WARNING: THIS PAGE IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. IF YOU HAVE ANY QUALMS ABOUT VULGAR LANGUAGE, SEVERE VIOLENCE, DEATH, OR INSANITY, TURN BACK NOW. BACK
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_______The_______Unlikely_______Copise_______





I
I woke one night, in the late. A voice I heard, at some distance. I
left my painfully silent room, to find its origin. As I moved from the
bedroom to the kitchen, each floorboard creaked slowly, as I walk rather
slowly. A dimming glow, from a neglected lantern exposed my overcoat. As
I slipped my overcoat on, my clock chimed awkwardly, leaving me in an
unvarying-state of apprehension.
(I lose all familiarity, passed a certain hour, with my immediate surroundings.)


II
Greeted by brisk air...I turned back inside. I sat at my kitchen table,
in the pre-dawn hours, admiring my ramshackle lantern. As I was hoping
not to hear an inexplicable groan, an inexplicable groan broke the stillness.
Greeted by brisk air, I ventured, again, into oblivion. Nothing is quite
as bleak as a sky preparing itself for snow. I walked towards town, as it
is the most likely place fall into a disreputable circumstance.


III
I searched the gutters, the alleys, corridors narrow, wide and shallow
with no avail. Not a soul was dangling from the innumerable
fire-escapes, nor the chain-links, or from the roofs of the state-houses
or tenemants. Not a drunkard and a post, not a damsel and an accostor.
I carried on without discouragement or enthusiasm towards the outskirts
of my beloved Dembulge.


IV
Not twenty paces from the foot bridge leaving town, ___ _______ ___ ______.
On the green, dead-center, in mid-winter, almost vulgarly, stood and
swayed a more-than healthy patch of absurdly exaggerated daphodils. Most
queerly, to the side swooned a pair of Drak' ulian Odalisques, cadaverous
concubines instilling a most disorienting combination of fear, lust and
silliness into me.
"Oranges, bring us oranges..." the murmur clarified, articulated itself.
I thought to myself, "they're gone, to the gills, topped? Dolts."


V
(and final)
I woke, stiff and cold, at my kitchen table.
My oranges were gone, and my lantern was in shambles.




e n d
Vorgive me!





________________________________________

there once was a little girl. this little girl had a dream. to paint like her mother and win her bread.

but a day came when people began to tell this little girl she was silly. they told her she could not have her dream. this day was the day the little girl began to retreat from the world. she began to see the world as cruel and cold and grey. she slipped into a coma.
but the little girl was blessed with a good intuition and the abilty to reason. she decided she could be a scientist, because the world was o.k. with that. but she was unhappy inside because she abandoned her dream. she drifted on as a zombie.
one day the girl drifted by a boy. she could tell this boy was the same as her. from then on they drifted together in their comatose, wandering state. yet something began to wake them.
the little girl began to see the world in color again. through the lifting fog she saw her dream emerge with the same color and vibrance as the day it was born. through so much lonliness and disorder it remained untarnished, hidden in the deep recesses of her mind.
there was much to be done. the girl began to realize that the gifts she was given armed her with the potential to take back her dream, and realize it in the waking world.
there is much to be done.
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Some stories are the work of people outside the two; therefore, some stories are credited with their author in this section.

[INTRUSION] the two, the two do not exist words, words,
they own the space. disregard the others, lies lies are at the heart
of this, however, divisions within realities are very true
welcome you de ja vu [OUTRUSION]


------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 11103 we walked through a filthy city constructed out of our imaginations
hungry we searched and searched for nourishment until we happened
upon a golden thrown in the middle of the road, strewn about
were swords and robes love letters and wartime correspondance documents
hungry our eyes fell on simultaneously a saucer full of rotten milk
eager parasites swimming in apathy, agony, anticitpation.





A voice calls all sorts to life, to god, to war. A voice calls the blind and
hungry worm in the apple's rotten core. A voice calls to you when you're
standing in the mirror; something is not right, something is amiss, a change
is at hand and I must wield the knife. Down the streets, the city streets
where buildings are empty and boarded up. Terrible things transpire screams
screams, perpetuaing perversity. A darker world wraps around the existing.
Existing darker world. Still mourning tomorrow.











[Driving] -ghasp!?-
Half asleep you were. From your mind the dead came and crept out into our
world. You placed them there by not tending to the gate. As the turnkey of
this strange prison your awareness is necessary. Dead men sway in the
moonlight, their sillouettes, like halloween cats, you smell autumn and
know it is true..........
---------------------------------

The spider was born on the swept away wind and carried away to his home. He drifted and played on the soft leaves, swung from the sticks and toyed with the sky.

Soon he grew bigger and made his first web. Slightly suprised and delighted he continued this task everyday, creating web after web, each coming closer to perfection. With each web he marvelled at its beauty and felt joy in the fact he could create such a thing. For months he continued, for year after year, his content with life still growing.

One day on a walk down to the pond the spider strolled by an ant, who was making a web out of things he had found. "Look at my web," blurted the ant, jumping into the spider's path. The web was sloppy and mis-shapen, and made from a differnt material than the spider's own webs. "It's not quite finished, I don't really like it," the ant professed rather sadly. The spider wasn't sure what to say. Though the web was ugly, the spider didn't want to make the ant feel bad. "You've got a good start there, don't give it up just yet." The ant smiled large and was immediately happy. He went back to his work as the spider continued his way to the pond.

The next day the spider took a slightly different path to the pond. He wasn't sure he wanted to see the ant again. But on his way, the spider couldn't help but catch part of the close-by conversation between the ant and a ladybug. "Do you like my web?" the ant pleaded. "It's a better web than I could ever make," said the ladybug. The ant then continued, "Here, let me show you my other webs." Then the spider couldn't hear them anymore.

The spider had trouble sleeping that night. He couldn't stop thinking about the ant, and how there was something a little off about him. He decided to find his mantis friend, who was very old and very wise. The spider told the mantis about the ant, and how eager he had been to share his sloppy work. The mantis got a look on his face as though he didn't know whether to laugh or cry, then slowly explained. "Ants don't make webs. Only spiders make webs." The spider was slightly astonished, but after all, how could he have known that? He'd lived alone most his life. "Thank you, mantis. That explains a lot," replied the spider, and he went home.

After a long night of sleep, the spider started his way to the pond, hoping this time to see the ant. As the ant came into view, the spider stopped for a while just to watch the ant at work. However, the ant was not making a web. He was just sitting on a leaf, tapping his foot and looking very bored. After a few minutes of this, he suddenly jumped up and began hastily throwing together what the spider assumed to be one of the ant's careless webs. A few moments later the spider saw a beetle crossing the ant's path. The ant stopped him and asked for his opinion on his web. The beetle simply replied, "It's nice" and went on his way. The ant watched him walk away then apathetically added a few more sticks to his web and slumped down on the leaf again. This behavior was making no sense to the spider. It was almost as though the ant made his webs just to get the approval of others. The spider wasn't sure whether to turn back or continue on toward the ant, so he sat down for a few minutes to think about it.

The spider decided to continue on toward the ant. As expected, as soon as the ant saw him he jumped up and began working on his web. The ant was delighted to see the spider, and invited him to stay and chat for a while. The spider agreed, and the two talked of many things. The spider told of his beautiful home, of the places he'd seen, and the strange creature's he'd met in his life. The ant talked of his home, and how he'd lived there with many interesting spider friends. "They were the ones who showed me how to make my first web," the ant informed the spider. It was starting to make sense now. The spider made an excuse to leave and hurried home.

That night the spider made a web and sitting down to admire it, he began thinking about the ant again. He felt sorry for the ant. Probably all his life the ant thought he was a spider. Even if the spider told him, the ant would probably never believe him, and even get angry at him. The spider felt like he should do something, because the ant was making a fool out of himself to all the other creatures. A few of them that even gave the ant a second thought had begun to make fun of the ant behind his back. Despite all this, the spider concluded that it would be best for him to do nothing.

The days continued on, and the spider would sometimes stop and chat with the ant on his way to the pond, each time being forced to comment on the ant's latest work. Other times the spider would watch the ant try and gain acceptance from the other creatures by showing them his graceless, crude webs. When the ant had been alone for a while, the spider noticed he'd take some of his web-building materials to areas where there were a lot of creatures, and begin building a web in the middle of all them. Each time the spider would catch the ant glancing up at the creature's faces, scanning for any trace of acceptance or appreciation, usually finding just false approval, if any. Sometimes a creature not talented at building anything, like a grub or a fly would marvel at the ant's work, only because they could never create anything like it, even as unsightly as it was. But the ant didn't know the difference.

As the spider grew older he continued creating his beautiful webs, but his happiness was tarnished by thoughts of the ant. He began to hate the ant, and hate the falseness of the ant's creations. The fact that the ant made his webs to be accepted somehow degraded the spider's hard work and the beautiful webs which had become a central focus in his life. The spider didn't know what to do. His days were becoming filled with misery when they used to be frivolent and carefree.


*What do you think the spider should do?*

Should he:
a. Move away from the ant and try to never think of him again
b. Just deal with the ant's presence and learn to accept the ant's flaw
c. Kill the ant and try to never think of him again
d. Try to convince the ant that he is not a spider
e. Start showing off his webs to compete with the ant
f. Kill himself

kill himself...
kill...
hiimself...

-Sunshine
*
I held their hands as we walked row after row
of these little fenced in starving creatures
letting out strange little noises of agony and
pleasure
it was a dream
stop

. the

. room



. from

. spinning

*
revival = laviver

It's the same formula over and over. Everything normal, like a
conversation with a neighbor and then all of a sudden you look
up from the morning headlines to comment on current social
injustices and how they relate to your distant safe raised ranch
life and all of a sudden you're on the ground being stabbed reapetedly
by your good ol' neighbors' fourteen year old psychotic introverted
wasted youth.........I fucking hate christmas......what? Oh, I'm sorry
the brain dribbling off my chin is just a result of an inner struggle
of good and evil, didn't mean to wake you up I started babbling and
I didn't stop until my tongue felled offing like stranded
on moon alone........no.......data
0010100011110101100101110000110101000110010
-manwithnobones
*
[suddenly breathing again]

HOWEVER there were lots of times when no conclusion could be reached.
Maybe it had something to do with the constant high-pitched tones
eminating from this delapidated building down the street. Twenty four
hours a day, outside was nothing but a migrane.
The everyday process of thinking was made impossible. Concentration
was a farse. Whatever, I suppose I should remove my fingers from the
electrical sockets. I didn't do much today besides sit here shocking
myself. I don't feel to strongly about standing up or talking to other
people. I'm sure I'd walk like an earthquake and talk like I had
a blender in my throat.
-manwithnobones

*
Sometimes I like to pretend I'm flying, but then I remember I couldn't be flying because I'm dead and the ant on my shoulder whispering in my ear is really the maggots eating their way through the back of my skull. I hate childhood.
-Sunshine
*
I have this friend Bob. One day me and Bob got bored and decided to pretend to rob a bank. We had guns, but the guns only had blanks in them. Well, as a funny joke I decided to switch the blanks in Bob's gun with real bullets. Man, you should have seen the look on his face when he blew the teller's head off. And I guess the manager didn't think it was too funny, cause he decided to shoot Bob in the face. That's ok, I didn't really like him anyway. I just hung out with him so I could eat his food.

*
50 Word Story From High School
He was a sad figure lumped over a chair, a white plastic bottle in his hands. Take two every four to six hours for aches and pains. Pain he'd had for a while, but nothing ever helped. He drifted off as the pills began taking effect. All 74 of them.
-Sunshine