The 640 MEG Shareware Studio 2/The 640 Meg Shareware Studio CD-ROM Volume II (Data Express)(1993).ISO/info/sanity12.zip/SANITY12.TXT

Text File | 1992-09-01 | 27KB | 568 lines

                                       The
                               Boundaries of Sanity
                              ======================
                                    (C) 1992
                                  Aaron Turpen

                                   Issue #: 12
                                   Edited by:
                                  Aaron Turpen
                                 (AKA Thanatos)
                                    Released:
                                    09/04/92


=============================================================================
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What's In Here:
===============
1.  Special Thanks
     My empty thanks this month.

2.  The Editor's Soapbox
     I talk of election stuff.   Nobody reads this anyway.

3.  Feature Story #1:  Journal of a Jaded Gypsy
     An old gypsy comes to an understanding of self.

4.  Feature Poem #1:  Living
     Pain.  Is it really in death?

5.  Feature Poem #2:  Whore
     An interesting look into the eyes of a show-whore.

6.  Feature Story #2:  A Peculiar War-Time Problem:  Solved
     Even war in space brings interesting problems.

7.  Feature Poem #3:  Enter Morpheus
     The poetry of sleep.

8.  Feature Poem #4:  New Life
     Birth:  the mother's point of view.

9.  Famous Quayle Quotes:  Dan Speaks Latin...Sorta
     Our famous Second-Man proves his deficiency yet again!

10. Feature Story #3:  Colorblind
     The confines of the imagination are breached...

11. Feature Poem #5:  Life To Me
     Finding a friend who is around; even beyond death.

12. About the Literature
     An explanation of this madness!

=============================================================================

Special Thanks:
===============
     Well, who should I specially thank and for what?  I could thank Allen's
for supplying me with such a wonderfully shitt..er...lucrative job.  Or
perhaps Ross Perot for dropping out and leaving me no choice but Bo Gritz...
Nah.  I guess I won't really thank anyboy this month except maybe Borden for
these wonderful LaFamous chips I'm munching on (salsa dip, too).

=================================================================
The Silver River Sequential is  another  electromag available for
download as SILVER??.ZIP (replace the "??"s with an issue number)
from several prominent BBSs.  HIGHLY recommended by the editor of
this magazine, it is another  free electronic publication.  CHECK
IT OUT!
=================================================================

The Editor's Soapbox:
=====================
     Well, this hasn't been an interesting month.  I bought new boots (no,
not cowboy shit-kickers!), but that's about it.  Nothing special.  Maybe
I'll talk about spasmotic squirrel droppings.  Naw.  Too painful a subject.
     I would like to mention, though, that this issue marks the one year
anniversary of this magazine!  WOW!  ONE YEAR!  That's a damn long time!
Anyway, just to let you know, there'll be a special issue of the magazine
out about two weeks after this one to commemorate this wonderful occasion.
It's sorta like a MAD or Cracked special issue.  The name'll be SANITYS1,
meaning Sanity Special 1 (imaginative, eh?) so watch for it!  Get bent!

     Now to talk about serious type stuff:    <Shawww!  As if...>

     We have several opportunities to make a difference (yeah, right) this
year.  Bush, Clinton, Perot?, Gritz.  Who to choose, who to choose.  Nicely
enough, none of the parties were interested in sending me info on their
"stances" this term.  Not one!  I tried to get some info from all of em, but
didn't get response.  Well, OK, the Independent party sent me a flyer thing
that was anything but informative.  Otherwise:  NIL.  Oh well.  That's
Democracy for ya.  You have to learn on your own.
     So I went out to the librarian and said "Inform my ass!  I needa
KNOW!"  She said "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, young
man."  So I flipped her off.  Some public servant, information giver she
was!  Sheesh.  So I went to the Mall and wandered around, talking to a lot
of shopkeeps and shoppers.
     Generally, everyone is voting for everyone mentioned above (though not
many had heard of Bo Gritz, so I mentioned neat ideas of his like 4-trillion
dollar coins for the debt and such).  Anyway, the guy in the knife shop was,
of course, pro NRA and therefore anti-Democratic Party.  The salespeople at
the record stores were mostly for either Bo Gritz or Perot, though there was
one very striking young lady who was voting for Bush.  Was she coming on?
Doubt it.  Ahh, well.
     Since the mall wasn't exactly a storehouse of info, I decided to jaunt
on over to the local college; UVCC.  Lots of people in a hurry to get some-
where and a lot of other people eager to be ignored.  I guess you have to
learn by yourself at college.
     Failing at the learning institution (in more than once course), I
figured it was time for a drink.  7-11 was convenient, so I dropped in.  You
know, the last thing I expected there was to find my answers!  But lo and
behold, there they were!  In plain sight!  Easily digested in small words and
big print!  MAGAZINES!  So I read.  And I read and I read and I read.  After
an hour or so, I got kicked out, but not before I'd found the ultimate
answer!  Yes, I had it!  I had the answer to every question I'd ever had
before!  You might say, the true answer to the ultimate question!
     42.  Yes, this simple number is the answer!  So, when election time
comes this November, go to your ballot box and mark everything that coincides
with the number 42.  The 42nd box; someone with 42 characters in their name;
ANYTHING!  And if there's nothing that coincides with 42, simply put
"Bart Simpson" in the "write-in" area.  Close enough...

--Aaron Turpen

====================================================================
Room 101 -- [phone].   Has MANY files  to choose  from!   Good
message bases and several questionable users <GRIN>.     Nice setup.
The editor frequents this BBS.
====================================================================

Journal of a Jaded Gypsy
========================
(C) 1992  Chris Lynn

     The crystal sphere on the yellowed, crocheted tablecloth had
lost its glow years ago.  The sunlight seemed as if it had to be
dragged through the window to gleam on the ball.  It gave off a
glow, but it wasn't the same.
     The small cottage sat on four haggard, wooden spoked wheels
forming a wagon.  The once colorful, flaking and faded, had long
since given up hope on the wagon's inhabitant.  A sign, now too
warped and dirty to be read, once announced the establishment to
be a thriving business.  Finding no job to be served now, the
sign hung in retirement.  The wagon wheels were surrounded by
obtrusive weeds and were sunken into the earth, unable to move.
A single electrical outlet held its neck above the wild grass.
It was the lone survivor of an idea which used to be Chuck's R.V.
Park.  Chuck had installed one outlet and had found that his loan
wouldn't be coming through.  A wire ran from the lonely plug-in
through the bottom of the wagon to power the worn appliances
inside.  The mule which once pulled the ancient mobile home had
gone lame and was shot (a job which the denizen of the wagon had
liked not one bit).
     The old woman in the trailer stared at her crystal ball and
sighed.  Business had been slow.  She shifted in her antique
chair and it let out a horrible creak which helped to break the
monotony of lunch.  The aging female nibbled her cracker and the
crumbs gathered in a valley in her lap.  She then sipped the rest
of her Chamomile tea and stared at the remaining leaves in her
cup.  Nothing.  The leaves told her nothing.  Nothing of her
life, a customer's life, someone who was dead, nothing.  She used
to be able to read the leaves as if they merely told a story.
Now she felt dyslexic or illiterate.  She put the cup down in
frustration and fingered her tarot cards.  The deck, which was now
warped and frayed around the edges with a crumbling, green rubber
band around them, seldom told the truth anymore.
     The wagon was silent except for the chattering of the wind
blown gypsy beads in the doorway and the sporadic explosions of
bugs in the bug zapper.  The old gypsy used to sit for hours
mesmerized by the blue fluorescent light and guffaw when a large
moth would get caught in the "Cage of Death" and flounder around
until it was zapped to dusty pieces.  But the woman found the
"Cage of Death" was too close of a simile to life to be enjoyed.
     The familiar crowing of the rooster outside of the shanty could
still be heard through memories.   Memories were all that she had
now.  Nothing new happened anymore.  Only memories of what had
happened and hope that that vigor would return to visit, even if
it was just for a short time.
     "Hope!  The fuel for fools!," she could hear her father
bellow.  She didn't care if she was being foolish.  It couldn't
hurt to hope.  Maybe hoping does help.
She couldn't help but remember the gaiety of her vagabond
life with her group.  The parties which they would have by
bonfire within the circle of wagons where Father would play his
guitar and she would dance with the young men of the tribe were
so light-hearted.  Oh, how she wished that those days would
return!  That the nomads would return.  that she could dance with
those from the grave and those still living while her father, in
his burial dress, would strum a lively tune on his instrument.
     Memories and hoping filled her chest like a friendly glow of
pride.  The pride she once had at a job well done.  Pride that
she could look at someone's palm and tell them of all that has
happened and all that will happen.  The pride she felt when her
customer would just stare at her in bewilderment and awe.
     Soon the glow in her chest turned into a small fire.  then
it got larger and larger.  It hurt to remember.  Her bosom
throbbed and her head spun.  No!  It was another one of her heart
flutters.  Medicine!  She looked behind her and saw the familiar
bottle of white and green pills.  She snatched it and fumbled
with the childproof lid.  No...  Wait.  Why try to escape the
"Cage of Death" just to get zapped again.  Just give in and end
up on the ground like everyone else.  Yes.
     She let the small bottle tumble from her fingers and the
pills scattered like small insects.  She left to see the voices
the she had been able to communicate with long ago.

====================================================================
Mog Ur's -- [phone].    RIME  network, as  well as a few other
NETs.  BIG board,  populated  by many users.   Teeming message bases
as well as  files areas.   Has all issues of this magazine, to date.
====================================================================

Living
======
(C) 1992  Ken Marrott

     Life alone, is a seal of death,
     More hate and pain, than one should guess,
     I permeate my own hands, with inflicted pain,
     None more than is pushed upon us all,
     By who with there name, have us stained,
     Someday, they shall see,
     they are the ones, who are truely pained.

====================================================================
The Brass Cannon BBS -- [phone]        (public  node,   2400).
Specializes  in messages  (carries the  RIME  network), and  quality
files.   Also features an abundantly helpful  SysOp and a  friendly,
occasional  Co-SysOpess.  The editor frequents  this board.  (Avail.
via  ->BRASS) in the RIME Writer's conference.)
====================================================================

Whore
=====
(C) 1992  Chris Lynn

Jubilation for the lips of the mountains which speak useless,
taunting words towards my pulsating fingers.  "Fuck off!"  I
scream at the glazed tips of my blisters.  They won't run from my
hate because they think it's a show.  I tilt my vision to see the
hologram change from hate to sorrow so I cave in to the pressure
of the mountains and return my eyes and halt my screeching.

=============================================================================

A Peculiar War-Time Problem:  Solved
====================================
(C) 1992  "Rusty" Toliver

It was a dark and stormy night, well it was snowing and cold as blazes
and that could constitute a storm, and 'Ole Jake was at his wits end
as to how to buck up the moral of the troops.  After all, they had
been in the fighting for over a month and many had been injured,
though none killed - a plus for the new 'Flex Armor' - and all the
injured were back after their stay at the Med-Orbit station above the
planet.

It was women that caused him the problem. Of course in the case of the
'Lady Warriors' it was men. The hypnotic 'No No' between the combat
sexes would stay in effect until either their release from service,
should they be draftees, or their return to the base planet were the
'Pro Troops'. And the 'Slithers' could in no way substitute for
'Ladies of the night'!

That got Jake again thinking about just what made 'Slithers' tick. A
very intelligent race and a very adoptable one. The only planet
species that the Unified Worlds had encountered that did not walk
upright. What was their reason for being so damn adamant about not
discussing trade with the U/W. When the first lander touched down on
the planet and all the personnel were killed - it had happened before-
it was thought a local taboo had been breached. It was only after
the second landing they learned that the Slithers had adopted the
first lander to use for themselves and tried to attack the mother
vessel. The planet was one of the lessor ones of the system and the
only one with a habitual climate of sorts. Slithers were carbon oxygen
based life similar to Jake's race in that regard. Life forms of other
types were bypassed because of problems related to Jake's species
sustaining life.

Jake stretched his four arms and pushed himself erect on his feet.
Sex. What a dirty word. Now if they had a system like that species out
on the edge of the galaxy, Earthers as they called themselves, with
their space brothels and traveling shows, he could overcome the
problem with ease. But higher command thought that decadent and the
religious element in the government frowned also. Some of those
Earthers would be a help here Jake thought. With their smaller size,
four limbs and ability to take this type of colder environment, they
would be an asset. Of course they were just now coming on line with
deep space vessels and 'Hy-Drive'. A few were on the mother vessel as
observers and he rather liked them. They laughed a lot, a sure sign of
intelligence. Of course the damned Slithers laughed a lot also. But
the converting of a Adak-Three lander to their use proved their
intelligence. A species had only two arms and no legs or feet that
could convert a vessel that needed the controlling of four arms and
two feet had to be smart. How many did they have now? Perhaps a half
dozen. They attacked the mother vessel several times a moon rise. And
their weapons were improving daily. Jake didn't hate them. As a Pro
Trooper he was conditioned to combat without hate. Really he did not
want to kill anyone. If only the Slithers would parley. Tell the
Adak's what they wanted and set up some peace signals this whole mess
could be stopped. Oh well. His not to reason why. Just do the job and
get on toward retirement.

The com-board lit up and a familiar face seemed to look around the
room. Jake answered in his twitter to the Commander. "Jakeobe Cod Adak
here". "Ah, General", the Commander said, "May have good news for
you". Jake thought good news would be that they were giving up this
campaign and going home but knew better. "Yes Sir, Tell away Sir".

"Well General one of our Earther's has come up with a idea for our sex
problem". Now how in Adak's three moons could an Earther solve a
problem of Adak-three sex. "He got the idea from our 'Flex-Armor'.
He's made an item for our repro gland to expand into and fit in a
Lady-warriors receiptor. Works like a charm. I tried it last night.
Really great". Jake could see the Commander seemed sexually satisfied
and wished he could feel the same but one problem still existed.
"Sir?" Jake questioned, "What about the Hypnotic No No between
Troopers"?

The Commander leaned back and stretched to his full ten feet, then
recoiled back to his usual eight and laughed: "General the simplest
part of all. A dark room, blindfolds and groping. The Earther
suggested that also. It seems they prefer their sex in the dark and
like to feel around. He said it goes back to something called the
'Victorian Period' of their culture. Any way he even gave his item a
name. He calls it a 'Rubber'. I think that rather Quaint"!

==================================================================
Cloud 8 -- [phone] (2400 MNP) or 756-1630 (16.8K high speed)
Specializes in Sound Blaster and high res.  .GIF support!  Carries
the NaNet (North AmeriNet).  EXCELLENT files and  a helpful SysOp.
The editor frequents this board.
==================================================================

Enter Morpheus
==============
(C) 1992  Chris Lynn

Eyes dart beneath the closed lids
While the seemingly random images
Carry an inexplicable plot
Along the valleys of unconsciousness.
Leaving behind the drool and crust
To contrive Morpheus' tales
Of intangible journeys to never-heard-of places,
Sheets mangle the floating.
You don't want to return
To the drool and crust of your eyes.

====================================================================
The Pension Grillparzer -- [phone], 2400 baud.  Specializes in
messages and oddities/literature files.  Running Waffle v1.64.  Also
has an overtly  helpful SysOp and a casual, confusing atmosphere and
BBS system.  Plus, newly added, USENET!  Also has cookies...
====================================================================

New Life
========
(C) 1992  JoAnne King

A light has opened inside of me:
A hint,
A glint,
A wonder of heredity.

My belly bulges and grows:
A swelling,
A basketballing,
All this it will show.

How big I am; now all will see:
A look,
A meuc,
Everyone happy for me.

Time's getting much shorter:
A pain,
A gain,
A rush for like a mortar.

Sudden I can hold, see:
A crying,
A sighing,
Someone who calls me "Mommy!"

====================================================================
Randon Lunacy BBS -- [phone].   Carries  FISHNet  as  well  as
several, smaller  networks and  several quality  files  ranging from
Japanese  anime  .GIFs and scripts from Anime movies/shows.  Healty,
spastic environment.  The editor frequents this board.
====================================================================

Famous Quayle Quotes:  Dan Speaks Latin...Sorta
===============================================

"The U.S. has a vital interest in that area of the country".

--Dan Quayle referring to Latin America

=============================================================================

Colorblind
==========
by David Manning

     Portrait of a cartoonist, sitting on his stool scratching away
at an image on his drawing board, floor, walls, littered with
various clippings and rejections, coffee maker and empty cup on the
stained little table at his side.  Pencils done, inking nearly
completed, almost time for another cup of columbian.  Pen clatters
to the tray, stretch, crack a few weary knuckles.  Still a quarter
or so left in the pot, luke warm, what the hell.  A glance at the
wrist, Mickey's screamin' twelve thirty-five.  Some color, a bit
more coffee, and then the comfort of a queen-sized waterbed.  The
Pope never had it so good.
     "The Pope's an asshole."
     Huh?
     "Ain't so much the dumb hat as it is that stupid thing he
drives around in.  'Nuf ta make a guy puke."
     What the hell?  "Who's there?"  Empty doorway, vacant room.
     "Your memory that short?"
     "Where are you?!" Scraping of the stool on tiled floor.
Window closed, no one outside.
     "Down here, bright boy."
     "What?  Where?!"  A pile of aging newspapers.
     "Here, Sherlock, the board."
     The drawing board, nothing except..."Oh my God!"  Half-filled
cup of coffee crashes to the floor.
     "Is it October already?  What's with the blank stare?"
     "HOLY SHIT!"  Glance at the coffee maker.
     "It ain't the coffee, mac, and it sure as hell ain't lack a
sleep."
     "What...you're...oh my God!"
     "Get a grip will ya, you're embarrassin' me."
     "But you're..."
     "A cartoon?  So what.  Doesn't mean I don't have nothin'
interestin' ta say."
     "You can't do that, you're not real!"
     "Oh no?  How 'bout this."  Impressive bird with only four
fingers.
     "I don't believe it!" sitting back on the stool.
     "Look, it ain't really that impressive, ya know."
     "How do you do that?"
     "Are you serious?  You just take the middle finger, or the
closest to the middle in my case..."
     "No, how do you move, talk on your own?"
     "I get it from my mother's side.  I thought they taught this
stuff in school."
     "Who ARE you?"  Leaning closer.
     "Who am I?  Ask yerself, you drew me."
     "But WHAT?"  Gesticulation.
     "Whatever you make me, it's your head, pal, not mine."
     "I control you?"
     "Mostly, yeah.  We can do what we want, but can't leave the
boundries you've set up.  Dissapointin' sometimes."
     "But I haven't set any 'boundries', I just draw.  I don't
understand this."  Puzzlement.
     "Look, mac, you're a great cartoonist and all, but you're a
dull guy.  You don't consciously set up the borders, they're just
there.  Get it?"
     "No.  I still don't get how you move, and talk.  This is
insane."
     "Sanity ain't somethin' I care much about."
     "No kidding."
     "No.  Look, come a little closer, I got somethin' ta show ya."
Motioning with a stubby finger.
     Distance shortened.  The coffee would likely stain the white
tile.  Oh well.  "What?"
     "This."  Searing pain.  Blood spattering the drawing board and
paper, estatic laughter.  "HA HA, I finally got you, you stupid
sonuvabitch.  TAKE THAT!"
     Blood welling like tears from the stricken eye, the other
clenched with the pain.  "AAAAAH...SHIT!"  Stool tumbles to the
floor.
     "Ya like that one?  How 'bout this."  More pain, jeans ripped,
leg burns as if on fire.
     "AAAAAH."  More laughter.
     "Only one way, bub."
     Good eye slits through the pain.  Claws lash like knives at
the stomach.  Quick step back, the swing catches only shirt, but
the ceiling swings into rapid view as the fallen stool steals feet
from underneath.  A thud to the floor among paper and spilt coffee
and a head full of painfull haze.
     "Careful now, don't wanna hurt yerself."  Eye forgotten, head
reeling in a throb.  "We want out.  Only one way ta break down the
walls."  Tearing, shredding.  A dozen clawed arms holding
everything down.  Head clearing.  The walls alive.  "It didn't have
ta happen like this, ya know.  You coulda been a lawyer or writer
or somethin'.  But no..."  Vision clear, save for the burning pit
of the right eye.  Hundreds of images fill the room, dancing on the
walls, the floor, the ceiling.  More pain, nearly overwhelming.  An
entire body aflame.  Ripping, laughing, blood from dozens of oozing
wounds.  Flesh being clawed away by the angry hands of an army of
insanity.  Insanity.
     "We all have a right to freedom, right mac?"  A shriek of
inhuman confusion wraught not of the tongue, but of a shredded
soul, hangs sharply in the air for a long moment, and then slowly
fades to darkness...and bliss.

====================================================================
Z-Board -- [phone]. Has MANY files to choose from!  Especially
FX and  sound demos  and music  files!   Also has a  RoboComm  comp.
PCBoard  setup and  a maildoor.   Good all-round board.   The editor
frequents this BBS.
====================================================================

Life To Me
==========
(C) 1992  Aaron Turpen

As I sit and ponder how life is for me
I wonder how it can soar so high into catastrophe.
On my cloud, I've watched the world
Rolling underneath; and wind has come and hurled
Me into yon muddy seas.
I've struggled, not quite drowned, all this I see:
Perfection cannot be attained without
Several squirmings in water, like the trout
Who swims incessently towards an end
Which he cannot be sure is not just a bend
In the river that marks his path;
As one thing tugs, another pulls.  Hath
I no way to tell myself if nothing will be
All I have? No, I have a friend in me.

=============================================================================

About The Literature:
=====================
     "Journal of a Jaded Gypsy"  is a story from long-time contributor,
Chris Lynn, who has appeared in past issues with several works.  He witholds
all copyrights to his work.

     "Living" is from Ken Marrott, a past contributor of poetry, who does
holds all copyrights over his works.

     "Whore" is another work from Chris Lynn, who witholds all rights of
authorship, including copyright.

     "A Peculiar War-Time Problem:  Solved" is from a new contributor by
the name of Rusty Toliver.  Rusty dabbles in many things, especially those
related to aircraft of the two world wars.  He witholds copyright to his
works.

     "Enter Morpheus" is yet another work from Chris Lynn, who witholds all
copyrights to his work.

     "New Life" is from a first-time contributor who just had a baby boy
last month.  Congratulations, JoAnne King! she witholds all copyrights to
her works.

     "Colorblind" is by David Manning, who hasn't appeared in this magazine
before.  He does not withold copyrights to his work because, as he says,
he'd be flattered if someone thought it good enough to steal!

     "Life To Me" is from the editor of the magazine, Aaron Turpen, who
witholds all copyrights to his works.

=============================================================================