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1996-11-02
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61KB
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1,376 lines
This is what an Arise data file looks like. If you want the simple compiler
that makes these files through the use of a cheezy file manager, and you're
of course the Arise editor or magazine assembler, contact Lord Humongous;>
It's best recommended that I assemble these data files though, since I have
to change the actual executable to tell it what files to look for anyway.
--^^--begin: arisenew.txt
|16 |15,s$$',$ $$s, `²÷.
,s$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$,s$$ $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$s, `²÷|08.
|15,s$$ª""""""ª"""""""""ª $ª""""ª$$$ª"""""ª$$s, | A|07r|08ise Founders and
|15$$ ,s$$$$$$s,`$$$$$$$s,$$$ ,s$$$$s, ,s$$$$$s,`$$ s P|07r|08esidents:
|15$ ,$$ª'.`ª$$$ $$$ .`ª$'$$$ $$$, `ª$,$$ª' `ª$$,`$ S |08-|15F|07l|08ood·
|15$ $$$ s$s $$$ $$$ $$s. $$$ $$$$, $$$$$$$$$$$ $ $ |08-|15B|07o|08mber· |07∙
|15$ `$$s,`,s$$$ $$$ $$$$ $$$s, $$$$ `$$s, s, ,$ s │ │
$$ `ª$$$$$ª$$ $$$ $$$$b`ª$$$$$$$$',s`ª$$$$$$ª,$$ |07$|15.┴|07──|08-─∙·. .∙-────|07─────|15┴|07∙
|15`$$$bsssssSssS`ª'd$$$$$$bssssssssd$$$bssssssd$$'
`$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$!wr!dqp!$$$$$$$$$' W|07r|08iter: |15F|07l|08ood
|15T|07h|08is |15M|07o|08nths |15C|07o|08ntributers
|07|
· |15F|07l|08ood |07│ |15I|07t|08's finally the first month of this new mag.
|07· |15B|07o|08mber |07│
· |15L|07o|08rd |15H|07u|08mongous |07│ |15T|07h|08e idea was created by Bomber, and I followed.
|07· |15A|07n|08archy X |07│ |15A|07r|08ise was initially going to be about most anything,
|07· |15M|07a|08cabre |07│ |15c|07o|08ded by Macabre. While the first throes of Arise were
|07· |15S|07h|08adowByte |07│ |15f|07i|08nally happening, it was shaping up. Macabre dropped
|07· |15C|07a|08in's |15M|07u|08ltiple |07│ |15o|07u|08t of coding the mag, and Lord Humongous took over the
|07· |15S|07m|08irk |07│ |15c|07o|08ding. Discussion happened, and the basic set of Arise
|07· |15J|07a|08zic |07│ |15c|07a|08me to be.
|07· |15M|07i|08ndcrime |07│
· |15T|07a|08ura |15I|07n|08c |07│ |15T|07h|08e mag was going to focus on anything of interest,
|07│ |15b|07e |08it lit or ansi. Bomber and I took articles, filtered
|16 |07│ |15t|07h|08em, and placed them in the mag. Uncoded, with only
|07│ |15a|07b|08out 5 articles, I went on a trek to get material.
|07│
|16 |07│ |15I |08talked to people on IRC, we got sponsered by a
|07│ |15v|07e|08ry good mag called Taura, and a few asciis were
|07│ |15s|07u|08bmitted. Thanks to everyone who did, especially a few
|07│ |15w|07h|08o submitted on short notice.
|07│
│ |15W|07h|08at Arise is all about is that the mag doesn't
|07│ |15t|07r|08uly have a "staff" to it, instead using monthly
|07│ |15c|07o|08ntributers to make the mag, so it doesn't grow
|07│ |15s|07t|08ale with the same writers. It's based on fact,
|07│ |15f|07i|08ction, ansi, ascii, VGA, poetry, and other
|07│ |15a|07r|08ticles of interest. Enjoy, and contribute
|07| |15a|07n|08ything you want to Static at 6904457. Enjoy.
|07·
·|15F|07l|08ood
--^^--end: arisenew.txt
--^^--begin: cm-sed.txt
[narcosis]
sedation, sedated
I lie awake yet not all together here
dormant, demented
I sit aware yet not all together well
sensation, secluded
I was alive yet not all together high
on life
Her lips spoke to me in murmuring motions
words like echoing waves of confusion
her face invited me into ecstasy
but denied me entrance to such beauty
narcissus, narcosis
I see youth yet not all together sane
lunacy, lethargy
I can sleep yet not all together safe
in pill
Her eyes cried to me in fixations obscene
minds like decayed links to dillusion
her bind invited me into insanity
but denied me passages to such sanctity
[and in his melancholy he did sing]
It's one thing to feel helpless
It's another thing to be beyond help
I feel I am beyond helpless.
[and in her ignorance she did nothing]
maniac, medicated
I may crack yet not all together mend
dopamine, deprived
I act happy yet not all together care
neurosis, nullified
I see bliss yet not all together feel
anatomy, anesthetized
I have heard yet not all together
understood.
[and in his trance he did remain]
--^^--end: cm-sed.txt
--^^--begin: cm-wr.txt
[without] (remorse)
constrict
pull me tighter into your web of despair
(as if in song) my dearest hatred willing
take me under into your lair of distress
(as if in trance) my loving agony
caress
grab me grimace into your dark stare
(as if inviting) my piercing madness
[with evil intent his eyes did wander]
scorn
burn me deeply into your vile mind
(as if in denial) my echoing screams
personified
drag me eerie into your sick disguise
(as if intensified) my mental demise
[with malice on his breath his words did decay]
restrained
call me silently into your aphony
(as if in hesitation) my pathetic pleas
unheard
bury me bluntly into your futility
(as if insane) my drowning humility
[with cries unheard he did decline]
unknown
take me alone into your confinement
(as if outcast) my nemesis mentality
[without remorse he did finalize the act]
-Cain's Multiple
--^^--end: cm-wr.txt
--^^--begin: fd-heh.txt
The Revolution
·A parody and slightly-unrealistic story·
People Parodied [A-Z Order]:
Anarchy X, Arsenic, Apothecary, Bomber, Disorder, Flood, Ghost In The Machine,
K2, Lord Humongous, Macabre, Mad Hatter, Malloc, Mimic, Paradox, Phantax,
Phoenix, Proxeneus, ShadowByte, Silicon, Sindrome, Smirk, Yakman Khan.
Author's Note: Some of these jokes are somewhat inside, but only a few. If you
don't get it, don't worry, heh.
Flood gazed out of the Black House's double bullet-proof protection windows,
looking across the barren landscape. And it was all his. Using the
aftermath of the latest war, Flood and Bomber had caused a revolution unlike
any other. There was mass confusion, and a grim outlook on live, and Flood
and Bomber had taken control of the White House, putting up a massive shell of
satalites, with coordanites locating everyone, anywhere they were, and being
able to nuke them in a heartbeat. It was something interesting to have,
espcially if you were bored on a weekend. Leaning out the window, he saw K2
running laps over and over, on a constantly rotating track. A service robot
followed closely behind him. K2 looked logingly at the sideline, wanting to
rest. He stopped a bit, turning to the robot, breathing heavily.
"hack...hack...hey..hack...can I just...wheeze...rest for a sec? AHH!@^&%"
The driod armed the pistol mounted on its arm, shooting K2 in the left calf.
His blood splattered on the track, as he screamed, getting up and limping
again, continuing laps. Flood sighed. K2 was obasessed with track, but the
limits were just found.
MaD Hatter aimed his rifle at Flood's head, the crosshairs aligning perfectly,
as Flood stood on the balcony, tossing rations of food to his loyal followers.
Mad Hatter was furuios that he had to work in the warez mines, day in and
day out. Now he would end it. The revolution would be over. His finger, cold
and sweaty, curled around the trigger. Suddenly, he looked to Flood's left.
Wasn't Bomber there a moment ago? What the hell...?
He felt the cold steel of a muzzel pressed against his temple. He heard a
muttered word. "Bitch."
Crack.
Mad Hatter fell over, his head falling in a pool of crimson fluid and brain.
Yakman Kahn stood in the audience, watching small packets of Spam and
other rations fall to the ground. Yelling past the audience, he hollared to
Flood. "Hey! Food! Over here!" Flood looked up, tossing a pack of Spam to
Yakman, who caught it, ate it, ingested the drugs hidden inside it, and went
off to work for 46 hours in the warez mines, only stopping when a box of
warez landed on his head, knocking him out.
Flood stood in the Black House, looking around the office. What to do...he
picked a few random numbers, put together an identification number that
everyone had, and typed it into the laptop, pressing the Nuke button.
He saw a distant exlposion in the distance, smoke curling toward the
horizon. He sighed. He decided to wander around the Black House a bit more.
Crossing the hall, and decending a floor, he heard a few scribbles of pen
and swearing. Opening the door, Flood saw the usual sight of Mimic, now
almost buried within 5 tons of paper, filling the whole room, stacks of
paper going toward the cieling. "Let's go, eh? More poems. I need
inspiration.", Flood said. Mimic cried, looking up at Flood. "I haven't eaten
in 16 FUCKING DAYS!" he yelled, but Flood dismissed that. "Mindless facts. No
one has to eat to make a poem. Does food and poetry go together? NO! Get to
work." Mimic looked around. "Um...I was thinking of making a poem about a
cheeseburger. Yeah. That's it. But, um...I'll need a visual aid!" Phoenix
popped up from a stack of papers, pencil marks on his face. "Yeah...me too."
Flood shut the door.
Entering the main computor console area, Flood looked around the giagantic
computor room, towering HD's and wires criss-crossing, creating a thatch
effect. He looked at his staff of programmers, Lord Humongous and Macabre
feverishly working, programming, making ansi. Both unaware that Flood was
there, they glanced around, and looked at each other. "OK, one more game
of Quake." Flood pressed a button on the wall. Macabre and Lord
Humongous's bodies jerked wildly, as 15,000 volts went through them.
"No! No games! You will work!" screamed Flood. They went back to work.
Entering the stage and performance area, the sweet sounds of Nine Inch Nails
serenaded his ears. Live, they were in the process of performing an excellent
show. Hoardes of people were flailing in unison around the arena, specially
privilidged people that had donating especially elite warez to the cause of
the revolution. Trent briefly stopped playing, and looked out to the audience.
Smirk flashed Trent Reznor suddenly, and Trent went to the mike. He spoke.
"Smirk...I love you."
Smirk's head promptly exploded. Flood left the carnage.
Going to the art room, Flood strode out onto the art platform, a massive
organized labor colony before him. For about 1 mile, tables stretched out,
each table having a giant billboard above them. Some said "ICE", others
"FIRE", and "ACID" as well. Flood and Bomber had enrolled every single ansi
group ever made. Flood pressed the intercom button. "And how are things going
today, my friends?" Everyone looked up as one, a flurry of voices filling
the auditorium, Apothecary, most noticably: "Excellent, m'lord! Look!". Flood
pressed the Universal Display Button, and a giant screen slid open from the
east wall. 1,000 ansis appeared, in different fonts, sizes, styles,and colors,
all saying "Static BBS. 69o4457." Flood grinned. Excellent. He proceeded to a
special room, towrd the north area. Pressing a code into the keypad, the door
slid open. Phantax and Paradox turned around, their fingers bloody and swollen
from using AcidDraw for almost 3 years. "Almost done?" Asked Flood. Phantax
said "We are up to 5 hard drives now." Flood had reserved 400 hard drives, each
hard drive holding 2 billion gigs of data, and, for this room, 2 billion
gigs of ansi. "5 hard drives, eh? Only 395 drive left. Keep up the good work."
They turned around, already working on more TSS and Static ads. Taking a left,
Flood entered a special VGA room. AX was ferverishly working on a Static VGA
ad that involved a large font and twenty-six fros. Flood approved of it, and
left the room.
Turning to the left, Flood approached the IRC Network room. Opening it,
several isolated computor consoles greeted him. Flood walked to each
individual terminal. He arrived to terminal 34a, looking at Ghost In The
Machine. He should have been typing the next TYM, but instead was having a
flame war with Disorder, both of them rapidly typing on IRC. Flood stared.
"What the hell...Dis isn't supposed to be on IRC!@". Flood radioed the
central electronic room. "Please turn up the voltage for Disorder to 1,000
volts." Flood looked at the monitor.
Disorder> Yeah, well TYM is a shdhjahglsdk asjklgh askjha kjhakj
---
Disorder (Disorder@arise.com) has quit IRC (Connection reset by peer)
Flood smiled. "Very nice...ah. Central Control Room, could you turn up the
voltage to Aresenic to twice as much as he has now? We just did that to Dis,
with excellent results...what? The final voltage rate would be 1,000,000 volts?
...hm...ah, fuck it. Fry the little bastard. No one likes him anyways. Mhm.
Thanks."
The lights dimmed noticably for a few seconds.
Flood looked at GITM. "Please avoid flame wars." ShadowByte called Flood over
suddenly. ShadowByte (Who Flood noticed had an ungly eye-patch on) gestured
to the monitor.
"Look, I got in a new art group, called Ambu...er...fuck. Wait. It just died.
Fuck. Wait, no, look, here I am in #ravage-art! I got in the group. I'm
elite...wait...fuck. It just died. Well...I'll try another group."
Walking into the Defense office, which the TNo now owned, Flood looked at
Disorder. Wires running into his head, and a CD player by his side, Tori
Amos and Poe was playing 24 hours a day, seven days a week, constantly
looping all of her CD's. Disorder's eyes were bloodshot, drifting, and Flood
reached over, yanking a wire from Disorder's head. Disorder screamed hoarsly:
"Tori! Nooooo!#@!". Flood asked Disorder calmly. "How are our defenses going?"
Disorder looked at Flood, his eyes jerking to the left slightly. "We've put
up about 500 more satalites." "Good." said Flood, as he plugged Disorder back
into the endless streams of Tori. Disorder shut his eyes, swaying softly, his
fingers roaming over his laptop, keys clicking. A holographic image of
Speedbump rotated over the console, comforting him. Flood sighed, leaving.
Walking down to the basement, Flood looked around the dark interior,
before a few brief explosions lit the hallway. Following the flashes, Flood
arrived at a testing area. Silicon was in charge of the human waste produced
by the warez mines, and roughly 3 port-o-potties were lined up, about 75 feet
away from Silicon. "Check this out," he said, as Silicone pressed a button.
The three latrines blew up in large, blooming fireballs. Flood grinned.
"Nice job. Keep it up."
Going to the food department, Flood glanced at the workers, most noticably,
Proxenous, who was in the burger department. Flood sniffed the air. Hmm.
That didn't smell like hamburger. Flood approached Proxenous, who was grilling
something, whistling happily. "What's that?" asked Flood, looking at the meat.
"It's horse. I'm frying horse-burgers." Flood gave Prox a long, questioning
glance, before walking away slowly. Hm. As he passed, he saw Malloc on the
floor, huddled in a ball, clutching his stomach. Flood leaned down: "What
is it?" Malloc shivered, looking up at Flood. "Don't eat the burgers. Ohh,
sweet jesus. Ugg. I'm going to have to get surgury for this. Gacck." Flood
sidestepped the vomit, and walked away to the sound of Prox whistling and
Malloc retching.
Going back to the writing room, he entered, to see Mimic feverishly writing
things down. Flood was pleased. "Why so fast?". Mimic looked up from his
work. "We got a new idea. We were trying to find Sindrome a new handle.". He
gestured to the 500 sheets of paper piled behind him. "We've tried Sindrome,
Ill Will, Biko...nothing works!@#". Mimic started crying, breaking down and
sobbing. Flood patted his back. "There, there. It'll be all right. I'm sure
he'll like something..." Flood glanced at the pile of papers. "...maybe."
Aftermath
Over the years, Flood and Bomber ruled the earth, utilizing beige boxes to
find warez underground, and getting more and more laborors. Finally, in
Saudi Arabia, workers hit a -100 day warez site underground, and all chaos
broke loose. What happened? All we know is, by the time this has all happened,
Sindrome hadn't chosen a handle yet.
-Future President Flood
heh.
--^^--end: fd-heh.txt
--^^--begin: fd-media.txt
The Status of a Dying World
and the weapon known as media
Lately there has been the broad assumption of large political
figures and important people in power that state that America is on the rise,
and the massive growth of the population is only contributing to the amount of
jobs needed, oppertunities available, and status of the American economy. I
truly belive that both you and I know this is bullshit. In no other decade has
America taken such a grim turn.
'14-year old gunned down in apartment complex'.
-Location: Front Page
'Arsenal Found in Luggage'.
-Location: Second Page
'Benefit Charity Dinner Raises 15,000 for the disabled'.
-Location: Back, inside page, betwen two ads for clothing department stores.
As much as I'd like to blame the dying society on mass murderers,
mentally unbalanced people, and evil congressmen, I can say that,
after stepping back and taking a look at our society, it is us,
humans, that cause the death of our morals.
No one likes good news anymore. Check the front page of your
local newspaper. I assure you that there will be an article on death,
a crisis, large-scale injuries, political scams, shocking stories, etc.
And as long as there are us, sheep, reading every morning, blindly
following a massacre of minds, there will be mass murderers to pump out
the stories, for us brainless, following masses who have little to look
foward to in the morning except lines of text on a two-dimentional sheet
of paper, that repeatedly shock us until we are dulled, deadened, and
numbed to other people's pain.
Murder feeds off of the media.
Media feeds off of murder.
And unless something revolutionary happens soon, there will be little done to
break that cycle.
-Flood
--^^--end: fd-media.txt
--^^--begin: fd-untit.txt
Untitled
By Flood
A light layer of clouds roamed it's way over the sky,
as dawn broke free of the evening's remains.
Lazy sunlight stretched over the hills, pouring over ridgetops and
stretching the shadows of the morning to distant lengths. Sunlight hit
the underside of the clouds, making them seem almost
transparent, yet deep shades and hues of color swan on
the underbellies of the clouds. It was a normal day.
For some.
The man arrived at his destination.
He watched the stream of light escaping the crack from the
building.
He heard the low bass of hushed voices.
He felt the comforting steel in his palms.
He smelled the acrid burning of drugs.
He tasted the cool night air.
Stepping in the snow, he watched his breath curl up into fog, a
light mist laced with frost, that dissipated into the air,
curling into ribbons. The stark whiteness of the falling snow
appeared almost like headlights pointed at his face against the
night sky backdrop. The man edged closer to the warehouse, and
then pressed up against it, the comforting feel of brick against
his flesh reminding him of the mission at hand. He pulled the
hammers back on each of his pistols, the clack silenced by the
covering of his gloved hands. Sliding a clip into the weapon, he
savored the click that told him it had been successfully loaded.
He lowered his eyes, kissing the nozzle of each gun, blessing
them with his death-giving touch. Flattening up against the wall,
he turned, for one brief, tranquil moment, feeling the winter's
air rush across his face in a blur, caressing his face with it's
icy kiss, and then he spun, kicking out his leg and shattering
the glass that held him out of that faded warehouse. He felt all
attention on him, as he turned, facing the first obstacle that
would try to keep him from surmounting his ultimate goal. This
obstacle, the man already noticed, had the devil's powder running
in his system, slits of adrenaline flashing in his eyes, spit
sliding out of one of his eyes as he spat ravings at the man in
uncontrolled bursts. The man raised the pistols, already firing
the second he had broken the window. Time was being elongated and
manipulated, as the obstacle took two shells of lead in it's
heart, and the man vaulted through the window even as the
obstacle fell back, already in his death throes. The second
obstacle was allowing the devil's powder to possess him already,
the man was watching him let it into his system, sliding up his
left nostril and flowing into his mind, already he could see the
grim effects as the obstacle tripped, falling back and bringing a
rifle into the current situation. His aim was off, his mind was
being ravaged by the drug, and still did not have time to shoot
as the man squeezed the triggers simultaneously, bringing
salvation to the tortured soul, quickly and loudly. He fell back.
The drug slid across the floor, resting by the cracked wall. Two
obstacle overcome. The man leaped over one table. A table, he
noticed, that had packages of the devil's powder resting on it,
tightly wrapped up in bundles, undoubtedly worth large amounts of
money. The man noticed all of this in flight, and landed on the
soles of his feet, feeling the shock of the concrete revert in
his legs but already crouching in a stance and firing at the legs
he had seen when at level with the cold, gritty floor. There was
a cry, and then the obstacle fell, dropping the pistol with him.
The man slid under the second table, via the powdered-littered
ground, passing by the third obstacle and pulling the trigger,
delivering him to a quick exit from his sin-ridden world. The man
stood, whirling around and glancing for any other circumstances
that might come in between him. The man was, for once, too late.
Already, a bullet was streaking through the air at him. The man
saw it, saw his reflection off the object, saw it pass over table
and table with startling speed. He had never been on this end of
death, he realized. And then it struck his neck, and he fell back
onto another table littered with mind-altering powder.
He saw his blood rise, spraying upward like a crimson rain.
He heard the splintering of wood underneath his shoulder blades.
He felt a numbness overtake his body.
He smelled the scent of fresh gunpowder, mixed with gasoline.
He tasted his blood within his mouth, shutting his eyes, he falls
into infinite blackness, screaming all the way down...
Down...
Down...
It is at this moment in which the man emerges from this state of
mind, the spectre's illusions tormenting his mind ceasing,
although only temporary. He is aware of his surroundings sharply,
as he feels the bonds the place has put on him, as the
straightjacket is entwined with him. Feels himself cowering in
the corner of the cell, feels too much...
"It is a very interesting case, ladies and gentlemen. The fact of
the matter is, this man in Cell 576 here is victim of sudden
flashbacks of when he was ridden with anger against a small drug
trading operation that was near his apartment, and, in fits of
delusion, killed everyone within the trade and burnt the area to
the ground. He was found in the snow, outside the building, as it
was burning. Within his belt he had two revolvers, and numerous
matches. Empty jugs of gasoline were located in the wreckage."
The Professor spoke to the crown of analysts, as they scribbled
down the doctor's words. One female doctor spoke up. "What mental
problem is there? Is he angry still?"
The Professor shook his head. "No. Instead, he states the he died
while fighting, and is constantly a host of flashbacks of his
'death'. Right now, we assume that he is caught by the fact that
he thinks he is dead, while still on earth. We are, frankly,
baffled by this case, which is why it is one of out more
interesting subjects. If you will, ladies and gentlemen, walk
this way..."
The man still cowered in his cell. He still heard. He still
understood. Partially. But he was not like all the rest of them.
They only knew part of the story...if only they could understand
that he
-finish the job-
was sane...the man paused in mid-thought. There...that
voice...the man concentrated fiercely upon hearing it again. For
hours he sat there, listening intently. No avail. Nothing was
revealed. No more voices...for now. For now.
The man sat in the cell, glancing around.
All of a sudden, he felt the taste of gunpowder wash into his
mouth. He spat, trying to expel it...his vision began to swirl,
his senses taken over by the flashbacks...the man screamed.
No...he thought. Not now...not again...
It was the night again. The man was back again.
So it goes.
It was, of course, always the same scenario. The same area, the
same mindless actions still drilling a monotonous indention in
his consciousness...
2
The Drawing Of The Two
Julie Reynolds heard the annoying buzz of her doorbell,
getting up lazily from her couch, striding to the door. She was
in the process of reading a good news headline and sipping some
tea when her doorbell so rudely awakened her from her
contentment. Looking through the rusted peephole, she glanced at
the warped image of a man, dressed in a long trenchcoat, with
black sunglasses that hid his expressions. Julie stared
quizzically at the man, twisting the doorknob. As she opened the
door, she was greeted with a sincere smile, and a mouth full of
gleaming white teeth. "Hi," the man said. His breath smelled of
an acrid pungency, but Julie could not put her finger on
it..."Could I step in for a moment? I have to discuss something
with you...it's urgent." The man's fingers were laced nervously
in front of him, his foot tapping. Julie opened the door further,
allowing him to enter her apartment. She shut the door behind
her, crossing her arms. She was mildly perturbed by this entry,
and yet intrigued by what news he supposedly had. The man turned,
flicking the blade out from the switchblade's black sheath,
whipping around, his trenchcoat flailing behind him. He ramming
into Julie, pressing her up against the doorway. The man pressed
his face close to hers, the glasses showing no emotion. "I've had
my eye on your for some time, Julie," He hissed. His mouth was
contorted to something between a frown and a grimace. "You seem
to be fairly wealthy. I'm sure when you die, you won't need that
money." He laughed, and little bits of spittle hit Julie's face.
Julie finally recognized what that smell on his breath was.
Cocaine. Julie rammed a fist into the man's stomach, as he fell,
gasping. Julie grabbed his arm that held the knife, twisting it
behind his back. The switchblade clattered out of his hand, as he
growled. Julie kneed him in the temple, and he let out a steadily
decreasing groan as he slumped to the floor, his body falling
slowly over Julie's knee and meeting the tile. Julie glared
angrily at the man, brushing a hand through her dark, brown hair.
Men. Still think they're on top. She checked him for
identification, and then hefted him up. Although fairly small,
Julie was muscular due to her...profession. As she hoisted the
man up, her eye fell upon her wedding ring on her finger. She
smiled. Her husband was probably "working" right now. Her eyes
traveled up to the watch on her wrist. The digital readout said
9:45. Enough time to drop this man off at the police station, and
then..."pick up" her husband.
Frank Reynolds fingers busily tapped on the keyboard, as his
eyes scanned the steadily scrolling text and binary code across
the computer screen. Finding the necessary information, he jammed
a disk into the drive, loading the data onto it. He glimpsed the
security camera he had tapped. His man, Simon Holton, was winding
his way up the staircase, briefcase in hand, on the black and
white monitor. Fuck. Working late? Frank would
have to speed his job up quickly...
Finally getting the disk, Frank ejected it, ramming it into his
black backpack, erasing all evidence of him being there. He
worriedly looked at the monitor again, sweat trickling down his
brow. Simon was completely off camera now, which meant one thing.
He was in the main hallway, on his way to his office, which Frank
was currently occupying. Frank switched off the computer, getting
up and waiting by the oaken door. He was not sure what else to do
with such little time, but it sure was better than sitting there,
with his back to Simon as he walked in, copying illegal data
files from his computer, and making a perfect target for Simon to
pump his body with round after round of bullets, until his bloody
body jerked as the bullets sprayed...
Frank came back to attention, as the door swung open. The oaken
surface came closer, closer, until the cold wood was actually
pressing up against Frank's nose. He grimaced, his muscles tense.
The door stopped, as Simon strode in. He sat down at the
computer, already eager to view his material. Frank slipped out
from behind the door, his nerves tingling, as he silently tried
to slip out.
And knocked over a tin of pencils.
Frank's body shot into a run, as he heard the squeak of Simon's
chair as he turned, and then: "YOU! STOP!" Frank knew that Simon
was already rapidly tapping the Alarm button under his desk,
summoning the security guards to intercept him on the staircase
or elevator, whichever he took.
It was a good thing that Frank wasn't taking any of those ways.
Frank decided all was haywire as it could be right now, so he
pulled out the long, evilly grappled repelling hook he had,
digging it into the side of the office hallway, digging a large
gouge in the flaking plaster. Rearing back and kicking the
window, it shattered into a million pieces, the shards raining
down 13 stories down onto the black parking lot, shattering.
Frank grabbed the rope that was attached to the hook, twisting
and repelling down the side of the building. The cool night air
hit him, as he gasped, his eyes watering, and almost flew down
the side of the building. Finally touching ground, he jerked the
rope, gathering it and stuffing it into his backpack. Looking
around frantically, he saw, with relief, the dark blue van he was
looking for. The door slid open as Frank sprinted to it, as Julie
gunned the engine. Frank leapt in, glancing at the broken window
to see the dark silhouette of the guards looking down his escape
route. Julie turned to face him while speeding out of the parking
lot. "Did you get the files?" "Yeah." breathed Frank, still
slightly winded from his sprint across the parking lot. The
horizon dipped and swayed through the van's windshield, as the
duo sped out of the parking lot, hitting a curb and skidding onto
the highway. It was a good thing it was late out; any earlier and
the highway would be filled with cars. Now, however, the peaceful
line pavement was black and dark, vacant of all automobiles.
Julie and Frank sighed in relief, smiling. Another "job" well
done. Now for their favorite part. The payoff.
3
Confrontation
Sweat dripped from the man's brow, as he blinked rapidly to
rid his eyes of the sting. The moonlight was creeping through the
main hallway of the asylum, resting on the marble in the hallway
and making a mirror image of the asylum's dark hallways in the
floor. All the man could hear, for now, was the occasional heavy
footfall of a guard, the click of heels echoing along the dark
hallways. The man slowly reached under his mattress, constantly
glancing out his cell, as he gripped the small, metallic prong
in-between his fingers. It was his only way out. Sliding the
lockpick into the cell's lock, he silently worked the metal until
there was an audible click. The man put the lockpick into his
shirt pocket, and tentatively opened the door. There was no sound.
He stowed out into the hall, feverishly glancing left and right.
Nothing. Creeping left, he made sure to remain in shadows, and
rounded the corner. There was a guard, but the man was far from
surprised. He had planned this for months, and knew the guard
would be there. The guards back was to him, as he silently crept
behind him, then swiftly and silently, deftly leaped and wrapped
his arms around the guard's neck, muffling his mouth. The man
jerked his arms.
Amidst mouthfuls of coffee, the two guards discussed various
topics while peering through the dim haze of cigarette smoke
wafting in the lounge at their playing cards.
"Three Aces. Beat that, Sheffler."
"Eh...ya won again. Lucky bastard."
They both laughed, hacking a little, as they took sips of coffee
between conversation. All of a sudden, the larger of the two
guards waved his hand, dismissing any noise from his partner.
"Sh. Wait...didja hear sumthin'?"
The other guard listened cautiously, then shook his head.
"Nope. Whadya hear?"
"Eh, sounded like, like a crack. A little bump, too. Ah, prolly
another inmate tryin ta destroy his room, heh. Crazy son's a' bitches."
The other nodded, laughing, and they dealt out the cards again.
The man dragged the guard into the closet, after he had
taken the gun and his nightstick. He was full of apprehension,
his veins seemed to be pouring liquid fire into his body; he felt
so tense; coiled even. He gazed out the window silently, the moon
rich and full over the asylum's crowned peaks of rooftops. He
clicked the revolver back, hearing a satisfying snap as the gun
loaded. He switched the safety off, glancing left and right
through the halls. The man stumbled down the stairs, regarding
the light from the exit sign to illuminate his way. Suddenly, his
mind picked up the dim shadow of a guard crossing over the
walkway above him. His mind reacted suddenly, as the man whipped
the revolver upwards, squeezing the trigger rapidly. Bullets
spinged and spanged among showers of sparks, and the guard
clattered onto the walkway. The man looked around, sure that
more guards would rush out any moment. He had no doubt that they
would. Finally seeing an exit, he ran over to the glass doors.
Grabbing the door, he struggled with the handle. Locked! All of a
sudden, a guard ran from the corner, almost running into the man.
Once again, his mind reacted. Grabbing the guard, he heaved him
through the window. Glass splayed outward in a spider's web of
cracks, and then shattered, the moon illuminating the shards as
they skittered across the concrete walkway. The man reached over,
outside and around the window, grabbing the door and turning the
handle. The door creaked open, and the cool night air rushed into
his face, as he sprinted outside, away from his house of
deceptions...
Julie and Frank were now fully relaxed, as they drove
steadily. All of a sudden, there was a sillowhete from the moon,
and a man was in front of the car. Julie cursed out loud, as
Frank turned to look out the window. Julie slammed on the brakes,
the car skidding in a wild flurry of squeals and burning rubber,
but there was a dull thud as they impacted with the person. The
interior of the car rocked and swayed, as the car finally came to
a stop. Frank opened the sliding door, hurriedly leaping out and
over to the body. The man was not in too bad of shape, there was
a stream of blood running from his forehead, and a gash in one of
his arms. Frank checked for possible things that might result in
fatal comas if left unnoticed, then rested his fingers on the
man's neck. "There's a pulse." Frank yelled to Julie. "He's
alive!" Julie looked to the van, then to Frank. "...we have
room." Frank looked at the man. He looked at Julie. He looked at
the van.
The man slowly regained his vision, glancing around the
interior of a metal shell he was enclosed within. The skyline was
scrolling above him like a spectre screaming toward a
destination, and he was instantly aware of his surroundings. The
floor was vibrating, and the hum of an engine was whirring
nearby. A worried woman looked at him suddenly, and yelled out to
the front of the room, "Frank! He's alive!" The man sat up, and
his vision swam. The room tilted crazily, then swirled together
in a mess of color and pallets of chaos.
.-<>-.
This is the opening few pages for the story I am writing, that will be
available soon. Please e-mail me with comments to Flood@us.disarray.com, or
on my board, Static: 69o.4457. Later.
-Flood
Arise Founder
--^^--end: fd-untit.txt
--^^--begin: god.txt
> THE CREATION:
> In the beginning there was the computer. And God said
> %>Let there be light!
>
> #Enter user id.
>
> %>God
>
> #Enter password.
>
> %>Omniscient
>
> #Password incorrect. Try again.
>
> %>Omnipotent
>
> #Password incorrect. Try again.
>
> %>Technocrat
>
> #And God logged on at 12:01:00 AM, Sunday, March 1.
>
> %>Let there be light!
>
> #Unrecognizable command. Try again.
>
> %>Create light
>
> #Done
>
> %>Run heaven and earth
>
> #And God created Day and Night. And God saw there were 0 errors.
>
> #And God logged off at 12:02:00 AM, Sunday, March 1.
>
> #And God logged on at 12:01:00 AM, Monday, March 2.
>
> %>Let there be firmament in the midst of water and light
>
> #Unrecognizable command. Try again.
>
> %>Create firmament
>
> #Done.
>
> %>Run firmament
>
> #And God divided the waters. And God saw there were 0 errors.
>
> #And God logged off at 12:02:00 AM, Monday, March 2.
>
> #And God logged on at 12:01:00 AM, Tuesday, March 3.
>
> %>Let the waters under heaven be gathered together unto one place and let
>
> the dry land appear and
>
> #Too many characters in specification string. Try again.
>
> %>Create dry_land
>
> #Done.
>
> %>Run firmament
>
> #And God divided the waters. And God saw there were 0 errors.
>
> #And God logged off at 12:02:00 AM, Tuesday, March 3.
>
> #And God logged on at 12:01:00 AM, Wednesday, March 4.
>
> %>Create lights in the firmament to divide the day from the night
>
> #Unspecified type. Try again.
>
> %>Create sun_moon_stars
>
> #Done
>
> %>Run sun_moon_stars
>
> #And God divided the waters. And God saw there were 0 errors.
>
> #And God logged off at 12:02:00 AM, Wednesday, March 4.
>
> #And God logged on at 12:01:00 AM, Thursday, March 5.
>
> %>Create fish
>
> #Done
>
> %>Create fowl
>
> #Done
>
> %>Run fish, fowl
>
> #And God created the great sea monsters and every living creature that
> creepeth wherewith the waters swarmed after its kind and every winged =
> fowl
> after its kind. And God saw there were 0 errors.
>
> #And God logged off at 12:02:00 AM, Thursday, March 5.
>
> #And God logged on at 12:01:00 AM, Friday, March 6.
>
> %>Create cattle
>
> #Done
>
> %>Create creepy_things
>
> #Done
>
> %>Now let us make man in our image
>
> #Unspecified type. Try again.
>
> %>Create man
>
> #Done
>
> %>Be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth and subdue it and have
> dominion over the fish of the sea and over the fowl of the air and over
> every living thing that creepeth upon the earth
>
> #Too many command operands. Try again.
>
> %>Run multiplication
>
> #Execution terminated. 6 errors.
>
> %>Insert breath
>
> #Done
>
> %>Run multiplication
>
> #Execution terminated. 5 errors.
>
> %>Move man to Garden of Eden
>
> #File Garden of Eden does not exist.
>
> %>Create Garden.edn
>
> #Done
>
> %>Move man to Garden.edn
>
> #Done
>
> %>Run multiplication
>
> #Execution terminated. 4 errors.
>
> %>Copy woman from man
>
> #Done
>
> %>Run multiplication
>
> #Execution terminated. 2 errors.
>
> %>Create desire
>
> #Done
>
> %>Run multiplication
>
> #And God saw man and woman being fruitful and multiplying in Garden.edn
>
> #Warning: No time limit on this run. 1 errors.
>
> %>Create freewill
>
> #Done
>
> %>Run freewill
>
> #And God saw man and woman being fruitful and multiplying in Garden.edn
>
> #Warning: No time limit on this run. 1 errors.
>
> %>Undo desire
>
> #Desire cannot be undone once freewill is created.
>
> %>Destroy freewill
>
> #Freewill is an inaccessible file and cannot be destroyed.
>
> #Enter replacement, cancel, or ask for help.
>
> %>Help
>
> #Desire cannot be undone once freewill is created.
>
> #Freewill is an inaccessible file and cannot be destroyed.
>
> #Enter replacement, cancel, or ask for help.
>
> %>Create tree_of_knowledge
>
> #And God saw man and woman being fruitful and multiplying in Garden.edn
>
> #Warning: No time limit on this run. 1 errors.
>
> %>Create good, evil
>
> #Done
>
> %>Activate evil
>
> #And God saw he had created shame.
>
> #Warning system error in sector E95. Man and woman not in Garden.edn. 1
>
> errors.
>
> %>Scan Garden.edn for man, woman
>
> #Search failed.
>
> %>Delete shame
>
> #Shame cannot be deleted once evil has been activated.
>
> %>Destroy freewill
>
> #Freewill is an inaccessible file and cannot be destroyed.
>
> #Enter replacement, cancel, or ask for help.
>
> %>Stop
>
> #Unrecognizable command. Try again
>
> %>Break
>
> %>Break
>
> %>Break
>
> #ATTENTION ALL USERS *** ATTENTION ALL USERS: COMPUTER GOING DOWN FOR
> REGULAR DAY OF MAINTENANCE AND REST IN FIVE MINUTES. PLEASE LOG OFF.
>
> %>Create new world
>
> #You have exceeded your allocated file space. You must destroy old files
> before new ones can be created.
>
> %>Destroy earth
>
> #Destroy earth: Please confirm.
>
> %>Destroy earth confirmed
>
> #COMPUTER DOWN *** COMPUTER DOWN. SERVICES WILL RESUME SUNDAY, MARCH 8 AT
>
> 6:00 AM. YOU MUST SIGN OFF NOW.
>
> #And God logged off at 11:59:59 PM, Friday, March 6.
--^^--end: god.txt
--^^--begin: lh-eyes.txt
A forbidden glance
Leads me to you
Among everyone I see you
In a crowd of hundreds
I find your eyes
I find temporary comfort
In your eyes
But I can't
I can't stay
And I look away
When my thoughts
Drift to you
To your eyes
What I feel
What you see
Is me
Disarmed
And I can't escape it
And it hurts me
But it can't
In a crowd of hundreds
I can't escape you
And I don't want to
|08--|03ad.jones|11[|08lord_h|11]
eof
--^^--end: lh-eyes.txt
--^^--begin: lh-story.txt
Originally-Titled-Last-Straw-But-That's-A-Bit-Cliche-So-Hey-Who-Cares.
by Lord Humongous
Joseph sat there, in excruciating boredom, continuously
glancing around the room. It was yet another school assembly, and
this time he found no way to ditch it. So there he was, enduring
the constant yelling and cheerings indicative of "school spirit".
He looked on that for a moment. "School spirit". He laughed to
himself, and thought about it some more. He thought of all these
masquerading fools and how they had "spirit" for a school. Does an
inmate have "prison spirit?" he thought. You're assigned to a
school, simple as that. There's no choice. It's like being proud
that you're "carbon-based".
Joseph continued looking around the room, bobbing his head up
and down. The noise was getting overbearing. Constant thoughts
flew through his mind. He would give each one a few millionths of
a second before proceeding to the next, and in no time, he was
almost dizzy from the fleeting array of images in his mind. He
gritted his teeth, and stuck his hand in his pocket, where he
thumbed the cold steel.
Students were now jumping up and down and shooting silly-
string everywhere. From somewhere above, small drops of water
cascaded down, landing in Joseph's hair. He ran his hands through
it and turned around, casting a glare that left his face sore.
Turning around, he laid back for a moment and once again stuck his
hands in his pockets. He made sure everything was there, his
wallet, his keys, his watch, his razor, his change, and in his left
pocket, the odd padlock he had been carrying around simply to
experience its profound weight. His gun.
He could never think of why exactly he had brought a gun to
school. He knew he would never use it, but some days, even in this
predominately prep-jock school where violence was rare, he brought
it. It almost gave him a feeling a transvestite felt wearing drag
under his normal attire. He rarely thought of using it, but when
it did, it filled him with excitement. Looking back, he was always
sickened by it, but it always came to him.
Once again his mind filled with thoughts, this time of people
ducking, screaming, running, blood everywhere. He laughed at it
for a moment, and then frowned upon himself for doing so. Soon his
laughter drowned his self-consciousness and he pulled his gun from
his pocket.
The lights were rather dark here, and he kept the gun in his
lap, where he ran his fingers across it. Down the barrel, around
and around the trigger. He wondered what it would feel like to
point it at someone and squeeze, watching such a simple movement
end such a complicated existence. Joseph was half afraid of how he
felt, but that soon was drowned out by his desire to destroy.
Joseph put the gun back into his pocket and felt like doing
something, so he began to walk around the auditorium. The constant
ramblings from whoever was currently holding the microphone
sickened him. "He will die first", thought the young man. As he
reached the first of two sets of doors, he looked out into the
bright hallway and slowly shut the door. Soon little light was
entering the area. On the door was a chain and lock, and to his
luck, the lock was open.
And so he wrapped the chains around, and clasped the lock
shut. His face was calm without a single indication of what he was
planning. He continued walking, around the bleachers, alongside
the wall emblazoned with his school's mascot, and finally to the
other set of doors. To his disgust, the lock was already shut, and
so he considered the effects of having one door completely
available. Suddenly his mind shifted to the extra weight in his
left pocket, and he pulled from it a very old padlock with a key
attached by some very old string.
Soon both doors were locked, and Joseph continued walking.
Here he encountered a set of stairs leading to a higher level in
the auditorium, and he climbed them. Here there were only a few
students, and Joseph sat at the very top, no one else in his row.
He removed the gun from his pocket once more, and thumbed off the
safety. Fourteen bullets.
For a few moments he reconsidered his very rash actions, and
began to lock the safety in place, when suddenly the lights in the
center of the auditorium flashed on, and from the cheap sound
system blared the lyrics to "Macarena". Joseph covered his ears
for a moment, and gritted his teeth once more, suddenly lowered to
a level of stupidity he could not explain. The mere sound of the
song sickened him, and only hastened his actions.
There in the center was a crowd of students dancing the
idiotic dance with stupid grins on their faces. Joseph thought of
the satisfaction of wiping those grins, and he stood. With little
aim, five bullets violently exploded from the looming barrel of the
gun, and Joseph watched as three students fell, screaming, and the
remaining students followed their actions, "playing possum" as
Joseph recalled. He coughed a moment, wiped his face on his
sleeve, and pointed the gun directly horizontal to whoever happened
to be sitting on the other side.
Once again the barrel cracked, and a very confused student
grabbed his stomach and began screaming. Joseph fired again
maintaining his composure, and watch as the screaming student was
silenced. Soon the entire room was a buzz of students, crowing
around the doors, frantically trying to force them open. The
students that sat in front of Joseph were quickly down the stairs,
and he didn't hesitate to punish one of them for leaving.
His chosen victim collapsed before reaching the second step,
and fell on top of his peers. Joseph grinned and fired another
shot, and watched as a large amount of blood was removed and split
into thousands of particles, becoming a small red mist. Amid all
of this the lyrics to "Macarena" still went on, provoking him even
more. Joseph was counting his bullets, five were left. He began
running down the stairs with the other students. In the frantic
escape, no one realized that Joseph was in the mob now.
He walked over to one of the doors where a huge group of
screaming students finally had burst the door. They were a mass of
people, bottlenecked at the doorway, trying to squeeze through.
Two of them felt the explosion of lead from Joseph's pistol, and
collapsed, gagging and coughing up blood.
Three more bullets. Joseph stood behind one student and
pressed the gun against the back of his head. The teen looked
back, nose to Joseph's weapon, and grunted as the very life in him
was taken with the bullet that exited his skull. Soon students
realized Joseph was with them, and two "heroes", two athletic
football players tried to take down Joseph, but instead he did away
with them. He was out of bullets now, and reached into his pocket
where he found a half-sized straight razor.
He carried this around for little reason. Occasionally he
would shave his fingernails with it, or cut paper, cut loose
strings, anything that demanded the use of a sharp razor. Now he
would use it to fight through the crowd. He quickly wrapped his
arms around the bitchy cheerleader in front of him, and forced her
to the ground. Pinned down, he brought the razor to her throat and
pulled away from the spilled blood.
He felt disgusted and guilty for having killed a member of the
opposite sex, but soon remembered that women and men should be
treated equally. With that he began slashing left and right as
people suddenly noticed the copious amounts of blood that spilled
from their limbs and torsos. Many of them were rebellious towards
this and would run towards Joseph, but the moderately strong
student needed little effort to slash their throats or stomachs.
Soon everyone had fleed the auditorium, except the select few
heroes that would challenge Joseph and even charge toward him.
They were quickly done away with or were simply scared into fleeing
when they felt the eerily soft edge of the blade against their legs
or arms.
And all of this in the course of ten minutes. Ten minutes,
and now he had reached his "point of no return". He considered
simply going home and sitting himself down, having a bowl of
cereal, watching TV, doing his homework. Suddenly that was very
far from possible, considering the carnage that lay all around him.
In minutes the police had arrived, and Joseph felt no need in
dealing with them. He ran the blade down his arm, and found it
pleasing how warm and almost painless the sensation was. The life
that poured from him warmed him, and he soon entered sleep in the
comforting aura of his own blood.
--^^--end: lh-story.txt
--^^--begin: lh-untit.txt
overflowing emotions
from all directions
encompassing all thought
no escape but time
time the "greatest healer"
time makes it all better
you think you forgot
but it's all still there
covered up by a patch of ignorance
but when you look back
it all pours out
no restraint
no mercy
crashing down
collapse
yet in the rubble
of your own emotion
you look back again
a masochistic look into what has been
done
and the rubble so easily dusted off
again hits you
without pain
pleasurable self-destruction
and you look again
--ad.jones[lord_h]
--^^--end: lh-untit.txt
--^^--begin: mc-scene.txt
|16
|07_ |08_|15_|07______|15_|08_ |07___|15___|07___|15_|08__|07___|15_ _
|07\|08\|15_|07__|15_ | |08__|15_|07\ ||15__|07_ |15__| |08________________|15____|07_______|08____________|15__|07_ _
|15_|07_/ ||15_|07___|15_ _|07___ ||15_|08__|07___|08_
::::|07||15_|08_ |07__|15_ |08|_|07_ ||15__ |07__ _|15_/|08:::: |15"it's been done" - mindcrime
|08/ |15| __|07/ |15/ |07| \
ek||15_|07___|15_ _ |07||15__|07__ ||15_|07___|08_|15| |07_|08_| |07______|08___________________|15___|07____|08_________ _
|_|07___|15__|08| |07||15___| |08||15_|07___|15_|
|07the |13ansi scene |15is |13dying|15. don't deny it, it's true. but we're not the
only ones. the |13demo |15scene is dying, the |13warez |15scene is dying, the |13hacking
|15scene is skidding to a halt. what's the problem here? |13it's all been done|15.
|07there's |15a |13limit |15to |13creativity |15when using a certain medium. there's only
so much you can do with |1316 colors |15and a limited |13pallete|15. sure, we can |13invent
|15new formats like |13idf/adf|15, we can start new groups on the promise of
|13creativity|15, we can even try to further our skills by holding |13competitions|15.
but the simple fact remains that it's all been done. there has to come a time
when the scene is simply just |13running on empty|15. every |13group |15has been formed,
every |13bbs mod |15has been made, every |13ansi |15has been drawn. and the same thing
goes for other scenes. |13every |15vectorball and phong has been shaded, |13every
|15flashy effect has been tried, every |13system has been broken into |15and broken
into again. the art scenes are running |13out of ideas|15, the wares scene is
being thwarted by bigger games coupled with a virtual stand still in transfer
mediums, and the hacking scene is losing it's |13honor and distinguishment|15.
|16 |07so |15where does that leave us? without a leg to stand on, really. we can
continue to |13drag out our current mediums|15, making more and more comic ripped
ansis, more and more vectorball demos and |13dot tunnels|15, hacking more and more
systems that really hold |13no valuble information|15, couriering more and more
warez without the movie sequences or sound, or |13we can just give up|15. i suppose
somewhere there may be another alternative, but the computer underground has
been following this trend for at least a year, if not more. |13nobody |15has come
up with a |13viable solution|15, we just keep on doing what we've always been doing
and it's getting damn |13boring|15. why do i continue to run an ansi group when
there isn't much of anything creative coming out of it?
|07if |15i had |13answers |15to these |13questions|15, i'd probably be doing something
about it, but the sad truth is that |13i don't|15. who knows what we should do now.
maybe it's just time to |13pack up and head our seperate ways|15. is there really
anything out there that's even worth the effort anymore? |13you tell me|15.
- mindcrime/blade!productions
--^^--end: mc-scene.txt
--^^--begin: smirk-01.txt
starlight starbright
the only star i see tonight
i wish i may
i wish i might
know why i cry so hard tonight
starlight stardark
it's so hard when we're apart
i wish i may
on a star so dark
tell you what is in my heart
starlight starblue
all the love i fel is true
i wish i may
on a star so blue
always feel this way for you
starlight starbright
i see many stars tonight
i wish i may
i wish i might
maybe not cry so hard tonight
-SmirkStyle-
--^^--end: smirk-01.txt
--^^--begin: smirk-02.txt
so now i've truely lost you
we never even said goodbye
just turned around and walked away
the best thing that ever happened
has finally laid down and died
not even a sad goodbye
yet still i dream of you
long to fel your warm embrace
but now it's truely through
without a sad goodbye from you
-SmirkStyle-
--^^--end: smirk-02.txt
--^^--begin: smirk-03.txt
never die
never die
i am alone
walk the streets
i lost my home
my soul
peaceful bliss
of purple haze
walk alone
my lonely days
he has gone
our seperate ways
one bed
his or mine
the park will be just fine
with me
and i live alone
what's his name
i'll never know
a bruise on my thigh
please take me home
let me be
let me roam
to the next bed for me
no time to sleep
again alone
walk the streets
what's your name
i really don't care
a broken heart
yor're never there
never die
i am alone
-SmirkStyle-
--^^--end: smirk-03.txt
--^^--begin: smirk-04.txt
i'm running away fast away to other skies and other days where the clouds are
swimming in the rain and sunlight falls apon my pain oh come with me run
fast with me to somewhere where they'll never see you growing old and hear
your scream knowing the moon reigns in your dreams and the touch of the wind
apon your face scars you more then this lonely place the empty tears the
fallen fears are all you know of passing years the silent scream of death you
hear as you face the reflection on the mirror but know this know you're never
alone for now this dream becomes your home...
-SmirkStyle-
--^^--end: smirk-04.txt
