[This text is machine generated and may contain errors.]
The Rebel is a student publication of East
Carolina University. Offices are located on the
campus at 215 Wright Annex. Inquiries and con-
tributions should be directed to P.O. Box 2607,
Greenville, North Carolina, 27834. Copyright
1972, East Carolina University Student Govern-
ment Association. None of the materials herein
may be used or reproduced in any manner what-
soever without written permission. Subscription
per year, $6.00.
diorpheus
oMorpheus� is the greek god of dreams and alter-
ed or transformed states of awareness. In that
sense, it is our interpretation of the function of
Art and our imposed intent with this publication.
We offer the name and the interpretation to all
interested persons. It is our suggested name-
change for The Rebel, a name that has been out-
grown aesthetically and functionally. The staff of
this publication offers up the alternative and wel-
comes all response and criticism.
-The Editor-
Editor-m-Chief... gamer s . . Phillip K. Arrington
GepBiredor .... a ©... . oe Glenn Lewis
Managing Editor... . . siue..---- Sandra W. Penfield
Associate and Copy Editor. . .Susan Lee Bowermaster
OIG ES PCO ico ov os David Swink
TABLE OF CONTENTS
a a ag EES IRI aan en Tats MRE ITS Fe untitled
RO et acs Highway 21 Truckstop Blues
OGD cissccsiconss i didi kode untitled
es enatduhsonmacedcemian untitled
rg; oe ceendepskpoual Trust
OO 2 ice hie Pe Pe i ccs Golgotha
ON BS iia Pi; Pe he inc pepto bismol blues
ge Get GR ostinato: Rain Thoughts
NTE srchecciies RIG GR Sincere neni ee Snow
I BI ssc as TE iis sic, sac suiacun even nmin Watching Sally Die
ON TF cccknkes esi bal icc ocooceusiecessadvdcbatessdesecmmbanieace Sand
PN FE ini cncctancascsssasiccecae My Treasured Disgraces
RG TP occ ass CN i sds sad euueg tntnn cg vdes Dialogues
a 9 Sadao Archie Gaster ............ Unpublished Letter to the Editor
OU Be cciicisccss a ee etcsdaneunewesenal untitled
DOGG SS ..cccockes es en csuscddapinccenecuinss sheeees Minor Key
RN I ors pica ii chiids i doassnaceicnnscstcsees GatsbyTs IIlusion
IES vscccsieal Pe a os calc ib ve ch cna cafe song
page 36 .......... ee cic scccduncesdacsanenniins il Fly Away
OE DS ccs cness Pro cconssduussasnanaan Frederick Sorensen
OOO SO i. scsatuens ee Ds. . cconseseuibepisbenimibansens sire Lover
Se 74» Nets
; bs oCIA _ =
Come fair angel :
rest thine hand upon my arm 2
and we shall be together
and drunk
riding atop a windy willow
of a clarinet with a honk
and a
tweet.
OC ACK
Wats i
af
(oog
(
Oa NaNO
sing of once-upon-a-time
ee
SRA At,
Seen tt etl
confused b
y the hands of god speed and time
"""" 2 CE EEE EEE EI
By Tellus enchanted euphoric,
Life passes in melancholy splendor.
An Endymion life of dreams,
A Lotus of ardor.
A Rainbow arched over the Sky today....
It spouted from your Eyes as You lay in bed
Devouring Yourself.
Trust
illtrustyouwhenicantellyou
togetfuckedandknowyouwontv
omitonme
your silly tears
ees
, Ge a
sie at
ot el se - r
Harry MacCaslin leaned forward, so that the wrought-iron guardrail
pressed sharply against his stomach. Peering down from the narrow
pedestrian bridge, he gazed at the brown water swirling softly twenty
feet below and wondered for an instant at the riverTs depth and the
texture of its silent, silty bottom. Reaching into his back pocket, he
produced a black, thumb-smoothed wallet and flicked it with only a
small arc into the water. It landed with a muffled, slapping splash and
sank, a muddy rose rippling outward from where it disappeared. Harry
watched the rose melt back into the swirling mass of brown. Turning
suddenly, he strode across the bridge and into the bustling center of the
cityTs downtown business district.
Harry paused at the corner of a busy intersection and smelled the
hot, stale city smells. The light blinked to green, and he strolled across
the street past a phalanx of purring headlights. A towering, sooty-gray
office building dominated the newly-captured corner. The words
FIRST NATIONAL BANK were perfectly chiseled out of stone above
the heavy glass doors. Harry peeled off of the sidewalk and through the
doors, reading the block letters above his head as he did.
There was a low hum of voices, and the antiseptic smell and electric
coldness of the overhead lights reminded Harry of a hospital. He
stepped across the gleaming linoleum, past the tellerTs cages to the first
in a row of large desks, all manned by homely young women pecking at
typewriters.
~~1 wish to speak to the manager, please,TT Harry said softly to the girl
behind the first desk. She had buck teeth and small red blotches on the
left side of her neck and face.
oItTs about an error on this monthTs statement.�
oOf course,�T said the girl, unfolding herself from behind the desk.
oThis way, please.�T
Harry followed her past the row of chattering typewriters to a
4 mahogany door with the word MANAGER stenciled on in white paint.
The girl knocked and opened the door without waiting for a response.
oThis gentleman would like to talk to you. He says itTs about a
mistake on his statement.�
Harry walked into the office and heard the door pull shut behind
him.
oWilliam Eustis,TT beamed a squat, balding, ruddy-nosed figure, rising
from behind an even larger desk than those outside. Harry shook the
extended hand.
oSit down. Please. Sit down.TT William Eustis nodded to a leather
chair next to Harry.
o~Now-what can | do for you, Mr. ""?� said the pudgy bank
manager, resettling in his own chair.
oMy name is Harry MacCaslin,�� said Harry, drawing a small,
blueblack pistol from his raincoat pocket, ~~and the first thing you can
do for me, Mr. Eustis, is remain extremely still"because if you move
one muscle toward the alarm buzzer under your desk, | will shoot a
very large and gaping hole in your forehead.�
William Eustis paled immediately.
oNow, Mr. Eustis, you will notify the proper receptionist over the
intercom that you are not to be disturbed for the next thirty minutes.
7
Be
Then you will come and sit in this chair next to mine.�
Eustis picked up the phone receiver, dialed one digit, and while
Harry leveled the gun, rasped out the instructions. After hanging up, he
wobbled out from behind the desk and wheezed down into the chair
beside Harry.
oMr. Eustis, in exactly fifteen minutes"now"a .38 caliber bullet will
belch forth from the obscenely ugly muzzle of this pistol and slam with
incredible velocity into a point roughly marking the median between
your two eyes. The impact will snap your head back as though it had
been smashed with a baseball bat, Mr. Eustis. There will, of course, be
severe and instantaneously fatal trauma wrought upon the greasy,
convoluted clump of worms that we call a brain, Mr. Eustis. | can only
speculate as to whether the bullet will remain embedded in your skull,
or exit"varnished decorously with red and gray, of course. If the little
missile does indeed prove to be particularly tenacious, | can assure you
that the hole in the rear of your head will be even larger and messier
than the one in front. | apologize for that, Mr. Eustis. Do you have any
questions at all about your fate?�
Eustis had blanched completely, and his eyes glazed over
momentarily.
oNow, now, Mr. Eustis. No swooning. Listen very closely because |
will explain quite clearly why you are going to die in such a seemingly
absurd and"well, improprietous manner.TT Harry paused to light a
cigarette, carefully keeping the gun leveled. He tossed the smouldering
match into an ashtray on the desk.
oFirst, Mr. Eustis, you are thinking, if you are thinking at all, that |
am obviously deranged, a raving madman with homicidal inclinations.
Secondly, as your ego and sense of survival realize the very real threat
of my words, you are or will be wondering, ~Why me? | donTt even
know this"assassin.T In response to your second thought, you are
right"as far as | know, neither of us has ever laid eyes on the other
until now. | was inexplicably, whimsically intrigued by the name of
your establishment. LetTs ironically call it fickle fate. As for you
particularly, | fear that | am guilty of a rather negative, and perhaps
unfair stereotype image of bank managers. A rather sterile,
unimaginative lot"epitomizing bureaucracy and the death of the soul,
categorically in need of spiritual intensity and so on. Really not so
important. A subjective fancy.
oFurthermore, Mr. Eustis, despite what you are thinking and what
the newspapers will imply, | am not unbalanced. On the contrary, | am
disgustingly sane. My actions are the product of much rational
forethought. For you see, Mr. Eustis, | am actively combatting the
myth of the futility of modern man.�
EustisT eyes rolled under heavy lids toward Harry. He ran his tongue
over his lips. When he spoke, his voice was pinched and weak.
~WWh-why are you doing this? You'll never get away with something
like this.�
Harry exhaled a haze of blue smoke and tapped an ash into the tray.
~Do you believe in God, Mr. Eustis?�
Eustis squirmed nervously. oT| suppose | do.�T
oWell, Mr. Eustis, |~Tm afraid | donTt. Yet"|l must"I need to"|! have
to. What sense is there to this danse macabre, Mr. Eustis, if there are no
8
...the paramount gift our thinkers, artists, our men of science should labor to get for us is
a sense of selfhood without resort to magic.
Robert Bolt
gods? If they have been squashed into oblivion, pierced and analyzed as
neatly and as clinically as the atom? What dignity is there in this feeble
winking into and out of existence if there are no gods to watch and
direct the momentary drama? Mr. Eustis, my poor, frightened, drowing
Mr. Eustis"think on it clearly for just one second. Think of yourself in
context of the endless, inky, unfathomable terms of eternity. Think of
yourself stripped naked of everything except the raw, indivisible
dimension of existence, drifting directionless for an instant lasting only
long enough to be realized by a mind that is capable"if it wishes"to
sense or deduce the incredible folly and injustice of such a plight. Think
of these things, Mr. Eustis"think of them"and tell me how they are to
be endured without the gods!
Harry had progressively leaned closer and closer to Eustis. Their faces
were no more than six inches apart. Perspiration ran in rivulets down
the bank managerTs white face, although his lips were very dry.
oBut why"why"?� Eustis squeezed his eyes shut. ~~What will this
do? ThereTs nothing you can gain by doing this!�
Harry stubbed out his cigarette and lit another one.
oNot true, Mr. Eustis. Not true at all. In these remaining fifteen
minutes of your life, there exists a very highly defined order, an order
that weighs and directs every passing moment, an order that is
immutable even though so"ethereal. And there is an omnipotent
overseer that within the universe of these four walls is total and
absolute. So you see, Mr. Eustis"oh, | hope you do see"there can be a
plot, and there can be a director, and there can be meaning. And"feel,
just feel the intensity of it, Mr. Eustis! How much meaning there is just
in the burning, clawing gasping intensity of these moments. In these last
three minutes before your death, Mr. Eustis, you are probing depths no
less intense than those fathomed by Bach"Van Gogh"Shakespeare"the
glorious rush of insanity felt by Dostoevsky waiting to be executed...�
Eustis was slumped low in his chair, his eyes squinched shut and his
face contorted in fear and helplessness. Large tears squeezed out from
between the closed lids and rolled with the sweat down his cheeks. His
voice was now a low sob, inflected with the pitiful breaking of a man
talking to no one in particular.
oOh God oh God. DonTt please donTt. Please donTt. ThereTs no
reason. | donTt"| donTt understand. | donTt understand, Please. Oh God
please...�T
Harry blinked twice and bit his lower lip.
oYou see, Mr. Eustis, thereTs something else connected to our very
critical need for the gods"something else which | perhaps have been
unfair in keeping from you. And that is: how could | allow, how could
| possibly permit the existence of gods without being one myself?�
Eustis continued sobbing quietly, his eyes still screwed shut. Harry
ground his second cigarette into the ashtray. Leaning back, he raised
the pistol to within an inch of EustisT forehead.
oGoodbye, Mr. Eustis,� he said and squeezed the trigger. A flash of
orange and black barked forth, and a red pulp appeared where the bank
managerTs face had been. Harry stared for only a moment and then
place the pistol muzzle against his own right temple.
oGoodbye, God,� he whispered, pulling the trigger again. The world
flashed white.
9
" I AEE EAE lc
/pepto-bismol blues /
in the summer of his sickness
with uncles approaching in the night
holding up their gowns
coming to watch the falling away of flesh
his hair fell whitely
against the gray frayed carpet
his eyes would bleed into the wine
and the parents gathered together
to hold his tongue
so he wouldn't gag on the chanting
the singing of his new-born boredom
when he lay stretched
across an immensely sterile question
chained by the either-orTs
spitting up the flesh of dead saints
onto the hungry earth
when he pulled out his convictions
each by the root
and burned them in a laughing fire
when he said"(death is innocent
life is sadly all
there is no god to blame
only the rushing wind)
but these ravings rocked the doctor
attending at his side
with frigid fingers fondling
and the minister's face froze with fear
but the tattered sister blind-child danced
and ran out into the waiting storm
idiot carl the butcherTs boy
kicked the bedpan
smiling into the spilled suffering
11
iilcalgrenNTcanN
RAIN THOUGHTS
Dampened are you who sheds tears;
Resolute in purpose, for tears must fall.
Yet they fall in a feeble parley upon the scorched earth,
Descending upon the sights below you"upon the sightless
Beyond you"upon the sighted beside you.
For who but the sighted can see? Who but the sighted
Can know your power, strong against each, yet weak
Against all? Who but the sighted can be awed by their
Own ghastly presence, their coarse cacophony of life?
Shed your drippy fabric, for you, too, will fall prey to
The forest-takers, the land-eaters, the river-killers
And the other earth-gods. You, too, will become lifeless,
Unsustaining.
Your death has its revenge:
The earth will lose its gods as the gods lose their world.
Your re-birth awaits only a signal from Time.
And Time has no gods.
UMO1Ig UPLLION
~Auyaod Ajuo si a4ay} /soydejaw e AjuO
si BulyzAJAAZ oAWIOIIAAO ~adualIs pue YyIaads ~paap Pue P4sOM ~Apog pue pull uaamjag AuousijUue ay |
A revolution that expects you to sacrifice yourself for it is one of DaddyTs revolu tions.
Slogan on a wall
SNOW
fur
the fur
of a biting, clawing
life giving
thing
life eating
tricks
it tricks
how well it tricks
covering itself over
in prickly mystery
come to me
begs me
like a wet, hungry dog
begs me
to come inside
lay by the fire
fall asleep
satisfied
belly full of death
13
Watching Sally Die
| remember once when we all went down to BillyTs house to watch
Sally Rogers die. Death to us kids was just a game where somebody
pointed a finger and went Bang! Bang! and we fell down and lay still
for a minute and then broke up into giggles. It was lots of fun, and we
were all going down to BillyTs house to watch Sally Rogers die.
Real death was something that happened only to people because
they were old and had a bad heart or something like that. We didn't
know what this oPO LIO-MY-E-LI-TIS�T was that Sally had, but since
she was little like us, she couldn't really die. So, we were all going down
to BillyTs house to watch Sally Rogers play ~~die.�T
Jimmy Briggs said that if it would help out olT Sally, heTd give her a
kiss on the cheek like the Prince did in Snow White, but heTd bust hell
out of anybody who laughed. We all allowed as how just this once we'd
let it slide by.
Missy Johnson said that last night her mom had told her to say a
little prayer for Sally. That made us feel that maybe things were a little
more serious if such drastic measures were required. But, Missy's
mother always was the emotional type, and we were still going down to
BillyTs house to watch Sally Rogers die.
15
We got there, but Doc Johnson wouldn't let us in the room because
what Sally had was ~~can...CON-TA-GIOUS.� So, we stood around real
quiet like, watching BillyTs mom and dad cry.
Billy told Johnny Green to stop picking his nose because it wasnTt
polite with Sally sick and his parents around. And, we tried not to
laugh when Stevie Williams broke wind........ , and Sally Rogers died.
...| was passing through home not too long ago and stopped by to see
BillyTs folks. Old Mr. Rogers seemed real glad to see me. He came,
grinning, down off the porch to shake my hand and ask me how | was. |
said fine and told him a little about my job as a salesman for the
tobacco company. He said that he thought it was good that | was doing
so well and that he knew my parents were real proud of me. | laughed it
off and said thanks.
| asked what he had heard from Billy, and all at once, the joy in his
eyes died. His smile kind of faded, and he looked tired and old when he
said they had lost Billy over in Vietnam about a month ago. A sudden
sense of unexplained loss took hold of me way down deep and refused
to let go. Billy had always been my friend and his dadTs brief
pronouncement caused a painful emptiness to flood through me. Mr.
Rogers tried to get me to come on in to say hello to BillyTs mom, but |
didn't feel much like it anymore. So, | said no, maybe next time: ITve
got to be on my way. We shook hands once more, and he asked me
please to stop by again soon.
With the rain beginning to fall, | started back to Raleigh that night
and got to thinking about Sally and Billy and all the fun we used to
have. Like the time we got Sally to stand in front of the Carolina
Theater and cry and kick up a fuss while we sneaked past the ushers.
When a crowd had gathered, Billy calmly walked out and said she was
just his little sister and that she must have wandered outside and gotten
scared. Everyone laughed, and the ticket-taker took them inside and
bought them some popcorn and Coke. Billy gave me half of his. It
wasn't long after that that Sally got sick.
Billy and me stayed friends the whole time we were growing up, and
it had just been since he had gone to ~Nam that we had lost touch. The
night before he went overseas, we sat at my place in Raleigh and drank
beer. We talked about all the things we wanted to do, and | told him |
could probably get him a job selling cigarettes after he got out of the
Army. We both thought that it would be fun to live together. Billy said
that maybe one day we could even go into business for ourselves.
Raleigh was a growing community, and there was lots of opportunity.
Pulling into Fuquay, | thought about how things never seem to work
Out quite like you plan them. In the back of my mind, | had figured on
Billy showing up in a few months and us taking up where we had left
off. But, that wasnTt possible anymore. | drove into the Burger Chef to
get myself a hamburger before | went home. Walking through the door,
| blinked the salty wetness out of my eyes and wondered if anybody
had been watching,
the day Billy died.
16
Sand
A handful of eternity from the coliseum floor
Runs through stiff fingers.
LifeTs blood soaks up, drop by drop,
The thirstTs never quenched.
Countless grains, like years, flow and continue
While man, bloodless, dies.
MY TREASURED DISGRACES
Tiny doodlers doodle my walls
With silly names, addresses, and places.
Fat old ladies dance down my halls
Whispering my treasured disgraces.
In delicate perfection | tie my shoes
With turned up toes to a mirrored tip.
A jelly bean rids me of my blues
And checks to see that my tongue doesnTt slip.
Lilacs and roses and lily-greased lovers"
A mistress steals away in shame.
A strap of her gown falls over her shoulder.
She whispers to me, oThe /iquorTs to blame.�
17
Dialogues"Philosophy
oLook, see this scarf? ITm going to print my face in it"Magdalene?�
oNo, Veronica, Veronica, she was the one who held up her veil for
JesusT face.�T
oThat was only because he hadnTt washed in four days.�
oYou're trying to make Christ human, like you! Impossible!
oITm not human!�
oThank God, thank God!�
We are bantering marvelously, brilliantly, two runaway stars;
yet, in what you call your ~extravagant imagination� you are crying
the wind, babies wheezing in the night, a ghost who lives in a guitar
and an eight-year-old boy fishing in a creek with a broom handle for
a pole and some twine tied to a
safety pin; all through your head there are dashing fireworks and
disconnected electrical wires, smoking guns, meteors larger and more
explosive than our dialogues; you are
wearing a monkey suit to a wedding, you are pulling a toy knife in
your psychiatristTs office, you are lying to me about your last
name and where your parents came from, so that | may never trace
you to the threads of your tongue, you are gobbling all the best cookies
creating people out of
T
Jello and glue with red beads for their eyes, you are lying and
you are ashamed.
oThose words walked right out of my stomach at the time,
at the top of my head | was thinking something else.�T
oScared of succeeding in becoming close to me, appearing
impervious because you are afraid of seeing yourself as vulnerable,
what kind of philosophy is that?TT
~o~My dear, you sound much too poetic.�
oYou could at least say that youTve known me a hundred years.TT
oThe Hundred Years War? Aha, aha!T
You will pace the room as if you were having a child and you are
the child, | will slip your religions between the strings of a mighty
catTs cradle, you will prance and kiss me on the forehead and walk
out the door, never knowing that I've glimpsed the pin-ball game
in concert going on behind your eyes, never coming back and never knowing
that today"and always"| will know you.
19
cael
;
wh
cat
take
eae
An Lupeblished LETIER to the Edi ror
Hegel
The letter quoted herein was found unfit for publication by the Cleanville newspaper, The Lilliputian
Times (All the news thatTs fit for the small mind). It was decided by the editor and staff that although the
letter was written by a member of the silent majority, it did not truly reflect the views of a majority of the
majority. Two weeks after this decision, the letters to the editor were discontinued altogether in order to
expand the sports seetion.
Deane Mer. Editor,
Iam writing yoo this letter in hopes that »t+ will
be pul (Ww fhe Plt Pez J havt lived aight here Hv
Cleeiville aft Mae [Fe , excep? Fo. Mek ley where
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44
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language integrated/symbols recognized/roles defined oe:
she says ~cigaret?T
| itt
No substance can turn into naught
The eternal stirs in everything...
The moment is eternity.
MINOR KEY
Hey, boys, put me in a minor key.
Some fool is in my basement
Singing do re me.
My stomach hurts and you want
To play the hunter shoots Bambi.
Who hung all the glitter covered
Beer cans around here so you could
Bump your damn head everytime you
Turn around to see some skin.
Call that waitress whoTs got the
tray of mirrors at a nickel a look.
/ want one.
GatsbyTs Illusion
like an illicit party at GatsbyTs,
desperate children wander streets and alleys"
clutching
crying
laughing"
forever seeking that good time which will come
no more
33
34
/cafe song/
the sun is dead hot"
air allows no relief"
maybe a wind can save us now-
the tilted table where we're sitting...
and you're reading the scrawled initials...
while i explain the gods away"
the ribs of empty beer cans crushed...
glinting in the smoke of boredom
dead flies flounder in the splattered foam-
tobacco butts broken against our soles"
heat hangs around our necks...
pushing its scalding tongue...
against our unwilling ears"
the sun is still and screaming
while watching you move an empty
closer to the edge of the table"
not to balance...
but to topple...
rattling against the bubbling floor beneath"
and then i knew i wanted to touch you...
but you'd gone to the bathroom so quickly...
i didnTt even notice"
i listened to the whirring of the ridiculous fans"
(only the wind can save us now
only that")
36
EDITORTS NOTE: to be read aloud with strains of
oOnward Christian Soldiers� echoing softly in the
background.
Some glad morning when this life is over,
lll fly away
To a land where everyone can hope,
/~Il fly away, fly away"-
Traditional Hymn
So, this is Death. Only a certain hazy awareness, a floating
sense of being no more. In the blueness of DeathTs arms, | am lying
quietly"waiting, holding on to this lifeless body for only a little
longer.
A fancy coffin, | must admit. Why have they opened its velvet-
lined length so that my glazed eyes want to see, but cannot? There is
only that strange swirling feeling of no longer existing.
| sense they have folded those cold hands placidly upon my
silent breast; my face is no longer contorted by the horrible grimace
of Death. | imagine | must look much like any other cold, rotting corpse.
| feel them treading now, onward marching. Christian soldiers
marching as to...to what? They are desperate to understand Death, to
fathom his deep mysteries. Afraid, yet drawn onward to convince themselves
that what ITve done is wrong. Onward they march, awkward in their
silence, foolish in mourning.
"DoesnTt he look natural?
So true, Mrs. Sherman. Perhaps Death is the most natural posture
of man, stripping him of his absurdities.
ItTs so sad and shocking. He was only twenty-one.
Yes, Aunt Doris, | died before | had even lived. | guess itTs sad
that it had to end as it did. So many dreams, visions of days and
nights in a future now passed.
"He was such a wonderful person. | cannot believe he had nothing
to live for.
Thank you, Reverend McSwain, thatTs quite a touching comment from
one who hated me, yet stood over a tired pulpit every Sunday preaching
love to a straying flock. Quite touching.
"Look, Mama. His watch is even running.
Amazing, eh, Susie? | donTt guess you have realized yet that Time
is chasing you, too. Run, little child, run fast.
"|! loved him so much. | remember so many wonderful times we spent
together.
Bullshit, dear Cathy. How can you shed those tears and gush that
crap over a body you used and tossed away? Goddamn, how is it that
lies that cause Death can even live after?
- He was a good son. Why, oh, why did he do such a thing?
~ll miss you, dear parents. Finally now that | can no longer
embrace you or speak with you, | realize your love. | used to worry
about how | would act when you died, but now | have left you to suffer
over a question even | cannot truly answer.
The Christian soldiers are leaving now, still shuffling softly as
if in respect. They will eat and talk now, perhaps some will cry and
others will laugh. They are through with Death for awhile. They have
worshipped and paid homage.
| have lingered long enough in my uncertainty. | think | shall
flee this stiffening body now and move on into the beckoning blueness.
| do not know what awaits when | shed this cold body. Perhaps it was
only a cocoon. Or perhaps it is all there is or shall be.
| do not know cannot know"what awaits. But it should be"please,
it must be"better.
Pythagoras
Old Pythagoras
You with the golden thigh
You who invented the lyre
What did you have to go
Tinkering with the spheres for
You with your idea
Of the music of the spheres
The presumption of men
To talk about their imaginings
As if they were real
And foist these imaginings
On the whole human race
a ey mie
Ri rupee aren ee pa ae
38
e. e. cummings
You pays your money and you doesn't get to choose: ainTt freedom grand.
LOVER
She wasnTt the kind of girl to go around wearing
Sunday massages,
but when half of your Soul is gone, you have to grow New.
_..or so the Star of the Universe lied.
CREDITS
EE SE! A� EME AS Greg Resler--typographic design, Glenn Lewis
Joe Brannon
a ovvchcvccnccesaencrenoone design, Glenn Lewis
ook vsckcsasivshsspueshinssccnoeiinnees Joe Brannon
ob sickisesssensi cc ss Glenn Lewis
eee ae EE Archie Gaster
ro ibeceele ps Archie Gaster
ee ee Archie Gaster
ES ee A ie centerfold, Thomas Haines
i iss sessnnnonssnscatsavscsonses Joe Brannon
CO SS, ui iiiecccsccesvccsonsecenes Archie Gaster
a RES SHON SSS i ean US DS aenremmer neem ecn renee painting, Danny Hill
oo ooovvcacéscocsesicooncnnn illustration, Judi Bradford
LEO illustration, Judi Bradford
0 staff photo, Joe Brannon
lM ll design, Glenn Lewis
Special thanks and apologies to Bicycle Playing Cards and Arm and
Hammer Baking Soda.
