You are on page 1of 50

....- ' ' . , ...... _1 , . ' .

. .. .:. : :-
t -. .,--
.. : ; .. . .. ;-:_.....:".. ' . --.
. :.-_._; .... ;.':
turn up the gain
it's springing.
issue seven.
the summer issue
june 1992
edited by
richard martin
and m. austin t arbox
with assistance
by a. cook
cover by richard martin
we thank boylan c olor copies
in downtown mystic
for their excellent service .
submissions, letters, and correspondence
of any sort may be addressed1
hozomeen press publications
p .o. box 174
mystic, ct
4 dance
9 scott sawyer
11 christopher gallagher
13 kherdtice
17 ramona
20 robert d. mancey
24 sawyer
27 music
31 tara vendill
32 f.
34 kevin debell
41 kat
45 kill yr television
~ , ,
--- "'
As time passes, the baaan condition
evolves to a aore abstract dimension.
Applying this concfpt of time to an
historical perspective, ve see that
socifty is gradually moviaq towards a
hyperrealization of its older order,
towards an abstract inteqration of the
past to formulate a new and abstracted
This acceleration of the abstracted
reality into the prfsent is an obvious
process with an obvioas end. Throughout
history, the ~ u R a n species has evolved to
higher and higher iotegrations of the
abstract consciousness. Consider the
developaent of algebra, the subsequent
developRent of calculus, and the eventual
conception of General Relativity. The
moveaent of coomuoication technology to a
hyperrealistic state has allowed the
huaan aind to transgress the limitations
of the physical, such as the concrete
boundaries of distance, and qain an
effectual transcendence of time and
space. Your telephone can access any
other telephoae on the planet. In Europe
in the Kiddie Aqes, veil over ninety
. perce1t of te populace did not leaYe a
' ten 1ile radios in their lifetimes. To
predict the next destination of
coaaonication, this function of the
movement of technology may be
extrapolated, whereby the arrival
destination aanifests itself in an
ethereal state.
Likewise, the movement of artistic
intent and composition has followed the
routes of abstraction. The coaaunication
of art has qradually proqressed into a
highly abstract epoch. This aovement is
most visible when one considers the
discovery of the vanishing point and
perspective, then the flirtations with
tiue and individual per ception known as
iopresslon!sa, and penultiaately, the
iaaersion of art into the realas of
abstract expressionisa, ain ima lisa, and
the modernisns.
Musical efforts have also rapidly
approached the abstract hype rreality of
post modernistic developaent in the
twentieth century. The electrification
of primitive express ional instruaents
further moved the arts of 1osical
expression, inherently an abstract fora,
towards the oltiaate he ights of
abstract reality. Electricity could
universalize the expression, vhereby 10re
of the population could becoae part of
the thought, and whereby the thought
could pervade the reality to an unpreced-
ented extent. The acquirement of
electronic fluency brooqht about the
advent of recording technology, whereby,
lite the invention of the written
language, and later the printing press,
the art fora could usurp ti ae.
Later, as recording technologies
allowed the reproductions to essentially
clone the original, the concept of
originality vas negated and erased.
Through the use of crystalline digital
expression, there vould be no more
originals . Saapling vou ld dictate the
new cutup reality.
Along with the aovement towards a
utopian abstract with recording tech-
nologies (soon there would be holograph
conferencinq, climatic acoustical
reproductions, touch hallucination
technology, and fiber optics, cabling
pure digital iaages of cloned hyper-
reality to absolutely anywhere, anytime),
there caae the reproductive technologies
of the coaputer and its arcane abilities
to manipulate tbese digital images and
thns control the confusion. Few peopl e
understood tbe significance of John Cage
and lraftvert, and the early visual
imagery of Pong and Pac-Han. Few people
sav beyond the glitter of these kinetic
novelties to comprehend the implications
of the emerging hyper-reality. As Peter
Railey determines in his essay, RNote s
on Abstraction, 'Each era beco1es a
hyperrealization of the preceding era,
(and) ... is assigned the (nevi value of
Thus, the tore a sense of history an
individual in the systea has acquired,
the less volDerable is that
from unexpected cultural and technologi-
cal events which may leave one floun-
dering in the new abstraction . If this
evolution is ignored, then changes to the
system cause disorientation and isolat-
ion. Kore and more elderly are turning
to the safety of the television screen
constant as a haven from tbe terrors of
tbe new wave.
The young, raised in front of the
devices, many spending considerable
fractions o[ their days before these
machines, are served a Static Kov, which
unlike the !ov of the Beats, the
Ex istentia l ists, and the Abstract
Expressionists, is always a ao1ent
behind, always tbe derivative of the New
and 1ore abstract Kov. The viewer is a
capti ve observer with no sense of
historical perspective. Any previous
historical knowledge is forgotten beneath
the static glow of the tantalizing image
box. The Static lov is dependable and
does not sw1 to change. Only, for
instance, vhen the elderly co1plain of
and nore sexual content on the image
aachine, is the viever consulting an
historical perspective (consulting
conditioned 1oral codes vhich reflect a
past and thus sote other Nov), and
transcending the Static Nov offered for
the viever's static tranquility. But
the younger viewers have no other reality
to consult. The ir Nov, a history of
cereal commercials and reruns since
childhood, is Static and thus invariably
addicting and pleasurable, since the
Static Nov gives the same linetic
illusion as the Now, but is al ways a step
behind. The life itself is a rerun, just
as real as Gilligan on a desert island.
Gilligan viii always be on a desert
island. And thus the aachine viewer viii
forever be a mute observor, oblivious to
any 'real' reality transpiring around
The revolution of integrated
abstractions vill shoct sone. They do
not tnov the workings of the computer
the electronic credit system,
or even the video phone. They have never
bothered to grasp even the rud iment s of
the old telephonic technology, let alone
the nev. They have been qradually sur -
rounded and encapsulated by these things
are a aystery. The seeaed so
innocent at first, but the magicians had
not yet desired control. And like the
elderly still be wildered by reaote
control, subservience viii dominate.
Life is moving toward abstract.
period vhich eaerges after nodernis
is obsessed vith the aagic of technology,
rather than vith the form of the
technology. Whereas modernist
cultural obsession vas the game sbov, the
construction of radio kits and models,
and other interactive pursuits vith
technology and fact, the next obsession
involves technology's domination: a
surrendered trust to the magic of
This obsession viii only intensify,
like an addicti on . Exeaplified by the
neon flux o[ Tokyo and the glitter of
Tiaes Square, the next cultural and
artistic peri od viii include many
Victorian elements, such as a century ago
when electric la1ps and telegraphs fir st
arrived to transform the planet. The new
chapter of the technological age vii i
consist of illus ion and iaagery, and the
first effectual defeat of tine. This age
viii be characterized by a miniaalist,
electronic approa ch to the Victorian
style. The po lari2ation of the vorkinq
class against the adainistrative class
will farther heighten Victoria n
As this rea lity, too, is abstracted,
the information age will cliRax and
comunication wi ll become dimensionless.
The occurances after this point
inevitably para llel or contradict the
account of the Tover of Babel. (the
anqelic illuminations of tbe apocalyptic
aquarius). The druD 1achines are here to
tell the tale.
-by n. austin tarbox
To raise the Dead
Static noise of conver sation
Echoing through a comfortable tomb .
Don ' t much like these sounds .
Much r a ther the bark of the shot
scott sawyer
tearing through midnight ' s streets with screams
Or cries of gulls over the changing tides
Or the hero i n the child boasting lonely .
Skel etal hands of the long dead
Guiding through a comfortable tomb .
I would prefer a crowd
of murderers and arc hitects
and pirates and savants
All gods feasting on their children
A genious sits alone
His room s mells
of stale beer
and eat ' s piss
The wind bl ows hard from
Raging storms of dust
the fog will not come
in the night accompanied
the murders by dim
the east
gas lamps
a lighter at the end of summer
sitting on my shelf USELESS
a weary dog
(maybe once a golden retriever)
The kings and wise men are old and too l ate
to defend their fortresses and cities .
Come , let us kil l this age old peace.
The color is
The fire is
Unto Altaforte to the drum.
Come , I am the Mannish King
Killer of peace
I need no champion
For I would have no followers
Through the shadow
Over The Waste Land
Our legions will ride
With us at the vanguard
to make this world crimson.
christopher gallagher
Half-Tab Flock Now
Birds scream some unknown call
alarm in the fourth hour of the moon
All of nature begins to wilt
Then dies as if it never existed
Vast expanse saturates the eye
leaving room for nothing else
On through the night the feathered army
in search of the holy grail
Toward the latitudes of solitude
To shatter the last remaining silence
With a shriek in unison.
"memory" , photoetching by matthew mclaughlin
naked through
of letters.
The blistering
and stale air
No thing
rushed past
my ears:
the breeze
threatening to
rip them off
as I effortlessly
Mach 2 .
Words fly by
The more I brake ,
the faster they tear
towards a mors el
in my mind
relegated to
choking like death
on phrases and
I cannot
block is the
only thing
I'm allowed to carry
in this
Sitti ng By Myself
beside railroad tracks ,
I feel a queer sense
of complacency.
iron corrodes and copies
newyorknewyork .
connections trace
voyages and grandeur .
pennies that i have placed
hum as cars
full of souls
pass my station,
the sandy spit on which
embrace my
stoop .
hozomeen's chunky
stands of elm
and gothic slopes beckon
from across sandy s l its
of choppy veins and arteries ,
separating truth from myself .
As i turn away ,
the warm radiation
of sun washed coal
spits up my life
on my hands ,
for all to see .
into submission
r eminds me
of indian burns ,
as the pink
flesh becomes
flushed and
charred by constant
Memories cascade
onto my lips ,
my practice of
torture and
The pink
does not
back into
lumps of
but rather
assume t he
visage of what i s
construed to
be its
Rising over the jagged float of hill's c rest,
measuring steps like baking cookies,
like an experiment
in sprawling sprouted gr een bent shivering at air -
at colorless wind blown sideways in April.
Distanced, there are two feet misplaced tangled, rinsed ,
pierced by grass ,
pale fingers spilling, sorting through each other ' s hair;
their mouths: dry, cool , lips whitened noses touching
freckles and stones beneath them embedded, impervious to w e i g h ~ .
could be pain;
but they are young and dreamy - clear
water over crystal over ice, distilled. They are
tearing the heads off of dandelions ,
flushed so deeply like sky,
trying to discover something secret.

:.:: elf : ~ o r t r a i t

robert d. ma.ncey
the hibernation
of the smokelung slipknot
the selfish fix
life is taking you
twice as long
and you forget
you once told me
let us not drown
in our own deception
(if we can only end our pollution!)
in victorialand
the crystalline minds
of lucid meditation
flux and flow
In moon and windowpane
you spelled a word
on a wooden
and cast the letters
there was a silence
and you were stoned
and there was a s il ence
and you were stoned
and your determination
and all that was l eft
was the ashes.
1, , ..
- ~ - .
: J ...
" ~ ~ ~
-- ~ .: ~ ... _ \
;_-- ~ t $ - .
.; .:.... ' . ('
Seventeen Relics
hereafterthis e.p .
five song cd and cassette
shecky records, mystic , p.o. box 21 .
right off , you know that this band has
aspirations beyond the local Soundwaves
fare - the compact disk features a
colored three fold insert with evocative
american imagery , rather than the typical
band snapshot . the outside images display
an abandoned tractor, its steering wheel
protruding through forest vine and foliage .
the ins ide images , also by mystic photo-
grapher mc l aughlin, magnify the outside
theme with silhouettes of branch and leaf
amidst an etherial wash . i dwell on the
cover because not only is it superior to
the art on most big label products, but the
images evoke precisely the atmosphere of
the recording.
the disk itself must be treated as one
complete piece , from the lysergic chaos
of the intro vocal sample , to the final
moments of reconciliati on in damp ' s
denouement .
the first song , swineing lisa , takes us
straight into the recording with an urgent
and unrelenting beat , complemented by alex
pellish ' s trademark g uitarwork, which blends
the tyrannical with the euphonious, crossing
distortion and melody . the bass g uitar ,
played by dave bentley , offers a transcendent
undercurrent to the rhythm, and drives the
of lisa behind fitzgerald' s desperate
pleadinr.s for tranquility . in the midst of
the track , all hell breaks out , until
fitzgerald broods nos talg ic into an unsettled
azalea moves the e . p . further into fraGile
retrospection, with scintillating
.strings which offset the fear imposed by the
electric . as the song climaxes, the two
unite into joyous reminiscence as michael ' s
~ 8
vocals embrace bitter ecstacies of the past.
azalea is one of the most beautiful songs
which the relics have written to date.
the tempo quickens into illinois, with rich
freitas supplying an irresistable dance
rhythm. percussion and vocals, given ample
space thanks to a simple melody, emphasize
motion in the various' conversations,
mementos, obiter dictum.
hereafterthis turns darker with the vicious
darwinism, with a guitarline rooted in
sarcasm, and wry lyrics twisted with enmity.
the song takes an unexpected turn after a
wrenching motion towards implosive frustra-
tion, and offers an awkward guitar solo
which leaves the listener more abandoned than
perhaps bewildered. the riff is stylistically
sincere , yet emotionally untimed. darwinism
resumes into a gloomy post violent brood.
overall, the track is profoundly brutal and
inspiring with its dark truths.
the final song , damp, lifts the recording to
a state of healing repose, aided with acoustic
guitar and the candid voice of pellish. like
azalea , damp displays the high g race of the
relics, and complements the more abrasive and
danceable tracks on the disk. a reversed
g uitar track concludes the song , hypnotic,
making the peace whole'
"i'm entranced, i rest my mind . "
the e.p. blends the relic's acoustic and club
atmospheres into heightened states of tens ion
and release, lendinF, the recording a euphoric,
live feel. the band , on hereafterthis, and at
their most recent shows , have broken from any
youthful wanderings which may have affected
their earlier water e . p ., and are now poised
to explode into the mainstream with their
wholly original rock and roll sound .
hereafterthis will make you gnash your teeth,
cast a g lance to the sky, and throug hout,
make you move your feet, and smile .
-by m. austin tarbox
. l
tara vendill
pallor of vanishing interest,
tantam0unt concern,
dry waiting.
notion of the obscure,
prompted rushing,
flower of solitude,
the cockcrow grove,
waterlimbs drop,
that which stalks,
now brooding
(the impact is startling)
-the breif shower,
commencment of the
eye follows col ored evol ut ion,
near skyed meadow.
DISEMBARKthe automobile after mile long drive
miles of long nonstop drivin9.
-im not listening to those damn gregorian chants again .
-its taking affect, maybe you should drive.
after the short parking lot walk, therough sparkle grey pavement
and the bold yellow of line stickers, complex appears in front of the th
three men. they are:green the redbearded, one with many pockets;
doctor s . proliferater of large sums of money; and estragon, wearee
of hoods, and .green is ahead of the toother two, the scout. tar
-tao tap of the doctors black crooked cane in the cement.
the complex looms spiderlike in the foreground thin stone walls fall frc
from the circular roof. flying buttresses suppourt the no11
that the walls have crumbled. green stands at the axis, mosaic radiating
around him, crusty and dust from years of abandonment. the doctor and es
esrtagon follow. their footsteps parallel! and synchronized.
green runs up the path above, they catch up. organisms of all sorts
line the dry brown of the path.cats mingle in through the roots
and trunks of leaves and green glass veins glisten in th
the cool sun .
theyre furter along the path now stopping to comtemplate a
flower.-notice the viscosity of the petals, and look. the stamen .
-good observation doctor, did you notice the tendrills?
the path opens on a clearing xk trunks of trees bleed -skyward, leaving w
wide open spot in the forest a hole in the atmosphere exposes
a clear view of the haevens. nothing mi but black, the light of the
the stars has not yet reached . field and meadow flowers growing within it
estragon about looking down, finds a small
pink stuffed animal, freshly discarded or iost.
-itsapiglxet- green says .
the doctor examines it and confirms green;s statement.estragv0n
places the piglet in his pocket with his atomizer and pipe .
-lets picnic here-suggests the doctor, as he spreads out the blanket
and takes his food from a brown paper bag ..
green extracts a green flask from his coat,passes it around, and
finally takes a drag . licks his beard, and ckloses his eyes.
at this time, estragon has been walking about the clearing
gently rubbing the piglet in hid pocket.he turns to see the others have
finished their lunches, and have moved on.he walks on into the forest.
estragon traverses thropugh thre woods , and hits another
path.he realizes, after walking along it for some time,
that it is a in fact a died up river bed, dried crack of the bottom
dead plant and plankton
blue he imagines if suddenly the water would
he left swept by the time. estragon walks toward the wider.the stream
bed opens into a a pondbottom, machinery drowned long ago is
vtsible, rust and the corrosion. sheer face of the cliff ahead. its surf
identiacal to that of the sk path, as if the river had run
vertically then back down to the horizontal. . "' finds ..: :1 old
metal ladder along the shoreline, and climbs it . the height of this vert
is innense, the top is not visible in the failing light.
estragon reaches the ladder top and steps onto a two inch plate of
plexiglassthe edges are blue . green shouts to him neancrethal.
he is wielding the doctores cane, holding i ts base , and shakilg it
violently over his head like a sword . . e. jokns the two on the above.
straight down is blank bright the glows uypward from the from under the
bodies contrasted sharplu to thr dying light .

kevin debell
Feminist Jazz
It would be good
I do think we should
I wish that we would
hold each other
work on the weather
spread our butter together
We ought to walk in the rain
throughout Jamaica Plain
forget all the pain
create some of same
react without shame
Let us talk about the damage
Wreckage of this body
Let us mmmmoooooooove and
shhhhhshsssshhshake and
llllaughaughaughlaughg i gglegi ggleg i ggle
our bellies out
Let's go girl come on
this is no parttime jobber
Ge t it straight
Get it good
I am a girl
I am all girl
I am gonegonegone
Oak l eaveE
tumbling l
(odd how l
But justic
except upE
on a s acre
You and I
In a house
Quiet , eac
to avoid j
For this j
for tonigl'
I never know how to leave you
Without sneaking like a thief
slinking along plaster walls
You speak in tones, a vulgar chinese
mere hints twisted from paint and despair
guttural and abortive.
Dual abortions not washed out
with so many walks
in Boston's loneliest streets,
on floorboards laid between cold walls .
Unfailingly I forget
I can come back
I will be back
I walked out
the night before last,
shifty, humming to the slop
of my unleavened feet.
Plodding through drowned leaves
close to frozen in the cruddy curb .
The rain had been falling for days .
'I cannot hide,
be in the night!'
I s tarted toward home.
Pressure's Distribution
Oak leaves been blown,
unmulched in Betsy ' s Backyard
tumbling under hung laundry
(odd how I mention her now )
But justice is hard to find
except upstairs
on a sacred island:
You and I were ordained here, no?
In a house quite our own,
Quiet, each wide plank a promise
to avoid in the dark .
For this is the room we own
for tonight my l ove.
The crusted corpse of this planet
roars with infernal energy.
The red forces are at work
bellowing in the smokey places
hurling heat at the surface
I ' m screeching.
Lava and the present corrosion
tell me these things have happened,
The thunderous dar k murmuring regions
ride a pl astic belt
to crash on the beach of simple heroes .
The horizon is a channel now
I watch limpid monkeys swing
Handoverhanding through deep fern
A faunal enl i ghtenment
upon these ascetic shores
Further , drums
beat from the blood
I am swooning
muscle busting my buttons
I cannot explain
why the lost lands are crashing
why I ' ve thought only of grain
since I arri ved.
Bare tan winds
Spill along sprouts of grain
Tilling not words or wealth
But a mission in stone
unlike those of the lands I left
Now I have dug these grounds
the king ' s gone underground
Some conquest .
Still , watching from the sand
this is my land
Yes, the crashes are my landscaper
and my children, dusty,
do not know wh i ch mountain they own
So bright , it may l ay hidden
for a generation, a birth
a bloody and difficult , laborious birth
soaked in mucus spit bl ood
godforsaken and sexed ,
these years .
The slim channel closes
the continents crumbl e
Hybrid birds shriek in trees .
collage by richard freitas
i wait in line
everyone waits
some smoke
wishing time
i don't know why
leaning against the outside wall
it's cold
i want in
everyone wants in
the doors open
a nest of skin
it's warm
charged emotion
reason to stay
everyone knows
bright lava
we sweat
the music
thick rainbow sound
on us
thin light
my body
bedroom floor
tender pale fingers
enveloped in gold
melting ovals
melting .
tripping you
over my heart's
i looked
up from below
as your hands
turned to pearls
i watched
the red blood
from behind
until everything
. . > - . ( ~
. .
.. ' ..
,' - . .
J .
"'! ' , , ,
. -. /A.
I ,
\ ".t"(,
. I
burroughs by s awyer
5:30 ann the traffic outbof Hartforr is The way ahean is clear
m aybe a two lane for kicks. The music t hrobs: ''FLY AWAY HOME". A 'Pproachinp;
seventy now ann a silly cow pulls her Astrovan into the passinp; lane. Is she
to save me or make me the posten It matter, the very lane
for slow vehicles ix (or the turbo lane, as I call it) is empty to the top of the
mountain. Swing ham by the two cars immen1ately into the
left. All they XXKXJ(ll'X see is "KILL YOUR TELEVISION" on the back of the silver
''Kill Your Television" is more than 1t seems, Three little worns(maybe a haiku?).
The first brings to minn Death. The seconn, "You;n-", is very personal. Ann Television
is the new opiate for America. ''DEATH TO YOUR AMERICA" is how it shouln rearl,
It is not just a silly little bumpersticker, it is a battle cryl One that shouln
be hearn mote often - ann it will.
A psychic (r)evolution is at hanr, The whole worln is at relative peace ann this
a phenoninom that those in power (only because of the state of the worlr

when they were growing up) never even nreamt about let alone plarl for. Thge Colrl
War is over WXrl:x''What is the next step, Presirlent?" Or 1-':r. Canrliarlte, as the press
shouln be everyrlay to each of the runner s . Make them think about itt Don't
sit still ann worry about who fucken who ann which smoker! what. There are far more xxB
important things to worry about. Saving the rest of the planet sounns like a
goon place to start.
There are farmers in this count.ry who are actually to rlestroy their harvests
by them in rivers so that the price of spinich stays high .That is so stuoir
ann just rlemonstartes that the government has tocmuch control
ann is too narrow-minrled to the big picture. Anrl what is the big picture?
Lifel Goclnamn it, not profit. People are
So it is time for a in American policy ann internal philosophy.
I offer two choices. There are more, but somethionp: must break anr is
esse.ntial. Stayinp: with our current policy of colrlness is like watching a purlrlle
stagnate ann evaporate.
My first suggestion is to let the Feneral Government worry about the worln and
let the States dictaee the people of the USA. Less Feneral Governmaent in my life
makes me feel a little more free to pursue happiness. But thjey are too oln to
(which is the beauty of this country - ann to heavily in debt
to it to even think about changing tt the game, Like mad bad gamblers, Let the Fens
run the world, or, even better yet, ( and this is the second choice) give more
power to the UN ann let the Federal Government of the United States of America
run America exclusively (which makes sense, right? ) . One or the other. If the
Fed went global, the states would have more power closer to the people. The people
then would have more power
So, back to the point (with my apologies as I am given to
Your Television. America should cut back on industry and move
it off shore and kick up the agriculture, If every family were requiren to
food it would be This way, the business of farm,ng would be forced to
export (there by feening others) as the domestic demand would drop off, If you
need a rhudabaga, just go see Nancy Olsen down the block, I hear she groes really
big ones , Bring a couple of potatoes as trane,
Barter needs to come back in style, Barter is more of a recycling event then a
currency matter. That would also help to tone down the industrial needs by
the demand for stupid plastics for wrapping and packaging. America neens less to
get more, Less plastic less money less lann rape less missing lakes with 55 2allon
drums stuck in the revealed bottom mud,
KILL YOUR TELEVISION. less mindless wasten hours doing nothing but decomposing
in the radiation bath, Less cancer, I bet. Less energy neened less expensive power

power! less demand, Power of the If everyone stopped watching
Dragnet everynight on Nick , Two two things would happen: at Night would stop
airing it you probably wpulnn't watch the next show either because that
mean interrupting the Scrabble game or putting nown the book , Alot of people woulr
look out of thier winnows ann actually see the Some even venture out
into it an<' maybe a few of them would met rllilfferent people!
Well, more than t wo things woulrl happen , but I rlinn't want to scare you ,
is easy.
A frienn's mother gets on me about my life. She is a teacher. Her television is
always on, She, who sits insine with the shudders drawn watching TV is not haopy
wi th my life?!? Ridiculous . go out ann confront it. I walk where I shouldn't
and dare life to keep up. I move rlean rlucks off the roan ann I know which homeless
really neerls MY dollar . I.=SUCK-l-1ARROW-LIFE.
Getting back to RT 2 homewarrl bound from Hartforrl , I wonrler what those people think
when I blow past them Xk with the cry for emblar.ener on the back of my
foriegn-mane car . Asshole, probably. But later on, at home, no you think they tali
the kids or give it a second thought at all7 I hope so . Easy to remember. Catchy
too , Alot more meaningful than "I SUPPORT OUR TROOPS n; THE GULFu which
easily be incorperaterl into the plerlge of allegiance, (I remeber having to wite the
Plerlge in second grade as a punishment. What was she thinking? "You are part of
the greatest country in the wor lei , , learn to hate i ti", rn.aybe 7)
"Shut off the telly and talk to me" a wife says to her husbanr . A marriage saver..
They were still young ann coulrl feel love,

Related Interests