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CONTENTS I. News II. Culture III. Features IV. Self-Sufficiency V. Literature ------News ------American Psychological Association Sleep Study May 9, 2007 WASHINGTON - The APA has recently completed a survey showing a correlation between technological progress and the average amount of sleep individuals get per night. The study shows a nearly perfect relationship between the amount of television sets purchased in the 1950's and the average amount of sleep lost per individual after televisions were adopted in most American households. Similar trends were observed in the 1920's with the arrival of radio and in the 1990's with computers. Researchers noted that the decline of sleep can be traced to the Industrial Revolution and the railroad industry, which began the standardized work day of waking up in the early morning for backbreaking work as an expendable peon. While experts suggest that teenagers from ages 15-19 need between 8 1/2 to 10 hours of sleep a day, reports show that on average teens get a total of 6 and 7 hours. The same holds true for adults, who need around 8-9 hours of sleep for full functionality. This means that there is literally an epidemic of "teenage sleep zombies" and coffee-addicted adults living their lives with a minimum of cognitive awareness and higher levels of stress, anxiety, depression, and impaired judgment. Researchers cited the early waking hours, noisy streets in larger cities, air pollution, over socialization, and depression as the main causes of progress-induced sleep deprivation. "While it's true that we're getting 3 hours of less sleep than a hundred years ago," Dr. Mendelstein of the American Psychological Association said, "we're also in a much better time period. Losing three hours of sleep is nothing compared to our television, computers, safety, longer life spans, and freedoms." Dr. Mendelstein advises us that science will solve the problem of sleep deprivation in the future. Dr. Mendelstein believes his new book, "Dreams for the Future: Taming Night and Taming Nature," might be the key to a future depreciation of sleep aided by science. Psychologists recommend getting the appropriate amount of sleep every night to function at full capacity. However, some researchers cautioned against using drugs. Dr. Tom Kaczynski of Harvard University's Psychology department warns, "While sleeping pills may be desirable for restless workers, they withhold REM sleep and remove the purpose of sleep in the first place. It seems you

can't fight progress with progress." -=Militant Gay Rights Group Vow Retribution May 15th 2007 NEW YORK, NEW YORK - This morning the 'American Gay Rights Enforcement Army' have released a press statement promising "violent retaliation against civil and governmental bodies." The statement comes following a recent public outcry after eight-year-old Randy Norton, a resident of New York, discovered sexually explicit videos on a newly bought media player purchased from a Crazy Benny Electronics store in Brooklyn last Thursday. The content of the videos reportedly involved numerous homosexual males engaging in lurid acts that have been described by Norton's parents as "perverse", "appalling" and "revolting". The event resulted in public "anti-gay rallies" and religious marches against children being exposed to sexual material. The official statement from the AGREA read: "We at AGREA are deeply angered by this collective outcry of disgust from the American public against man-man love! "We believe what this child witnessed is a thing of beauty and the male homosexual community should not be penalized for this misplaced videotape. Man-man love is a holy embrace and exchange of the masculine qualities. Its acceptance and proliferation in popular culture is the greatest of ideals we hope to achieve in our democratic society. It is every mans right to have sex with other men anywhere and anytime they so chose if it is consensual. It is nobody's right to deny sexual intercourse between two consenting beings be they man-man, man-boy or man-animal. "These recent oppressions highlight the bigotry ever present in American society, we therefore declare war in the name of our chosen lifestyle. The path to tolerance shall be paved with blood of the oppressors! If it requires violent retaliation against civil and government bodies for our voice to be heard, so be it! "Until we have the rights to sodomy upheld, no one may sleep safe!" Tim Norton, Randy Norton's father and a steelworker from Manhattan who is a self confessed "recovering homosexual" had this to say about his sons discovery and the recent AGREA statement. "It hurts me to say it but for fifteen years I lived as a homosexual man in Queens. I was confused and doing a lot of coke and heroine and I turned to sodomy to lessen my psychological pain. I am not proud of my actions but I am a different man now, I have a beautiful wife and four children with another on the way and I am proud to say my erections when seeing attractive males has drastically reduced in the past six years. I understand homosexual culture having been one for so long and I am appalled by this AGREA statement. It completely undermines the deep psychological pain my son has endured in watching these acts. He has been asking me lewd questions ever since about his genitalia and its purpose! This video has also completely stripped my planned fatherly, "birds and the bees" talk with my son and has introduced him back first

to the culture I thought I escaped ten years ago. AGREA should be ashamed for hoping my boy sees more of this. He will already have enough problems if he learns I was once a member of this community!" A leading commentator on the gay rights movement, Dr. Neusbaum of Harvard University, had this to say about the AGREA statement, "The problem for many years has been a lack of institutionalized integration of gays into the American social, working and educational environment. This failure on behalf of the American Government makes the recent outcry from AGREA more pressing and it highlights our misappropriation of the American homosexual community at large." With regards to quelling tensions between militant gay rights groups and the American public the Doctor had this to say: "children are the key to our future, through them we may instill and propagate values that may better lead to a future utopia. I believe utopia is possible and is not just the stuff of science fiction. This is why it is of the highest importance that children are exposed to homosexuality in all its diverse forms as early as possible. Acceptance is key for the utopia. The sooner the children learn to tolerate all lifestyles equally, the better." ---------Culture ---------Music: Artist: Jordi Savall Album: The Medieval Fiddle Label: Auvidis (1994) Memories from a time now lost echoes throughout this highly emotive music. Folk songs of epic scale are painted upon a canvas of medieval spirit. Jordi Savall manages with great feeling to evoke ancient culture and ways of dealing with existential issues that always have plagued humanity. These special moments of lament and awe are expressed through a cold and empty room of sound, where silence infiltrates between the occasional percussive sections. As such, "The Medieval Fiddle" offers the feeling of isolation in its listening experience. Melodies coming from a soft fiddle often reoccur throughout the songs and serve as the main musical themes; they establish a general mood in the listener through high and low volume accentuations. However while Jordi gravitates towards dominant melodic themes, he occassionally builds on the basic melody in order to temporarily move away from the original musical theme of the song, and it is in these moments of transition that the music feels the most profound and entrancing. Fans of Dead Can Dance will experience this album as authentic and inspiring. They will no doubt notice the beginning of "Saltarello" from a classic DCD album. Where many songs are filled with sorrow and contemplation, others celebrate the virtues of rich folk culture. The tense moments built up in songs like "Ritual" and "Dansa de les

espases" most often depend on the perfect balance between the fiddle and the dark sounds of tribal drums that form the basic rhythm throughout this piece. While musically it may not be able to compete with the more advanced structure of compositions found in medievalist bands like Dead Can Dance, Jordi Savall's "The Medieval Fiddle" still remains highly emotional, authentic and honest. This is as close as you can come to the expression of a lonely and aspiring individual, both engaging wildly in cultural bonds, and experiencing the gloomy sides of a life that in this age stand between poverty and happiness. - Alexis -=Artist: Tangerine Dream Album: Sorcerer Label: MCA (1977) In the late 70's, Tangerine Dream was asked to produce the sound track for William Friedkin's film "Sorcerer." The endevour ended up turning into a full length album, which today is somewhat of a classic example of the band moving into mainstream grounds, yet still preserving the genius of their early career. The music on this album is a more refined, simple, melodic style than the music found on earlier works. In "Sorcerer" Tangerine Dream follow exotic melodic schemes to dictate the overall mood of the listening experience, but they do this liberally enough for each piece of the music to become a part of something larger. Gone are the half-hour long journeys of endless tempo changes and experimenting with harmony, melody and polyphonic rhythm. Instead the music remains very basic: synth loops run through a synthesizer, collaborating with a simple key melody that is recycled, accompanied with sound fillers to create a predictable counterpart in effect. The music becomes passive in order to serve the film, but at the same time it contains glimpses of a life of its own and this is where the album stands out as an experience all its own. Luring, adventurous patterns sneak upon the listener and feel immediately rewarding, despite its very minimalist nature. The actual problem with this album is that the form is split and each piece of the music isn't interconnected with the others to form one long musical experience. Instead the parts and fragments of music are tied to specific events in Friedkin's movie. Moments where pieces fulfill their role as existentially significant, are also the highlights of this album and the parts that ultimately make this a rewarding listening from time to time; the music is brave, shifting in character and also carries a sense of vague but inherent beauty, which is a quality that always penetrates the work of this band. It is apparent on this album that Tangerine Dream at this point in their career were sliding back and were not creating music that is able to sustain the listener. Tangerine dreams used to be the equivalence of classical music in modern, electronic form, but instead on this album they try to find organic space by using confined compositonal methods to please the crowd that most likely never will be able to understand their earlier works. Being a late, directionless product and perhaps the mark that future albums would become intelligent but mass-produced fodder for retro-fans, "Sorcerer" is nonetheless an interesting gem in its context. -

Alexis -=Books: Title: "Next" Author: Michael Crichton Publisher: Harper Collins (2006) Crichton writes in the grey zone between literature, informative science-based books, and rippingly good pulp. In this novel, he takes his most literary approach, one reminiscent of Richard Dawkins re-writing "Naked Lunch," in which characters stumble through an uncertain world in several overlapping threads united by a common theme: the confrontation of humankind with genetic manipulation and the unintended consequences of manipulating a code we only partially understand. As literature, Crichton is a bit sloppy. His language remains consistent, and while functionally descriptive, isn't what one might call intense reading. His characters are often thin in a way that approaches a single dimension. When he gets into heavy drama, he's sometimes awkward. In this book he resolves that tension by writing it as a tour of different lives that only partially follows any one set of characters, although they overlap. It's the Quentin Tarantino-ization of an otherwise clinical style. Unlike most Crichton books, there are no characters who come to happy endings and no neat summary of the story at the end. It is a buffet of insights and tantalizing ideas, but no conclusions. This seems deliberate, both to promote an air of uncertainty about the book and to allow it to look at a complex issue without dumbing it down into Disney-style cause and effect in trite symbols. In this, Crichton seems ahead of any literature produced since the 1950s in America. Where he deviates from both literary fiction and pulp is what might be called "thematic ultra-realism," or the concept that books should be about ideas impacting the real world. Too much of American fiction at least is about the drama of characters reacting mutely to a world they do not attempt to understand, and in the name of "realism" that becomes greater drama. Since such characters need to move to a resolution, they start out hopelessly confused and living broken lives, and then magically bring themselves to a smiling pop princess press statement conclusion. Reality is different. Crichton is a political writer taking on science, or vice versa, and the sense of real impact is what gives this book a hook into our interest. His book shows us reality, not the inward drama of lost people, in both its good and bad. We see the wonders of science, and how they're abused for profit. We see the gentle and compassionate nature of people, and how that becomes their undoing. Most of all, we see warts and all a species that is not ready for its knowledge and cannot control itself, so stumbles from one disaster to another, unaware that cumulative damage increases. In this, Crichton should be praised as more of an artist than the "artists" who make fancy, smooth-reading, pompously egalitarian books

about nothing and everything. What did we learn from a character transcending his own heroin addiction to find religion in the beauty of rain under sunlight? Literature has become a self-help section which tells us to focus on ourselves and our drama, not the world. Crichton by contrast is a devil's advocate with a sharp whip who reminds us: we're in control of this world, and we need to start steering it more responsibly. Still, his prose is rooted in the pulp of both science fiction and popular science writings, so the book flies by and is sometimes unsatisfying. It is a story of ideas, and of the oddly emblematic situations Crichton weaves: turtles with corporate logos, human-chimpanzee hybrids, disease tracking markers and magic potions to change personality. Even more, it is a story that must be read "outside the story" to see the interactions between these developments producing a world that, it is hinted, we the reader still possessed of a soul might not enjoy. - Vijay Prozak -=Title: "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" Author: Robert Louis Stevenson Publisher: Penguin Books (2003) Long before Alfred Hitchcock gave Norman Bates a mad mother, before Freddy appeared at the movie screens in "A nightmare on Elm Street", and fearless Romanticists of the modern age could exclaim "I'm an other at night," Robert Louis Stevenson set out to shock the whole of Britain with psychological terror. Indeed, with his remarkable tale of psychological and criminal suppression, he managed to terrorize the unsuspecting readers, forcing them into a position of unrestricted selfreflection of moral and social transgression never before experienced. "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" tells of a lawyer named Utterson, whose friend Dr. Jekyll is experiencing troubles with an unknown individual called Mr. Hyde. When Utterson is given Jekyll's Will, explaining in detail how Mr. Hyde is supposed to inherit a large sum of money in the case of an eventual death or disappearance, he starts to feel that something is very wrong. As it turns out, Jekyll refuses to give out information on who his secret friend is and why he's so important. In the mean time, a gruesome murder of a man named sir Danvers Carew is revealed, and the murderer seems to be none other than Mr. Hyde himself. As the story expands through uncertain individuals and strange occurrences, lacking all sense of logical reasoning, the brutal truth is finally revealed; Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde are one and the same. Through his brilliant narrative way of pushing the boundaries of contemporary horror, Stevenson managed to unfold a gruesome depiction of man as dual in nature that sparked endless analyses on behalf of psychologists, Darwinists and Romanticists alike. In Stevenson's story, Jekyll is struggling with his evil side, which is trying to take over his good side, and become the dominant personality in both physical and abstract (thinking) expression. Making this process even more complicated, Jekyll is revealed not as "good" in opposition to Hyde as "evil", but as mere representation of the human individual as a whole, including Hyde (thus transcending the dualistic state from

which the story begins). While Jekyll is described as a handsome looking and well-tempered person with many friends, Hyde is seen the complete opposite: primitive, indulgent, amoral and liberal in individual expression. Hyde has no limits, and even takes pride and joy in crossing the morally and socially acceptable limits of society - both murdering innocent people and engaging in other untold blasphemies. What is interesting is Jekyll's extremely complicated relation to his "evil" side; while Hyde always has been a natural part of Jekyll (in the sense of urges that wish to be set free), Hyde is also a psychological creation of Jekyll's conflict with the collective conscious (society). "Jekyll had more than a father's interest; Hyde had more than a son's indifference. To cast in my lot with Jekyll, was to die to those appetites, which I had long secretly indulged and had of late begun to pamper. To cast it in with Hyde, was to die to a thousand interests and aspirations, and to become, at a blow and forever, despised and friendless." (Stevenson, Robert Louis, "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Other Tales of Terror", p. 63, Penguin Books) As Jekyll tries to hide his secret urges he automatically becomes ashamed of a natural part of himself and thereby works to form a growing bad conscious. This mechanism eventually grows to the point where Hyde gets loose, to free Jekyll from both his own and society's limits of social and moral acceptance. In other words, Jekyll is both "good" and "evil", which naturally places him in a dualistic state; but, as these are inseparable, Hyde is a part of Jekyll, and Jekyll is a part of Hyde - ultimately, there is no distinction. While this can be seen as a metaphor for the paradox between the abstract (Jekyll/social urges) and the material (Hyde/physical urges), where both depend on each other even if the latter is demonized as "evil", "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" is far deeper and more complex than this. Similar to what philosophical thinkers such as Nietzsche realized, our distinction between moral "good" and "evil" ultimately normalizes itself down to a neutral point of view, which is that of the emptiness found within feral nihilism. The more Jekyll tries to hide or demonize his natural urges (the acts and deeds committed by Hyde are simply narrative ways of further emphasizing this fact), the further his bad conscious and focus on evil(similar to how Judeo-Christian morality eventually becomes completely absobed by individual death and suffering, and in order to ventilate this internal conflict, becomes a virus, leading to psychological conflicts and physical expressions of amoral thinking) grows, until Hyde eventually destroys Jekyll from within. In other words, the moral and social outlook of both Jekyll and his social surroundings lead him to a state of complete nihilism, where Hyde is Jekyll, and Jekyll cannot survive with - or without - Hyde. While Stevenson's story about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde has led to endless debates in all aspects of science, evolutionary theory, class, and sexuality, our final understanding and learning from this baffling masterpiece in Gothic psychological horror is that a dualistic outlook on life is contra productive. There is no evil so great in this world that it does not carry elements of good, and while moral preaching's that demonize our natural urges and instincts may sound "reasonable"

and "ethical" in appearance, the actual progress of such thinking taken to pragmatic effects becomes devastating. In this sense, Jekyll was subject to the very laws of nature that he wished to escape through social means, and even though readers of "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" will even today find their hearts beating fast to the descriptions of a madman gone lose in the foggy city of London, the actual realization that Hyde lives within us all, and that we willingly choose to deny his very existence, is perhaps the most shocking of all truths derived from this unbelievable contribution to world-class horror art. -Alexis -=Cinema: Cannibal Holocaust Dir: Ruggero Deodato Release: 1980 Long before pseudo-documentaries like "The Blair Witch Project" had even been heard of, Ruggero Deodato began filming what would become one of the world's most famous horror movies ever made. The story is about three young filmmakers who travel deep into the Amazon jungle to make a documentary about cannibal tribes and their natural habits. Two months later they vanish. A professor from New York begins his journey to search for the missing filmmakers. The film takes us deep into the jungle where the law of nature still prevails and determines life and death. On his search, the professor becomes acquainted with different tribes of cannibals that live near riversides and beaches. He is first met with distrust and suspicion. Later on, he finds out that the cannibals have killed the filmmakers, something he cannot understand, but which surely must have something to do with the attitude of the tribes. While home, he's asked to hold a series of documentaries about the filmmakers and air the films that they shot while in the jungle. When exploring these films, the professor realizes the brutal truth: the filmmakers have burned down villages, raped women and killed animals. They have therefore been slaughtered and eaten by the tribes, as an act of pure revenge. "Cannibal Holocaust" is not your regular horror film. It's shot in the now-common "shockumentary" style, where the viewer is treated as beholder of a real documentary, giving the film an authentic feeling, as well as an uncertainty of what exactly is going on. This film often goes from theatrical to documentary type of shooting, where the latter serves as presentation of shocking material and is the main driving point behind the entire work. Many scenes are surprisingly brutal and rough, including actual killings of turtles, pigs and monkeys, as well as graphic depictions of rape, mutilation and slaughter. While this film shocks, it also brings up a subject of relevance: today there is a collision between traditional culture and Americanized consumer culture. We in the West often like to believe that our culture is the dominating and "civilized" one, but who is the real savage? Ruggero Deodato asks us this question in his portrayal of ignorant white teenagers burning down villages and raping women. It's

easy to condemn this film for provoking a feeling of cultural relativism, but this is not the case. On the contrary, "Cannibal Holocaust" seems to suggest that evolution is dynamic: each tribe organizes itself after its unique habitats and surroundings. The cannibal tribes use ancient rituals and strict cultural sacrifices in order to maintain a form of eugenic standard. The peoples of the Amazon jungle live close to nature and see it as its God. When the filmmakers intrude on their natural environments, they see people living in "the stone age", without access to cars or computers. They therefore believe that they are "above" the primitive tribes, resulting in the total lack of respect for humans, culture and nature alike. Ruggero Deodato is an excellent director and knows how to push the lines in order to provoke realism and cultural debate. By forcing us to behold the conflict between our Western view on ancient cultures and presenting a world of natural selection, murder and sacred marriage, we automatically re-value our respect and understanding for nature and the people who have chosen to live by its laws as well as our own culture and way of living. As such, "Cannibal Holocaust" is a truthful, although sometimes brutal, insight into the conflict of modernism and naturalism, and its impact on us living in the Western society today. -Alexis -=300 Director: Zack Snyder, Release: 2007 (117 minutes) In short, this is a comic book turned into a movie with video game aesthetics, telling the tale of the 300 Spartans who died fighting back parts of the Persian army at Thermopylae in 480 BCE. The very fact that the introduction rather cheerfully depicts the eugenic conditions of Spartan adolescence, and that the almost two hours of film are filled to the brim with (some, historically accurate) lines mirroring Spartan warrior ethics, could make this movie into a nice slip road from a seemingly endless stream of movies focusing on the quite tiresome theme of modern individualism. But that's only on the surface. In one scene, the Spartan king Leonidas (Gerard Butler) lectures on the importance of the army keeping together, using their shields to protect each other, and consequently creating a strong unity. In combat, this unity is initially kept, but then each Spartan runs along towards his own one-on-one battle, showing off a few hokum stunts. Interestingly, this is quite a precise parable for what makes this movie collapse: there is nothing keeping it together. This makes the movie, at its heart, into the very opposite of what it is set out to be. The exterior of an over-blown praise of an interpretation of Spartan life, accompanied by mediocre acting, blue screen animations, Hollywood sound effects, Nu Metal riffs, billions of slow-motions, and the constant use of the increasingly obscure concept of "freedom," will most probably entertain some people. But beneath all this, there is nothing. Those who seek art that beautifully portrays heroism, will not find it here. Not even the debate on whether the movie draws its motivations from

current politics or not is very interesting. Instead, what makes this work sort of fascinating as a phenomenon, and meaningful to review at all, is that it's an excellent example of the extreme contrast between modern and traditional thinking, and of surface versus content. These filmmakers take some ingredients from the past, but don't know how to deal with them other than by throwing them into a stew of modern decorations and purposes. While awful as a movie, and hardly worthy of ancient Sparta, at least "300" stands as an unintentionally comical monument of contemporary misunderstandings. - Ensittare -=Food: JIHAD FAJITAS So you've got a hankerin' for something Tex-Mex you can stuff in a tortilla with some lettuce and tomato and onion and make really tasty? This recipe is fast because it involves marinating your fajitas, and then cooking them quickly, slicing them and slapping the meal on the table. Versions for both carnivores and herbivores (or for us omnivores, make both). 1. Substrate a. Meat Get some cheap flank steak, brisket, or shoulder. The cheaper the cut, the longer you soak it. b. Vegetables Bell peppers, squash, sweet potatoes and red onions c. Meat analogue Tofu, blended and compressed chickpeas or beans, and nutritional yeast With any substrate, the importance is keeping it cut in slices no more than .75 inch thick. 2. Marinade 3 tsp lime juice -or- vinegar 1/2 tsp ginger 1/2 tsp cumin 1 tsp paprika 1 tsp cayenne 2 cloves pasted garlic or 1 tsp garlic powder 1 tbsp pasted onion or 1 tsp onion powder 1/4 tsp sea salt 1/2 tsp dill Paste garlic and onion together in food processor or by cutting into little bits and pounding with curvature of heavy spoon. Mix ingredients in refrigerator-safe container, dump in substrate and let soak overnight - at least. The best thing about this recipe is you can prepare marinade a few days in advance and cook as needed. I've kept meats in this mixture for up to a week with no degradation. If you're going to store it longer, add more vinegar! 3. Cooking Take well-soaked mixture and put in open pan with 1/2 inch of water surrounding it. Pre-heat oven to 350 F. When oven is heated, insert

pan and cook for 10-20 minutes depending on amount of substrate. Cut into thin slices and serve with diced tomato and onion, chopped lettuce and shredded cheese. JALAPENO PESTO From the land of Texas comes a bastardized Italic creation like nothing else: the savory sauce pesto with jalapeno overtones. For the strong of heart. Ingredients 2 cups washed basil leaves 1 jalapeno pepper 2 cloves garlic 1 walnut or 2 pine nuts 1/2 cup olive oil Over low-medium heat, place oil in saucepan and warm up. Slice jalapeno, removing seeds (pitch into garden for free jalapenos in 2 months) and slice into strips. Place these in warming oil. After five minutes, remove oil from heat and extract jalapeno strips. These can be used elsewhere as they still retain much of their flavor. Let oil cool completely. Wash basil leaves and pitch into food processor relatively quickly, and blend. Dice garlic and nuts and throw these in as well. Pour in oil and blend again. Makes 1.5 cups of excitingly exotic pesto. Vijay Prozak ---------Features ---------Surviving Modernism Through Life and Death Today there is a lot of discussion revolving around the possibility of a traditional art form, breaking the boundaries of modern subjectivism and materialism. For many artists the main problem with modern art is the unhealthy focus on crossing conventionalism with traditionalism in an attempt to establish a new art form free from its forerunners. It is said that modernism is the focus on the human mind and its revolt against the physical boundaries, maintaining natural laws and limitations. We see it in the denial of ethnic differences, in "equality" between individuals, in "relativistic art", but perhaps most clearly, in the worldview of modern man: the human individual is the central creature of the cosmos and, as such, is seen as the highest form of idea in the universe. Several artists raged against this social conception, interpreting it as a crime against the system in which we all live. They based their ideas on the inseparability between object and subject and, as such, denied the modern worldview where the human mind is thought to enact total control over its physical surroundings. This journey proved to be confusing, dramatic, and close to impossible - but their strong wills aroused their senses with courage to live in a world they hated, and to create something out of the past, presented for people living today. Two of these heroes are the modernist writers Hermann Hesse and Thomas Mann.

It is said that it took Hesse about six weeks to finish his novel "Steppenwolf", hinting that this period in his life included personal crisis. The story is about Harry Haller, a lone wolf living in a room rented by an old lady and her son, hiding from the bourgeois city with its jazz music, sex, democracy, and modern materialism. His life is a secluded one, completely isolated from the world around him. Haller's passion is classicistic art, namely Goethe and Mozart. These figures represent a clean, sparse, traditional, idealistic art, expressing the nobility of the European soul. Harry devotes most of his time reading literature and listening to music, now and then visiting the city at evening to eat and drink. One night when he's out walking, he meets a strange man who hands him a treatise. The book is about himself and his conflict between idealism and moralism, human and wolf. It analyzes his mental condition as suffering from a modern form of dualism, where the liberal society forces him to morally restrain his life, pushing him back into his room and art - the place where he can unleash his animal inside, the wolf that celebrates the aristocracy and heroism of past glories. The treatise is cold and logical, but also sad and despairing. It ends with a call for Harry to realize the potential in his multiple personalities, to deconstruct his binary vision of moral right and wrong, and find his inner self by exploring categories far beyond "human" and "animal". Harry is left alone with his destiny, tackling it through a woman, Hermine, he meets in a bar and a jazz player called Paulo. In the end, he is only wolf - a wolf with a laugh on his face. Thomas Mann wrote a similar novel on the thematic platform that Hesse built through "Steppenwolf". It is called "Death in Venice" and is a more allegorical and symbolic story about the author named Gustav Aschenbach, a lonely man celebrated for his great books, but in reality a very sick man. Aschenbach's view on art is a modern one: he believes it is possible to achieve idealistic art by morally perfecting his behavior. This causes an inner clash between the birth of art (emotional and experiential) and his attempts to reach it (morality and perfection). His condition becomes so bad that one day he needs to travel away from his current home. Aschenbach decides to visit Venice, a place on earth he loves very much. While in Venice he checks into a hotel and notices a young, blonde boy named Tadzio. Aschenbach falls deeply in love with this young boy, almost possessed by his unnatural beauty, innocence, and perfection. In Tadzio Aschenbach finds something that suddenly disturbs him: he's beautiful only through the inner senses, thereby free from moral perfection; this slowly breaks down Aschenbach's view on art, forcing him to realize that beauty does not inherently exist within social constructs but exists as a manifestation of something that an artist is able to perceive only by experience and emotion. Aschenbach becomes more and more sick, and after having seen that Tadzio's physical appearance isn't as perfect as he first thought, his mind cannot take it anymore, and it drags his physical condition down; once again he is forced to leave. What these two novels have in common is a basic thematic denominator: two modern individuals trying to achieve and experience the noble idealism of past European art, and at the same time, living in an age

of liberalism, democracy, and populism. This forces them to morally restrict their behavior, thereby giving birth to an inner dualism, an inner conflict between idea and form, heroism and morality. The two traditionalists are exposed to their opposites in an attempt to break the modern dualism and become one with idea and art. Harry Haller is drawn by Hermine into the bourgeois lifestyle, something for which he has great contempt, dancing to jazz music, visiting restaurants - even having sex with women he doesn't love. Gustav Aschenbach experiences a Venice plagued by a growing disease, covered up by the government authorities. In reality Venice is a physical manifestation of Aschenbach's inner mind, growing increasingly uneasy over the uncontrollable love for Tadzio - a love he knows is morally forbidden, especially since the motive is emotional and not platonic. The result of these experiences are for us dramatic and chaotic: at the end of Hesse's novel, Harry is forced to explore his inner mental state by visiting a "magic theatre" - a Freudian look into his own mind. There he is able to experience the collapse of the Western world, the love of an unlimited number of women, and the perverted plays demonstrating the conflict between moral man and amoral wolf. Harry ends up stabbing Hermine, his feminine bourgeois side, to death, having realized that the modern lifestyle is not to fear or despise as that is the origin of his inner dualism. He rejects the modern disease by recognizing its inherent emptiness of value. Gustav comes to a similar conclusion when he realizes that there is no hope for him to escape the plague in Venice; he is one with the sickness and only after accepting his emotive love for Tadzio and seeing past his imperfections can he continue writing on a novel intended to become a masterpiece. In the end he sits in his sun-chair, looking at the sea, while Tadzio stands in the water waving to him a last good bye: the artistic ideal is becoming one with the waves of eternity - but too late. What we may learn from these allegories is a key to the survival of modernism and the continuation of idealistic art; it is the realization that moral restrictive behavior is a dead end. It is so easy for us to revert back into our egos and live secluded lives where no people can hurt us, free from the city and its madness. Thus we become a Harry Haller - torn between our wolf, alone in our private confinements experiencing a time now past, and human, trying to tackle the things we all must face in modern society: tedious jobs that kill our passions, discussions about politics with empty people that talk to look good, dance clubs for lost souls to find collective peace; we are trapped in a time not meant for us. How do we tackle it? How do we preserve our Faustian spirits? How do we combine social disease at day and Beethoven at night? Are we, the idealists from another century, destined to walk this earth as dualists? Where is our escape, our hope for the future? When Harry Haller realizes that he needs to find a way to deal with modern society, but still preserve his idealistic spirit and hope, he at last faces Hermine and decides to kill her. His feminine opposite, the Harry Haller at daytime in society, becomes a natural part of his human creative soul. As Mozart exclaims in Hesse's novel when he finds a sad Haller raging against the horrible noise from the radio: under the distortion we may find a structure of life, of spirit, of idealism. Yes, it is horrible, but to deny it is to commit suicide. The only way, says Mozart, to escape the pitiful existence of a lone

wolf destined to either become a split personality (Harry Haller) or a decaying soul watching the ideal escape from him (Gustav Aschenbach) is to laugh at the insanity of our modern time. The key to success is to go beyond the conventional dualism (human at day, wolf at night) and join these two together, exploring all of the characteristics found within yourself and using them to your advantage in the quest for eternity. If we do not find peace within ourselves, we will end up like Gustav Aschenbach: dead, yet still longing for beautiful art and noble ideals to once again rise from the dead. If we say no to our social life and no to anything connected with the society in which we live, not only are we left with a disease without medicine, but also an impotent life deprived of a natural part of us: happiness. There is no way out from a life in isolation. We must dare to face the social, popular, common side of us, dare to face our inner jokes of which Mozart so mockingly speaks. However abstract or pragmatic this may sound, all Steppenwolf's reading this know who they are and whether or not they suffer from the same disease that plagues Harry Haller and Gustav Aschenbach; trust me when I say there is no point in denial. The strength, contrary to what we may believe, lies not within the Steppenwolf, but in the wolf as a whole, in the animal being able to transform into human and live out that side as if it was a part of him. For the desperate ones: I have no complete solution, nor any definitive answers to a path leading to absolute success in this dilemma. However, like I understand the greatness of Mozart, I firmly believe in the ideas of Hermann Hesse and Thomas Mann. I believe they have something important to tell us, and that, indeed, it is reading only for the Steppenwolf's and Aschenbach's. These are basic ideas which all people on some level can understand, but not necessarily to which they can relate, unless they are a disguised Haller or Aschenbach, perhaps in a search for a more complete life. Is there a way to believe in traditions and ideas from centuries ago and still manage a normal life in a modern society gone mad? I often ask myself this question and will be perfectly honest with you, the path to eternity is long and covered in mists. It is like walking through the woods on summer nights when the humidity from the fields condenses and becomes large white clouds of fog. You wander alone at night, releasing your inner wolf to declare both war against the lights from the city and your passionate love for nature, and struggle to the peace found at night under the starlit sky. Somewhere up there lives Goethe and Mozart, looking down on us misplaced souls, perhaps with anger, perhaps with a mocking smile. But as I walk, I come to think of what past heroes have said, what their lives communicate with mine - and suddenly, I feel the truth is closer than ever; we are and always will be wolves, wolves with bitter laughs on our faces. Alexis ------------------Self-Sufficiency ------------------Buying Staple Foods in Bulk Most people pay expensive store prices for their food. These store

prices are often more expensive than the food itself should cost. Most of the excess store costs for the food we buy comes from the packaging and marketing of the product. Obviously packaging and marketing are of much less value than the food itself, so why pay for it? If you are on a tight budget, or even if you are financially fit, you can cut down your food bill costs by changing what you eat and how you buy it. One approach to saving money while still eating good food is to buy staple foods in bulk. There are a variety of foods that can be considered staples. Staple foods are usually those foods that are easily accessible, have a highenergy content and are able to be stored for long periods of time without perishing or spoiling. Four of the most common and accessible staple foods are beans, corn, rice and wheat. Beans: Beans are a long time staple food that can be cooked a diversity of ways to increase taste. Beans are high in carbohydrates and protein and come in a variety of types. Black, red and pinto beans are three of the most common culinary bean types in the United States. Beans by themselves don't always supply your complete protein needs, but when they are combined with rice or corn your bodily protein needs are often met. Many modern American's buy their beans precooked in cans. Don't. Not only do canned beans not taste as good as beans cooked from scratch, their nutritive value is reduced, the price is more expensive per ounce and you are putting your trust in the industrial canning process. It is most likely that American's buy their beans in cans because they are precooked and flavored. This is not a good enough reason to buy canned beans, as beans are one of the simplest foods to cook from scratch. Dry beans can be bought in bulk. Your local supermarket should have dry beans in at least five-pound bags. Look for them next to the legumes. It is recommended to buy as much as you can store at any given time. This will give you an extra supply in case of an emergency. If you are not satisfied with buying in five-pound increments, you can buy ten, twenty-five or fifty pound bags of beans from most natural food stores. Depending on the size of the bag, it may need to be ordered by your local natural food store. You can often get discounts from the store when ordering in bulk, as they don't have to waste their time stocking the goods. Rice: Rice is another good staple food to buy in bulk. Like beans, rice can be bought in five-pound bags from your local supermarket. Rice can be difficult to cook for some, however it is simple as long as you follow the methods labeled on the package. A rule of thumb is to have two parts water to two parts rice. Place the rice and water in a pot and bring it to a boil. If you let the water boil off and don't forget to stir occasionally your rice should come out fine. Brown rice is recommended over white rice as brown rice is less refined and as such contains more nutrients and helps prevent colon cancers due to its high fibrous nature. If you want to buy rice in larger increments, check with your local supermarket or natural food store.

Rice can be prepared many ways. It can be boiled and then eaten with beans and corn or whatever other dish you choose, or it can be fried. You can also boil it along with some milk and then add cinnamon, raisins, and cranberries to the concoction to create a unique and healthy dessert. Corn: Corn is another versatile staple food. Combining corn with rice, beans and another vegetable or fruit virtually completes your dietary needs. Many American Indian tribes in the eastern United States had corn, squash and beans as their staple foods as these foods supplied the majority of their dietary needs. Dry corn can be bought in bulk from you local natural foods store or from your local feed and grain store. Buying from a feed and grain store is cheaper. If you chose this method, note that the corn you get is perfectly edible, however since it was meant for animal consumption it has not been as thoroughly cleaned after it has been harvested. As a result you might find some dirt or bugs mixed in with the corn. This will require you to do your own filtering of the corn before you consume it. You can still eat it as is if you like. When you buy corn in bulk you have many cooking options. You can mix it in dry with a salad, or you can boil it and season it how you like. You can also make corn nuts with them by boiling them in vegetable oil or you can grind the corn into flour using a grain mill and then bake corn bread or a corn mash with it. There are diverse amounts of ways you can prepare corn, each providing a different and unique taste. Wheat: Wheat is the fourth and final staple food being recommended in this article. It is easy to buy in bulk, contains a high carbohydrate and gluten content and certain forms of wheat have a high protein amount as well (i.e. cracked red winter wheat). When buying wheat in bulk, you can either purchase it from your local natural foods store, or like corn you can buy it from your local feed and grain store. Buying from a feed and grain store is cheaper, however like corn it means the wheat has not been as thoroughly cleaned after it has been harvested. If you buy from a feed store, make sure to check the bag for a bug infestation. Small bugs called weevils often infest wheat; watch out for them if you buy from a feed store. Wheat comes in a variety of types. The two main types of wheat are red and white wheat, with winter and spring variations. Red winter wheat often has the highest protein count and it is good for baking breads. White wheat has a lower protein count and is better for baking pastries and lighter breads. Before buying wheat in bulk do some extra research on wheat types to decide what type of wheat is best for your needs. You can eat wheat a variety you can grind it into flour overnight and it will begin value as it turns it into a Conclusion: of ways. You can eat it raw in a salad, or and bake bread. You also can soak the wheat to sprout, which increases its nutritive vegetable as well as a grain.

Once you purchase your staple foods in bulk you should store them in reasonable containers such as glass mason jars, or even recycled soda and milk cartons. If you are using plastic as a storage container be sure to store it in a place you are sure will keep rodents away as they can chew through the plastic. Plastic also has a tendency to leak small amounts of chemical molecules into your food as plastic is made with petroleum and chemical byproducts. This is more a worry if you are storing acidic liquids in plastic, however it is possible for the chemicals to leach into your dry bulk foods as well. If you are trying a new food it is recommended you buy it in small quantities first before buying it in bulk. Try a few recipes and make sure you like the food before buying it in larger quantities. This will save you the heartbreak of purchasing a food in bulk only to find out you don't like it. The foods listed in this article are inexpensive and nutritious. They should serve as a good and cheap starting ground for learning how to buy and prepare bulk foods. If you try this bulk buying method you will see your shopping bills decrease and your health increase. - Gestalt -----------Literature -----------Roundness Is My Joy I wouldn't wish my mind To ever stiffen to angles The creeks of my joy Demand gentle curves My smile, the roundness of leaf As my laughter will tinkle Only on clouds' surfaces smooth Delightfully unpredictable Just like! The veins of a leaf meander... They are, after all Children of the Sun - Frostwood -=Erosion and Bones They sat in the creaking wooden cart in silence: a young man, and a figure in the blackest of robes. Blacker than the darkest storms, they adorned a form of indeterminate shape. "So are you headed up to the old castle?" The cart moaned as it rolled, testing their balance. The rain poured heavily. "...this is pretty miserable weather." The young peasant looked at the figure, not expecting a response. He became entranced with fear. Inexplicably, he felt a sudden calm overtake him. The abysmally black figure stood, revealing a sword in his leathergloved hand.

The horses screamed abruptly and the rider was thrown off. His neck broke when he hit the dirt road; he died on impact. The horses stopped, confused. Three mighty steeds, as black as the murderous figure, rode down from the sky, unaffected by the storm. Two of them bore riders abreast the central horse, which was adorned in a crown of bones. The riders were adorned in a similar manner as the figure in the cart. The figure rose and approached the crowned horse and mounted. It removed its glove, revealing naught but the skeletal structure of the hand and upper arm of a human being. It touched the horse, and the horse began a terrifying mutation. First, its flesh was sucked from it, tearing in a sound so horrifying that residents in the large, cosmopolitan city in the distance heard it. The sounds sent parents rushing to their children to lock them indoors. It was a loud and anguished tear; as the flesh ripped and was drawn into the figure, the beast screamed. It stood, paralyzed. Slowly, its muscle matter and its organs were pried from it. The hand was now adorned in a sagging, yellow flesh. The riders rushed on, and raced into the sky. On the leering hills before the castle, the grass had yellowed. The trees in the distance were bare. The young princess, heir to the titanic and barren castle that encages her, stares outside, the storm raging violently. She stands at her window and the rain pelts her hands, but she does not flinch. She sees three riders in the sky and steps to the back of the hallway, screaming. "Father!" she cries. A guard runs into the room. He looks at her, and pauses. His eyes bulge, and in a moment his flesh spreads onto the floor, his face is stretched loose, and his organs form a lump for his armaments to rest on. She screams, and runs down the crumbling path in the open rain, to the main hall of the castle. The guard there stands and looks at her, and starts trembling. His flesh contorts, and his face is molded into a revolting, inhuman grimace. He collapses into a sack of flesh and his armor clatters. The young woman picks up the sword, examining it carefully. She sees her eyes in her reflection, and is mesmerized. She touches her fingertips to her warm, pink flesh. She enters the central hall and approaches a fine and tightly woven rope. She screams a horrific, banshee yelp, the scream of burning forests, and cuts clean through the rope. The drawbridge creaks and snaps. She crosses the room and proceeds in the same manner as before with the rope on the west side of the room. Her yell reverberates down beyond the forest, waking the restful in the distant city, and it is amplified and contorted by the descent and crash of the bridge. The three riders stood before the gate. Their horses were calm and poised. The woman approached the rider to her right, screamed with all the natural strength of her lungs, and slashed off its arm. As it descended, the cloak faded into the ether, and a bone of an upper arm and hand hit the ground. With the same rage, she slashed into the sky and sliced off the rider's head. Nothing made contact with the ground. The horse rider on the bone steed looked at its remaining compatriot. They rode off into the storm, as the clouds blackened. The young woman takes the relic, and proceeds down the central hallway, to her father's throne in the northern core of the castle. The doors open before her, and her father, an aged king, sits in his

throne, alert and silent. He stands and approaches her. "What is the matter, my daughter?" he asks, standing a step above her. She hisses, foam spitting from her mouth and dripping onto the floor. She raises her left hand, holding a fist against her father's chest. He recoils and stands back, a step closer to the throne, looking at the relic. She cuts off his head, and when it hits the ground she stabs into it. The force of the blow cracks deep into the stone floor, and the skull is split in two-the severed portion forming a bowl from which she drinks and devours his brain. She sits on the throne gripping the sword loosely and rests; her flesh reflects all radiance and splendor though her face is smudged with blood. The sky is charcoal relief with weighted clouds and snow covers the trees. The path to the castle remains unaltered by the heavy snowfall, as though it were acrid, ever-burning decay. A solitary rider approaches the castle, cloaked in starless black. It descends from the skeleton horse it mounted, and the frame of the creature is returned-musculature, nervous system, organs and flesh-to the fullness it once bore as a living being. The howling and yelling it emits shatter the eardrums of any remaining living creatures for countless kilometers-it is an inversion of the pitch it yelled so feverishly when its flesh was first subsumed by the rider. Its pain is brief, and it calmly sniffs the air with its cracked and dry snout when its form is restored. The horse rider entered the castle. Snow had crept in where the bridge had descended, but no snow covered the bridge itself. The cloaked figure walked like the clouds, entering the throne room as though no time had elapsed. In the field, the remains of a long dead man barely emerge above the snow, half buried in the dirt. The ancient princess, pale and withering, sits on the throne, sword deftly resisting gravity with the tips of her gnarled fingers. She rises, and the sword clatters against the frosted stone. She walks toward the robed figure. The figure raises its hood and reveals a face of incomplete, rotting skin, and loosely assembled muscles. Only its bust is visible outside the cloak. It approaches the woman, and they lock lips. From a skeleton against the stone ground flies swim, and the figure obtains a golden crown. It adorns itself with this, looking out into the storm. The shimmering of the crown dulls as it touches against the creature's rotten flesh. It takes the throne. Outside, the horse quivers, and its entire being explodes into a fine mist as its bones are torn from it instantaneously; they are propelled into the throne room that very moment. The bones dance in the air and form a throne beside the decaying king, where the queen sits. Her skin sags and withers, rolling and tumbling as her eyes melt from her sockets. In the crumbling, eroded stone ruins of a castle on a warm mountain, the skeletal remains of a cloaked king and a withered hag lay. They are limp and sallow; their garments drift in the occasional wind. Outside, the land is dry and bare. The sky is white, and the trees have become petrified and dehydrated. The wind blows dust: fine red dust. - Risc -=From Moss To The Blue, I Reach How I love to soar

Over mountains, over dales Into the infinite blue With wings of rapture reach Cold lands sinking far below Into the oblivion When I see the fire of my heart, The gentle life of Sun! But as surely as The silent Winter cape Shall come to grace my form, Even a falcon, that swims On rivulets of mirth Must sometimes descend Through boughs and leaves, The green forest roof Amidst trees, plants poetic To the chilling halls Of purity's palace Bark burdens my feathers Mountains appear so vast When gazing from here, Midst dimness of life, On the crust of earth But what the rapturous blue, Singing flows of dreams Would be without faceless stones, Bitterness of black soil? - Frostwood -=Streams that Don't Flow Cars zoom under the bridge. They stare down, watching with no fixation the blurry lights as they bleed into one another. Orange, white, red, transitional hues. Sometimes gaps where the dwindling sunlight reflects against the paint of the vehicles: dark green, grey-hardly as brilliant. It doesn't stop, the steady river of cars and lights. When exhaust hits their nostrils they cough a little, their stomachs clench. Steve clicks his teeth as the wind hisses passed them in the open air. Audible chill ripples through his nerves. His clothes ruffle. "What's up?" Kyle asks, raising his eyes and looking forward. Hills with trees line the highway and conceal suburbs connected by the concrete bridge. "I'm really high, and it's fucking cold up here." "Let's get moving then." Shoes bounce off pavement arhythmically. The wind resists them. Cars pass-an endlessly moving line, filing and shuffling. Wait your turn. The procession slows, crawls, and stops. Thin sheets of exhaust drift upward. Trails and trees, and out of every one, you see the same thing. Large, open houses, two door garages. Kids skateboarding. Rows and rows of houses, and a car to adorn each one. They walk by hastily. "I know this little stream. One way it just dies off, and you're at a huge freeway. I haven't gotten to the find the other end yet."

A ready dirt trail stretches in the direction Kyle has turned, grass cropped on either side. It's dark. Leaves mosaic, little asymmetrical blocks of color peek through and where trees are scarcer, coherent images are revealed. Tan-yellow painted houses behind wire fences. Tool sheds and sky and windows into kitchens. Steve looks at his shoes. Squirrels chirp and rotate up trees. Rabbits hop onto the road, where a car may or may not swerve from them. Rails and steel tubes punctuate the creek. We're putting a road here, so you gotta make due buddy. We've got to keep going. You? You'll get along just fine. The creek thins, but houses become more disbursed. NO TRESSPASSING-huge plots of land with long driveways where they walk into the distance through the front yard-grass nicely kept to frame the wild, knotty, untended fields and short trees. Cars rip by them. The stream is gone. Bare hills roll out encircled by trees and other foreign yards. The refreshing drone of high speed rolling time bombs provides ambiance. They stare at the sky cool and damp in the grass, passing a joint back and forth. Light is sapped from the sky and stars fill in gaps. Their isolation has grown over the years. Fine matter nearly invisible linked them together so smoothly in the sky, but the evenings darkened and even the moon fought resiliently to continue showering stolen rays. So, they kept their distance and spoke their own names weakly. The ponds listened less while still casting a lulling glow, ever fainter. Horns fought feverishly and the hum was like automatic feedback, the soft pitch that resonates the morning after an eardrum challenging concert. Grass crunches like muted paper under their shoes. Another stream concealed by drooping willows beyond a house. Harvested land and young apple trees. Kyle looks down, sighting distant highways. Lights blip by fast as blinking: orange, red, amber, white. Apartments loom, pale glows from eternal eyes watching always, ceaselessly observing the subjugated reaches. Steve smashes a stick against a metal sign post. It splinters into thousands of fragments and one half is sent flying. Steve holds the other half in amazement. It is wet to the marrow, and smells of rot. Picture of a snow machine and a dirt bike in a column, a glaring yellow background capturing starlight, wobbling down to a fine vibration. A satellite tower blinks a red light-on and off-its alternating red-andwhite body puncturing the soil beneath it. They reach a dull hum of cables. Steel girded towers scream DANGER HIGH VOLTAGE surrounded by the additional-absolutely necessary-barbed wire chain fence. Towers stare each other down in their timeless deadlock, bound with thongs of violent energy. Little bush patterns where boxes are crumbled; sleeping bags accompany backpacks and brown LCBO bags, flat and thin. Large, open houses, two door garages. Swerving grids of houses arbitrarily placed in cul-de-sacs and crescents. Wealthy people live on crescents, where they drive pricier cars and shop at Wal-Mart. Their feet express disease in rapid unison; eyes float to arrays of leaves. Lights and wrapped black cable are revealed in the mosaic. Wooden poles like crucifixes stand parallel, holding hands to their brothers', Hallelujah. Kids skateboarding in offensive shirts, because defiance is okay. Your seed can oppose you, don't worry about it. It's

in the rules, see? Now have a beer and let's watch football. Hey, it's just teen angst, they'll get over it. Blue chemiluminescence flickers against curtains projecting through picture windows. Street lights illuminate spheres in yellowish tint. The chill deepens as the sky yields to blackness. They disappear into the indistinguishable yonder. Better suit up, it's a long and lonely journey ahead. - Risc -=Tears of Winter Glimmering beads Tears of a past Season Once they covered the heads, Needles and trunks Of trees of all shapes, Their faces of bark, rough and smooth From the womanly features Of a birch sprouting New, kindling life, To the grand cloaks Of fir trees' eternal might And also the empty and plain, Yet quietly pulsing, Staring gray of stones In solemn, silent white They gently draped In silence, buried Now, as green hearts Reach and open their depths Towards the skies, for the sun Sacred silence of Wintry temples Lays long shattered On laughing rivulets In rustling branches As the first messenger, A joyful bird gliding on Winds of a long-awaited laughter Shattered the fine wisps Of the Wintry spirit, a solemn lord! Webs woven of still air And snowfall, calm Broken they hang now Fluttering far away As pale, fading memories A lone gull at the shore Of my inner sea Memories They now gleam within The untold tears of Winter Driven away, forced steps No farewells before the blasting Of Spring's fiery horns Sounding light and life

Into thickets mute and dark, Ponds still asleep In their frozen dream Sighs and whispers Of sprigs rising Lace the freshness abound Drowsy creatures' eyes opening Towards the smiling sun Relieved, they let go Of those gloomy, heavy drops Oh, such grievous departure But what bliss it is To not be encumbered! As they fall and descend Straight and fast, Until reaching the still depths Of earth's gentle clasp Sun offers solace for these Torn, wistful hearts A faint sparkle he sets Hope within the Seasons Telling them There'll be a moon When they shall lead the lands Under covers of sleeping cold Once again, to bless these Tired woods with a slumber soft Until then, as memories They shall remain Winter spirits under the earth Wail and wane Sleeping through times, Cycling Seasons Longing for the moment To finally ascend But not now... This time's not for them - Frostwood -=The Void In enfolding blackness, what nightmares await? Draped melancholy blankets overwhelm the senses. What nightmares we mortals explore! we mortals create! Sweet misery nips at our souls. What horrors unfathomable, forged in our distortions that eyes cannot see shrouded in nether, in blanketing ether. Withered stocks of blind decay in a torrential world so wild and senseless. A fury, a storm of nothing

a storm of blackness. What beauty awaits in dreaded nightmares! How the black fires of night scorch our sight! Our senses, muffled and muted to blind chaos, by blind chaos! What arises beyond the eyes in hellish night? A veil pierced by the sky's fiery lights, a veil of eternity and chaos abound! of screaming nothings, of gnarling non-sound! Sick muteness and blindness to all that is dark, to all that is light! Speak not in this beauty beyond your eyes, in the dark shroud you cannot penetrate; you know nothing of what the void entails. - Risc [ exponentiation ] Issue [5.0]/May 22nd, 2007 Published Quarterly by Corrupt: A Civilization Watchdog http://www.corrupt.org With assistance from Forest Poetry http://www.forestpoetry.org and The American Nihilist Underground Society http://www.anus.com/ Editor: Gestalt Writers: Risc Vijay Prozak Alexis Frostwood Ensittare "When a place gets crowded enough to require IDs, social collapse is not far away. It is time to go elsewhere. The best thing about space travel is that it made it possible to go elsewhere." -- R.A. Heinlein, Time Enough For Love [EOF]