coffee mends
the holes in morning's curtains
coffee saves
your eyes at the nod of night
death-
where is the coffee you promised me?
--Dale Jensen.
...and as Bikini Kill fanzine reminds us, don't think that cuz you are in the pit you can get away with grabbing girls' breasts or putting your hands down their pants, etc...Girls have as much of a right to mosh as anyone else and just cuz she's slamming up against you doesn't mean she's in LOVE with you
the past pouring, purged, from the inner workings of guts
like blood from a slaughter, I knew myself a daughter of delirium, that death,
had been my lover for a long time now; a gentle teasing of its wounded muscles,
yet an anticipated fear of its reciprocative kiss.
The time has come to know ourselves as simple struggling masses,
weak worms writhing against the face of the inevitable.
We climb thru our faint ambitions, touching sometimes on the suns of nirvana,
so briefly lit by the light of gods & love, only to be thrust back unrequited
to a world of dispassion & injustice, the violent rush of nature.
The time has come to stop fearing what we can never put off, for procrastination means nothing to the great march forward
I want to go out smiling, offering the last of my essence in faith
not screaming my maidenhood's rape by eternity.
Do only I hear the voices of ghosts, both dead & alive
protesting the lack of style by which they were taken?
I have rehearsed this act,knowing well no planning can prepare
But I have accepted what is true
So say your surahs,clutch the tannis root & cross your fingers to avert,
yet we cannot avoid this final hurt, the act that equals
both homeless & highneeses, sinners & saints, kindred & kings
We hide in our antiques, clutch to our clicques and build careful cairns
against the darkness of the unknown, the chaos just outside our hearths.
But one day we all must dance to the tune
My lover plays hymns on a guitar strung with the nerves of his arms
and you cannot help but move to his resonanace, lemming rhythm.
In the dark of night, in the soft of bed, in the lurk of sleep
beyond the dawn of reason he waits, fingering the chords to the song of your life.
One hand to my rosary, another, eager, to my parted knees,
I wait his call. Wanting & fearing, His hunger. His lust.
Snuff the candle, for now I lay me down to sleep,
His cock is hard. His need is deep.
the stories of Crass, Black flag and Dead Kennedys should be covered in school textbooks.
-untitled-
by Dave Kime (Transcendent Visions)
Funny I should meet you inside this incubator at this time. You were jumpin jaquen's stepsister twice removed but she has three extra feet, you only have two. Strange ain't it, that funky fried electric dream boy.That boy with the pitiful grin. You know him, he shines his umbilical cord brighter than a thousand suns burning in horizons embryoes never heard of. Get off the bandwagon of this motherly trip. The ship has sailed thru you & me time & time again, sending endless chattering eggs, seeds from the parental spaceship. God be our witness, land ho the funky eagle is landing in the nest bringing forth three new eggs, but they are not needed. Go to Mexico 0 native child, the Aztecs have taken over. They've overthrown the government and you my naitve child are setting saw on a catastrophe named moon unit, & the little old ladies in red are waxing the tube in which we were created together one world you native blood I bad kraut seed of the mad incubus's vision. It is the plight of seeing the world from the inside of a tube, 0 you stepsister of jumpin jaquen once removed twice walking up & down the elevator at the Allmighty's sperm bank in the sky. Tommorow the hatch will be divided, then meet again in the Allmighty's sperm bank. will be carrying raisins in my left hand, which I will share with you. I don't know why.
Sing Rael, sing sing about the gypsy moon you float on top of when you are hemmoraging. Sing about the friendly ghost shadow that eats crispy corn chips when he sits on your lap, laughing at all the funny Americans with porcupine spine trigger happy Ninetendo children. Sing while walking thru the atmospheric laughter shouting homeward bound I am going. Sing while purchasing frozen entrees 'cos the television invaded your head and ssaid that they were good for you. Sing. singsingsing while going up the down escalator in the shopping malls of utopia, You know that one you bought those flesh-eating cobat boots at. The one you want to burn down cos it rotted the soul of middle America. I cannot guess where you will sing next. Possibly while letting your fingers do the walking getting hysterical like I get too thinking about you.
the spirit that is collapsing on the icy doormats of heavenly bliss, talking to the two cats that own you, that interject their spiritual commands on your inner realm the deep seas of Cherokee nation. Walk talk but don't call me stupid I am only the dead ghost of the future here to lend a helping hand.
The hand has escaped. It is running backwards thru Pennsylvania cornfields stripped of their life in the dead of winter, calling jesus, mother mary & joseph in sign language. You are looking thru a telescope from the edge of your satellite. Don't pretend not to be afraid. you are
Go now, forget the hand. Return to the embryo. I will be there whispering sweet nothings. Why nothings, I don't know why. Just because the sky is crying, & there ain't nothing else to whisper anymore.
Dave kime is a Bru doll Tv vampyre dude, who has HIS VERY OWN ZINE! Transcendent Visions order one by writing to him at:
Alphabitch Afterbirth- it's not just for breakfast anymore!
His voice is like...
the sound of
darkness and
I talk to him
at night
about funny things.
And then I awake,
and no one is there.
"when she's alone, I bet Barbie listens to Bikini Kill, writes RAPE in big letters on her plastic tummy, & gets upset because she has no clitoris"
dying endlessly in a soft October sky
She perceives infinitely
the terror of death close by-
She perceives, and rightly
That we are born to die.
To see death, and know it
confirms the majority of the spirit.
Then in death she celebrates
and painfully elevates
her soul beyond those bounds
of fear & panic, mournful sounds
which her breath heaves to the sky
This is peace- to say goodbye. nothing condemns as all fades away your eyes are jaded by life in the sun step into shadows & we shall be one right before my eyes trained on things that aren't quite there ghosts I left behind feel myself slip back poised & ready for the hunt ready for attack as the change completes locked alone inside myself no room for retreat could I be heading back? open eyes my focus off everything is balck. run away, just get away I don't want to know. tear my clothing shred my flesh heading for the bay cooling waters ease my pain wash the blood away.
Here's one for you now- Direction is Up and OUT! Upside down haze> It's just a phase. Need a hand? Will this one do? I'm reaching for you. They sort of bring me down with all their panic. It's a sort of antic Kind of hard to expalin. It's a trajic flaw, like amangled paw. that leaves you limping while you walk But not when you run! Fighting inertia, got to brew up a storm. The fire will keep you warm. And take the chill from your soul. A sudden breeze undoes the freeze That kept you low for so long- But NOW you are FREE! we are doing the Goddess's work in a culture that would still like to label it the devil's, after all. Sing it in madness and rapture & violence scream it inside & shatter the silence! Will it & will it, I know it I killed it! And dying daily; I changes I. The fire, the power, the magick the cruelty, phantasmal Choronzon, let him now rule ye Come with me, drink, & join in the feast, Io Pan, my nam, the all-powerful beast! We are fucking like jackals, we are quaking and moving, you probe the Erebos grinning wildly & grooving. Dionysus, Zagreus, Zeus, Set & Bacchus Come now we invoke thee! God damn us! be with us! Sing the tragoidios, the goat song, panapoly. Amon Ra! Come to me, come with me, come in me now! Release me! Absolve me! I burn to the ground. Lost in this frenzied lover's abyss, I die within you the chalice awaits filled with imminent treasure Drink & be merry, elixir of pleasure! Your blood hungry eyes are screaming the score who could possibly ask for more... This pussy is yours and yours and your door. Anne-Marie is the singer for the truly kickass prog-punq band CRANIAL PERCH.
The cube is cast you move catlike the center of witches Innocense is your cloak your smile is a child's your sensuous movements draw me to your center. You say "oh shit" with charm. and lead me into allurement with secret caves in holy mountains Curiousity opens the door behind the scenes the master like the Emperor isn't wearing any underwear gloating over life & death but you choose life, after finding death is a Seducer with many sides... "...I don't want just to be fucked- what's that? I want to experience this other thing. Someone said long ago that men should be fucked in the ass first before they fuck a woman so they can understand what it feels like to be penetrated in their body...really, I wanna fuck men in the ass- I want to break the flesh too- and exorcise my violence on them to show them just how much I love them." - Diamanda Galas. drinking beer and eating graveyard apples, our blanket spread on pine needles the colour of dried blood. We talked about the nerve you had to die, like that wiping yourself clean off the earth, how it took, one, maybe two seconds for you to become a memory and a lifetime to pull the trigger. into the sticky darkness that is creation I am sure to preserve the dead. MY skeletons are polished to perfection with smiles as bold & cherry red As any clown. My skeletons are lasting no god shall steal them from me. Corrine deWinter's poetry is here from a chapbook she wrote, Touching the Wound in memory of Kurdt Kobain. "Our civilisation has fallen out of touch with night. With lights, we drive back the holiness and beauty of night to the forests and the sea; the little villages, the crossroads even, will have none of it. Are modern folk, perhaps, afraid of night? do they fear that vast serenity, the mystery of infinite space, the austerity of stars?"-Henry Beston crystalcortex quasimorphic lepropsychic hues of faceted syrups spinning wild alive & delicate down the trembling throat-hole geocosmic superations genufleckted by the mirrored surface of endless twisted space & subthought echoes return with lupine howls tearing thru the shattered portals of memory & time reflecting the weight of sin & madness beyond the slick and transparent surface of your eye as the subtle corkscrew drives past the skin and kindly leaves behind a root for me to climb descending as i slice away the luminous skin of your mind.
Bob was a fellow Vermonster, & first editor of the mental health rights newspaper, Counterpoint. he died a few years back.
you are the first to be blest in this way
raging shadows blurring past
bloodied howls I take the form
sinking deeper in my mind
Dying visions trickle in
Alphabitch
Afterbirth-
it's
primitive,
babee!
Diabolus! Diabolos!
Lulu
two by Corrine deWinter
Graveyard Apples
Tell Me
although I may go
spiffy rifferama
It was my freedom of choice,
much more than a feeling
made me find myself at U-Mass
smelling like teen spirit.
Did I mention Godzilla?
I have no self esteem, am
everything to everyone,
especially
Louie Louie.
-Rael
for more info on ordering or submissions for this zine,
Rael raves- an ever updating rant from yr editrix
~next?~ 
