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3 " += eer oeeng er = rn eeeTHE REBEL is a student publication of EastCarolina University. Offices are located on campus at215 Wright Annex. Inquiries and contributions should) be directed to P.O. Box 2564, Greenville, N.C., 27834.4] Copyright 1974, East Carolina University Student1} Government Association. None of the materials hereinmay be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoeverwithout written permission.

THE REBEL STAFFEDITOR-IN-CHIEF ........ Phillip K. ArringtonCX La a ke eS Marvin HuntSandra W. PenfieldSIE SU PE os ss woes Glenn LewisBUSINESS MANAGER .......... David SwinkFRET CF PIE i or was te Dr. NormanRosenfeldTABLE OF CONTENTSOde to a Star . . . Charles Soma . . . page 3The Touch . . . Marvin Hunt . . . page 5Walking Through a Vision of Vines . . . P.K. Arrington . . . page 7Untitled . . . P.K. Arrington . . . page 9Once Upon a Time, A Queen . . . John Alexander . . . page 11Yom Kippur . . . Mitchell Reep . . . page 19The Cosmic Claw . . . Marvin Hunt . . . page 20The Zythum Drinkers . . . Pam Diffee . . . page 21Toward the Light . . . Charles Soma . . . page 25Afternoon on Wilshire Blvd . . . Mitchell Reep . . . page 27Mirror . . . Scot Gardner . . . page 28Untitled . . . Charles Soma . . . page 29Love Letter . . . Teresa Speight . . . page 30Untitled . . . Pam Diffee . . . page 31Untitled . . . Charlotte Gregory . . . page 32Swan... Scot Gardner . . . page 33Dream Book . . . Daniel Hall . . . page 34Nova . . . Teresa Speight . . . page 40Untitled . . . Daniel Hall . . . page 34Song of Return . . . P.K. Arrington . . . page #Art Credits . . . page 4Staff Photo . . . page 4REBEL 1|

oArt finds her own perfection within, and outsideof, herself. She is not to be judged by any external standard of resemblance. She is a veil, rather than a mirror:She has flowers that no forests know of, birds that n0woodland 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 havéexistence 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 deepthey 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 burningmouth of June, and the winged lions creep out from théhollows of the Lydian hills. The dryads peer from théthicket as she passes by, and the brown fawns smiléstrangely at her when she comes near them. She ha>hawk-faced gods that worship her, and the centaurgallop at her side.�Oscar Wilde, oThe Decay of Lying�oArt is a lie that helps us realize the truth.�Picass?

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Fn7 S""i _E__________ eS>. See. & 1» THE TOUCHeo=As a modern manhe groomed himself in a multiplicity of imagesole) mali wa:) elesi- Ml amr mol: e me) mn ce) anal:cTavemuyolelamuc-).4lalemmelle)e\-omdatclaams\er-lialige)iim- Mole) 1 me) methYes, he was one who cursed the sameness of nightclaveme:}(-1e)a-hiclemaal-Melhaalaleadlelatme) maa: Mel: hyCIES aye lolol cm of-llanecvemellanl-variielaslate mee) (olga r-necemilieri(eleShattered into many yet still completethey greeted him with multi-smiles and living facesThey were there on the porch with the milk and papersVVTh dpm del-MjarclU-mrlalemm cal: Mrlele}amelmaal-Manliage)sThe door always held a touchthe touch a faceand the face a screamWicmeickenac imi uml melmullaceeas he gropes for an exit from the chamber of horrorsTale Mm aat-jame:igale)(-MlaL@iialemenmaliiari-) iar: \maar-lany~ His frantic eyes askWhich am 1?- The sounds say_The one you touch, idiot boythe one that crawls there beneath your fingertips\\ eeREBEL 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. YourWatch is breathing against the hairs on your arm, silver and gold and waveringin darkened light pulsating like a heart backed into an inescapable corner.: Then you noticed the hourglass dancing and spiralling in the center of thetoom. A boy with a mirror made of shadows has just closed the door you thought1 Was dreaming. He locks it with his teeth and throws away the tongue you thoughtWas yours.You have not noticed the hag of time drinking her tears, sitting behind thehourglass and giggling as she counts her fingers and turns them into laughing1 birds. You did not notice her until she dragged her iron nails across the floor7 of feathered blood and scaling bones. The sound gushed and crackled, dripped7 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 turning7 into knives. They smile, waiting to sever any attempt at touch.Then there were echoes! You turn to see what emptiness gave these form. Butthen you could not turn. Your flesh was flowing from the bones.The hag of time spears the brains, spearing them and frowning, spearing hundredsof wet, silvered brains scuttling in clusters under her impaling point. They werethe 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 itsted 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 ofarms 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. Yourtongue 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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"- tem OEP ia Oey ® i tee ee _ . ~' i « . Ts é z 4 x s * : 4"", T = eS "_""_"s " - - - :OES ait was such a year as thissuch a yellow year as thisbut some said it was a black yearblowing in bare treesand some said it was a timeTid Maemo) dal:] am aiaal:,iat -lamelale)eliscmer-larn-reand fishes fleweave maal-Maarelelane:l acm c-1h¢-1e malcom cals mr:and some said it was a loud yearColeco Warele-ledialem-laremanalale melaey: ielacMclaNVAelaicmrelel(emelht-Maat-]i am elg-r-le,and some swore they had seen the smellof the seaspreading her dark wet legswaving the coaches inand some heard the puff of the adderWa laMecli Mech aelale-e-]°)e)(:tmel(-1em-lalemel(-16and then the old man asked themwhat kind of year it really wasoves someone tell me really what kindof time it was�Tand everyone in this dark cold room; WECM [Ul (-1ae-laremelacrchealiareandathen a sick onewith a raw nose and a coughPAE Wire Mm ilemesl lame: lalemuicey-lal-reonlyoit was an end-year�Tand a boy in the backroom laughed| TamilsmarlicefIti:ie:iaoJaoxa.~ eea.REBEL 9

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POY 7 FLO, A QULQNby john alexanderBut against you, yes, pansies of the cities,of tumescent flesh and unclean mind,mud of drains, harpies, unsleeping enemiesof Love which distributes crowns of joy.Against you always, you who give boysdrops 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 squaresor ambushed in frigid landscapes of hemlock.Let there be no quarter! Deathflows from your eyesand clusters grey flowers on the shores...from oOde to Walt Whitman�by Frederico Garcia LorcaI've got to have a trick tonight,Fred. Anda drink, too. Whata day!It all started when the Glad Wrapwrapped itself instead of my sand-wich. Oh, a grasshopper, as usual.You know how much | love butchdrinks. You make the best grass-hoppers in town. I've always said itdoes take a butch bartender to makea nelly drink. | took Grover to thevetTs today. Worms. HeTs twelve,you know. | got him right aftercoming here, figuratively speaking.Twelve years. For me, let's see,thatTs twelve tricks. Well, maybethat is an exaggeration, but ourfriend with the big horns and red tailhasnTt exactly been throwing temp-tation in bed with me. Perhaps,because once | get it in bed, | donTtthrow it out.REBEL 11See OE

Finding sex is like finding a leak in the waterbed offun. Thank you. | told you Vance PackardTs written mylife story, didnTt |? The Sexual Wilderness. Businessstill the same lately? That's true. There really isnTt toomuch happening. | hate those new bars. All they haveare ultra pushy queens pushing around in their latestpushy outfit. Those places are huge display windowsdecorated in the tiredest of taste, like those rooms inMadame TousseaudTs.You still get drop-in business though. Just twoSaturday nights ago, or was it three (Grover was sickthe weekend before last) so it was three Saturdays ago,we had that new bunch of soldiers drop in. But thatwas three weeks ago, and my goodness, a girl could dryup in that time. But that number | got was so sweet. |told you all about it, didnTt 1? Gorgeous body, butabsolutely drunk. Why do they always come drunk?How do you like my new shirt? No, it really is ashirt. In the menTs boutique at the Purple Pansy. MyOne indulgence"wild shirts. | wish | could say thesame for wild sex, but the cost is too much. Andafterall, what can you do with it after youTve done withit? 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 lookingup close as | think itis from here. | am not blind. Justateensy weensy myopic. They leave a mark on thebridge of my nose that cakes my foundation andbronzer. My eyelids are too thin for contacts.Are my chances good for getting it tonight, or hasTeresa Tearoom been in this evening? Good. | won'thave to contend with that terror. And she does lovethem butch. She thinks because she had a body once,and she did have a body once"about the time Mosesdivided the Red Sea, she can get anything she wants. |wonder what she did for excitement then"cruise thecaravans? They didnTt have teatents in the desert, didthey?He is new then, isnTt he? Oh, goodie. Give meanother grasshopper, and I'll just bounce my tail rightover beside him. You're wicked, Fred. | do not lookmore like a praying mantis than a grasshopper. Oh,maybe | do. It must be the ruffles. Tell me what heTs12 REBEL

neeedrinking. I'll send it a drinky-poo and then wind my wayover to his side like the serpent with the apple. Thatwould be a wild drink"an apple daquairi. Serve it inone of those crystal apple shaped glasses women giveOne 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 somewind to move that one; something like a tornado or atropical 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'llknow what hot really means. She'll have to sit on top ofOld Faithful to cool that hole off.Yes, take that drink over to him and then give metime to down this one before bringing me another. Al-cohol is so good for one. It lubricates you in all the rightplaces, namely the brain. Thanks, Fred. | guess itTstime for me to slither on over. Let me preen my rufflesand head over for the kill.Hi. Fred tells me youTre new in town. FredTs thebartender. No thanks at all. What's a drink here orthere. ITm direct. YouTre butch. Oh, itTs Bruce. No,thatTs not what | meant. | wasnTt talking about yourname. ITm talking about your muscles. On my RichterScale of masculinity, I'd say youTd shake North Americawith no problem. It means youTre all male. With armslike those,--may | feel them? No, you donTt have totense them for me. You're trying to break my heart.And tatooes. TheyTre butch, too. Yes, | know yourname 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 oncewho had the same thing on his arm, except he was inthe Second World War. You must have been a warbaby. Oh, the Korean War. My, my, that means you'rearound twenty. You want another one?Fred. | can never get his attention. FredTs thebartender. You know, you meet so few people in placeslike this that you can really talk to. There you are Fred.Make it another praying mantis for me and another ofthe 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 scotchREBEL 13

ee) se Ss es ee eS hm Lmis so wonderful. Bourbon just tears your nose to pieces.It must be what that reindeer drinks. God, if | workedfor someone who wore red flannel with ermine trim andhad to live practically on Mount Everest, I'd drink, too.Scotch doesnTt do a thing to your nose, but it doesleave little road maps etched around the corners of youreyes. So after my bout with scotch, | turned to mixeddrinks. ThatTs the story of my life"one drink afteranother.Twenty. ThatTs such a magical age"so sexualand all. And to be twenty now. All the groovy clothesmen can wear. When | was twenty, yes, | was twentyonce, we just couldnTt wear a thing. We just drovearound in all those absolutely garish cars. ITm alwaysamazed at the way people try to make themselves at-tractive with what they can buy. Thank you, Fred. Takea look at that one over there. Cleo Clotheshorse. Theylove her in the fabric shops. She takes a whole bolt ofmaterial for a pair of boxer shorts. When she has a pairof trousers fitted, they have to allow for the ruffles onher 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 herbody. She uses starch on her wrists so she can lift herhands. We call her Stay-Puff Stella. She uses starchthe way most queens use make-up. And queens do usemake-up. ItTs like a pair of white bells or muslin baggies:everyone | know has at least one pair. And there aren'tmany people | donTt know. | haven't always been fromhere. | used to live in San Francisco. The scene there ismarvelous, like in San Diego with all those boats and allthose sailors.But youTre in the Marine Corps, aren't you, Butch?Woops. Excuse me, itTs Bruce, isnTt it? You were in theMarine 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, namehopper, grass hopper. No, | donTt smoke. CanTt yousee me in white fur? No flannel, just fur. But really, furon men is a no-no.Yes, why donTt you drop a few coins in the jukebox. This place is pretty slow tonight. ItTs right over14 REBEL

there. HereTs some change. Would you get me a packof Eves? Thank you.Fred. Fred. Another round. Make his a double.HeTs not bad, is he? Yes. | know heTs probablyhustling, looking for dope or something. The only thingheTs getting out of me is a few drinks. | know his type:they do it with their boyfriends when they're growingup, and strangely, they find out they still like it whentheyTre 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 gotup? Aman, areal man. Two more drinks, no make thatthree, and he won't care what | look like. It'll be friction,and thatTs all heTll want. ITve settled on the best oflasting 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 righttime. 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'llforget 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'swishing you many Olives in the martini of life. You don'thave to make a face. ItTs not that bad. Besides, it's thethought that counts. What are you interested in? Real-ly? | had a marvelous car once. | got it from a friend. Hehad kept it absolutely immaculate. | mean he kept it inA-1 shape. It was a GTO or something like that. No, |canTt remember. | only had it three months. It ate gasthe way some queens eat. . . well, that's not exactlymy line for the evening. A real gas hog. And a bigengine, too.Wait. ITve got a picture of it. Ron and | wentfishing one day" honest to goodness fish. Love fishing.Caught bass mostly. ITve got a picture right here of usin front of the car with the fish. Why do | carry one ofthose things? | used to carry an airline bag, but thenREBEL 15

someone said | was trying to show off, so | got this bag,this case for men. The strap is very masculine. That'stwo inch wide simulated rawhide. | keep just everythingin it. Just a second, itTs in this part. You know thosegrasshoppers. No, | donTt have any. | told you | don'tsmoke. Never mind. No wonder | canTt find it. | threwout the picture and everything that reminded me of himwhen he moved in with Stan.ls that one of the songs you played? | just adorecountry and western music. ItTs so true to life. ooYou'vegot to kiss an angel good morning.�T God, I've kissed somany angels good morning, I'm beginning to growfeathers under my arms. What are you going to bedoing in the morning? Well, you could always havebreakfast at my place. Grover loves guests. HeTs mydog, but heTs not feeling too well right now. Worms. Ifyou came over, ITm sure it would cheer him up. Oh,good, now thatTs settled, we can enjoy a drink or twomore and listen to the rest of the songs you've played.Oh, itTs right through those doors, but use theladiesT room, unless you want to get groped. Justa sec,let me look around. No, go ahead and use the menTsroom. Looks like Tillie Tearoom has left for the evening.| just feel so uncomfortable in the menTs room. They'vegot a glory hole beside the urinal the size of a manholecover. | never go in tearooms unless my bladderTs dis-tended to the point of uremic poisoning. And then ifsomeone comes in after me, | close up tighter thanDraculaTs casket at dawn. | mean there could beenough marble between me and the other guy to buildthe 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 tubeyou 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. NancyKneepad said | had the bone structure of a sardine. |told her the iris had thin veins. But youTre on your wayto the john. Even! can be butch. Yes, you can call meButch if you want to, but my nameTs Gregory.Fred. Fred. HeTs going home with me. | justcanTt believe it. You donTt have a little grass | coulda ee eeasin rp"_"16 REBELFa aa wy SS te nr laSa ee

have for him, do you? Thank you. I'll get it before weleave. | know Grover will just love him. He must liftweights. He has the most gorgeous pectorals. Ashame they'll be sagging by the time heTs forty. Butmost everything sags by that time. YouTve made themost delicious grasshoppers tonight. Thank God, SusieSweettooth left. | canTt stand her. She buys everythingsheTs got. One day ITm going to crochet her tail closedand put her out of commission. Then all she'll need islockjaw. She wouldn't have to lie in confession afterthat. What do you mean she didnTt leave? She'swhere? In the tearoom? My god, and | sent Bruce inthere unprepared. See you in a sec!Well, well, if it isnTt Linda Looselips practicing forthe Halloween Olympics . . . building up her kneecapsfor 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 putyour dick away and zip up your pants. ITd kick this onewhere it hurts, except | couldnTt find it. O.K., Sweetie,youTve seen what heTs got. YouTve had your thrill forthe evening. Now get out of here and take your knee-pads with you.lf you can get your knees straightened out, get upand get out. Bruce, this oneTs idea of a dream trick isliquid plumber. The next morning she gargles withDraino. That's right, Sweetie, donTt open your mouth,let alone to say anything. ITd turn Bruce on you, exceptyou have natural protection"a face that would stop aherd of hungry locusts. Just leave and don't pass go.Good. SheTs gone. | didnTt think she could get onher feet so fast considering she didnTt learn how to walkuntil she was seventeen. ITm sorry you had to see me soangry, Bruce. No, thatTs all right, | understand " thingslike that just happen in tearooms. You mean you weregoing home with me anyway. | thought you were justgoing to leave after whatTs-her-name finishedoactivity.� ThatTs sweet. Even with my sardine bones,you like me? No oneTs said that in a long time. Let'sjust say good-night to Fred, pick up a little you-know-what for you to smoke, and take your adorably hunkybody home. We can put Grover out, listen to music,relax, and well, . . . whatever.REBEL 17

\YOM KIPPUIRrussian melodiesin the childTs world of forgettingamidst dancing slippers and nutcrackers --the nursery destroyed todaya missle, soaring over the Galileespectre of realitycamesinging its russian melodyin linear formagainst polyphonous bluethe Golanverdure of brown sandonce a timbre so purecratered, littered with naked steelthe Hermononce so incandescent of himnow so emptyportending voidthat the elements so suffermy sufferingcan be bornebut that Josephwhose skin --so smoothedsmile --unscarredjoy --so singularthat Josephshould be so indecipherablein the rubble once nurserymakes me weep --not for manbut for JosephREBEL 19

Se OSS SS SS ES Se SSCS" 2. seTerevs Er See eee20 REBEL/the cosmic claw/she walks in a firmament of dusther hair blown from her face by the windher skin tingling for touchshe leads by the handthe fruit of her wombher seed now floweredthat child with the giant headwhom she once watchedcrawl to the mountaintopand suddenly in its innocencegulp down the moon and its glowgiving itself lightand handing you the darkcould you have withstood the stupid gazeits reign over the heavenswould you have found yourself ill at easeand turned your backon the boy with the moon in his mouthor would you have clawed the cosmos with your tonguefor an empty space among the unknowing youngwho suckle in the dustthe cold milkless teatsof a dead mother

~iThe Zythum DrinkersA great pyramid standingalone on shadowed sandwith burgandy moonwaiting for the eveningwhen the zythum drinkers come.TheyT~ve been before;they will again.The Nile lets go a female soundof giving birth to reedsand whispers through her water winda question for the pharaohTs ear.oKnow you, care you, bloodless king,of what they take from me?�The slaves that built the tombheTs in have died,some grown old.The chains they woreare hidden now,their children bare noankle-sores,their bodies now are straightand 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 gatheredhere to curse and laughand cry.Homage to the one belowwho tells them who they areand where they came from.The Nile lets go a female sound,of giving birth to reedsand whispers through her water winda question for the pharaohTs ear.oKnow you, care you, bloodless king,of what they take from me?�REBEL 21

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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 nearthe man only to get lost in the darkness out of touch with the small radius of rays the street light4 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 hadSeemed 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 the44 Pains of his beating.+ " > > *.SSS ste t ss Ps Pses et stesPos+~|eyThe 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 theyStopped striking him. They tore his thin coat and his shirt and trousers from him and proceeded to tearthrough the pockets and linings.The younger boy became enraged with the emptiness of the old manTs wealth and threw the watch tofa 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.TThe shining stream of light from the bottle caught his eye while his foot dug deeper. He jerked the4 Qlass from his companionTs hand. From his hand to the neck of the old man lying in the street he flew theQlass quicker than the night.REBEL 25

INR TT"st *-&: _%Jug Pits 62>.oF act laers>ELE P EPL PLESoHey, 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 hismoney and he didnTt have any. We just wanted to do some ripping off. Nobody kills.TToHe 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 oldmanTs 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 gorépouring.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 killhim.�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 oldman. His soft steps soon changed into a quick run. By the time he reached the street light at the nextcorner 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.waitingamongst the rude chaos of trafficin the heated gaseous airquietly --- for a buswaiting ---methodically deciphering the print of a volumewading through the contending forces of spermacetiin MelvilleTs Moby Dickanother soul ---housed by a body of geriatric contortionsan aged, steel dignity withinbeing the body of a womanwho jaggedly hobbles above the support of her cane ---joins mewe sitperched on the adjacent edges of the bench, and life| looking at herand quickly averting my eyeslest | spoil the polarity, the labyrinthof age, the frightof her enduranceof her weary corporeal conditionof her torso, wrapped in blue varicose cordsall leaning her mind toward the precipice of non-existencethe woman and |sit, on the benchand though the traffic creates such an overpowering squallof audial colorsthat labyrinth consumes alland leaves silencesuddenly, unaccountablyshe lifts herselfsteps off the sidewalkand begins to push herselfinto the river of accelerationimpulsivelyshe thrusts her cane forwardbends overand pulls a pebble from the river ---grasps a rock more jagged than her gaitto protect the speeding fishesshe raises herselfuses her canewith the fiercenessof AhabTs legher eyes --- for one brief momentrivet upon mineaccusing me of lifeAnd | know that | am not yet born unto this worldREBEL 27

shite.*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 *aFo 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 "SSEeSSMIRRORViet} elem Zelme-| | mt egis it now,do you know,ormaybe just another cancer ofyesterday?as you sprawl across the years,| wonder if you want to see,orLM YZelU Mc M comelilirem com ailetZoli me loli abut thenitTs time to be blind.these hoursand |would know.I've titled my time,but please donTt touchmy aching answer;ask me yesterday.28 REBEL

ThereTs a sound hereAnd thereTs one thereBut, really where?Perhaps | thought it wasa bed for my backor a pillow for my headmaybe a chair and a desknut, not even the flooror aclock or a lamp,Not even clothes in my closet.And still thereTs a footstep hereAnd thereTs one thereBut, these linger on and onwith a smile.A smile ITm still searching.Actually there's a lost of smiles ITm searchingAnd ITm not a searcher.This room must have a heart.REBEL 29

Love Letterpastel envelopecontains a messagestamped, sealed and addressedto the boy across the streetcuriosityenvelope torn openwith grimy handsdeclaration on scented stationeryunfolded and perused"i love you"shockpreadolescent paniccrumpled letterthen he picks up his bat

i=> +. -_aas>-""_" & _=" ="""aonward they comeRow after row,unending filesof mournersat noon.Sun beating orangegrass burning brown andno breeze buttheir grieving breath.And they go onwardand upwardto the hole in the hillwhere they standand gaze downward,crossing themselves,afraid that somehow Godwill crawl up in their eyelidsand they'll see in theirbrains that heTs smiling.The priest prays lowly.Lowly are the black veiled headsbowed 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 Btee 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 ; > 47 ; , 7% oa® + ~ a 7; A 3 r[""%he¥":But instead: -ein .rain ;rendts| climbed the weary stairsAnd taid down - 3 ieFor the rest of the afternoonAnd all-of that night --In the morning it snowedMy heart screamed ~,My legs screamed °Without you.ar~When you walked away > :ere eerThe moon turned blueSteet ee sd-""S-"-=s SS ee =%io *eae pees Py6 i IN PUN ap= a""_�ws32 REBEL

SWAN ;silent swan of white-pale,sigh your twilight sorrow of sadness -- unknown whys.ghost-rays of cold moonlightdance a silken dirge of melon-gold,crawling along your feathers in a fit oflanguid lunacy.you lie as some ruffled riddle,furied in a timeless frame,being tested in timeless waysto 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 shadowREBEL 33

34 REBEL

NS~"""t ;~éaYSSPO oeSat >4 "e.~~ o-q as " ~oSs o?+ *..? giouIP ofi,oa ;owf r? ,. _{~a ) .oa! 75 Ma ¥, oswees rhe .Ae oe 4+. ae VeeeARO noe en ae ee. """" ""PSSDream BookO sages standing in God's holy fireAs 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 desireand fastened to a dying animalIt knows not what it is; and gather meInto the artifice of eternity.W.B. Yeats" ~Sailing ToByzantium�His purpose was to teach literature to an assortedbunch of maladjusted adolescents, the majority ofwhom gave a damn about nothing and would as soonspit on the printed word as read it. He had spent en-tire nights sitting quietly until dawn, one thought trailinginto many; a panorama of images and half-remembereddreams quickening within him until the ultimate shat-tering process rendered all gray, and he rushed to catchthe morning train. On the ride to school he would oftenmuse 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 propersigns would reappear and the proper course could beregained.At the end of each day he would sit and stareacross the empty desks and see not a classroom, but astagnant, 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 emptyand putrid existence seeming to cling in dried stinkingREBEL 35V's.er oe,

"""""EE == + Ss. SS. > |sheets to their bodies. With the vision would come therealization that the proper signs had not reappeared andthe proper course had not been regained. And hewould say to himself that many must struggle; all musteat.Sometimes he would purposefully miss the after-noon train and wander about the streets, craning at theblue cover atop the granite spires, until hunger forced astop. Other times he would go directly home with asomber, maddening resignation to what awaited himthere. Going home one afternoon from school, hefound his usual seat taken by a young man who seemedunaware of anything around him except the volume inhis hands. The teacher felt a strange attraction to theyoung man, and a most curious impulse prompted himto take the adjoining seat. No words passed betweenthem. Not even after the book was laid aside did eitherspeak. In a short time the young man stood, squeezedpast, and walked to the gathering crowd at the exit. Thetrain halted, and he was gone, as a character in a book isgone with the turn of the final page. Only after the trainhad regained its full speed was the book noticed. Itrested on its spine, wedged between the two adjoiningseats, and seemed somehow, in storybook style, tobeckon to the teacher. He released it from its place ofimprisonment and strained to read the faded lettersacross its front. The once golden figures reverberatedthrough the teacher with a bowel-loosening effect: 7heGrounds of Enchantment. Again that unexpected innershudder coursed through the teacher. He faintly rea-lized that he somehow welcomed the sensation. As heopened the book to its first page he grew cold andbecame aware of the fragrance of lilac. Only a manTsname was written across the fly-leaf; no table of con-tents and no introduction appeared, only the onename"his name and nothing else. The train stoppedagain, and the teacher quickly closed the book andpassed through the exit.The short walk home was tiresomely lengthenedby the threads of fear and wonder which patterned theteacherTs mind. His thoughts whirled and strained andpounded 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 hadhis name been written, and for what reason? The airgrew thicker and the scent of lilac was again noticeable.Upon reaching his apartment he was able partiallyto organize his thoughts. A drink and a cigarette andhis newly acquired armchair" those were his immediateneeds. They would aid in the harnessing of his senses,and he would be more able clearly to assess thesituation. Indeed was there a situation in the popularsense? He was a rational man, and certainly he wouldrecognize a situation if confronted. Nothing as yet hadhappened to produce so violent a reaction within him.The name in the book was the same as his, but it wasnot necessarily his name. Thousands of people in theworld probably went by the same. He had no sovereignclaim to it. Perhaps the previous owner of the book, theyoung man on the train, had written the name in thebook; perhaps it was his name too. In all probability itwas coincidence, a momentarily startling coincidence,but nothing more. The teacher wanted to believe, butthen he thought of the strange attraction to the youngman on the train, an attraction which could have beenpreordained as the instrument through which the bookwas 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 tothat primitive part of manTs soul did intervene in thebattle and smile affirmation or frown destruction tomanTs endeavors. Perhaps those distant forces, thoseunknown fathers had drawn near. Perhaps he was tobe an instrument of their wills for some as yet undefinedtask.He sat smoking, stiffly balancing the book acrosshis knees. For many minutes he dared not open it, butcontinued 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, enticinghim to read further into the yellowing pages. Heseemed drawn into a well of unfathomable depth, atimeless pit in which the only light was that of thought;the only movement, that of the senses. Once again hewas aware of lilac. The scent permeated the room andREBEL 37-""~w)a rn a

SS a ae eeindeed seemed to issue from his flesh. Each part of hisbody 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 thesickening sweet fragrance of lilac was added a deathly,frightening cold. He read because he could not help butread: his bodily control was transferred to the pages ofthe book.His mind soared and dived in the effort to absorbthe images sent from his eyes. The words were pic-tures, entire scenes laid bare before him, and he strivedfrantically to taste of each. He no longer existed in thetransient world of the flesh. He transcended all and be-came the hammock gently swaying in the coolness ofthe night breeze; or the pale, unearthly girl skipping intothe darkness of the surrounding forest. He wept as hebecame the crushed body beneath the wheels of thenew sedan. A sense of beauty, even in the ghastly dark-ness of the tomb, reigned. He was immortal; he waspermanent, and the sensation flowed with overwhelm-ing force within him. He was what he read, and hethrilled to every word.Nothing fitted; there was no coherence to what heread, and yet he understood all. He had no fear for hissanity, his will, or for the very control of his mind. Hefloated on the waves of sensation and breathed deepthe ever thickening scent of lilac. He could not move,and it was good. He never wanted to. He could donothing but read and experience. The faint grayness ofdawn went unnoticed as he flipped the pages back tothe scene of the hammock. He found himself thinkingthat some of his fondest memories had been spentthere. He knew the girl would come and go each day,and that he would be waiting there with the book. Andhe felt happy.if -t2 BsThe class had no teacher that day, and the land-lord had no rent. The teacherTs room was opened oncourt order, but all that was found was an empty glass,some cigarette ash, and a newly acquired armchair.END38 REBEL

1) Widig| |=iyLANGE7/ a Zoe wefy

Se"ee "e"" : "_ - ~_ Sie NSreeee eS a a gi""$""""s"s"_"_" ~- ~a 2-�"�Sees hersv9 owearoo> ° whe ver ~\ AN aaieoaN oS aearme Nis c~ASS me- .*~ pret~~ RS WN » aSSS ShSe.�inililiy eat�SAN ia \\aa ; WWW.}oNf, hth 'S/E RE ReTRIS ABMs -A'> gpeaocsasatl ttlt"f(4white interlude in the sable skyone solitary star surrounded by shadowsflaws the black celestial canvasblemishing artTs perfectioniit%J|elit Meltpe lap a@ale)e-M-bch-l-lellalemele-lye)in del SartoTs heaven=oaay ||dazzling in ivory iridescenceshines upon the earthKs|dnow dimmed nova glows in pallid innocencebleak repentencebut no voice speaks in the nightETM olelahavaemel-lahcelailial:weghost of optimismis watched by mortalsEW VETB Laem colatrelacel Mitmce-laleleli im c-lagelgi40 REBEL

Somewhere backthe corners turned to circlesand | came aroundand saw who | was.DonTt we all die of the same madness?

= SS = SS~ ;~>. a4 csFttiagii

/Song of Return/The sky has crackedAll have come downThey have come down to feed the dreamThe mountains laughWhen they come downThe rivers singWhen they come downThe seas applaudWhen they come downThey have come down to feed the needThe priest preying in the woodHas forgotten that they come downThe warrior killing in the fieldHas forgotten that they come downThe women at the river bathingFeel the wet wonder of their presenceThe children on the rocks runningHear the touch of stones underfootAnd they dance as they come downThe sky has crackedAll have come downThe rivers singThe deserts danceThe winds walkThey have come wildly downAll have come downThe village kills the priestThe children hold the knifeAnd beat the drumsThe warrior conquers the warThere is soft breathingAnd the sun spins in their foreheadsThe moon melts on their handsThe fireless night blazes in the eyesThe sky bleeds on cutting seedsThe grass whispers ( BeCome-ALL is rising )REBEL 43

SE aSCREDITSCee a ny Se ee ee eS SE es Brian VinesEe ena ot eee Repeee ho S G Tye eer eee es Skee ee ee ere Brian VinesNN Mo Sas ps ath ow 6 ocho + aia ke ee eres oan «Ag 9 + epee es Brian VinesRane es OS oe SRE hee Re EN Sik ke REE CO eee Brian Vinesmeee 8 SS Sak, . 6a See a is opps Pa Ses ee 6 Sed Brian Vineseae 40-19 = ess SS es Saas ce es SR SS SR Pe eer ease « lvey Chadwickpumice Foo Rak,» ood Sa Seed 2 os CSOD S eee veer e Ss Edward Reepeg a RNR ee SEMIS DRS CR Ns ere olen A ara ate 2 eS Glenn LewisCt ., ae ee So Soe TS ere hae a ee John FosterIO sk evs so cs Pee bn hbase Lucy Sidney MorrisIONS oe yo a = cae 3 4 = bce eer Someone SEE Eee 6 Kenneth Knighteo | Sens eee eer. CR eee er eat: SS eee D.B. CrottsPee Bo oes as oa SSS 5 2 Re EI ee Pe RECT TET Shep ShepherdSe Ee ck sg ca sa co ee ee ee EARS Ce es John FosterCNRS oS ES. 5b cba EROS Sk + Re a es BEE ga oS Lynn TrexlerSTAFF D44 REBELee Sos eS oe a a,oan ia.a. oae

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