na na and arthur fonzerelli
 paul newman's half jewish, goldie hawn's half too
 put them together, what a fine lookin' jew

 you don't need "deck the halls" or "jingle bell rock"
 'cause you can spin a dreidel with captain kirk and mr. spock-both jewish

 put on your yarmulke
 it's time for chanukah
 the owner of the seattle supersonics
 celebrate chanukah

 o.j. simpson, not a jew
 but guess who is? hall of famer rod carew - he converted
 we got ann landers and her sister dear abby
 harrison ford's a quarter jewish - not too shaby

 some peopel think that ebenezer scrooge is
 well he's not, but guess who is
 all three stooges
 so many jews in showbiz
 tom cruise isn't, but i heard his agent is

 tell your friend veronica
 it's time to celebrate chanukah
 i hope i get a harmonicah
 on this lovely, lovely chanukah
 so drink your gin and tonicah
 and smoke your marijuanikah
 if you really, really wannakah
 have a happy, happy, happy, happy chanukah
 happy chanukah


 --- -- -]

 "steve polychronopolous"

 i'm a big fuckin' dick
 i'm a pain in your ass
 i drink all your beer
 i'll eat the last slice
 i'll give you charley horses
 i'll pull your shorts down at the beach
 i always need a ride
 nobody likes me
 my name's steve motherfucking polychronopolous

 i spit when i talk
 i swear in front of your mother
 i throw shit at the movies
 i wear tight pants
 i ask you to buy an extra yankee ticket
 and then i don't show
 i tell you i saw your girlfriend
 fucking two guys at a party

 'cause my name's steve motherfucking polychronopolous

 i'll piss on your toilet seat and tell your dad you got stoned
 i'll borrow your jacket and never think of returning it


 polychronopolous
 pansy
 pussy
 shit for brains
 douchebag

 i'll leave your gate open
 so your dog runs away
 i'll make fun of your pimple
 then i'll grab your sister's ass

 'cause my name's steve motherfucking polychronopolous
 
 and i don't care
 and i don't give a shit

 i'll break your brother's stereo
 and then tell him it was you
 you think you're better than me
 well you're fucking wrong

 everybody knows i'm steve motherfucking polychronopolous

 deal with it

 --- -- -]

 "crazy love"

 you don't mind that i think everybody's a robot
 and all my conversations are being recorded
 and you don't mind that all my pants are way to short on me
 and i also stabbed someone with a pair of scissors a long time ago
 ha-ha-ha

 and you don't care that i collect dead animals from the side of the road
 then pretend they're alive and think i'm a famous football player

 and you don't have a problem with me i follow people i never met before
 and force them to look at the portrait of neil diamond i have tattooed on
  my back
 
 it's very pretty, baby

 well you must have been sent from above
 you're all that i can think of
 you're just as psychotic as me
 my crazy love

 well it never bothers you when i wear my snowsuit to bed every night
 and i make you speak in tongues to me until i fall asleep
 blah bloo blah bloo bloo
 thank you

 and you don't make fun of me 'cause i still make out with my stepfather
 and i also tell everyone i was on a ufo for two and half years

 i believe you sugarpie

 'cause our love is right on track
 i'm yours, you're mine it's a fact
 don't forget to take your prozac
 my crazy love

 well yesturday i tickled a man who wasn't even there
 oh, three days before i ran down the street in my wonder woman underwear

 i didn't care

 babe i know i never had a job
 'cause i'm afraid to talk to people
 'cause i know that they're all robots who are seekin' information
 they can't fool you, sweetheart

 and i know that you know i'm the one who burned my cousin chester's house
  to the ground
 but you told the cops we were out ballroom dancing when they came and 
  questioned you
 i ain't no fink, dollface

 'cause we know that it's true
 only i could love you
 we both eat with our hands
 my crazy love

 my crazy, crazy love
 oh i wish everybody was dead except for you, baby
 i feel the same way
 would you throw some macaroni on me
 oh yeah, here you go

 --- -- -]

 "dip doodle"

 jabawokee ding dong
 slip slap slee
 dipstick paddywhack
 pee pee googalee gee
 polly wolly sling slang
 skooey dibbley doo
 wing wong ping pong king kong cheech 'n chong
 hop hip kagagoogoo

 hickory dickory slickory flip flap
 dip skip to my lou
 flim flam wham blam sam bam cunningham
 whack snack koochie koochie koo
 plus you gotta dip, you gotta doodle
 you gotta eat grandma's stroodle

 'cause she stayed up all night to make it from scratch
 you gotta gish, you gotta gash
 you gotta wax grandma's mustache
 and lay out her socks
 to make sure they match
 whoa, you gotta help out your grandma

 slappety dappety sling skism skasm
 bing bang boo
 a yip, a yap, a snippety snap
 walla, walla scrappy dappy doo
 piddle paddle fiddle faddle widdle waddle
 awhee clunkety clang
 a plop, a fizz, a whackety whiz
 chitty chitty bang wang lang
 zippity doo dang lipidee ay
 oompa loompa doo
 a piggly wiggly dooda
 stinky winky linky foo man choo
 plus you gotta dip, you gotta doodle
 you gotta shave grandma's poodle
 'cause grandma would do the same for you

 you gotta libby, you gotta labby
 you gotta hug grandma, even though she's flabby
 'cause you should know grandma's are people too
 whoa, you gotta love your grandma

 now if you listened to the words of this song
 you know they're coming straight from the heart
 never make fun of your grandma
 even when she rips a juicy fart

 and remember to dip you gotta doodle
 you gotta stop playing with your noodle
 'cause grandma said it will make you go blind

 you gotta gipper, you gotta giper
 you gotta change grandma's diaper
 and then pretend that you really didn't mind
 whoa, respect to the grandma

 --- -- -]

 "mr. brake-o"

 i'm sitting in my chair watchin' the tv
 it's not even on but there's plenty for me to see
 i just lit some crazy ass shit
 that my friend overnight-mailed to me

 i'm fuckin' wasted
 it's the best shit i ever tasted
 i think they fuckin' laced it
 'cause i'm so damn lambasted

 oh my friend came over so i packed him a pipe
 i told him he better go easy with this shit but he didn't believe the hype

 he sparked three bowls just to show he could take it
 two minutues later he was playin' backgammon naked

 he's fuckin' wasted
 it's the best shit he ever tasted
 he's lost in fuckin' spaced-ed
 'cause he's so wicked wicked wasted

 oh i spent the last two hours hiding under my bed
 'cause i looked in the garabage can and i think i saw my uncle louie's head

 i'm fuckin' wasted

 well my friend blew a hit into my pet bird's face
 the bird laughed hysterically and started to moon walk all over the place
 he tripped over the toaster wire and feel on his beak
 he looked at the two of us and he started to speak

 i'm fuckin' wasted
 it's the best i ever tasted
 my brain's been erased-ed
 well fuckin' fried

 now i'm sittin' in the bathtub wantin' something to eat
 i wanted a pizza-the bird said "uh, pepperoni would be sweet"
 delivery guy showed up four hours later, handed me his shoe
 i said "we ordered pizza buddy, what the hell's up with you?"

 i'm fucking wasted
 it's the best shit i ever fuckin' tasted
 oh fuckin' shit

 i'm way too baked

 --- -- -]

 "what the hell happened to me?"

 i used to ride my big wheel
 and sell lemonade
 eat popcorn with grandpa while we watched a parada
 but now i'm only happy when i'm drinkin' j.d.

 what the hell happened to me?

 i used to have fun throwing snowballs
 with my best friend billy
 then mom would make us coca if we got too chilly
 but now i only get excited when i see a girl pee

 what the hell happened to me?

 i used to be the nicest kid in the neighborhood
 i only did the things that mama said i should
 but now i just do whatever i want
 i even whipped it out in a restaurant
 i used to help clean the park in the middle of town
 they played kickball 'til the sun went down
 but now all i do is get vd

 what the hell happened to me?

 it makes no sense
 i can't believe i ended up me
 i'm outta my gourd
 won't somebody please help me

 i'm kind of a weirdo


 =05==========================================================================

 -+ tutty fruity +-
 -+ written by unknown +-


     Once upon a time there lived a man who had a maddening passion
for baked beans.  He loved them, but they always had a very
embarrassing and somewhat lively reaction on him.  Then one day he
met a girl and fell in love.  When it became apparent that they
would marry, he thought to himself,  "She is such a sweet and
gentle girl, she will never go for this kind of carrying on."  So
he made the supreme sacrifice.... He gave up beans.  They were
married shortly thereafter. 

     Some months later, this car broke down on the way home from
work; and since they lived in the country,  he called his wife and
told her that he would be late..because he had several miles to
walk home.  So he stopped at the cafe.

     Before leaving,  he had three large orders of baked beans. 
All the way home he putt-putt-putted and after arriving,  he felt
reasonably safe that he had putt-putt-putted the last.  His wife
seemed somewhat excited and agitated to see him.  She exclaimed, 
"Darling,  I have the most wonderful surprise for dinner tonight." 
She then blindfolded him and led him to his chair at the head of
the dining table.  He seated himself and just as she was ready to
remove the blindfold,  the telephone rang.  She made him vow not to
touch the blindfold until she returned,  then went to answer the
phone.  Seizing the opportunity,  he shifted his weight to one leg
and let go!  It was not only loud,  but as ripe as rotten eggs.  He
took the napkin from his lap and vigorously fanned the air about
him.  Things had just returned to normal when he felt the urge of
another one coming on him,  so he shifted his wight to the other
leg and let go again.  This was a prize winner!  While keeping his
ear on the conversation in the hall,  he went on like this for ten
minutes until he knew the phone farewells indicated the end of his
freedom.  He placed his napkin in his lap and folded his hands on
top of it smiling contently to himself.  He was the very picture of
innocence when his wife returned,  apologizing for taking so long. 
She asked if he had peeked,  and of course,  he assured her that he
had not.  At this point she removed the blindfold and there was his
surprise...twelve dinner guests seated around the table for a happy
birthday party!!!.

 =06==========================================================================

 -+ jonas' legacy +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-

 jonas? 

 it was probably one of the best e'zines that i've read. even better than 
 dto, y0lk, chemical chocolate, rad, or even pork. 

 it was one reasons that i decided to write a monthly a e'zine. yes, jonas is
 a inspiration to me and to the creation of this textfile based magazine.

 jonas released the 16th issue and very last issue of jonas. 
 
 but, don't get scared just yet. after a year of all of those wonderful 
 released jonas issues, you will get a new magazine from my creators and
 writers of jonas and slinky. the current name for the new e'zine will be
 legacy. that is sounds like a good name for a magazine and congrulate the
 one who brain-stormed the idea.

 the writers of klunk just changed to slinky. and now after two issues of
 slinky released to the public, they join up with jonas to create maybe one
 of the best e'zines to date with styles from both magazines.

 so keep your eyes open for the new magazine, legacy. because i know i'll 
 keep both eyes alter for the debut of a new legacy in the 'zine scene.


 ... late breaking news ...

 fuck, fuck, fuck. 

 the deal with jonas and slinky e'zines merging fell through. so guess what?
 both zines will be going on their seperate ways. i just found this out by
 reading jonas 17 that was just released. so go download it right now.

 besides merging, i wonder if any e'zines out their would wanna merge with my
 zine? that would be kind of cool, because i would have more writters and 
 probably more people read it.

 
 =07==========================================================================

 -+ second king installment +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-

 it is time for another stephen king installment continued from last months
 first installment of a 7 part series.

 =08==========================================================================

 -+ vernon's cough +-
 -+ written by stephen king +-

   
   II. Vernon's Cough.
   
   I managed to pull myself erect and make my way across the street.
   Peoria, aka Francis Smith, was long gone, but I wanted to put those
   blowing newspapers behind me, too. Looking at them was giving me a
   headache that was somehow worse than the ache in my groin.
   
   On the far side of the street I stared into Felt's Stationery as if
   the new Parker ball-point pen in the window was the most fascinating
   thing I'd ever seen in my life (or maybe it was those sexy imitation-
   leather appointment books). After five minutes or so--time enough to
   commit every item in the dusty show-window to memory--I felt capable
   of resuming my interrupted voyage up Sunset without listing too
   noticeably to port.
   
   Questions circled in my mind the way mosquitoes circle your head at
   the drive-in in San Pedro when you forget to bring along an insect
   stick or two. I was able to ignore most of them, but a couple got
   through. First, what the hell had gotten into Peoria? Second, what the
   hell had gotten into me? I kept slapping at these uncomfortable
   queries until I got to Blondie's City Eats, Open 24 Hrs, Bagels Our
   Specialty, on the corner of Sunset and Travernia, and when I got that
   far, they were driven out in a single wallop. Blondie's had been on
   that corner for as long as I could remember--the sharpies and the
   hustlers and the hipsters and the hypes going in and going out, not to
   mention the debs, the dykes, and the dopes. A famous silent-movie star
   was once arrested for murder as he was coming out of Blondie's, and I
   myself had concluded a nasty piece of business there not so long ago,
   shooting a coked-up fashion-plate named Dunninger who had killed three
   hopheads in the aftermath of a Hollywood dope party. It was also the
   place where I'd said goodbye to the silver-haired, violet-eyed Ardis
   McGill. I'd spent the rest of that lost night walking in a rare Los
   Angeles fog which might have only been behind my eyes . . . and
   trickling down my cheeks, by the time the sun came up.
   
   Blondie's closed? Blondie's gone? Impossible, you would have said--
   more likely that the Statue of Liberty should have disappeared from
   her barren lick of rock in New York Harbor.
   
   Impossible but true. The window which had once held a mouth-watering
   selection of pies and cakes was soaped over, but the job had been done
   indifferently, and I could see a nearly empty room through the
   stripes. The lino looked filthy and barren. The grease-darkened blades
   of the overhead fans hung down like the propellers of crashed
   airplanes. There were a few tables left, and six or eight of the
   familiar red-upholstered chairs piled on them with the legs sticking
   up, but that was all . . . except for a couple of empty sugar- shakers
   tumbled in one corner.
   
   I stood there trying to get it into my head, and it was like trying to
   get a big sofa up a narrow flight of stairs. All that life and
   excitement, all that late-night hustle and surprise--how could it be
   ended? It didn't seem like a mistake; it seemed like a blasphemy. For
   me Blondie's had summed up all the glittering contradictions that
   surround L.A.'s essentially dark and loveless heart; I had sometimes
   thought Blondie's was L.A. as I had known it over the last fifteen or
   twenty years, only drawn small. Where else could you see a mobster
   eating breakfast at 9:00 p.m. with a priest, or a diamond-decked
   glamorpuss sitting on a counter-stool next to a grease-monkey
   celebrating the end of his shift with a hot cup of java? I suddenly
   found myself thinking of the Cuban bandleader and his heart attack
   again, this time with considerably more sympathy.
   
   All that fabulous starry City of Lost Angels life--do you get it,
   chum? Are you picking up this newsflash?
   
   The sign hung in the door read CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS, REOPENING SOON,
   but I didn't believe it. Empty sugar-shakers lying in the corner do
   not, in my experience, indicate renovations in progress. Peoria had
   been right: Blondie's was history. I turned away and went on up the
   street, but now I walked slowly and had to consciously order my head
   to stay up. As I approached the Fulwider Building, where I've kept an
   office for more years than I like to think about, an odd certainty
   gripped me. The handles of the big double doors would be wrapped up in
   a thick tow-chain and held with a padlock. The glass would be soaped
   over in indifferent stripes. And there would be a sign reading CLOSED
   FOR RENOVATIONS, REOPENING SOON.
   
   By the time I reached the building, this nutty idea had taken over my
   mind with the force of a compulsion, and not even the sight of Bill
   Tuggle, the rummy CPA from the third floor, going inside could quite
   dispel it. But seeing is believing, they say, and when I got to 2221,
   I saw no chain, no sign, and no soap on the glass. It was just the
   Fulwider, the same as ever. I went into the lobby, smelled the
   familiar odor--it reminds me of the pink cakes they put in the urinals
   of public men's rooms these days--and glanced around at the same ratty
   palm trees overhanging the same faded red tile floor.
   
   Bill was standing next to Vernon Klein, world's oldest elevator
   operator, in Car 2. In his frayed red suit and ancient pillbox hat,
   Vernon looks like a cross between the Philip Morris bellboy and a
   rhesus monkey which has fallen into an industrial steam-cleaning
   machine. He looked up at me with his mournful basset-hound eyes, which
   were watering from the Camel pasted in the middle of his mouth. His
   peepers should have gotten used to the smoke years ago; I couldn't
   remember ever having seen him without a Camel parked in that same
   position.
   
   Bill moved over a little, but not far enough. There wasn't room enough
   in the car for him to move far enough. I'm not sure there would have
   been room in Rhode Island for him to move far enough. Delaware, maybe.
   He smelled like bologna which has spent a year or so marinating in
   cheap bourbon. And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, he
   belched.
   
   ``Sorry, Clyde.''
   
   ``Well, you certainly ought to be,'' I said, waving the air in front
   of my face as Vern slid the gate across the front of the car and
   prepared to fly us to the moon . . . or at least to the seventh floor.
   ``What drainpipe did you spend the night in, Bill?''
   
   Yet there was something comforting about that smell--I'd be lying if I
   said there wasn't. Because it was a familiar smell. It was just Bill
   Tuggle, odoriferous, hung over, and standing with his knees slightly
   bent, as if someone had filled the crotch of his underpants with
   chicken salad and he'd just realized it. Not pleasant, nothing about
   that morning's elevator ride was pleasant, but it was at least known.
   
   Bill gave me a sick smile as the elevator began to rattle upward but
   said nothing.
   
   I swung my head in Vernon's direction, mostly to get away from the
   smell of overbaked accountant, but whatever small talk I'd been
   meaning to make died in my throat. The two pictures which had hung
   over Vern's stool since the beginning of time--one of Jesus walking on
   the Sea of Galilee while his boatbound disciples gawped at him and the
   other of Vern's wife in a buckskin-fringed Sweetheart of the Rodeo
   outfit and a turn-of-the-century hairdo--were both gone. What had
   replaced them shouldn't have been shocking, especially in light of
   Vernon's age, but it hit me like a barge-load of bricks just the same.
   
   
   It was a card, that's all--a simple card showing the silhouette of a
   man fishing on a lake at sunset. It was the sentiment printed below
   the canoe that floored me: HAPPY RETIREMENT!
   
   You could have doubled the way I felt when Peoria told me he might see
   again and still have come up short. Memories flickered through my mind
   with the speed of cards being shuffled by a riverboat gambler. There
   was the time Vern broke into the office next to mine to call an
   ambulance when that nutty dame, Agnes Sternwood, first tore my phone
   out of the wall and then swallowed what she swore was drain-cleaner.
   The ``drain-cleaner'' turned out to be nothing but crystals of raw
   sugar, and the office Vern broke into turned out to be a high-class
   horse parlor. So far as I know, the guy who leased the place and
   slapped MacKenzie Imports on the door is still receiving his annual
   Sears Roebuck catalogue in San Quentin. Then there was the guy Vern
   cold-conked with his stool just before he could ventilate my guts;
   that was the Mavis Weld business again, of course. Not to mention the
   time he brought his daughter to me--what a babe she was!--when she got
   involved with that dirty-picture racket.
   
   Vern retiring?
   
   It wasn't possible. It just wasn't.
   
   ``Vernon,'' I asked, ``what kind of joke is this?''
   
   ``No joke, Mr. Umney,'' he said, and as he brought the elevator car to
   a stop on Three, he began to hack a deep cough I'd never heard in all
   the years I'd known him. It was like listening to marble bowling balls
   rolling down a stone alley. He took the Camel out of his mouth, and I
   was horrified to see the end of it was pink, and not with lipstick. He
   looked at it for a moment, grimaced, then replaced it and yanked back
   the accordion grille. ``Thuh-ree, Mr. Tuggle.''
   
   ``Thanks, Vern,'' Bill said.
   
   ``Remember the party on Friday,'' Vernon said. His words were muffled;
   he'd taken a handkerchief spotted with brown stains out of his back
   pocket and was wiping his lips with it. ``I sure would admire for you
   to come.'' He glanced at me with his rheumy eyes, and what was in them
   scared the bejabbers out of me. Something was waiting for Vernon Klein
   just around the next bend in the road, and that look said Vernon knew
   all about it. ``You too, Mr. Umney--we been through a lot together,
   and I'd be tickled to raise a glass with you.''
   
   ``Wait a minute!'' I shouted, grabbing Bill as he tried to step out of
   the elevator. ``You wait just a God damned minute, both of you! What
   party? What's going on here?''
   
   ``Retirement,'' Bill said. ``It usually happens at some point after
   your hair turns white, in case you've been too busy to notice.
   Vernon's party is going to be in the basement on Friday afternoon.
   Everybody in the building's going to be there, and I'm going to make
   my world-famous Dynamite Punch. What's the matter with you, Clyde?
   You've known for a month that Vern was finishing up on May
   thirtieth.''
   
   That made me angry all over again, the way I'd been when Peoria called
   me a faggot. I grabbed Bill by the padded shoulders of his
   double-breasted suit and gave him a shake. ``The hell you say!''
   
   He gave me a small, pained smile. ``The hell I don't, Clyde. But if
   you don't want to come, fine. Stay away. You've been acting poco loco
   for the last six months, anyhow.''
   
   I shook him again. ``What do you mean, poco loco?''
   
   ``Crazy as a loon, nutty as a fruitcake, two wheels off the road, out
   to lunch, playing without a full deck--any of those ring a bell? And
   before you answer, just let me inform you that if you shake me one
   more time, even a little shake, my guts are going to explode straight
   out through my chest, and not even dry-cleaning will get that mess off
   your suit.''
   
   He pulled away before I could do it again even if I'd wanted to and
   started down the hall with the seat of his pants hanging somewhere
   down around the level of his knees, as per usual. He glanced back just
   once, while Vernon was sliding the brass gate across. ``You need to
   take some time off, Clyde. Starting last week.''
   
   ``What's gotten into you?'' I shouted at him. ``What's gotten into all
   of you?'' But by then the inner door was closed and we were headed up
   again--this time to Seven. My little slice of heaven. Vern dropped his
   cigarette butt into the bucket of sand that squats in the corner, and
   immediately stuck a fresh one in his kisser. He popped a wooden match
   alight with his thumbnail, set the fag on fire, and immediately
   started coughing again. Now I could see fine drops of blood misting
   out from between his cracked lips. It was a gruesome sight. His eyes
   had dropped; they stared vacantly into the far corner, seeing nothing,
   hoping for nothing. Bill Tuggle's B.O. hung between us like the Ghost
   of Binges Past.
   
   ``Okay, Vern,'' I said. ``What is it and where are you going?''
   
   Vernon had never been one to wear out the English language, and that
   at least hadn't changed. ``It's Big C,'' he said. ``On Saturday I
   catch the Desert Blossom to Arizona. I'm going to live with my sister.
   I don't expect to wear out my welcome, though. She might have to
   change the bed twice.'' He brought the elevator to a stop and rattled
   the gate back. ``Seven, Mr. Umney. Your little slice of heaven.'' He
   smiled at that just as he always did, but this time it looked like the
   kind of smile you see on the candy skulls down in Tijuana, on the Day
   of the Dead.
   
   Now that the elevator door was open, I smelled something up here in my
   little slice of heaven that was so out of place it took a moment for
   me to recognize it: fresh paint. Once it was noted, I filed it. I had
   other fish to fry.
   
   ``This isn't right,'' I said. ``You know it isn't, Vern.''
   
   He turned his frightening vacant eyes on me. Death in them, a black
   shape flapping and beckoning just beyond the faded blue. ``What isn't
   right, Mr. Umney?''
   
   ``You're supposed to be here, damn it! Right here! Sitting on your
   stool with Jesus and your wife over your head. Not this!'' I reached
   up, grabbed the card with the picture of the man fishing on the lake,
   tore it in two, put the pieces together, tore it in four, and then
   gave them the toss. They fluttered to the faded red rug on the floor
   of the elevator car like confetti.
   
   ``S'posed to be right here,'' he repeated, those terrible eyes of his
   never leaving mine. Beyond us, two men in paint-splattered coveralls
   had turned to look in our direction.
   
   ``That's right.''
   
   ``For how long, Mr. Umney? Since you know everything else, you can
   probably tell me that, can'tcha? How long am I supposed to keep drivin
   this damned car?''
   
   ``Well . . . forever,'' I said, and the word hung between us, another
   ghost in the cigarette-smokey elevator car. Given a choice of ghosts,
   I guess I would have picked Bill Tuggle's B.O. . . . but I wasn't
   given a choice. Instead, I said it again. ``Forever, Vern.''
   
   He dragged on his Camel, coughed out smoke and a fine spray of blood,
   and went on looking at me. ``It ain't my place to give the tenants
   advice, Mr. Umney, but I guess I'll give you some, anyway--it being my
   last week and all. You might consider seeing a doctor. The kind that
   shows you ink-pitchers and you say what they look like.''
   
   ``You can't retire, Vern.'' My heart was beating harder than ever, but
   I managed to keep my voice level. ``You just can't.''
   
   ``No?'' He took his cigarette out of his mouth--fresh blood was
   already soaking into the tip--and then looked back at me. His smile
   was ghastly. ``The way it looks to me, I ain't exactly got a choice,
   Mr. Umney.''
   

 =09==========================================================================

 -+ seduction of the needle +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-

 'Seduction Of The Needle'

 Its been a tale with nine years to hell
 And all that time I thought I was having fun
 I've used it so long, my soul is for sell
 I wouldn't let her help, so I'm all done

 There lay my rotting carcass
 That night you looked good in that dress
 Your seduction wasn't strong enough
 But my needle of happiness was enough

 Seduction of the needle
 Prick, poison, inject
 The needle of happiness
 Seduction of the needle
 Prick, poison, inject
 The needle of happiness

 This is my broken machine
 This needle is all mine
 I'm starting to slowly decline
 I'm rotting away
 To become a wall of clay

 This happiness is mine
 It's is devine
 This happiness is mine
 I've killed my swine

 Seduction of the needle
 Prick, poison, inject
 The needle of happiness
 Seduction of the needle
 Prick, poison, inject
 The needle of happiness

 This is the needle in my vein
 It feels so good I coudln't say no
 Inject it real slow
 My face had a red glow

 She wanted me to stick with her
 This needle of happiness was more seductive
 She helped and helped
 But not even she could keep me alive

 Seduction of the needle
 Prick, poison, inject
 The needle of happiness
 Seduction of the needle
 Prick, poison, inject
 The needle of happiness

 Its to sad I had to go
 It was a tale with nine years to hell
 It all went slow
 This needle of happiness fell


 =10==========================================================================

 -+ ways to contact yj +-

 here are the following was that you can contact yellow journal:

 lowen@goodnet.com - Big Hurt, Editor - Head 
 entropy@goodnet.com - Clark, Writer


 =11==========================================================================

 -+ adventures of charlie, part 1 +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-

 charlie is unique in his way. since he is a brown young dog. maybe only 2
 years old at the most in human years. but in dog years that would 14. 

 charlie's owners name is vic. vic is a high school teacher and was head
 varsity coach of the high school baseball team. he would come and nights 
 after they lost and throw things in disgust. sometimes when charlie was
 minding his own business and just walking around the house, vic would 
 sometimes yell at him and once he kicked him straight in the ribs. 

 at the time charlie didn't know why vic kicked him in the ribs. all he knew
 that is was hurting and stinging big time. 

 after many of times of vic doing this, charlie started to catch on that he
 would stay away when he saw that look. the look that could kill over six
 million people. i bet hitler would've wished he had that look.

 one night when vic came home from a baseball game, he wasn't so upset, 
 because he knew that the season was almost over and the team had no chance of
 going anywhere. charlie got close to vic and decided he would go and see if
 he could get a petting from his master. 

 vic got a little mad and nudge charlie away. but charlie continued to get
 petted. this angered vic and then finally he blew his top. vic threw charlie
 outside. 

 charlie roamed around out back, not knowing why he was thrown out back. he
 walked around the house looking for away to get back into the house and get
 petted. after a while he made his way to the side of the house. instead of 
 finding a exit to the house, charlie found an exit from the backyard. but, 
 being the dog charlie was, he didn't know where this lead him.

 he scratched and scratched at the gate, until he got the gate to open wide
 and he mossied on out to the front yard. 

 he was amazed. this is where he was once or twice before. a world that he 
 hadn't explored much. he looked around, totally forgetting about that the
 reason that brought him out in this new world. he saw and heard something
 in the distance running. 

 so charlie thought he would go after it. and that he did.

 as you got closer and closer to the thing that once seemed far away he 
 realized it was another dog that must have gotten out.

 but this dog wasn't just any dog. it was a female dog. and since charlie was
 male ... (you get the point)

 charlie introduced himself to hopefully his new girlfriend. her name was
 lacey.

 lacey was a white dog a little bit smaller than charlie. the only difference
 between them was the hair color and that charlie had some extra carry-on
 bagged.

 lacey wanted charlie to go with her. so being the dog that he was, he agreed
 and they went on their way to lala land.

 lacey told charlie all about lala land as they grew closer to one another.
 she was getting charlie all excited.

 time passed.

 it took about two hours or so wondering around until they finally got to 
 lala land. charlie didn't expect this much from what lacey told him. he was
 surprised. he was free and with his new girlfriend.

 after spending most of the day together, they decided to make theirselves a
 bed to rest upon until trouble came.

 charlie looked deep into lacey's big brown loveable eyes and gave her a big
 wet doggy kiss (actually he licked her) on the face. and she returned the 
 favor. things started to heat up as they moved onto the doggy style of 
 things.

 the next morning came as you could see charlie starting to wake up by the 
 sleeping beauty, lacey. he was quite and moving softly on the ground to not
 wake her up. 

 as he was walking away from the bed, she woke all of a sudden. then asked
 charlie why he was leaving her. he explained to her.

 it was all because he missed his owner vic. and he was sure that vic missed
 him and probably tried looking for him the night before. 

 lacey begged charlie not to go, but her pleds weren't enough to keep him
 around to be her boyfriend any longer. 

 charlie told her it would be okay. she would find someone else and maybe he
 would find someone like her someday that his owner brings home. he then 
 told later and maybe we'll meet someday down the road, kid.

 charlie left her behind in the sunshine of a new day. 

 the last she saw of charlie was him walking into the rising sun as his
 tale was moving back and forth and his ears flapping of every stepped he
 walked. she must have counted a million steps into all she could of him was
 a spot on the black asphalt road.


 =12==========================================================================

 -+ a season coming to a close +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-


 the 1996 centennial varsity baseball season has come to a close. even though
 we where a young team, we where suppose to be very good for our age. but, 
 everything feel apart during the ironwood game. people wouldn't get into the
 game. but that will soon change.

 because i'm getting sick of people going out their when i wanna win and i 
 know other people on the team wanna win. but, they just fuck around doing 
 what they think is right. well, i'm not a person known for getting on peoples
 backs and telling them to shape up or ship out, but that time may be coming
 very soon.

 my team posted a 4-17 record for the entire season and a 1-9 record for our
 region. with those numbers it looks like we sucked. we all have great talent
 but we werent into the game. sometimes we didn't have mental toughness and
 didn't think of what we needed to do. which right there is the team weakness.

 but this summer our coach is going to work us harder and make us mentall 
 tough and make sure we do everything right and next varsity baseball season
 we will be going to state.

 besides the team doing bad i posted up a pitching record of:

 2 wins, 2 losses, 35 strikeouts, 13 walks, 30 innings of work, and i'm not
 sure of the era at this moment. it might be high because of the lack of 
 effort my team put forth when i was pitching some of the time. all i know is
 that i got the first win of the season. i had a no-hitter for three innings
 and then only allowed two more after that.

 also, the arizona diamondbacks and altanta braves were there watching me 
 pitch with probably other major league teams and colleges.

 well our baseball season ended not so well, but next year will be a lot 
 better.

 by the way, if any one happens to find the major league baseball office
 address please send it to me at lowen@goodnet.com. i need it to find out
 what it takes to enter the major league baseball draft. thanks a lot.

 =13==========================================================================

 -+ search engines +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-

 search engines? search engines are spiffy. the ones for the world wide web
 are very helpful in performing a task where you enter what you would like to
 see. 

 whenever i'm on the web surfing the net i always use search engines. whenever
 i want find out information or find some new files. i just head to yahoo or
 webcrawler. 

 the addresses for those are:

 yahoo! - http://www.yahoo.com
 webcrawler - http://www.webcrawler.com

 and while you are on the web check out this site that i found:

 http://www.treasurequest.com

 =14==========================================================================

 -+ humiliation +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-

 i'm about to admit my biggest reget. my biggest fear. my biggest 
 underachievement. my biggest struggle. my biggest humiliation. 

 at least you will know i'm human. well, i'm currently 17 years old and i
 still don't have a girlfriend. i haven't ever had a girlfriend. i can talk
 to them, but the ones that i really like, i end up scaring off. kind of funny
 huh? but, i'm not laughing cause i can't snag the one i feel i like. but,
 i've been surfing the net and came across some things that may end up helping
 me in the long run.

 plus, i order the book by this guy FREE on disk. just go to:
 http://www.seduction.com

 anyways, i'm on a search to find myself a girlfriend and at least keep her
 for longer than most girls. a lot of girls enjoy being around me than most
 guys. kind of funny when you think about it, but i just can't any guts to
 ask any of them out.

 but, after reading and talking to a few friend that are trying to motivate
 me into selling myself to this girl that i think would be cool to be a 
 girlfriend. even though i don't know her and all. first i'm gonna start to
 break the ice by smiling at her and then saying "hi" in the hall. or 
 something along the lines of that.

 if all goes good, i'll get her number. then i'll take it from their. i'm
 going to try to be more aggressive and get the girl this time.

 i hope things work out and next issue you will have to look for a story 
 about my expierences with getting the girl. 

 i feel much better getting this into the air, because i'm sure many people 
 my age haven't gotten a girlfriend yet. maybe, even older people haven't
 also.


 =15==========================================================================

 -+ just my luck +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-

 i entered a contest and they recently had a drawing and i was randomly 
 selected as the winner for the month of april. 

 joy to the world!

 because the contest that i entered was answering a simple question with a
 "no" or "yes" answer. the question was about love. it was at the dr. tracy's
 love advise site: http://www.loveadvise.com.

 so, remember earlier when i told you that i was going to go after that girl
 and all of that crap. well, i'm going to put that off just a little bit until
 i receive the book i won from the site.

 maybe this will help me. so you'll still have to stay tuned in the future and
 see if i get a real life. at least a life with a girlfriend in it. wouldn't
 that be just great? at least for me.

 
 =16==========================================================================

 -+ issue 6 +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-

 before i get to what i was going to say, i've decided the dates for the rest
 of the year. and here are they dates:

 issue # 03 - sunday, may 11th, 1996 (this one, duh!@!)
 issue # 04 - sunday, june 9th, 1996
 issue # 05 - monday, july 8th, 1996 (will be released monday after i get back
                                     from san diego trip for summer baseball.)
 issue # 06 - sunday, august 11th, 1996 (special half-year issue)
 issue # 07 - sunday, september 8th, 1996
 issue # 08 - sunday, october 13th, 1996
 issue # 09 - sunday, november 11th, 1996
 issue # 10 - sunday, december 15th, 1996 (special christmas issue)

 --- -- -]
 
 well, since you can see above that when the special issues are coming out,
 along with the rest of the issues for the year. i just hope i can last and
 keep putting issues out for the rest of the 1996 year. 

 well if you have been reading yj for a while now, then thank you and i hope
 to keep you aboard as a reader of this zine. 

 anyways, i'm announcing that yellow journal will be releasing a special 
 half year issue, being yellow journal issue #6, which will be released on
 sunday, august 11th, 1996. 

 by then, i've hoped to that yj has gained the respect of other fellow readers
 and zine writters in the scene. and i hope that i could possibly get a few of
 them to write for the special issue. so if you would like to submit anything
 for that issue, please email me at lowen@goodnet.com to find out more or just
 send me your story or article.

 then there will be a special christmas issue for the holiday season. i'm not
 going to worry to much about that one for now, since that is over six issues
 from now. but we must all have some fun on our way through our adventures 
 together.

 
 =17==========================================================================

 -+ deep down +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-

 'Deep Down'

 Deep down I scream
 Deep down I fear
 What you see, is not the true me

 Can you feel, can you touch
 Can you understand, can you comperhend
 Can you see, but it's not the true me

 Deep down I scream (everynight)
 Deep down I fear (fear you)
 What you see, is not the true me

 My past has been a burden
 Burning my life away
 Burning my house down
 Deep down until it hits ground

 What you see, is that I'm not me
 I have a lust for the odds
 My machine rattles as I move on
 My acts may strike you as not the norm

 Deep down I scream (everynight)
 Deep down I fear (fear you)
 What you see, is not the true me

 You've broken my wall, now you see me
 I'm hiding in submission
 It might seem like fiction
 But it is really me

 Deep down I scream (everynight)
 Deep down I fear (everybody)
 Deep down I cry (everynight)
 Deep down I kill (everybody)
                  (at least in my imagination)


 =18==========================================================================

 -+ hasta la vista bebe +-
 -+ written by big hurt +-

 so it didnt seem that great, but i still would like to hear what you have to
 say. so be upfront with me, so i can use your comments to improve the reading
 of this magazine, so it doesn't repeal you from reading future issues.

 because i would like you back. i would even enjoy new writers, besides the 
 ones that have written for yellow journal in the past. 

 if you would like to submit articles, stories, news, songs, poems, etc., send
 all electronic mail to: lowen@goodnet.com and i'll be happy to get back to 
 you.

 it was fun while it lasted, but i'm going to have to say good-bye. this is
 big hurt signing out. see you next issue.

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              yj # 3  -  yellow journal numero three  -  yj # 3
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                                    staff
                             head/editor: big hurt
           writers: clark / balls wilson / pointman / zeus / big hurt

                               emailing address
              big hurt/yellow journal info: lowen@goodnet.com
                          clark: entropy@goodnet.com

    yellow journal (c) 1996 - all right reserved - yellow journal publishing                              

          "life isn't always easy. but that's not the only thing hard."
                               .. anonymous ..


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              yj # 3  -  yellow journal numero three  -  yj # 3
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