mindflow #3 07.08.94 ascii version concept/editor : josh ruihley programmer : keith shapiro ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ mindflow is our attempt at getting different thoughts from people across the country and putting them together in a nice little file. these thoughts can be in the form of a poem, short story, brainstorm, graphic, or any other kind of self expression that can be put on a computer. the purpose is to create a nice mind trip that people can take once a month that features different views from different people on different subjects. all that is needed to take these trips is an open mind, so open up your mind, and enjoy. if you would like to submit something to be printed in future versions of mindflow, please either mail or email us. mindflow will not work if it isn't for 'thought donations', so if you have something that you would like to be put in here, please, donate your thoughts and make mindflow a trip worth taking. all versions of mindflow can be downloaded for free from: ripcurl bbs (versailles, ky) 1.606.873.6637 the void (hopkinsville, ky) 14.4 1.502.886.0517 2400 1.502.886.5871 fallen angel bbs (lexington, ky) 1.606.299.2329 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- editors' note welcome to mindflow #3. new this month is the prelude of the ongoing story "the gathering" by keith shapiro. starting this month, each issue of mindflow will feature an episode of the gathering. the unique aspect of this story is that although it is written by keith, you, the readers of mindflow do have control of what happens. keith will take a compilation of ideas that you give and continue the story from there. please note that all of these pieces are property of their authors and may not be used in any other program/work/magazine/ect. without the written permission of the authors. they can be reached c/o us at the addresses given. we, the creators of mindflow, would like to remind you that mindflow does not run on its own. we have spent much of our own time trying to make an enjoyable compilation for your sake. please, to keep this going, we need your help. if at any time, we find that there is not enough interest (there are not enough pieces to print) we will be forced to stop the publication of mindflow. this is not what we want, so please help us keep this thing going. thank you for your time. -josh and keith ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- A Case of Mistaken Identity by : Steve Sheiko "I can't believe this!" "We have the evidence right here. Now it would be better for everyone involved if you would just go quietly!" "But I'm not guilty!" protested James Alexander. "I'm afraid that videotape doesn't lie. Now, I want your resignation on my desk by five. Clean out your desk. If you haven't removed all your personal belongings from the building by eight o'clock tomorrow morning, I'll have to call Security to dispose of them. Don't bother trying to take any of our property--someone will be watching you at all times." With that his boss turned away to look out his office window. "Now get out of my office before I throw you out!" Alexander stormed out, slamming the door behind him. He'd had a feeling that this was coming. He had heard the whispers behind his back that a security camera had taped him stealing from the petty cash drawer. But that was ridiculous, so he had thought. He didn't even know where the petty cash drawer was. However, his intuition was piqued when he was told by a terse message on his phone from the boss telling him to "be in my office at three o'clock sharp." He knew it to be true when several of his coworkers offered their condolences at lunch. His letter of resignation was on his computer screen. Foreseeing the inevitable, he had typed it up before reporting to his boss's office. With a sigh of despair, he clicked the Print icon with his mouse. The LaserJet ground and creaked as it spit out his final document. Leaning over the desk, Alexander grabbed his fountain pen and affixed his signature to the bottom. He swept the photos, cards, and memorabilia that cluttered his desk into a cardboard box. After another cursory check of the now-empty office, he headed out, locking the door behind him. On his way to the elevator, he dropped his letter and his office keys on the boss's desk. As the elevator doors closed in front of him, he left the office for what would be the last time. When he arrived home, he headed for the phone. He dialed his girlfriend's number, only to be rewarded with the blaring of her answering machine. He left a message: "It's Jim. I need to talk to you right away. It's very important. Call back as soon as you can." As he sat around his house, he began to think to himself. I'll never be able to get a job again. Thirty-year-old junior executives don't just resign. And how am I going to live? I can't pay for this place without my salary! He suddenly said to himself, "Well, Jim, if you've ever needed a drink, you need one now." He headed for the kitchen, took a shot glass and a full bottle of Jack Daniel's from the cupboard, and returned to the living room. Flopping down on the couch, he picked up the remote control and pointed it at the stereo. Strains of Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture poured from the speakers. Forgetting his glass, he opened the bottle and took a swig, ignoring the burning in his throat. As the music played on, he continued to drink, emptying the entire bottle. Everything became hazy. He fell into an alcohol-induced stupor. As the finale of the Overture began, he jumped to his feet. There it was again--a cannon shot. An idea materialized in his inebriated mind with amazing clarity. As if in another world, he stumbled to his bedroom. He opened the closet. There it was, leaning against the back wall--his Winchester 12-gauge double barrel shotgun. Grabbing it, he opened the chamber and looked inside. Both barrels were loaded. So much the better. He sat on the bed. Deliberately, he pulled back each hammer and placed the barrels of the gun in his mouth. He began to push down the triggers with one finger. But something stopped him. He heard a noise at the back door. Lurching out of his bedroom, he stopped at the window. Darkness. He knew it. What an end to the worst day in his life--he was about to be robbed! He made up his mind: It would be a cold day in Hell before the creep left in anything but a body bag. He stood in front of the door, shotgun at the ready. As the door swung open, he shouted "Surprise!" and squeezed both triggers. The cloud of smoke, dust, and airborne blood droplets obscured his vision for a moment. When the air cleared, he rolled the body over with the toe of his shoe. It was his girlfriend, still holding her key in her hand, twin holes blasted through her stomach. He sank to his knees, sobbing. Just then, a voice boomed out behind him. "Jim! It's Bill! Your front door was open. Great news--the guy who took the money from the petty cash drawer came forward and turned himself in after you left. The boss wants to give you your job back and . . . " He walked into the room. "Dear God, Jim, what have you done?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Bird Food by : Andrew Jones Summer with its profusion of animal carcasses, opposum and skunk, rotten into cardboard by winter, when heavy plows scrape the highways buckling in the extremes of cold and colder. I once stumbled into the guts of a skunk still pumping its stink into the night air; when morning came, there was blood up to my knees, I walked in it for miles. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ For Justice (c)1994 Amber Goddard one day in a forest, the trees danced, the music played, the red bird flew, the green chair screamed, Ella cried silently, my cat climbed a tree, the bricks fell, the wind chased her, the man said yes, i finished my book, the table laughed, the sidewalk ate my horse, the cracks in the window sang a new song, she opened the box, a june bug died quietly, the flowers attacked the queen's curtains, Adam fed his nickels to the fish, and i said i loved you. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 10:51 pm by : Joel Wheeler the fan above spins and the crackling blue light outside blurs the concentration of the undersea artist whose Jesus machine just finished the julia set. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ birthday (c)1994 jon e. dark cross your fingers and close your eyes and wish real hard. wish harder than you have ever wished for anything before. wish so hard that your brow furrows and your cheeks redden. wish so hard that your temple begins throbbing and beads of sweat begin trickling down your forehead. wish so hard that your shoulders actually... tremble, your nails draw a blood drop and tears pool the corners of your eyes and then down your cheeks. wish to the point you feel you have to scream but can't. wish so hard that your head becomes too hot to hold in your own two hands. wish so hard that you break up the party because you don't care where you are or who's around you. wish until you can taste blood in your mouth until it's on your sleeve. until you can't breathe anymore. yes, wish with your last breath. now, don't tell anyone what you were wishing for and see if it comes true. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Camelot by : Aaron Ramey Ne'er did it rain so In Camelot. In Camelot where Once, The work was Hearty, The army was brave, The madrigal gay And the passion - Endless. Not so is it now In Camelot. The workers still Work, But with marked lack of heart. The soldiers still Soldier, But only for mere wage. The tune is still sung, But the meter, twice As long And the passion - Gone. Vanished with the Queen On voyage to another Side of the Universe. Indeed, others have Sat the throne in her Stead, The endless procession of Queenies and Princesses, But none seem fit to Sit the seat, Either too bulky and cumbersome, Or withered away, without substance. And thus, Ne'er shall this Truly Camelot be, Without its Queen To keep these rains Away. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ yo muse! by : Su Byron yo muse of my throat! come from your ghetto land bring me a dollar on your way up the dirty flight where once we stopped to kiss on necks bring me some ice O muse from below come up from the hysterical avenue where young boys shout brown things get outta my way! O muse from the 100th depth come up from that place where youÆve stuck yourself black bodies kicking dust white bodies kicking stone young bodies picking fights pick me my very own bud! yo muse! come from that littered land where I kept my heart in my boots walking straight out into that three a.m. street a dollar in my hand for my muse the one I dream about the one I got holed up we'll take a train! O muse we'll close our eyes and force the track crawl up the flight the stained, slippery stairs up to my door where scribbled on the wall is that name of yours ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ the same by : Kurt Moskowitz nothing is given for i shall want more than this as i want more in you for what you are i can handle for what you are is what i love nothing is different nothing ever seams to change because when it comes down to it everything remains the same ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ loser. by : melissa pike waiting for the sun to come around again and thinking about the warmth i felt and wondering when and if it will come again and hating the way i feel and wallowing in my own self-pity and crying because i am weak and alone and hiding from the real issue at hand and wasting my precious time of life and regretting the innocense lost and realizing a feeling i never knew i had and laying my soul upon the table and fearing the reaction and rejection and losing my mind to a loser. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Untitled by : Matt Williamson Life is nothing, we are nothing. How do we call this living? A gas keeps us breathing. Water keeps us alive. Trapped in the fragile body of skin and bone. I want to fly. I want to soar. To totally escape the confines of this body would be the most pure fufilling experience. To become unpredudice and see things in that true form would be pure bliss. If we die, we become a burnt out particle. The atom is there but how is it made up? Are there millions of subatoms which make up the partivles of an atom? Who is god? Where did he come from? Who created him? What is this crazy existence? Many questions - still no answers. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ This Feeling Reserved - A Promise To A Lady by : Mike C. Dasit Some suitors send flowers some lovers send cards some charmers send diamonds in silver and gold but all I can send you are words and my feelings - a tiny, typed piece of my soul I had rather send this than the flowers, soon faded than the cards, too soon yellowed than the diamonds, soon lost The first three require only money or credit but a gift of the heart is beyond any cost It cannot be bought or be borrowed or stolen It means nothing at all if not given for free You can take this and keep it somewhere you can find it and if you ever need me, you'll know where I'll be. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Darling, Take Out the Trash, Would You? by : David Asher Brown Faith: Dust, like dust, dust was once living collected dust. Frantic: One foot, two feet, yet I have no arms, Thalomide man, Thalomide baby. Fishsticks: Dildos stuffed with salty flesh. Find it amusing, all above, worthless metaphores Find them worthless do you? Why? Good, keep it that way I find them quite the rage Quite the rage...rage, fuck you. Their words, look at them, words flexiable, undefinable Words. Good, now blow your head off. No? Even better. Don't die yet, because you can still change negative assholes like me. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Hero? by : Cislyn M. Hunt At home he is considered a hero for bravery, valor in battle In distant lands they call him a murderer slaughtering countless sons ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The salty sweat runs down his face mingling with the tears ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ At home he has a wife and daughter doubting his existence a little more each day The man before him may also be married with a son: growing taller while he's away ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The humid air shimmers Tensions running high ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ So similar, with different ideals So regretfully we humans die The shot was loud, shattering damp air One father - in a steamy shelter - continued to cry ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Vintage Years" by : anonymous Take a moment to smell time. Has it been well worth it? Is yours sweet wine? Waste not those precious drops, lap it up, pray it won't soon stop. Live for the challenge, the bravery and a nobel quest, do what you can to achieve, seldom rest. Have you spoiled opportunity's cork? Are you throwing your life away? Reflect right now, then make anew tomorrow's day. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ door. (c)1994 josh ruihley pre-destined love song plays its tune the words dont come to mind and all thats left is time to think those thoughts which are unkind that selfishness which plagues my soul leaves nothing up to me but to unlock this heavy door two must hold the key so now i hum this tune alone my chance has come and passed and how i long to chase this thing but i cant run that fast the sun will rise the stars will fall acquaintances ill see but oh my mind will never clear the one thats right for me ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Memories by : Jennifer Baron Memories are full of happy times And of sad times They make you laugh They make you cry Memories remind you of friendships And loved ones Memories are like the Sun- They never die out Memories are part of your past They cannot be replaced, But can be made ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Cycles by : Stephanie Suhler Ivy, seared red by frost Tumbles down the shock grey rock Like a waterfall of blood. The mountain blazes with The last fire of life, Scarlet and orange erupting Like wounds in the green velvet. The wind whips through the trees And the forest writhes agonizingly In the throes of yealy death. Leaves tumble swiftly down And the trees stand shivering, Skeletons waiting foe Spring To reclothe their naked bones. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Berserker Reborn by : Tony Cord In hell at least the souls lay not so cold as so hot. In hell at least justice is served more often than not. You ask why? And I answer... Darkness walks as a man, Is a woman! My blood runs cold at the sight. Demon's whore! Devil's bitch! Begone! You are not wanted here. How judge you so harshly? Have you any goddamned right? No, you don't. Your ego won't burn even in hell. Maybe blood will fill the gutters tonight. And I will laugh. Warm blood, innocent soaking my shirt, running down my arm. Streaming off my blade. Hell is mine. maybe I will give it to you. Innocent blood. The carnage smells of rust. Fitting in this canyon of concrete and steel. You lied to me, and fucked me over. My mastery of mind is weak. But my mastery of steel is great. The pen is mightier than the sword, It's true. But only if you let it be. So raise your pen against my rage, and I will give you hell. My rage is much like hell. Hot, and hungry for your soul. What a cold world when I can be warmed only by blood running. This city is my battleground, my life is hell to give. Wed to grief, injustice, and sorrow. Yet still a will to live. My wedding ring is the ring of steel, my bride hate and malice. my best man the reaper. My priest your damnation. So then! stand you steel against me! Time will tel my tale. Land of the free my ass. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ expressions (c)1994 keith shapiro all the things i've longed to say none of them are said why is it so hard for me to find the words that echo the feelings in my heart i know it is not you you are so easy to talk to then that means it must be me isn't it? or is it something else nameless, cold and dark, deep within yes! that is it my discourse with my mind has shed some light upon it fear drives the cogs within my heart only now i know inspiration pure and sweet has often touched my harsh rebukes a continuous diatribe within my mind the conflict and the fear overpower the love and the hope of a spring eternal but worry not for me this splitting forces have not effect on me or so i think love will triumph over all or, is that just the gears of fears fears from deep inside that get out only once or twice and then are banished again for a time to await the coming of the new age the new age which may never come but that is not my decision for if i can find the words to say then all of it comes down to you if you love me then tell me, or never will i know, my heart works that way. it only believes what it is told because sometimes hope can lie but i wish for my hope to this time be telling the truth so that together we can be together, for the rest of time ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ the gathering: prelude (c) 1994 keith shapiro from the journal of tiroth jikad, entry #1: today is the 38th day of martol. i start this journal so that those who succeed me may know the troubles of the the life of one such as i. i was born 15 standards ago, on the 5th day of girod under the 3rd rotation in the place known as hordan. my mother died during the childbirth, and my father was already dead... killed by bounty hunters. at least i was told that by my cousin ginda. she took me in after my mother's death and raised me as her own son. for a time, my life was carefree. i had taken ginda's name of lokari, but as i grew, i became inquisitive as to the death of my father, i slipped into the dirty gik-tak bars, where the slavers danced their naked girls for the enjoy- ment of the custormers. i stood in the shadows and listened to the talk. and i discovered exactly why my father had been killed. he had been a traveller. not a normal traveller as you most probably are, but one who could move between the dimensions. from what i gathered all it required was a thoughtt. he had been killed because he had "posed a threat" to the security of the galactic imperium. now, it is time. i journey now to learn what my father knew. to learn how to travel between universes with a thought. from this point forward, i'll reference this method of travel as blinking... that is what it looks like if you watch closely. they just sort of fade from existance. but all of this is here say. i begin now my journey to discover the truth and to right the wrong done my father. and as such, i take his name now... jikad. it is a name fit for one such as i. all that i take with me is this computer... to store my journal and keep track of my travels. who else may find this, i know not. ginda was kind enough to pack me enough food to last a week and some credits. i am sure they will last me to my destination. but enough... i am tired and i must leave early in the morning tomorrow. *** end of entry *** ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ thank you for your time ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ if you would like to submit a poem, short story, brainstorm, or anything else that you think belongs in mindflow, please mail us at our homes or email us through the internet. josh ruihley keith shapiro 418 wells lane 199 woodlark road versailles, ky 40383-1545 versailles, ky 40383-9190 internet : ebbheadky@aol.com internet : lunatix!kshap@s.ms.uky.edu .