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THE REBEL is a student publication of East
Carolina University. Offices are located on campus at
215 Wright Annex. Inquiries and contributions should
) be directed to P.O. Box 2564, Greenville, N.C., 27834.
4] Copyright 1974, East Carolina University Student
1} Government Association. None of the materials herein
may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever
without written permission.

THE REBEL STAFF

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF ........ Phillip K. Arrington
CX La a ke eS Marvin Hunt
Sandra W. Penfield

SIE SU PE os ss woes Glenn Lewis
BUSINESS MANAGER .......... David Swink
FRET CF PIE i or was te Dr. Norman
Rosenfeld

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Ode to a Star . . . Charles Soma . . . page 3

The Touch . . . Marvin Hunt . . . page 5

Walking Through a Vision of Vines . . . P.K. Arrington . . . page 7
Untitled . . . P.K. Arrington . . . page 9

Once Upon a Time, A Queen . . . John Alexander . . . page 11
Yom Kippur . . . Mitchell Reep . . . page 19

The Cosmic Claw . . . Marvin Hunt . . . page 20

The Zythum Drinkers . . . Pam Diffee . . . page 21

Toward the Light . . . Charles Soma . . . page 25
Afternoon on Wilshire Blvd . . . Mitchell Reep . . . page 27
Mirror . . . Scot Gardner . . . page 28

Untitled . . . Charles Soma . . . page 29

Love Letter . . . Teresa Speight . . . page 30

Untitled . . . Pam Diffee . . . page 31

Untitled . . . Charlotte Gregory . . . page 32

Swan... Scot Gardner . . . page 33

Dream Book . . . Daniel Hall . . . page 34

Nova . . . Teresa Speight . . . page 40

Untitled . . . Daniel Hall . . . page 34

Song of Return . . . P.K. Arrington . . . page #

Art Credits . . . page 4

Staff Photo . . . page 4

REBEL 1

|

oArt finds her own perfection within, and outside
of, herself. She is not to be judged by any external stan
dard of resemblance. She is a veil, rather than a mirror:
She has flowers that no forests know of, birds that n0
woodland possesses. She makes and unmakes many °
worlds, and can draw the moon from a scarlet thread. "
Hers are the ~forms more real than living man,T and hers "
the great archetypes of which things that havé
existence are but unfinished copies. Nature has, in he!
eyes, no laws, no uniformity. She can work miracles a!
her will, and when she calls monsters from the deep
they come. She can bid the almond tree blossom 1!
winter, and send the snow upon the ripe cornfield. A~
her word the frost lays its silver finger on the burning
mouth of June, and the winged lions creep out from thé
hollows of the Lydian hills. The dryads peer from thé
thicket as she passes by, and the brown fawns smilé
strangely at her when she comes near them. She ha>
hawk-faced gods that worship her, and the centaur
gallop at her side.�

Oscar Wilde, oThe Decay of Lying�

oArt is a lie that helps us realize the truth.�
Picass?

Passing cars

*0 stop the rain

fo lay down by

~a found her pants
{ found her shirt

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» THE TOUCH

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As a modern man

he groomed himself in a multiplicity of images
ole) mali wa:) elesi- Ml amr mol: e me) mn ce) anal:
cTavemuyolelamuc-).4lalemmelle)e\-omdatclaams\er-lia

lige)iim- Mole) 1 me) meth

Yes, he was one who cursed the sameness of night
claveme:}(-1e)a-hiclemaal-Melhaalaleadlelatme) maa: Mel: hy

CIES aye lolol cm of-llanecvemellanl-variiela

slate mee) (olga r-necemilieri(ele

Shattered into many yet still complete

they greeted him with multi-smiles and living faces
They were there on the porch with the milk and papers
VVTh dpm del-MjarclU-mrlalemm cal: Mrlele}amelmaal-Manliage)s

The door always held a touch

the touch a face

and the face a scream

Wicmeickenac imi uml melmullacee

as he gropes for an exit from the chamber of horrors
Tale Mm aat-jame:igale)(-MlaL@iialemenmaliiari-) iar: \maar-lany

~ His frantic eyes ask

Which am 1?

- The sounds say

_The one you touch, idiot boy

the one that crawls there beneath your fingertips

\\ ee

REBEL 5

/walking through a vision of vines/

You had entered the room like an axe cutting through the shadows. What
| had happened before was uncertain. What is happening now is uncertain. Your

Watch is breathing against the hairs on your arm, silver and gold and wavering
in darkened light pulsating like a heart backed into an inescapable corner.
: Then you noticed the hourglass dancing and spiralling in the center of the
toom. A boy with a mirror made of shadows has just closed the door you thought
1 Was dreaming. He locks it with his teeth and throws away the tongue you thought
Was yours.
You have not noticed the hag of time drinking her tears, sitting behind the
hourglass and giggling as she counts her fingers and turns them into laughing
1 birds. You did not notice her until she dragged her iron nails across the floor
7 of feathered blood and scaling bones. The sound gushed and crackled, dripped
7 and crumbled into a pool of meaning. You had forgotten that your ears could
| Scream so convincingly.
What is about to happen? You think that your watch suffocates in the waiting.
j You feel your hands trying to move towards your lips. You feel your lips turning
7 into knives. They smile, waiting to sever any attempt at touch.

Then there were echoes! You turn to see what emptiness gave these form. But
then you could not turn. Your flesh was flowing from the bones.

The hag of time spears the brains, spearing them and frowning, spearing hundreds
of wet, silvered brains scuttling in clusters under her impaling point. They were
the echoes! It was their vacuums rattling, hollowed in need.

You could not fall to this floor, could not turn your eyes away.

She drops them plopping in the sack on her shoulder. And she says nothing.

She says nothing.

You can still hear the exhalations of time. The moment beats you with its
ted claws, clubbing you into willful submission. Your mouth mumbles in the floor.
Your feet twirl roots into the formless floor. The darkness drapes its cloak of
arms warm against your cheeks. Your eyes grow arms that cannot ever reach.

The brains scuttle, surrender, and plop into the sack.

The door opens and the boy is carrying a window licking a severed head. Your
tongue powders; you cannot scream.

She says nothing.
The boy closes the door again and locks it with reflections.

The walls are laughing and leaving without farewells.
She says nothing and crawls into the sack to watch.

REBEL 7

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it was such a year as this
such a yellow year as this
but some said it was a black year
blowing in bare trees
and some said it was a time
Tid Maemo) dal:] am aiaal:,
iat -lamelale)eliscmer-larn-re
and fishes flew
eave maal-Maarelelane:l acm c-1h¢-1e malcom cals mr:
and some said it was a loud year
Coleco Warele-ledialem-laremanalale mela
ey: ielacMclaNVAelaicmrelel(emelht-Maat-]i am elg-r-le,
and some swore they had seen the smell
of the sea
spreading her dark wet legs
waving the coaches in
and some heard the puff of the adder
Wa laMecli Mech aelale-e-]°)e)(:tmel(-1em-lalemel(-16
and then the old man asked them
what kind of year it really was
oves someone tell me really what kind
of time it was�T
and everyone in this dark cold room
; WECM [Ul (-1ae-laremelacrchealiare
and

a

then a sick one
with a raw nose and a cough
PAE Wire Mm ilemesl lame: lalemuicey-lal-re
only
oit was an end-year�T
and a boy in the backroom laughed
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10 REBEL

POY 7 FLO, A QULQN

by john alexander

But against you, yes, pansies of the cities,
of tumescent flesh and unclean mind,
mud of drains, harpies, unsleeping enemies

of Love which distributes crowns of joy.

Against you always, you who give boys

drops of soiled death with bitter poison...

Pansies of the world, murderers of doves!
WomenTs slaves, bitches of their boudoirs,
opened with the fever of fans in public squares

or ambushed in frigid landscapes of hemlock.

Let there be no quarter! Death
flows from your eyes

and clusters grey flowers on the shores...

from oOde to Walt Whitman�

by Frederico Garcia Lorca

I've got to have a trick tonight,
Fred. Anda drink, too. Whata day!
It all started when the Glad Wrap
wrapped itself instead of my sand-
wich. Oh, a grasshopper, as usual.
You know how much | love butch
drinks. You make the best grass-
hoppers in town. I've always said it
does take a butch bartender to make
a nelly drink. | took Grover to the
vetTs today. Worms. HeTs twelve,
you know. | got him right after
coming here, figuratively speaking.
Twelve years. For me, let's see,
thatTs twelve tricks. Well, maybe
that is an exaggeration, but our
friend with the big horns and red tail
hasnTt exactly been throwing temp-
tation in bed with me. Perhaps,
because once | get it in bed, | donTt
throw it out.

REBEL 11

See OE

Finding sex is like finding a leak in the waterbed of
fun. Thank you. | told you Vance PackardTs written my
life story, didnTt |? The Sexual Wilderness. Business
still the same lately? That's true. There really isnTt too
much happening. | hate those new bars. All they have
are ultra pushy queens pushing around in their latest
pushy outfit. Those places are huge display windows
decorated in the tiredest of taste, like those rooms in
Madame TousseaudTs.

You still get drop-in business though. Just two
Saturday nights ago, or was it three (Grover was sick
the weekend before last) so it was three Saturdays ago,
we had that new bunch of soldiers drop in. But that
was three weeks ago, and my goodness, a girl could dry
up in that time. But that number | got was so sweet. |
told you all about it, didnTt 1? Gorgeous body, but
absolutely drunk. Why do they always come drunk?

How do you like my new shirt? No, it really is a
shirt. In the menTs boutique at the Purple Pansy. My
One indulgence"wild shirts. | wish | could say the
same for wild sex, but the cost is too much. And
afterall, what can you do with it after youTve done with
it? Just wash it up and send it on itTs way. Whoa!
What is that, that just came in? Yes, get it a drink.
Don't let it get away. Also, tell me if itTs as good looking
up close as | think itis from here. | am not blind. Justa
teensy weensy myopic. They leave a mark on the
bridge of my nose that cakes my foundation and
bronzer. My eyelids are too thin for contacts.

Are my chances good for getting it tonight, or has
Teresa Tearoom been in this evening? Good. | won't
have to contend with that terror. And she does love
them butch. She thinks because she had a body once,
and she did have a body once"about the time Moses
divided the Red Sea, she can get anything she wants. |
wonder what she did for excitement then"cruise the
caravans? They didnTt have teatents in the desert, did
they?

He is new then, isnTt he? Oh, goodie. Give me
another grasshopper, and I'll just bounce my tail right
over beside him. You're wicked, Fred. | do not look
more like a praying mantis than a grasshopper. Oh,
maybe | do. It must be the ruffles. Tell me what heTs

12 REBEL

n

eee

drinking. I'll send it a drinky-poo and then wind my way
over to his side like the serpent with the apple. That
would be a wild drink"an apple daquairi. Serve it in
one of those crystal apple shaped glasses women give
One another in an attempt to be original and creative.

Oh, God. Look what the wind just blew in.
Penelope Plump"the forgotten body. It takes some
wind to move that one; something like a tornado or a
tropical depression. ItTs all over now. If that sly con-
niving trick stealer gets within two tables of my number,
I'll put o~Infrarub� in her ~Preparation H,TT and she'll
know what hot really means. She'll have to sit on top of
Old Faithful to cool that hole off.

Yes, take that drink over to him and then give me
time to down this one before bringing me another. Al-
cohol is so good for one. It lubricates you in all the right
places, namely the brain. Thanks, Fred. | guess itTs
time for me to slither on over. Let me preen my ruffles
and head over for the kill.

Hi. Fred tells me youTre new in town. FredTs the
bartender. No thanks at all. What's a drink here or
there. ITm direct. YouTre butch. Oh, itTs Bruce. No,
thatTs not what | meant. | wasnTt talking about your
name. ITm talking about your muscles. On my Richter
Scale of masculinity, I'd say youTd shake North America
with no problem. It means youTre all male. With arms
like those,--may | feel them? No, you donTt have to
tense them for me. You're trying to break my heart.
And tatooes. TheyTre butch, too. Yes, | know your
name is Bruce. TheyTre so manly. The tatooes.
oU.S.M.C.�" on the right arm. WhatTs on the left one?
Oh, no. ~~Death to the Enemy.� | knew this guy once
who had the same thing on his arm, except he was in
the Second World War. You must have been a war
baby. Oh, the Korean War. My, my, that means you're
around twenty. You want another one?

Fred. | can never get his attention. FredTs the
bartender. You know, you meet so few people in places
like this that you can really talk to. There you are Fred.
Make it another praying mantis for me and another of
the same, yes, bourbon and water, for Bruce, it is Bruce,
isnTt it? | told you | remembered. | used to drink bour-
bon and water, but then | discovered scotch, and scotch

REBEL 13

ee) se Ss es ee eS hm Lm

is so wonderful. Bourbon just tears your nose to pieces.
It must be what that reindeer drinks. God, if | worked
for someone who wore red flannel with ermine trim and
had to live practically on Mount Everest, I'd drink, too.
Scotch doesnTt do a thing to your nose, but it does
leave little road maps etched around the corners of your
eyes. So after my bout with scotch, | turned to mixed
drinks. ThatTs the story of my life"one drink after
another.

Twenty. ThatTs such a magical age"so sexual
and all. And to be twenty now. All the groovy clothes
men can wear. When | was twenty, yes, | was twenty
once, we just couldnTt wear a thing. We just drove
around in all those absolutely garish cars. ITm always
amazed at the way people try to make themselves at-
tractive with what they can buy. Thank you, Fred. Take
a look at that one over there. Cleo Clotheshorse. They
love her in the fabric shops. She takes a whole bolt of
material for a pair of boxer shorts. When she has a pair
of trousers fitted, they have to allow for the ruffles on
her underwear.

These ruffles? Oh, they give a little lift to the shirt.
The ruffles on her shirts are trimmed in Belgian lace.
She even has it starched. ItTs the stiffest thing on her
body. She uses starch on her wrists so she can lift her
hands. We call her Stay-Puff Stella. She uses starch
the way most queens use make-up. And queens do use
make-up. ItTs like a pair of white bells or muslin baggies:
everyone | know has at least one pair. And there aren't
many people | donTt know. | haven't always been from
here. | used to live in San Francisco. The scene there is
marvelous, like in San Diego with all those boats and all
those sailors.

But youTre in the Marine Corps, aren't you, Butch?
Woops. Excuse me, itTs Bruce, isnTt it? You were in the
Marine Corps. Just get out, Bruce? See, | got it right.
Three of those little green things and ITm a name hop-
per. Just like the Easter Bunny, hippity-hop, name
hopper, grass hopper. No, | donTt smoke. CanTt you
see me in white fur? No flannel, just fur. But really, fur
on men is a no-no.

Yes, why donTt you drop a few coins in the juke
box. This place is pretty slow tonight. ItTs right over

14 REBEL

there. HereTs some change. Would you get me a pack
of Eves? Thank you.

Fred. Fred. Another round. Make his a double.
HeTs not bad, is he? Yes. | know heTs probably
hustling, looking for dope or something. The only thing
heTs getting out of me is a few drinks. | know his type:
they do it with their boyfriends when they're growing
up, and strangely, they find out they still like it when
theyTre horny. HeTs the ~~we won't kiss but let's sixty-
nine for daysTT type. ITm not letting it get away.
havenTt had anything that sweet in a long time, includ-
ing that sailor three weeks ago.

Did you see his legs in those leviTs when he got
up? Aman, areal man. Two more drinks, no make that
three, and he won't care what | look like. It'll be friction,
and thatTs all heTll want. ITve settled on the best of
lasting relationships"no disappointments ever. | de-
cided sometime ago to marry the world. ItTs one marri-
age that can never grow old. It's always a new honey-
moon with everyone or anyone that comes along.

And this one tonight has come along at the right
time. Those shoulders"if he didnTt have a tee-shirt on,
I'd think they were padded. But his skin"those gor-
geous creamy pink cheeks. If he doesnTt hurry back, I'll
forget what he looks like.

Here he comes, my Mr. America. Well, Bruce,
got it right, didnTt |? HereTs another bourbon and water.
We ought to make a toast. Yes. ITve got it. Here's
wishing you many Olives in the martini of life. You don't
have to make a face. ItTs not that bad. Besides, it's the
thought that counts. What are you interested in? Real-
ly? | had a marvelous car once. | got it from a friend. He
had kept it absolutely immaculate. | mean he kept it in
A-1 shape. It was a GTO or something like that. No, |
canTt remember. | only had it three months. It ate gas

the way some queens eat. . . well, that's not exactly
my line for the evening. A real gas hog. And a big
engine, too.

Wait. ITve got a picture of it. Ron and | went
fishing one day" honest to goodness fish. Love fishing.
Caught bass mostly. ITve got a picture right here of us
in front of the car with the fish. Why do | carry one of
those things? | used to carry an airline bag, but then

REBEL 15

someone said | was trying to show off, so | got this bag,
this case for men. The strap is very masculine. That's
two inch wide simulated rawhide. | keep just everything
in it. Just a second, itTs in this part. You know those
grasshoppers. No, | donTt have any. | told you | don't
smoke. Never mind. No wonder | canTt find it. | threw
out the picture and everything that reminded me of him
when he moved in with Stan.

ls that one of the songs you played? | just adore
country and western music. ItTs so true to life. ooYou've
got to kiss an angel good morning.�T God, I've kissed so
many angels good morning, I'm beginning to grow
feathers under my arms. What are you going to be
doing in the morning? Well, you could always have
breakfast at my place. Grover loves guests. HeTs my
dog, but heTs not feeling too well right now. Worms. If
you came over, ITm sure it would cheer him up. Oh,
good, now thatTs settled, we can enjoy a drink or two
more and listen to the rest of the songs you've played.

Oh, itTs right through those doors, but use the
ladiesT room, unless you want to get groped. Justa sec,
let me look around. No, go ahead and use the menTs
room. Looks like Tillie Tearoom has left for the evening.
| just feel so uncomfortable in the menTs room. They've
got a glory hole beside the urinal the size of a manhole
cover. | never go in tearooms unless my bladderTs dis-
tended to the point of uremic poisoning. And then if
someone comes in after me, | close up tighter than
DraculaTs casket at dawn. | mean there could be
enough marble between me and the other guy to build
the Taj Mahal, and | still couldn't go. ItTs very common,
though. Really, very common. ItTs a syndrome with a
| name and everything. Very medical.
: | think ITve got a small cather though. The tube
you piss through. ITve got small veins, too. | go into
: trauma everytime | have to have a blood test. Look at
' my wrists. Small bones and small veins. Nancy
Kneepad said | had the bone structure of a sardine. |
told her the iris had thin veins. But youTre on your way
to the john. Even! can be butch. Yes, you can call me
Butch if you want to, but my nameTs Gregory.

Fred. Fred. HeTs going home with me. | just
canTt believe it. You donTt have a little grass | could

a ee ee

asin rp
"_"

16 REBEL

Fa aa wy SS te nr la
Sa ee

have for him, do you? Thank you. I'll get it before we
leave. | know Grover will just love him. He must lift
weights. He has the most gorgeous pectorals. A
shame they'll be sagging by the time heTs forty. But
most everything sags by that time. YouTve made the
most delicious grasshoppers tonight. Thank God, Susie
Sweettooth left. | canTt stand her. She buys everything
sheTs got. One day ITm going to crochet her tail closed
and put her out of commission. Then all she'll need is
lockjaw. She wouldn't have to lie in confession after
that. What do you mean she didnTt leave? She's
where? In the tearoom? My god, and | sent Bruce in
there unprepared. See you in a sec!

Well, well, if it isnTt Linda Looselips practicing for
the Halloween Olympics . . . building up her kneecaps
for the creepers crawl. Bruce dear, it is Bruce, isn't it,
would you kindly sheathe your instrument of pleasure?
Oh, ITm sorry. | do get wordy, donTt I? It means put
your dick away and zip up your pants. ITd kick this one
where it hurts, except | couldnTt find it. O.K., Sweetie,
youTve seen what heTs got. YouTve had your thrill for
the evening. Now get out of here and take your knee-
pads with you.

lf you can get your knees straightened out, get up
and get out. Bruce, this oneTs idea of a dream trick is
liquid plumber. The next morning she gargles with
Draino. That's right, Sweetie, donTt open your mouth,
let alone to say anything. ITd turn Bruce on you, except
you have natural protection"a face that would stop a
herd of hungry locusts. Just leave and don't pass go.

Good. SheTs gone. | didnTt think she could get on
her feet so fast considering she didnTt learn how to walk
until she was seventeen. ITm sorry you had to see me so
angry, Bruce. No, thatTs all right, | understand " things
like that just happen in tearooms. You mean you were
going home with me anyway. | thought you were just
going to leave after whatTs-her-name finished
oactivity.� ThatTs sweet. Even with my sardine bones,
you like me? No oneTs said that in a long time. Let's
just say good-night to Fred, pick up a little you-know-
what for you to smoke, and take your adorably hunky
body home. We can put Grover out, listen to music,
relax, and well, . . . whatever.

REBEL 17

\

YOM KIPPUIR

russian melodies

in the childTs world of forgetting
amidst dancing slippers and nutcrackers --
the nursery destroyed today

a missle, soaring over the Galilee
spectre of reality

came

singing its russian melody

in linear form

against polyphonous blue

the Golan

verdure of brown sand

once a timbre so pure

cratered, littered with naked steel
the Hermon

once so incandescent of him
now so empty

portending void

that the elements so suffer

my suffering

can be borne

but that Joseph

whose skin --

so smoothed

smile --

unscarred

joy --

so singular

that Joseph

should be so indecipherable

in the rubble once nursery
makes me weep --
not for man

but for Joseph

REBEL 19

Se OSS SS SS ES Se SS

CS" 2. se

Tere

vs Er See eee

20 REBEL

/the cosmic claw/

she walks in a firmament of dust
her hair blown from her face by the wind
her skin tingling for touch
she leads by the hand
the fruit of her womb
her seed now flowered
that child with the giant head
whom she once watched
crawl to the mountaintop
and suddenly in its innocence
gulp down the moon and its glow

giving itself light
and handing you the dark

could you have withstood the stupid gaze
its reign over the heavens

would you have found yourself ill at ease
and turned your back

on the boy with the moon in his mouth

or would you have clawed the cosmos with your tongue
for an empty space among the unknowing young
who suckle in the dust

the cold milkless teats

of a dead mother

~i

The Zythum Drinkers

A great pyramid standing

alone on shadowed sand

with burgandy moon

waiting for the evening

when the zythum drinkers come.
TheyT~ve been before;

they will again.

The Nile lets go a female sound

of giving birth to reeds

and whispers through her water wind
a question for the pharaohTs ear.
oKnow you, care you, bloodless king,
of what they take from me?�

The slaves that built the tomb
heTs in have died,

some grown old.

The chains they wore

are hidden now,

their children bare no
ankle-sores,

their bodies now are straight
and tall,

no weight to make them bend"
But bent the minds that zythum makes"
a poison from the river bank"
so now the young are gathered
here to curse and laugh

and cry.

Homage to the one below

who tells them who they are
and where they came from.

The Nile lets go a female sound,

of giving birth to reeds

and whispers through her water wind
a question for the pharaohTs ear.
oKnow you, care you, bloodless king,
of what they take from me?�

REBEL 21

"" """""""S" OT "O Ss _
i i i ee ee

Se

ee
*

oHey, old man.�

The street felt warm to their feet.

oHold on, old man.�

His hand shook the cane as he turned to answer his call.

oYeh, old man, thatTs right. Hold on.�

A dog barked in echo to the sound of their running.

oWho are you?�

The younger boy did the talking.

~Friends, old man. We just want to talk to you.�

The street light shone at the corner. Twisting arms of nearby trees streaked out under the light near
the man only to get lost in the darkness out of touch with the small radius of rays the street light

4 illuminated.

oWho are you?�

The running ended.

oWhat do you want? | donTt know you.�

oOf course, you donTt, you old miser.�

His eyes caught the shining stream of ight from the jagged bottle the older boy held. The glass had
Seemed such a good weapon to stir some fun.

~Please donTt hurt me. Please. DonTt.�

~We're not going to hurt you, old man.�

His cane hit the ground. As he fought with what strength he had against their kicks and caning, they

: Went through his wallet and the pockets of his coat and trousers. The kicks to his legs sent pain to his
~ head. He fell to the edge of the curbless street with his mouth tasting the asphalt, his body cried to the
44 Pains of his beating.

+ " > > *.
SSS ste t ss Ps Pses et stes

Pos
+

~

|

ey

The younger of them held a quarter in one hand and a watch attached to a chain in the other.

~~Come on, where do you keep your money?�

oPlease, donTt hurt me anymore.�

They continued to kick and beat with the old manTs walking stick. His moans died out when they
Stopped striking him. They tore his thin coat and his shirt and trousers from him and proceeded to tear
through the pockets and linings.

The younger boy became enraged with the emptiness of the old manTs wealth and threw the watch to

fa the ground. With his feet he began to crush it.

~Hey, what are you doing? AinTt that worth something?�

His foot twisted and turned as it ground the watch deeper into the pavement.

~DonTt do that. We can sell it for at least ten bucks or so.T

The shining stream of light from the bottle caught his eye while his foot dug deeper. He jerked the
4 Qlass from his companionTs hand. From his hand to the neck of the old man lying in the street he flew the
Qlass quicker than the night.

REBEL 25

INR TT

"st *-&

: _%

Jug Pits 62

>.
oF act laers

>
ELE P EPL PLES

oHey, what are you doing? He ainTt got no money.�

Within a breath he sliced the old manTs throat.

oWhy the hell did you do that?�

The glass dropped to the street and shattered.

oShut up. He didnTt have any money.�

oBut, you didnTt have to kill him. We didnTt plan on killing nobody or nothing like that.�

oShut up. LetTs go.�

One pair of footsteps started down the street and stopped a few feet away. The younger stood look-
ing at the older still standing beside the old man.

oCome on. You going to stay all night?�

oYou wait a minute. You've killed this old man.�

oIt donTt matter. Come on.�

He walked back toward the two.

oWhat's gotten into you?�

~What do you mean ~what's gotten into youT? You've killed this old man. All we wanted was his
money and he didnTt have any. We just wanted to do some ripping off. Nobody kills.TT

oHe didnTt have no money.�

oSo you killed him?�

o~He should. have had some money.�

oAre you crazy? This old man didnTt do nothing to make you kill him.�

oAw, he would have told somebody what we looked like.�

The older boy looked down at the old man. His eyes caught the blood and ooze as it ran from the old
manTs throat down onto his thin chest.

oYou shouldn't have done it.�

The blood seemed to flow and flow from his throat. It made him think of sick.

oYou shouldn't have killed him.�

A pain caught him in the stomach as he watched the old man lying there with the red and white goré
pouring.

It seemed to flow and flow.

oYou shouldnTt have killed the old man.�

The pain sent him to the ditch by the street. He puked in the grass.

He puked a long time, until he was by the ground.

oYou shouldn't have killed him.�

oWhat is wrong with you? You knew if we ripped off this old manTs money we might have to kill
him.�

o~Naw, we never had to. You didnTt have to kill him.�

oCome on, letTs leave before somebody comes.�

The older boy sat down beside the old man and tried to catch his breath.

oCome on. LetTs go.�

He continued to sit as he breathed deeper and deeper.

oI'm going to leave. | ainTt getting caught for something like this.�

He still sat there.

o~Come on, you damn fool. LetTs go.�

The silence remained as dark as the light in the older boyTs eyes.

oMan, | am leaving.�

The dog called out to see if anybody was still there.

oITm gone. You better come on with me.�

He started walking down the street, the way he and his companion came when they first saw the old
man. His soft steps soon changed into a quick run. By the time he reached the street light at the next
corner he was running. He stopped to look back and see, down the street, the silhouette against the fa!
light of the older boy and a figure lying beside him.

The older boy watched him stop and then continue.

He looked down to the old man whose eyes seemed to be pleading for life.
As he reached out and touched the old manTs arm, he began crying.

He then stood up.

With a slow thought he stood there.

With a slow start he began walking down the street toward the light.

26 REBEL

AFTERNOON ON WILSHIRE BLVD.

waiting

amongst the rude chaos of traffic

in the heated gaseous air

quietly --- for a bus

waiting ---

methodically deciphering the print of a volume
wading through the contending forces of spermaceti
in MelvilleTs Moby Dick

another soul ---

housed by a body of geriatric contortions

an aged, steel dignity within

being the body of a woman

who jaggedly hobbles above the support of her cane ---
joins me

we sit

perched on the adjacent edges of the bench, and life
| looking at her

and quickly averting my eyes

lest | spoil the polarity, the labyrinth

of age, the fright

of her endurance

of her weary corporeal condition

of her torso, wrapped in blue varicose cords

all leaning her mind toward the precipice of non-existence
the woman and |

sit, on the bench

and though the traffic creates such an overpowering squall
of audial colors

that labyrinth consumes all

and leaves silence

suddenly, unaccountably

she lifts herself

steps off the sidewalk

and begins to push herself

into the river of acceleration

impulsively

she thrusts her cane forward

bends over

and pulls a pebble from the river ---

grasps a rock more jagged than her gait

to protect the speeding fishes

she raises herself

uses her cane

with the fierceness

of AhabTs leg

her eyes --- for one brief moment

rivet upon mine

accusing me of life

And | know that | am not yet born unto this world

REBEL 27

sh
ite
.

*

Ce pei DTT OPS Se Sogo he Rehetiiek af , ta Ser sirereest} eeProretersre T25 Potad hs i: a prsseze eeeere + 3*
te Ni At ding RE eS ae I, OA ee ES. YS a3 ap Che - PETS e. eg) te ere ws selw ett eee *

a

Fo nt Fe FEL eee eas ee CE Ce EE Ee CLO ee ee eee ee ee ee Teter ¥ ' z "
a tet FLe oe we tat wie! se tel ar eet era ee EE Ta ns ete ne eh ae De he he 7 oy sj Mae eI .o; ot . SP
= oe ote re PTs ld Sa Sethe Ce te est eee Le lett ete ete -

""_"_"_-"-" _ . - "" =m "SSEe

SS

MIRROR

Viet} elem Zelme-| | mt eg

is it now,

do you know,

or

maybe just another cancer of
yesterday?

as you sprawl across the years,
| wonder if you want to see,
or

LM YZelU Mc M comelilirem com ailet
Zoli me loli a

but then

itTs time to be blind.

these hours

and |

would know.

I've titled my time,

but please donTt touch

my aching answer;

ask me yesterday.

28 REBEL

ThereTs a sound here

And thereTs one there

But, really where?

Perhaps | thought it was

a bed for my back

or a pillow for my head

maybe a chair and a desk

nut, not even the floor

or aclock or a lamp,

Not even clothes in my closet.
And still thereTs a footstep here
And thereTs one there

But, these linger on and on
with a smile.

A smile ITm still searching.
Actually there's a lost of smiles ITm searching
And ITm not a searcher.

This room must have a heart.

REBEL 29

Love Letter

pastel envelope
contains a message

stamped, sealed and addressed
to the boy across the street

curiosity

envelope torn open

with grimy hands

declaration on scented stationery
unfolded and perused

"i love you"

shock

preadolescent panic
crumpled letter

then he picks up his bat

i

=> +. -_
a
as

>

-
""_" &

_=" =
"""

a

onward they come
Row after row,
unending files
of mourners

at noon.

Sun beating orange

grass burning brown and

no breeze but

their grieving breath.

And they go onward

and upward

to the hole in the hill

where they stand

and gaze downward,

crossing themselves,

afraid that somehow God

will crawl up in their eyelids

and they'll see in their

brains that heTs smiling.

The priest prays lowly.

Lowly are the black veiled heads

bowed against the coming of the great hereafter,
the great truth,

the ultimate confrontation,

the Smile of God.

REBEL 31

PEL ALLO E mei y ge ae = OF AN Ey ARR OEP Sy Bt

ee yes - = - le si Rae eas ee » vo" I eal te cena e ~ A Re sero ee
. A gs x * et mie = . ~ r
, ~ ghd al = a. an et : givceT,.3 " :
> o . ; ~ o4 ann oy a aes | he: ae.
T We v iw Fa Stan ae hes
~ , wn oae� oy) Pie, * he .
rit x4 # eae | ay ; > 4
7 ; , 7% oa® + ~ a 7
; A 3 r



[""
%
he
¥
"

:

But instead: -

ein .
rain ;

rend

ts

| climbed the weary stairs

And taid down - 3 ie
For the rest of the afternoon

And all-of that night --

In the morning it snowed

My heart screamed ~,
My legs screamed °

Without you.

ar

~When you walked away > :

ere eer

The moon turned blue

Steet ee sd
-

""S
-"-=s SS ee =

%

io *

eae pees Py
6 i IN PUN ap
= a

""_
�
ws

32 REBEL

SWAN ;

silent swan of white-pale,

sigh your twilight sorrow of sadness -- unknown whys.
ghost-rays of cold moonlight

dance a silken dirge of melon-gold,

crawling along your feathers in a fit of

languid lunacy.

you lie as some ruffled riddle,

furied in a timeless frame,

being tested in timeless ways

to hold you to gray.

and we pray to your shadow.

We bend your naked silhouette,

distorting its edges,

leaving no jagged ornaments

. to tear at our tired eyes,

: to haunt your tarnished worries,

as we try to get down from you...

and we pray to your shadow

REBEL 33

34 REBEL

NS
~
"""t ;
~
é
aY
SS
PO oe
Sat >
4 "e.
~~ o-
q as " ~
oSs o?
+ *..
? gi
ou
IP o
fi,
oa ;
owf r
? ,
. _{
~a ) .
oa! 7
5 Ma ¥, os
wees rhe .
Ae oe 4+. ae Ve
ee
A
RO noe en ae ee
. """" ""

P
SS

Dream Book

O sages standing in God's holy fire

As in the gold mosaic of a wall,

Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
and fastened to a dying animal

It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

W.B. Yeats" ~Sailing To
Byzantium�

His purpose was to teach literature to an assorted
bunch of maladjusted adolescents, the majority of
whom gave a damn about nothing and would as soon
spit on the printed word as read it. He had spent en-
tire nights sitting quietly until dawn, one thought trailing
into many; a panorama of images and half-remembered
dreams quickening within him until the ultimate shat-
tering process rendered all gray, and he rushed to catch
the morning train. On the ride to school he would often
muse that somewhere the exit had been falsely marked;
the proper direction obscured and finally lost altogether.
But he hoped; he longed for a day when the proper
signs would reappear and the proper course could be
regained.

At the end of each day he would sit and stare
across the empty desks and see not a classroom, but a
stagnant, gray cube from which escape was imperative.
The desks would become filled with slug-like creatures,
lazy and ugly and intimidating; the vomit of their empty
and putrid existence seeming to cling in dried stinking

REBEL 35

V's.

er oe,

"""""EE == + Ss. SS. > |

sheets to their bodies. With the vision would come the
realization that the proper signs had not reappeared and
the proper course had not been regained. And he
would say to himself that many must struggle; all must
eat.

Sometimes he would purposefully miss the after-
noon train and wander about the streets, craning at the
blue cover atop the granite spires, until hunger forced a
stop. Other times he would go directly home with a
somber, maddening resignation to what awaited him
there. Going home one afternoon from school, he
found his usual seat taken by a young man who seemed
unaware of anything around him except the volume in
his hands. The teacher felt a strange attraction to the
young man, and a most curious impulse prompted him
to take the adjoining seat. No words passed between
them. Not even after the book was laid aside did either
speak. In a short time the young man stood, squeezed
past, and walked to the gathering crowd at the exit. The
train halted, and he was gone, as a character in a book is
gone with the turn of the final page. Only after the train
had regained its full speed was the book noticed. It
rested on its spine, wedged between the two adjoining
seats, and seemed somehow, in storybook style, to
beckon to the teacher. He released it from its place of
imprisonment and strained to read the faded letters
across its front. The once golden figures reverberated
through the teacher with a bowel-loosening effect: 7he
Grounds of Enchantment. Again that unexpected inner
shudder coursed through the teacher. He faintly rea-
lized that he somehow welcomed the sensation. As he
opened the book to its first page he grew cold and
became aware of the fragrance of lilac. Only a manTs
name was written across the fly-leaf; no table of con-
tents and no introduction appeared, only the one
name"his name and nothing else. The train stopped
again, and the teacher quickly closed the book and
passed through the exit.

The short walk home was tiresomely lengthened
by the threads of fear and wonder which patterned the
teacherTs mind. His thoughts whirled and strained and

pounded the fabric of his brain. He struggled to under-
stand but found only an ever darkening web of con-

36 REBEL

fusion. The words how and why echoed repeatedly,
each in turn superceding the other. By whose hand had
his name been written, and for what reason? The air
grew thicker and the scent of lilac was again noticeable.

Upon reaching his apartment he was able partially
to organize his thoughts. A drink and a cigarette and
his newly acquired armchair" those were his immediate
needs. They would aid in the harnessing of his senses,
and he would be more able clearly to assess the
situation. Indeed was there a situation in the popular
sense? He was a rational man, and certainly he would
recognize a situation if confronted. Nothing as yet had
happened to produce so violent a reaction within him.
The name in the book was the same as his, but it was
not necessarily his name. Thousands of people in the
world probably went by the same. He had no sovereign
claim to it. Perhaps the previous owner of the book, the
young man on the train, had written the name in the
book; perhaps it was his name too. In all probability it
was coincidence, a momentarily startling coincidence,
but nothing more. The teacher wanted to believe, but
then he thought of the strange attraction to the young
man on the train, an attraction which could have been
preordained as the instrument through which the book
was to come into his life. Things beyond the strange,
unearthly things did occur; he knew that. Mystical for-
ces, pre-scientific and pre-rational, forces closely akin to
that primitive part of manTs soul did intervene in the
battle and smile affirmation or frown destruction to
manTs endeavors. Perhaps those distant forces, those
unknown fathers had drawn near. Perhaps he was to
be an instrument of their wills for some as yet undefined
task.

He sat smoking, stiffly balancing the book across
his knees. For many minutes he dared not open it, but
continued to ponder its meaning, to question its origin.
Without actually deciding he threw open the book.
Again his name glared back at him, daring him, enticing
him to read further into the yellowing pages. He
seemed drawn into a well of unfathomable depth, a
timeless pit in which the only light was that of thought;
the only movement, that of the senses. Once again he
was aware of lilac. The scent permeated the room and

REBEL 37

-""~w)

a rn a

SS a ae ee

indeed seemed to issue from his flesh. Each part of his
body assumed an existence and intelligence of its own;
he became aware of the devine function of each part.
He began to turn the pages of the book, and now to the
sickening sweet fragrance of lilac was added a deathly,
frightening cold. He read because he could not help but
read: his bodily control was transferred to the pages of
the book.

His mind soared and dived in the effort to absorb
the images sent from his eyes. The words were pic-
tures, entire scenes laid bare before him, and he strived
frantically to taste of each. He no longer existed in the
transient world of the flesh. He transcended all and be-
came the hammock gently swaying in the coolness of
the night breeze; or the pale, unearthly girl skipping into
the darkness of the surrounding forest. He wept as he
became the crushed body beneath the wheels of the
new sedan. A sense of beauty, even in the ghastly dark-
ness of the tomb, reigned. He was immortal; he was
permanent, and the sensation flowed with overwhelm-
ing force within him. He was what he read, and he
thrilled to every word.

Nothing fitted; there was no coherence to what he
read, and yet he understood all. He had no fear for his
sanity, his will, or for the very control of his mind. He
floated on the waves of sensation and breathed deep
the ever thickening scent of lilac. He could not move,
and it was good. He never wanted to. He could do
nothing but read and experience. The faint grayness of
dawn went unnoticed as he flipped the pages back to
the scene of the hammock. He found himself thinking
that some of his fondest memories had been spent
there. He knew the girl would come and go each day,
and that he would be waiting there with the book. And
he felt happy.

if -t2 Bs

The class had no teacher that day, and the land-
lord had no rent. The teacherTs room was opened on
court order, but all that was found was an empty glass,
some cigarette ash, and a newly acquired armchair.

END

38 REBEL

1) Widig| |

=
iy
LANGE
7/ a Zoe we

fy

Se

"

ee "e
"" : "_ - ~_ Sie NS
ree

ee eS a a gi

""$""""s"s
"_"_" ~- ~
a 2

-�"�

Sees hers
v9 o
wear

oo

> ° whe ver ~\ AN aaie
oaN oS ae

ar
me Nis c~ASS me

- .*
~ pret
~~ RS WN » a

SSS Sh

Se.�

in

il

il

iy eat�

SAN ia \\aa ; WWW.

}

oNf, hth 'S/E RE Re

TRIS ABMs -

A

'> gpeaocsasatl ttlt

"
f

(4

white interlude in the sable sky

one solitary star surrounded by shadows

flaws the black celestial canvas
blemishing artTs perfection

iit

%

J

|

elit Meltpe lap a@ale)e-M-bch-l-lellalemele-lye)

in del SartoTs heaven

=o
a
ay |

|

dazzling in ivory iridescence

shines upon the earth

Ks

|

d

now dimmed nova glows in pallid innocence

bleak repentence

but no voice speaks in the night

ETM olelahavaemel-lahcelailial:

we

ghost of optimism
is watched by mortals

EW VETB Laem colatrelacel Mitmce-laleleli im c-lagelg

i

40 REBEL

Somewhere back
the corners turned to circles
and | came around
and saw who | was.
DonTt we all die of the same madness?

= SS = SS

~ ;
~>. a
4 cs

Fttiagii

/Song of Return/

The sky has cracked

All have come down

They have come down to feed the dream
The mountains laugh

When they come down

The rivers sing

When they come down

The seas applaud

When they come down

They have come down to feed the need
The priest preying in the wood

Has forgotten that they come down
The warrior killing in the field

Has forgotten that they come down
The women at the river bathing

Feel the wet wonder of their presence
The children on the rocks running
Hear the touch of stones underfoot
And they dance as they come down
The sky has cracked

All have come down

The rivers sing

The deserts dance

The winds walk

They have come wildly down

All have come down

The village kills the priest

The children hold the knife

And beat the drums

The warrior conquers the war

There is soft breathing

And the sun spins in their foreheads
The moon melts on their hands

The fireless night blazes in the eyes
The sky bleeds on cutting seeds

The grass whispers ( BeCome-ALL is rising )

REBEL 43

SE aS



CREDITS

Cee a ny Se ee ee eS SE es Brian Vines
Ee ena ot eee Repeee ho S G Tye eer eee es Skee ee ee ere Brian Vines
NN Mo Sas ps ath ow 6 ocho + aia ke ee eres oan «Ag 9 + epee es Brian Vines
Rane es OS oe SRE hee Re EN Sik ke REE CO eee Brian Vines
meee 8 SS Sak, . 6a See a is opps Pa Ses ee 6 Sed Brian Vines
eae 40-19 = ess SS es Saas ce es SR SS SR Pe eer ease « lvey Chadwick
pumice Foo Rak,» ood Sa Seed 2 os CSOD S eee veer e Ss Edward Reep
eg a RNR ee SEMIS DRS CR Ns ere olen A ara ate 2 eS Glenn Lewis
Ct ., ae ee So Soe TS ere hae a ee John Foster
IO sk evs so cs Pee bn hbase Lucy Sidney Morris
IONS oe yo a = cae 3 4 = bce eer Someone SEE Eee 6 Kenneth Knight
eo | Sens eee eer. CR eee er eat: SS eee D.B. Crotts
Pee Bo oes as oa SSS 5 2 Re EI ee Pe RECT TET Shep Shepherd
Se Ee ck sg ca sa co ee ee ee EARS Ce es John Foster
CNRS oS ES. 5b cba EROS Sk + Re a es BEE ga oS Lynn Trexler

STAFF D

44 REBEL

ee Sos eS oe a a,

oan ia.
a. oae

; moet: 5� (Ogre. Ps

A emt NIA

et

OO BAL O AAA

eS Se ea ENG GE oS
Lr of ya ~o o° ris

4a

- wn Ret ere i Pe EIR. "
BIOS he Et 5 aS "9 2
~

eee re eae eee ee

SS " = oN

=.