T A M e R S H R e W ... vol. 5 ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿ ¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿ ¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿¿¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ¿¿¿ ..edited, compiled, preliminarily perused ¿¿¿ felt up, jostled and spell checked by, Mount For entertainment, enrichment only. All rights retained by the authors. ===================>-WorDs--To---------<==================== ===================>----------Be-HaD---<==================== 1>Pain, as related by my left foot ...Black Sabbath 2>Awoke ...Ailehs 3>SC400 ...Stretch 4>Snuff the Bitch ...Christopher Bickerstaff 5>Cosmic Whore ...Brandon Awbrey 6>Average ...Stretch 7>The Vampyre's Tale ...Anthony Most 8>Memories ...Chuck U. Farley 9>flowers, a puppy ...Black Sabbath 10>Wise words ...Christopher Bickerstaff 11>Passion ...Xann 12>Czardu Street Beacon ...Fortunate Hazel 13>SSN-SS-NSSN; an end of an era ...Anthony Most 14>Disillusion ...Black Sabbath 15>Excerpt from the Novel; BROKEN WIND ...Brandon Awbrey ===================>-------------------<==================== ===================>-------------------<==================== -Pain, as Related By My Right Foot ... Black Sabbath shadowboxing in my native form treading upon devious surface so reassuring yet all too wrong left right left imagined foe goes down primal instinct feral right the mighty hunter strikes his prey left right left victory bout left again right once more but tentative, as righthand foot grips, only to seize air; reassurance asserts its hidden countenance and the mighty hunter slips on his bathroom floor searing pain envelopes the toe enmeshes collagen and cells within its tangled howls brain anguishes by its presence unseen fangs strain through broken flesh predator's predator iridescent poison hidden in subconscious fear is in its toxin and so the misty serpent teaches him not to shadowbox too close to sneaky puddles on his bathroom floor and the hunter slips on his bathroom floor ... kjl Awoke ... by Ailehs Never, Never have I awoke. Never. Never until today. How strange. How strange to see What has never been seen. Eyes open, but no reality seen. Blind there, somewhere, not here, Here where I am now. Now, I see today. Today, I see reality. Reality. fun, loving reality. --you asked me once what I meant when I told you, "I woke up today." My thoughts here, hopefully express how I have never felt the beauty, warmth, and sincerity that you have now given to me. I'm aware (awaken) of an unfamiliar, special relationship that I have never experienced. In this new land I want only to learn, live, love, and thrive for all eternity. SC400 ...Stretch Almost died tonight... that close, right there, airborne SC400, big one *above* me man ... ABOVE me. And a little guy driving... And me wondering at my heart beating through my chest...and him promising me riches to whisk him away from the cops and the EMS and the wreckers and the lights. Why the fuck did he have to ask me for my name? "Help me, help me, help me .. Joel .. I'll make it worth your while ... I've had a bit to drink, you see ... help me, help me, help me." A crowd of 25 around this fuck... Little drunken fuck almost killed. me... He picks me .. to help, help, help. Over and over ... 5000.00 if he stays, 1000.00 if he goes. Relax. Gotta hang a while. You almost killed me you little Lexus driving piece of shit. Almost died tonight... that close, right there, airborne SC400, big one *above* me man ... ABOVE me. [*] (fuck .. I almost died *again* ...) Snuff the Bitch ...Christopher Bickerstaff Night and day. Day and night. For seventeen and a half years, I've had my parent's asses on my head. No arms, no legs, just a little quadriplegic, I lie wedged between their butt cheeks. You can bet I hate it when they fart. I try to roll out but I'm stuck too tight, their asses clench. No arms, no legs, not even a head, dammit! If I try to extend them they are crushed. There is only room enough for my tight, little shell. I am suffocating, but they say I need no air. I struggle, struggle, struggle to escape and they clench tighter. Crack! My shell breaks and I am squashed. I run like diarrhea from them and the shards of my shell stick them in their asses and make them bleed. Angry, they look down at the puddle of Me. Oh! So disgusting. They call me ugly and gross. "You made this," I cry but they just say, "Get yourself together." So I just flow around and barefoot people step in me and cry, "Fuck!" or "Shit!" of "God damn it!" or some other exclamatory curse word. Flies upon my back, I go and I grow, lowest of the low. --Christopher Bickerstaff-- (--Excuse Me--) Cosmic Whore from the novel INSTANT KARMIC SOUP Copyright 1991 Brandon Awbrey A gaze I heard. (A gaze you heard? How did you do that?) I don't know, but I heard it, sure as hell. As sure as a morning song, a mourning song, mourning another day gone by. Another day that went by without showing me any acknowledgement. Oh ho, so so, uh oh! Here we go.............! She was a chainsaw sister Never seen a sun's blister I sure wish that I had kissed her, So that now I wouldn't miss her, 'Nother 'Ho'! Not so! She sighs she a-make-a-me cry oh no the sister is strong. How can the memory of a burnt book of pointless poems fit you so well? How come you look like you can wrap me around your little finger without me even knowing it. I know now. So, ho. So hip. The vibe of that gaze I heard sounded ever clear, Forget the Everclear, I see straight without...can't have none of that jam....So clear that I didn't even hear that gaze but for a split of a second. But that was, enough. Yeah, you look like you could get really heavy into my pain, even cry for me, even try to make amends for problems you didn't even cause, such a sweet thing, haunting, daunting little girl with a laugh. Run that tape again, but how do you record a gaze? How come I heard it? I saw it too, of course, but what I saw was just a look and wink and smile of a girl not much more very really hip than me, uh huh. Get a grip, you lost fool. Get a grip. Not much more than a single imprecise unaltered natural chord, two peace frogs jumping to a different by harmonic frequency miles away in a swamp in Georgia, peaceful like, yeah. So she winked and walked off, all sound gone, me tripping like, sorta just standing there, checking out the perimeters of a brand new reality, drop the pen in my hand, it falls to the ground, yes, gravity still exists. Sure, sure. And you think 'ho.' Whore of space and time and beautiful sounds, she sells it all and it's all in the sounds of her gaze, sweet thing. Knarly like. Just Rad. So in a time, a momentary crisis, I run out the door and watched her walk off and I think maybe, just maybe, I should follow. Very true, a thought like that. No question of right or wrong, it was just a true thought. Like when a little kid runs out in front of your truck while you're haulin' ass at fifty or some shit and you stop, so as not to kill him so. You don't think should I or should I not kill this little human? You just stop. That's a true thought, no decision involved. So I follow the Cosmic Whore. "Hey, you," I call, quite a miracle that I was able to speak, being so mesmerized by such a magnificent posterior. She turned and looked back, saw it was me, stopped, gaze and smiled------------SHOCK ME. The magnificent sound. MTV, sight and sound, extremely righteously. A slightly quicker recovery I make, learning quickly. "Yeah, dude?" "Uh, well, uh well. Well, I well, uh. Uh-" "Yes?" Gaze, raised her eyebrows (a new twist) and smile. Boom! What a sound. "Uh, uh. Uh, I, uh, I, I---" "You got somekind of speech problem?" "No. What I'm trying to say is that you walked out and I couldn't help but follow." "Great. Just what I need. Another man controlled by his dick." "That's not it. I love you." "You love me, huh?" "Yeah, you are a poem I wrote, long ago." "That's a new one. Pretty creative, dude!" she smiled. BOOM! The gave I heard. "So ask me out, dude. Read me your poem. Whatever. Don't just stand there." "You want to hear it?" "Sure, dude. Just don't take me anywhere cheap," she smiled again, BOOM. Hot check time. So Jack was back. Come to me again, bleached and repainted appropriately to the colors of the environment. What a fool I was. Average ... Stretch Average? And what about the lines your muscles draw along your forearms, stretching the skin ... showing the veins? Those little hairs on the back of your neck ... nape, it's called ... and those are average? Your smell ... covered with clean clean sweat .. hair wet from it ... eyes lit with it ... everything damp? Your legs ... what with the way you laugh and all ... smile ... all of this average? You are beauty. The most. And if average is the most beautiful, well then dear, you are so very average. "The Vampyre's Tale" Anthony Most Vampyre walks out the door Doesn't say what he's got in store Waxes his fangs, cleans his skin Yells out to the world "Let the killings begin!" Young lad Mary taking a walk At the mid of night, in the dark Vampyre breaks up the order And puts his fangs next to her shoulder Neck is bloody Now she's dead Follow the trail Coloured deep, deep red Vampyre leaves and looks for more Bloody fangs show what he's got in store All that night the same occurs Some with boots, others wearing furs Read the news in the morning paper Cover story's on Jack the Raper In a bed he hides When daylight breaks But by the dusk Life is what he takes He wishes it'd stop He wishes it would end But it's his honour and his life That he must defend Memories Chuck U. Farley My Grandmother's freezer died recently. This wouldn't have been noteworthy except for the fact that it contained The Blackberries, the blackberries that I and my grandfather used to pick. It was one of many things we did together. I still remember the warm days, the fun times, and the barely contained obscenities we'd mutter when we were stuck by thorns. Even after my grandparents moved to another house and left the bush behind he and I thought about them fondly, my grandmother would refresh our memories with terrific jams and jellies made from them. Now that they are gone, I don't really have much left physically to remember him by. Excluding a burial flag, an honorable discharge, and memories, everything I had left between us turned into mush in a 35-year old freezer that died in it's sleep during an extended vacation. I know that it is somewhat weird to get emotional over frostbitten fruit, and old machines do break down; but damnit, it was all I had and I didn't even realize it until they were gone. I know I should have done more when I had the chance, but in my stupidity, and youth, I didn't even try. I can just barely remember what he looks like now! At least I have memories, but I will miss the blackberries. -flowers, a puppy ... Black Sabbath a little lost puppy alone in the fifth precinct a little lost boy searching needing his little lost soulmate poor child bereft of hope tears streaming and heart in hand pleads to the man behind the glass counter walks away walks away with no more than a few words, little to quell the pain welling inside turns away away from it all his world shattered all gone all too futile he loses his only friend his last hope his he runs thunder rolls in his ears rubber soles against cement through the jungle, the netherworld he runs toward his future river of tears coursing through his soul around him blurred images slurred time toward his future toward his friend runs his heart bursts mind engaged in a profusion of loss onward onward through reality he escapes beyond the horizon beneath the heavens he leaps into the wind sputtering cry and with that a final vision of flowers muted agony he collapses onto the indifferent cement The Wise Words of the Wascally Wabbitt Pigs can fly but their mommies tell them not to. I was going to save the world but I somehow forgot to. Reality is constant, but life is how you see it. If we can preach perfection, how come we cannot be it? Why are we so arrogant, to impose on others our own beliefs? We all worship the shadow of truth, but very few the truth perceive. Tolerate all but intolerance. Become a paradox. Search yourself, to see yourself. Unlock your soul's hard locks. Eat your words and then vomit them. Defile and betray the dead. We've all forgotten what it means and only the how now haunts our heads. ( A Children's Rhyme: Flight of the 32 Oodiks ) ( ) (Humility is lack of bias. ) (Don't lose your passions to be pious. ) (This blind world fights for Mammon's flax. ) (At the murder scene you'll find your own tracks. ) (Satan is your own dark heart. ) (You'll never finish until you start. ) Your best friend is yourself and you are your own worst enemy. Desires are what bind you. Understanding lets you see. Acceptance plants the seeds of peace, but love, love sets you free. --Christopher Bickerstaff-- Inspired by The The, Robert Anton Wilson, and a midnight walk to a pear tree. ****Watch Out for this guy. He's behind it all. Everything. M.M. --this is know place for a writer. ... Xann i was there anyhow, taking the occasional picture of the occasional person, passing the occasional judgement on the most worthy occasion i've seen in others thus far: passion. passion. lust for life and all its death. loathe for evil and all its good. wince at doing what you should. i'm writing it all down. --no place for a philosopher, either. still, each had its own religion, justification. one, a hi schooler, plans to destroy his fellows, if you will, merely by showing them the scores from a standardized test hell soon be taking. he sits closer and closer to that girl each time i speak to her. passion. passion! just for strife and its shortness of breath. wont for good and the evil ensuing. wince at doing what you should. ...i'm putting it into the small end of my cone. --no place for a passionate head. well, maybe. downriver dennys is a fair place to write, with as much distraction as one might allow. a fair place to talk if the people are right. a very volatile place, if the flame it sparks is for egoenlargement. i'm told that anything good here, anything praying to and allowing itself to be preyed upon by writers, philosophers, poeticians, and the like, is bound for corporate glory. nothing sacred, nothing underground. not for long. --a good place for a dreamer, with hi hopes, hi aspirations, dreams to match the farthest star. a good place to play my guitar! -|- i work inna drugstore now. i sell dope to poor people. on lil pieces of paper and lil foil cards. theyre so easily ripped up and put into the trash and so very often that is JUST the result: one might wonder why anyone would buy it. when they all know theres a one inna million chance of a Good Trip. but still they come. and my face is friendly. my ear, sympathetic. my conscience, guilty as charged. my smile, genial. my heart, maddened. my superior dopedealing officer was in the other day with a fresh shipment. said it all their own doing. noone he said put a gun to a head noone. he is, of course, right. and in my mind, in the night time. when the northern cross is hi in the sky and cassiopeia is neither here nor there i see the beast: upc, dont tread on me rising from landfill junkheap littered with newport ads and budwiser and football and swimsuit issues and norman schwartzkoph and sylvester stallone and ym, and sassy, cosmo, examiner, mens health and of course usa today and in his hand the impoverished mann who keeps coming back fo fix after fix too busy working to dream of biting the hand and on his flag baphomet sits a wad of fifties in hand smile on his face disgrace to his race a pillar of riches innan ocean of waste; and on the chest of this demon with the poor its hand and the goat on his banner there are three balls, protuding: 6 is mr x's number, and he plays it straight each night. one dollar, one night of faith in his passion. noone has a gun to his head, the advisor said. 6 is the number of mrs y, she got it out of the widows pick. she is filled with hope, i'm told. her hope dies each night, and is replenished each day. 6 is the number of ms z, scraping change in misery, last dollar goes to lottery. last dollar goes to state. last dollar. last dollar. last dollar. :and on this beastly face there sits a plastic brooding smile. smiling all the while, all the way to the bank. hes got the whole - world , in his hands got the whole - world , in his hands hes got the whole - world , in his hands --got the hole world in his hands... rat traps by his feet made of lil pieces of paper and foil cards hold tiny impoverished masses dreaming about winning numbers and playing them straight ...o no, hes looking right at you now. he looking... hes moving his lips. it so hard to take tat evil grin away for long enough to speak. and he speaks in a wealthy whipser: "i like america" he says. ...he REALLY likes america. MICHIGAN LOTTERY SUPPORTS EDUCATION. MICHIGAN STATE DOES NOT. [and in the town all had given up hope i tell you it was suicide --executions on the roadside celebrate the laws of chance and the lotteryticketline at the drug store well it stretches for ten miles blake n byron are off getting drunk inna bar, talking bout the death of romance.] .Czardu Street Beacon ... Fortunate Hazel unix script for dreaming tsend trans, transport descent decent letters trailing body, flailing arms and falling tsend gravity notes, add-on gravity, rocks on strings star dash star, all trans spent now, some successful on galaxy-view, fallen-in sphere, network of words, network earth, webbed with words, spun with sound, spark crash spark, into other in the dark, satellite sounds tsent trend, decent event, life, decent event, when fallen in, fallen in with the trend: life, decent event recent receive: trend, life decent event. dropouts in ports-follow: x from x to end please re-send x from x to end, friend satellite FHAN we read string of omittances from x of x to end, we repeat the reading until you send the edits, ground trans will be missing digits and different-meaning request tsend trans, transport descent corrections again. local going: ground trans life decent event though no edits following strings live, follow string allowing for live line $star dusT (tsend era: message begins again) $beings begin again! sphere events must begin again! $satellite map shows loss of path, streamlined lost path. $cracks in map are cracks in tHe haT, (era: re-tsend) $cracks in map are life cancers, chance encounter counters! $count the tumors in areas concentrated, as follows: $data-snowed over, estimated lake shores of data, err? $data melted, sun showed on the snow, over. human err. $no data for human err, loss in eras x from x to present era $i said star dust! (era: re-tsend) $no error here! i am no error! (era: re-tsend) local going: trans life decent event shows errors local going: manual wave data, hand fe(e)d event: $i am no error! (no era: query?) $i am no error there! i am here and only error locally! $hear me! (checksh out- SH out ok) $let discover me, i! must say to the end! (checksh out OK) $dropouts are part of the program, look out for dropouts! $check sums of dropouts! (checksh out- SH dropouts ok) $are we ok? we are. we are ok. $we are star dust. we are: pause: staRs uS (era: re-tsend) end trans, pause out: spark-life dies, no line. recent send: distress sent about life decent event areas stressed on surface: circumference x, all of its x areas lost in reference: star dust. no knowledge of lost. x/x areas request knowledge of lost reference: star dust break to local going for recent receive: $test again! am i ok? i never know (no era: SH out ok) $tests again from age x to end of age, i test i again. $star dust! we are this, you of the spheres and i $orbital tracer, observed voice from the dark corners $dropouts are ok! we are, and all we are is stars st. end trans: pause out: spark-life dies again. (era: loss of thought, light shows off but i'm not!) SPirit local ghoST! I am THe LoCal ghost! (on are-era no) specIAL messgae from loCAL ghost, mostly spaces. $!lives in the dark corners, orBital tracers said: $!"we ARE star dust!" and they said your id, life id. $!sum-spirIts, numbered ones, chECked the sums $!dropouts count and are all star dUst: (era: re-tsend) LOCal ghOst is going! (era: identify user ID) $i am no ID, i am IDEA! (era: unknown ID) enter ID: ti bon ange (era: unknown ID, end trans) $no conTrol... (era: re-tsend) oh no (e:re-tsen) no break for system check, self image lacks in order, moments aren't in order, from x to x and older (era: self) system checks. one bug ticked off digits as follows: showing flagged string via local node, bug ID unknown $LaSt show of locAl Ghost!!! last know era: last snow $last Snow from loCal *host (era: unknown) $universe is a show! $colors in a show, local satell-eyes for spy off-earth $all travel is unknown, local area is from x to x at ever $calling from ever, weather permitting no with-is (call for EVER: era: unknown) $last known snowflake: goes local ghost, who are the saints? $none are saints but all are st. ardust He is kNown $all are star dust, wisdom lost in drOpOuts, stored in holes $there is the ID of seasonal living, sphere rightous. $casual ID of life decent event is ST. ARDUST IS OK, ALL ARE WE AND WE ALL ARE OKAY, COUNTING THE DROPOUTS. $:) end flagged string local going: loop recent receive: life decent event lake info: recorded from day x to end of and again, showing: snowing and closeups of holes in snow, ripples on lake rips in the ripples and the sound ID: life decent event. ...credits ;local ghost; (unknown ID) NO CARRIER "SSN-SS-NSSN: the end of an era" Anthony Most to be aired on Retnafry #5, Public Access Houston TV I Am I looking at a reflection of light, the light bouncing from your soft dreams? Is death a true source of life? Formless. Breaking into nothing but ideas, the most dangerous weapon of all time. Having the soul fall from our backs. What does it mean to have a life filled with nothing, to die because of nothing, to live because of nothing, to be conceived because of nothing? In a free society, 90% of free speech is pornography. 10% is worth a damn. In a free society, we are free to live as we choose, which is just another way of saying we are free to destroy ourselves. Is there an answer, or does an artist has moral responsibility to society? An artist merely expresses himself, thus an opinion by the artist. Art has no morals. Art is a vehicle. Ah, well, what does our existence matter? You were hated by all the statements? There are none. Is this how life is supposed to be, a big shell of unhappiness? II load the gun roll the dice load the gun roll the dice load the gun roll the dice load the gun roll the dice load load load load roll roll roll roll the gun the gun the dice the dice (but don't give them the satisfaction.) III think i was freaking it was cool cool that's cool or the other way 1 moose; moose a s bs l k l j don't rest your hands on the keyboard don't eat the food you know i'll talk later when i'm alive i've changed clothes in the car cool that's cool or the other way think i was freaking it was cool you know i've changed clothes in the car a s bs l k l j don't rest your hands on the keyboard don't eat the food you know i'll talk later when i'm alive IV there must be a way to show our emotions w/o being so clouded there must be a way to show our emotions w/o being so clouded there must be a way to show our emotions w/o being so clouded like a child so free like the children on the beach beach like a child so free like the children on the beach beach there must be a way to show our emotions w/o being so clouded there must be a way to show our emotions w/o being so clouded there must be a way to show our emotions w/o being so clouded like a child so free like the children on the beach beach like a child so free like the children on the beach beach of happiness V The end of meaning of words turns into anarchy in linguistics & in society when words means nothing, how do we communicate how do we live our spirit would not understand basic emotional functions even something so simple as love would be void unpublished (C) 1991-1994 Anthony Most -disillusion ... Black Sabbath A willow, a bower of famished halves shades the desolation encirclement, alcove of the near unliving Tormented wailings pain and bitterness food without water burning without end ignorance without bliss ... all lost to this the lake and its icy exterior immersed in mist deep in thought too far in its misery to notice the blight The placid surface gentle ice benevolence betrayed by the cold indifference tempered by ages eons of loneliness alone forever rotting once brilliant once innocent now inner magnanimity gone instead scars about its countenance where people have once tread bleached bones at the scarred water's edge soul that transcends all battered brooding underneath the dull surface eddies of pain hope swirling through and above answered by hate countered with lies 'Battered soul,' spoke the willows once to the lake, 'worry not of the emptiness within.' a glare, fierce but sad answered the na‹ve grove 'Battered soul,' cried out the willows once to the soul beneath the scarred water, 'the torment shall subside.' undone by grief ice within its heart the pained lake but looked away in its mist agony ringing through its ears the lake screamed out none answered the lone howl of the wind but mocked tempestuous waters beneath the surface subdued with fear of worse than death the pain never subsides the twisted currents stand witness time immemorial sees but none grieve for the plight of the lake the lake of scarred water of truth in its hurt of the ice masking its tears ... kjl Excerpt from the novel; BROKEN WIND by Brandon Awbrey (C) 1992 CHAPTER ONE WASHINGTON D.C. January 21st On January 21st, the day after the presidential inauguration, Our new president's first full day in office, a lone terrorist blew the dome off of the United States Capitol. None of the thousands of arm- chair sleuths across America could fathom a conspiracy theory on that afternoon. The CIA was as surprised as anyone else, and the metaphorical grassy knoll was occupied by Japanese tourists snapping photographs of the entire event. It wasn't more than ten minutes after the disaster that one of those Japanese tourists, A Tokyo contractor, was devising plans to make the reconstruction of America's house of democracy a multi-national venture. It all started very calmly. A red late model Ford F-150 pick-up truck drove up Pennsylvania Avenue. The truck had Iowa plates and there was a Yahmaha dirt bike standing upright in its bed. Nothing odd about that. Maybe, say, a tourist travelling cross country with an aim to ride all of the dirt trails of the East Coast. It was just slightly past noon, and the streets of Washington were filled with traffic. Elected and appointed officials in limos going out to posh restaurants at the tax-payer's expense. Federal employees rushing to the nearest McDonald's, scarfing Big Mac's and then rushing back to work, trying to beat the boss back, hoping the boss would be in a receptive mood for bureaucratic ass kissing, dreaming of the day when they too would have access to public funds. Tourists thrived in and around the National mall, a new President hence a new Washington. Most of them came a day early if they wanted to see a real change. A day later the skyline of D.C. would more accurately reflect the state of the nation. The truck pulled over and parked illegally in front of the Botanic Garden. The driver got out and looked up and down the street. He was a tall man with an imposing figure and long straight black hair. He wore cowboy boots and a long woolen overcoat, a pair of wayfarers that weren't need on the overcast winter day, and a pair of leather gloves that were. He turned towards the Capitol, stuck his right arm out with his thumb turned up, checking the angle and distance. He then sprang into the bed of the truck, and sighted with thumb again. Satisfied, he turned and kick started the dirt bike. Then he removed the webbing from the end of the bed that covered the place where the back flap had been removed. A police car pulled up next to the truck, and the police officer yelled through the window, "Hey, buddy, you gotta move! That's a fire zone." The driver of the truck turned to the officer and smiled. He then reached inside of his coat and pulled out a Colt .45 automatic and shot the officer through the forehead. The officer fell on his steering wheel, and the horn of the police car sounded a dead tone, a sorry but appropriate swan song for the beat cop only six days away from retirement. The man then lifted a five foot long black metal tube from the bed of the truck and hefted it onto his right shoulder. He pulled a trigger on the device and it sent a high-explosive anti-tank missile flying towards the dome. Three seconds later the dome of the Capitol collapsed. By that time, the man was already on the motor bike and racing down the Mall towards the Potomac River. At the Lincoln Memorial he shot and killed a young woman waiting in traffic to cross the river. He threw her out onto the sidewalk and drove her car, a Toyota Celica, across the bridge and into Arlington, Virginia. The car was found an hour later in a convenience store parking lot. Inside, the Arlington police found three more dead bodies. By two o'clock the F.B.I. was processing over a hundred photos of the suspect. By 2:30 they had a positive I.D. on the suspect. The suspect was Captain John Hollis Wind of the Army Special Forces, Absent Without Leave from his training post in Japan. At three o'clock our new President declared the capture of John Hollis Wind a national emergency. He authorized the use of Military Personnel in a man hunt that stretched from Georgia to New York. He temporarily suspended habeas corpus on the Interstates in Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania and Tennessee. A small private hanger in Vienna, Virginia was broken into sometime that evening. A single engined Cesna was missing when the crime was discovered, three days later. ****that's it brothers and sisters. Send in mo stuff for next time. Soon. no wait. just let me know if you want it edited or just fondled. Lots of weird spelling, grammar in this one. If you meant it, that's cool. If you don't know no better, well, then, let me help you along. M.M.