|| -------- -- -----  A E R I E   O B L I V I A N A . singular book of text wandertainment by Frank Edward Nora ------------------- ----------- OSOAWEEK--ISSUE 034--3/16/95 <-------  ||  OsoaWeek  ||  Issues  ||  Book 3  ||  -------> (Cup OWis034, Created v1 (4/27/99), Copyright 1999) = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = [[BEGIN034OW]] [[01034CV]] * * * O S O A W E E K 0 3 4 * * * March 16, 1995 "The weekly ezine of Obliviana Super Occult Amusement!" by Frank Edward Nora INSIDE THIS ISSUE! * A GOOD SLAP IN THE FACE, TIGER! * Buttzville, NJ * Dorothy, NJ * Monks, NJ * Beaver Lake, NJ * Timbuctoo, NJ * Ship Bottom, NJ * Locust, NJ * Wall, NJ * Tranquility, NJ * Erma, NJ * Nora's World of Introductions! * Adigital Info * "Powers of the Land" * Enter Liss * And a whole lot more! * IT'S A BADASS! DOWNLOAD IT! (Permission is granted to make complete, verbatim, digital ASCII copies of this copyrighted ezine for the purpose of free distribution. All other forms of reproduction require written permission from Frank Edward Nora.) OsoaWeek is published weekly by Obliviana Super Occult Amusement, and originates from New Jersey, USA. Copyright 1995 Frank Edward Nora . All contents by Frank Edward Nora unless otherwise noted.Phone: 1-800 OBLIVIANA E-mail: obliviana@aol.com Mail: Osoa, P.O. Box 60, Iselin, NJ 08830-0060 Character count: 63524 / Line count: 1557 The Table of Contents is at the very end of this file. For the mail order Catalog of Obliviana, send an e-mail request to obliviana@aol.com. *OW* [[02034LA]] Lord of Obliviana Hi! Welcome to the emergency center. You know--the place where OsoaWeek is undergoing critical treatment to get back on track! Okay baby, check it out! Here it is! All right. Get all Obliviana. *OW* [[03034NJ]] New Jersey YET ANOTHER 10 REALLY WEIRD NJ TOWN NAMES Buttzville Dorothy Monks Beaver Lake Timbuctoo Ship Bottom Locust Wall Tranquility Erma *OW* [[04034SU]] Superior SUPERIOR 185 Crammed and lubricated the triangle dog college bookstore, funny the way they watch TV here abouts. One of the black and gray walkways I know, goes to girl rooms and goes to power magical and goes to stimulation and goes to the movies. Skunk hair punk piece of ass, here I am. SUPERIOR 186 Like a glass airport airplane, the trials of the surf are wanting of sinktude. Feeble the grand andmomenta young, I was dangling from the deathly safety pipe. Wrongderful place, in an oil job place, the crime of wishing is kind of God. Hail tryout the yomper tomper yomper Jeep YAYAYA! SUPERIOR 187 Forplease, get me outta here Jenara. Descending into the tunnels--what was that again? Soar, falling behind down by the pool. Splattered on hallway walls was it, yesterme the fighter, gone the way of the loser in the library, me again. Bant Muscic, all of there ye was an it. Olivert. SUPERIOR 188 Apsolutly I am there. Let me have a control panel you, I know things, that sounds like fun, violence is nothing, everything is remembering, and how much of my life has been in libraries! Neveragain the rumble I wanted or is it okay? Nevertogo, the roadaround the fountain was and is the great one. Town of magic and psychic, get me there, get me outta there. *OW* [[05034DH]] Dehumidifier ***NORA'S WORLD OF INTRODUCTIONS!*** You know, sometime you have to resort to drastic measures to get things done. In this case, in order to catch up on the OsoaWeek schedule, I've dredged up 35K or so of previously written material to get the ball rolling. But fear not, devoted guy or gal--this stuff does not suck. Rather, it's somewhat stimulating. See, what it is, is the set of all introduction of all publications I published from the demise of "Anything But Monday Magazine" in 1989 to the dawn of OsoaWeek in 1994. So sit yourself right on back, relax, and slip into the poignant, raw, inspiring, and sometimes depressing world of Frank Edward Nora's Introductions to the publications of his cocoon-like years! rED aLLEY eARTH #A October 1990 "My Intro" I suppose the first thing that you must be wondering is why the hell this magazine is all folded up and tied with a string. Well, the reason is--I think it looks cool. And what are you supposed to do after untying it and reading it? You could refold it and retie it, or you could leave it untied and open. You see, it doesn't really matter what you do with it. You can use it for kindling, for all I care. So please don't get all bent out of shape just because there's a string attached to this magazine. Anyway, I'd like to welcome you to the first issue of rED aLLEY eARTH. What sort of a magazine is this? Where does it Þt into the scheme of things? As you can see, this is basically a sh*tty little magazine done on a Macintosh computer and printed on a photocopier. Inside are some basically crappy stories, comics, teleplays, poems, essays, and the like--all meant to stimulate you with cool concepts and explorations into the nature of existence. (I know that sounds like a load of bull, but gimme a break--I gotta say at least something lofty and intellectual about this publication, after all.) Let's let's take a look at what's in store for the lucky reader of this issue. First, we have a wonderful poem called "Youch if Hover Sorghum." You'll probably enjoy it more if you o.d. on caffeine, but of course I don't advocate such behavior. Also, we have an award-winning short story called "Map Shirt Goddess." What award did it win? "The Frank Nora Award for Poorly Smooshing Too Much Material into Nine Pages." And, oh yes, it also lacks a real ending, but maybe you'll see more of the same next issue (if there is a next issue, that is!) Um--what else? Oh yeah--"For Joey", with the "Kill the Pompous Foreigners" episode. This teleplay was never produced, and I'll be surprised if it ever will be. An important note for all you Twin Peaks fans--this was written earlier this year, before the Lynch TV classic ever hit the airwaves--so don't go saying that I copied my characters' preoccupation with coffee from Special Agent Dale Cooper, okay? What else? Um, just a new Zope comic. If you want to know, I created Zope back in 1986, and I'm as surprised as anyone that he hasn't gotten as popular as those damn ninja turtles yet. So there you go--a little overview of issue number "A" of rED aLLEY eARTH. What's this? You have a few more questions? Like, are you wondering who that handsome devil on the cover is? Why, it's me of course! Isn't this a bit self-indulgent and pompous of me? Why yes, it is. (Actually, the sad fact is that I didn't have anything better to put on the cover than my gruesome mug three times over. Photos courtesy of the photo booth at the arcade in Penn Station, NYC.) And let me just clear up a few other things (besides my complexion). "Number A" as opposed to "Number One" is just so that the numbering system of this magazine is a little different from the norm. Also, the reversal of uppercase and lowercase letters in rED aLLEY eARTH has to do with the origin of the title, but I won't bore you with the dull details of its creation. (Actually, I don't really remember why I made it like that--it must have been so boring that even I forgot it!) And finally, you must be wondering why the hell I'm publishing this incredible magazine. I'll tell you. It's because I'm compelled to publish it. No more, no less. And where do you Þt in, dear reader? It is your sacred honor to absorb my supple and sapient words and be thus enlightened. Either that, or you could grab the magazine by its string and swing it around over your head to piss people off. The choice is yours. Love, Frank Edward Nora ZOPE (new) 1 May 1991 "My Intro" Okay damn it, here's the f*cking little introduction. I'm the maker of this magazine, and my name's Frank Edward Nora. Here I sit in the basement. This is the thing--ZOPE is a new magazine which is just beginning, as I'm sure you can see. And I plan to keep publishing it monthly, but of course that's up to the whims of existence. I mean, I hope it keeps coming out, but what the hell control do I have over things like that? On the cover here, of this here publication, is the first picture ever drawn of Zope. Zope is my best little character, you see. The picture was drawn on February 25, 1986. My and my friend Andrew were in political science class at college and bored as all hell, and we were drawing little pictures of us killing each other. The one picture struck a chord, so to speak, and I rapidly developed it into the current Zope character. Below is a full rendition of how I was killing Andrew, specifically, cutting a rope with a pair of scissors to drop a heavy weight on him, to murder him. Well, if you plan to read the stuff in this magazine, I'm sure you'll be amused by it. There's an interesting story I wrote called "Awake Fluffy Netherf*ck", and it's about a guy who finds himself in a city of gods and hangs out with an excellent goddess and stuff. I think it's a pretty cool story. Also, there's an article about a new occult system I've been developing. Now I know what you're thinking. Here's another new age f*cking wacko with an asinine new cosmic rip-off. Well you can think what you want, but this system, called "209" is not new age, nor is it cosmic, nor is it a rip-off. Read the article "Storm Codex" to learn more about it. (Note: In the article I call the system "negtrav" instead of "209", and this is because I printed the article before I decided that "209" was the name). What else--oh yeah--a teleplay for a video thing called "You and Your Stupid Pennies", which is part of the "For Joey" series. I can't really describe it to you, so I suppose you'll just have to go ahead and read the damn thing. (P.S. I did produce a version of this episode on videotape, but not of any of the other episodes which you'll see in future issues of ZOPE). And--and there's some other stuff also. I'm sorry there aren't more Zope comic strips, but there'll be more in the future. And yes, I know the Gulf War Zope thing is very passe, but I drew it in the heat and passion of Operation Desert Storm. Now of course we have wimpy operations like the pathetic "Operation Provide Comfort" for those boring Kurd people. Now I'm sure you're asking yourself why the hell this Frank Edward Nora character feels that he's qualified to publish a magazine. Well, let me provide you with some of my qualifications to fabricate unto reality this publication. Uh, well I was co-publisher of a nationally distributed comic book thing called "Anything But Monday", which had full-color covers. Is that good enough for you? What else--okay--well, right now I'm not offering subscriptions to ZOPE, but if you send me your name and address and express an interest, I'll provide you with an opportunity to keep getting ZOPE, one way or another. Well, let me say, that I wrote a rough version of this intro, and it sucked, but there was one good paragraph, and here it is: "Also, I have absolutely no political, religious, commercial, or other affiliation. I'm utterly independent, and that's part of the reason the production level is so primitive here. And please, do expect the quality to go down as I struggle to maintain a monthly schedule. Basically, it's more important for me to come out on time than for it to be good. So I won't delay an issue to make it better. Sh*t, my leg's pretty f*cking asleep--ouch." Pretty nice paragraph, huh? Okay. At this point I think I've covered just about everything, so please just feel free to go ahead and read this magazine all you want. And--oh yeah--I know what I forgot. You may be wondering why ZOPE is all scrunched up and tied up with string and stuff. Well, the answer is, that I've noticed that it really pisses people off. So if you're pissed off, thank you. This has been your ZOPE host, Frank Edward Nora. Good day! ZOPE (new) 2 June 1991 "My Intro" It's the June 1991 issue of ZOPE! Yeah! Alright! Frank Edward Nora here, maker of the publication you now hold. I welcome you most profusely. As you can see, ZOPE is now called Magazine of Obliviana. What is Obliviana, you ask? Simply, Obliviana is "the new oblivious viewpoint". For those of you who read the first issue of ZOPE, this issue might seem less jam-packed. But take heart--at least it's coming out on time. Hopefully the next issue of ZOPE will be more well-rounded. But still, there are some cool things in this month's issue. There's the conclusion to the story Awake Fluffy Netherf*ck, and this time there's more action, violence, and sex. There's 209, with an article on a neat little philosophy called Nihilistica. There's a few bewildering poems for your spiritual consumption, and as well, there's a complex yet simple new pattern system called Blamnoom. All this, and some Zope comics, too. So you're in for quite a chaotic ride in this read! Now let me give you a word of advice--never fall asleep with CNN on. Yesterday I did just that, and I had a bizarre and disturbing series of dreams based on the various news reports. Like, first I was at a slumber party with George Bush, sitting on a floor with him and discussing politics. Then I was at the home of Marlon Brando, where there were these mind-altering booths. Apparently I was a booth operator, and I was needed to deprogram Christian Brando or something. The process took several days, and I wound up romantically involved with Cheyenne. There were other episodes in the dream, but thankfully I've forgotten them. So if you're gonna fall asleep in front of the TV, choose a safer network, like CTV: The Comedy Network, TNN, or TNT. MTV tends to produce a troubled sleep, and VH-1 is a virtual nightmare factory. Now on to another topic--pinball. You know, pinball is definitely an Obliviana sort of thing. And these days we're in the midst of a real pinball renaissance. At the forefront of this revolution is Williams, a company which is definitely the greatest pinball manufacturer of all time. Just recently, Williams has released a remarkable new machine, following hot on the heels of such classics as Diner and Funhouse. This one is called The Machine: Bride of Pinbot. It's a sequel of sorts to Pinbot, a groundbreaking machine of several years ago. But I would say that The Machine reaches heights of pinball excellence only dreamed of by its predecessor. So drop everything and go out and play it! I must note, however, that not all new pinball machines are good. The Simpsons, for example, by Data East, is a real disappointment. Dr. Dude is another sloppy design which comes to mind. But there are enough really good pinball machines to make up for the lemons. Think of this magazine as pinball for your superego. And what have I been doing this past month, besides preparing this publication for ya? Well, believe it or not, ZOPE is not making a big enough profit for me to live on yet so I did some freelance Macintosh work in Manhattan. While I was there, this guy took me aside and told me that this attractive girl had the hots for me and that she wanted to go out with me. So I was all happy and stuff, until the next day, when I found out he was playing "mind games" with me. Needless to say, I felt pretty stupid. What is it with these people who play "mind games"? What the hell are "mind games", anyway? I don't know. I thought my life would be a bed of roses once I had a magazine, but now I realize that my life is nothing but a pair of shattered rose-colored glasses. Yes folks, magazining extracts a terriÞc toll, but I'm willing to make that sacriÞce for all of you, my gentle readers. And here's a quick little music review--Mama Said Knock You Out, the newest album by L.L. Cool J, is a masterpiece. Get it. And here's a little bit of typeface news--Monotype has recently released Zeitgeist, a bitmap-style font similar to some of the Emigre bitmap fonts. It looks very promising, and I look forward to seeing it in use. Um, so that just about wraps it up for this episode of My Intro. I hope you enjoy the various offerings this issue of ZOPE has to offer. This is Frank Edward Nora. See you in July. ZOPE (new) 3 July/August 1991 "My Intro" Hey dudes, it's the third issue of ZOPE! I'm Frank Edward Nora, your guide to this mess of excellence I make every month. Welcome to the unusual and disturbing world of Obliviana. Well, this time around it took me two months to finish the magazine, but that's because of the release of Halfevil Graphics' newest product--Storm Codex--a deck of cards which can be used used to alter reality around you. For more on this awesome phenomenon, see the Storm Codex article elsewhere in these pages. Also, check out the Obliviana Catalog later in this issue for all sort of great stuff you can order from Halfevil. Now, coincidentally, there's a lot of reality-altering in the Red Alley Earth story Worrisome Landscape, but rest assured that it has little if any similarity to the Storm Codex style of altering reality. Also on the literary front are six uncanny poems--some of which actually make a tiny bit of sense! Enjoy them in an unstable way. And of course there's always the star of the show, Zope, who has fun with his "Stupid Window" this time around. Well folks, I got a RAM upgrade for my Mac Plus, and boy am I glad I finally did it. I went from 1 meg to 4 megs--an incredible difference. The guy who installed the SIMMs said he worked with The Beatles when they played in Hamburg, early in their career. He revealed to me that Paul always threw his teabags in the sink, much to the chagrin of many a stagehand. Also, he said that John was a sonnovabitch. So Halfevil Graphics has been in existence for over 5 years now, and I'm sure you wonder where the name Halfevil came from. So I'll fricken tellya all about it... Back in high school, around 1983, I had Pascal class, in which we learnt that lovely programming language on the great TRS-80. Each program needed a name, so one day, just at random, I called a program "Program Halfevil". Soon after that, I started doing some comic strips, and I decided to call the world in which the characters lived "Halfevil". Well, one thing led to another and now here you are reading this. Enjoy! FORGE OF WANDER 1 August 1992 "My Intro" Who the hell am I and how have I come to publish this excellent little magazine, you ask? Good question. Unfortunately, I don't feel like getting into that right now, so here's an overview of this issue instead. Firstly you'll find Goodbye Popcorn, a tale from the Severe Repair universe which introduces the green-haired Arctican Daptin Gone, as well as a variety of mortal supplies in the Avert City of Agoopish. Next, there's Superior, which is... well... uh... which is just something you'll have to figure out for yourself. Hemisinister Review presents an in-depth look at the Atari Lynx, an portable color videogame system. Ten cartridges are reviewed, from best to worst. Then I criticize four recent films, some beverages, and a few selected human emotions. Friction Enhancer introduces a reality-altering occult system called 209, with two specific methods you can try for yourself--Mallball and Pebbleswitch! Alter reality today--you'll be so glad you did. Three brand-new Zope comics round out the rest of the issue. In case you don't know who Zope is, he's the guy in the triangle on the cover. Last year I published three issues of a magazine called "ZOPE", which established the basic direction for the work I'm doing in FOW now. Obliviana was first mentioned in ZOPE, but the magazine you're holding in your hands right now is the first official Obliviana artifact, marking the true beginning of Obliviana. What's Obliviana, you ask? Well, keep reading FOW and you'll get it eventually. I've tried septillions of times to define Obliviana in words, but as of yet I've failed miserably (maybe septillions was a bit of an exaggeration--it was probably more like two or three times). Well, that's all I have to say, dudes. Read on with zealous abandon--or not--whichever you prefer! FORGE OF WANDER 2 September 1992 "My Intro" Welcome to the second issue of Forge of Wader, y'all. I hope you find it to be at least as enlightening as issue #1. Right now I have to go to the copy shop in two hours, so I'm in a rush. I've decided to write for five minutes without stopping to get the intro done. Here goes... Okay, the first thing in the magazine is Superior, in which you'll find a lot of like sort of good little things. Then there is the next thing, which is Severe Repair, with a story called "Cup's Club". It continues where "Goodbye Popcorn" from last issue left off. Next is Hemisinister Review, continuing the tradition of reviewing all sorts of stuff. This time I take a look at the Super Nintendo, and one of the greatest cartridges, if not THE greatest cartridge ever made, Street Fighter 2. Y'know, I love Street Fight 2. I really do. So... Anyway, I also review some recently new TV show, mostly on cable, but a few from broadcast channels. That E! network is a great cable channel, and I review 2 shows from it. I also take a look at the vast and often confusing world of toiletries, sorting out which shampoos, deodorant, soaps, etc. are good, and which are to be avoided. Moving right along, there is Catalog of Obliviana, which introduced a new product--Super Object #1: Pocket Antique Shop. I started Super Objects way back in 1987, and though I produced several editions, they never got off the ground. Hopefully with this new edition, they'll finally become the cultural necessities I've always envisioned them to be. After that is a single Zope cartoon, for which I have to apologize, since it's a reprint from ZOPE #2, a magazine I put out last year. Zope is the hardest thing for me to do, and since I'm up against such a deadline, I'm giving you this cop-out. But I promise--many, many new Zope comics next month! Nihilistica is a section which present a lot of little fun things. This issue I bring back a feature which has always been a favorite--Ever Wonder Ever Notice. This feature began in Anything But Monday Magazine, which I co-published from 1986-1989. I hope you like it, along with the rest of Nihilistica. And lastly, Friction Enhancer reintroduces Reality Tonic to the FOW readership (it originally appeared in ZOPE #1). Though it may seem stupid, these drink really do alter reality a little--so gulp'em! So okay, what is it--nine minutes! Damn, I went over! Okay, so anyway, sorry for the rush, but I have to finish this damn magazine! See you later, pal! FORGE OF WANDER 3 December 1992 "My Intro" Before I start, let me get something off my chest--I bought a classified ad in Comics Buyers Guide for over $75, and it ran for 3 months. So how many responses did I get? 2! How much money in orders? $0.00! And where did these replies come from? Kentucky and Singapore! I'm not kidding! I blew $75 just to hear from two bizarre loser places. Thanks for that great customer response, CBG! (Well, I should take some of the blame--I asked folks to send $2.95 sight unseen for a dumb-sounding magazine). Anyway, there's something else that's been bugging me. Some folks have been calling FOW a "zine" or a "fanzine". There is no word that makes me want to vomit more than "zine". So for the record, FOW is not a "zine", and neither is it a "fanzine". I'm sick and tired of these horrendous labels. I mean, sure, FOW printed up on a photocopier, okay? And yes, only 120 copies each are printed, and yes, the publisher (me) is a loser with no life. But this does not a zine make! See, FOW may seem a little like a zine on the surface, but when you get inside, you can see it's nothing of the sort. Zines suck, and FOW rules. Simple enough? Okay, now that I got that out of my system, I guess you're gonna take me to task on this whole Obliviana thing. Am I totally out of my mind? Am I a prospective cult leader hankering to drain a few gullible rich kids' bank accounts? Am I like, totally evil? No, no and no! See, I have a vision. A vision for a cool new game. The game is Obliviana, a Harsh Occult Wargame. And heck, isn't it time for a cool new game? I mean, beside video games, which don't count, the last cool game was D&D, but that was like 20 years ago! Alright, so maybe I'm no Gary Gygax, but in the next few months, I will attempt to fully establish an amazing set of rules and guidelines for this great new game. But I don't need to make promises--there are plenty of Obliviana things to do in the first 3 issues of FOW. Mallball, Pebbleswitch, Weird Looking at Doorway, Hemisinister Wandering, Reality Tonic, etc. Yes, you actually have to do that sort of stuff to play. And, oh yes, one more thing before I go. I like computers, and I love video games, but computers are not a big part of Obliviana . Unlike lame "cyberpunk/virtual reality/Mondo 2000" horse sh*t, I don't bow down and worship the microchip. Everyone thinks the Macintosh is so great, but when you work with one every day, you get to really hate it. Okay? Read this MAGAZINE (not zine or fanzine) cover to cover and be thus enlightened. 26 Cleona! FORGE OF WANDER 4 January 1993 "My Intro" I've been at this business of publishing little magazines and comic books since June of 1986. All this time, I've had the constant hope that someday I'd be able to rise above cheap and amateurish production, and produce a popular and profitable publication. And though I did publish a nationally-distributed comic book (Anything But Monday) from 1988 to 1989, I'm back to square one, as I'm sure you can see. Back in the early days of Halfevil Graphics, I adhered to that common piece of folk wisdom which states that you can accomplish anything, as long as you persevere. If I had known back then that I'd still be at this pitiful level six-and-a-half years later, I'd probably have given up. But I have come to realize that perseverance does not mean months of effort, but rather, years (and maybe even decades) of hard work. I was very cavalier with my attitude back then, and now I can see that I was consigning myself to a pretty darn frustrating existence for many, many years. Forge of Wander as it exists right now is not the publication I really want to have, but it's all I can produce for the time being. I feel sort of like a mountain climber, with each little magazine another spike driven into the ice, to ever-so-slowly elevate myself to my ultimate goal. Gee, this is a pretty depressing introduction, eh? Maybe I should move to a more pleasant topic. In the past few months, I have watched as the Apple Macintosh continued wallow in a mire of years-old technology, bloated prices, disappointing system upgrades, and a total lack of spirit. I have similarly watch, to my dismay, as PC prices plunge, as Windows gets better and better, as Quark XPress joins Adobe Illustrator in Windows, and Intel releases ever-more-powerful chips, and as Windows gets closer and closer to the industry standard. Now don't get me wrong--I've been a hardcore Mac person for years and years, always despising the lowly PC and the idiots who used them. But even I have to admit the inevitable--the PC is catching up to the Mac at breakneck speed. And if the 586 and Windows NT are anyplace near what they're cracked up to be, the PC will surely overtake the Mac this year. The PC will still suck, it's just that the Mac will suck even more. So don't be surprised if FOW is done off a PC before too long. I can't believe I just said that--this subject is also pretty depressing. What else can I talk about? Bill Clinton. No, that subject is much too depressing to talk about. All I know is I voted for Bush, so I don't take any responsibility for what this bozo does. Nor do I care what his smiling idiot VP, Ozone, does either. And 57% of American voters are in the same boat as me! Okay, well this is a good issue of FOW. It has 8 more pages than previous issues, and it has a few more graphics to break up those bland fields of text. Well, I guess that's it. It's 11:41 pm, and this is the last thing I need to write--the whole rest of the magazine is all pasted up. I'm going over to the 24-hour Kinko's in New Brunswick in a little while, and then I have to go to my Grandparent's to get my Oakleys, which I thought were stolen, but which I actually left at my cousins' on New Year's. And now, at the end of the intro, I can truly say this has been the most draining thing I've written in a long while. Enjoy! Frank Edward Nora, January 17, 1993. SUPERIOR PACKET 1 May 2, 1993 Superior: A might interesting collection of fun, reality-destroying written passages. In a rut? Read a few of these and delight in the unraveling of layer upon layer of reality all around you! See the current "Obliviana Week" for a list of other great Fow Packets! ANYTHING BUT MONDAY PACKET 1 May 16, 1993 "Words of Wizdumb" (See OsoaWeek022 for the text of this introduction!) FOVY 1 October 11, 1993 "Non-Digital Info" Congratulations on obtaining the first issue of Fovy, be it a true original copy, a less valuable simulacrum, or just cheap, substanceless digital data. I am Frank Edward Nora, self-appointed Lord of Obliviana and non-self-appointed Guy-With-A-Loser-Job (Macintosh Operator). I'd like to be Lord of Obliviana full-time, but unfortunately I'm a disorganized slob, and had to wade through heaps of dirty clothes, two-year-old magazines, U-Haul boxes, candy wrappers, and the like just to find my Spray Mount to paste up this issue. It's difficult to administer a multinational megacorporation like Obliviana Codingseed when I can't even tear myself away from Land of the Lost and Lost in Space on the Sci-Fi Channel in the morning to go to my non-Lord job. I did manage to produce this first issue of Foolish Obliviana Vending Yamp however, albeit hastily. Check out the Courier on the poster page--I hope it's not as offensive to the eyes of normal people, cause to a desktopper like myself it looks bad, very bad. It was supposed to be Newtext Bold Italic, but the printer wasn't in the mood for ancient, weird-format Font Company fonts right then, I guess. But it's legible and that's the way it came out so f*ck it. Um--the next Fovy will be loaded with a bevy of new Codingseeds and as always, two cool episodes of Zope. Also, please put this issue's poster page up on your wall, and if you feel weird about not having pages one thru six available for instant perusal, just buy an extra copy. Hey--that's a good marketing strategy, glad I thought of it. Have some great times and stuff! 26 Cleona. FOVY 2 October 25, 1993 "Adigital Info" Already the second issue of Fovy--what is this, a biweekly or something? Amazing. But the world of Obliviana is a disorderly one, so who knows what lies ahead... I'm the Lord of Obliviana, Frank Edward Nora, by the way. And I'd like to personally thank each and every one of you out there who got the first issue of Fovy and bought a Yellow T-Shirt. This thanking is easy, since the number of such persons is just slightly above -1. But I'm not discouraged--I mean, it's only been two weeks, and these things take time, I guess. Now if you're understandably befuddled by Fovy, there is a solution--just call 1-800-OBLVIANA from any phone in the Continental USA--ABSOLUTELY FREE OF CHARGE. This'll get you the latest news and information on Obliviana, and also facilitate you getting free stuff. You have nothing to lose by calling. Oh, except your mind of course. In other news, get ready to get your Sanguine Scrap! Along the lines of Yellow T-Shirt, Sanguine Scrap is a piece of red paper with a Codingseed on it, signed by Yours Truly in red ink. And it's frameable, perhaps. Well, this issue's poster is much more advanced than last issue's. And hey, when you look at it, what can I say but "Welcome to the Weasel Village Mall!" Also, for those of you amused by my desktop faux-pas last time, Issue 1's poster is reproduced in miniature in its correct form. And was that even Courier? I have a lot of stuff planned, folks, but who knows how much of it will see the light of day? Stick with Fovy and you'll find out! So until next time, remember: That that that that exists regards exists. Zock! FOVY 3 November 8, 1993 "Adigital Info" Greetings fellow sentient beings! I am Frank Edward Nora, Lord of Obliviana and your host through the zany and sometimes cuckoo world of Foolish Obliviana Vending Yamp. Expect some odd thrills, my friends, for they are in store! Okay! Enough of that nerdy talk. This issue is fine, yeah, but what I really want to do is GLOAT OVER THE REPUBLICAN DEMOLITION DERBY which devastated the loathsome Democrat worms of the New Jersey/New York area. No longer will the puffy, deformed grimace of Jim Florio disgrace this, the greatest State in the Union. Rather, it will be disgraced by the gaunt, frightening, scarecrow-like visage of Christie Todd Whitman. But hey--a mildly flawed Republican is vastly superior to a rotten, beastly Democrat. And in New York City, oh boy, that disgracefully incompetent fool Dinkins has been given the freedom to attend as many tennis matches as he wants. Republican-Liberal Rudy Giuliani will be the next mayor, but I'm not at all happy with this Liberal Party crapola. Now that he's won, can't he just drop this oxymoronic moniker and be just "Republican"? I sure hope so. And in Virginia the Republicans also scored a gubernatorial victory with a guy named George Allen, I think, but I'm not sure 'cause I'm not a big expert on loser States like Virginia. So a great Election Day for once! The last one was a real disaster, but who knows--if it weren't for the failures of Slick Willy Rodham we might not have elected all these great Republicans. Back to matters more under my control, this issue of Fovy really is pretty nice. There's eight cool new Codingseeds, as usual, including the mysterious Xappen and the titillating Naked Girl Symbol. I'm sure you'd like to see these and others on a Yellow T-Shirt of your own--so buy one ferchristsake! And in Zope, we see the first appearance in Fovy of two major characters--Ed Ape and Tin Alley Rascal. These classic creations of mine have graced the panels of many past Zope cartoons, but now new readers of my genius work can soar in flights of imagination thinking of these cool dudes! And to think I remain humble with all the magic I put into people's lives. Okay! Enough of that demented egomania--just enjoy this, the third issue of Fovy, and watch out for more in the near future! Moshose Illorknorsianor lives! 9,129,329! FOVY 4 November 22, 1993 "Welcomere" The cold rules, and when you're looking for cold, there's nothing better than a good Winter. So thank the Evil Master of Weirdness that the chilliest of seasons is just around the corner! For there is an inherent peace and meaningful silence in the winter, in unexpected solitary wanderings, as the frost becomes tenant. If you look below, you'll see a picture of me, Frank Edward Nora, Lord of Obliviana, and to the right of it, IBOA--Indefinite Battery of Obliviana Artifacts. This is a new feature in Fovy, and since there's no room for it anyplace else this time, I'll present it right here... IBOA 1: Pelter, Antebellum, Balbitype, Super Object, Confounder, Storm Codex, Welcome to the Weasel Village Mall, Train Crap & Blood, Beublin A. Richardson, The Evil Farm, ABM Specimen Harvest, Deluge of Primacy, Vamershee. There, that was relatively painless. To explain briefly, this is a list of stuff besides Fovy and Fow which will potentially be produced by Obliviana Codingseed. What's Fow, you ask? Why, it's only Forge of Wander, the coolest new thing ever to be created, ever. But all this will become vividly clear in a pristine clarity as things progress, or not, depending on how events tilt. Bye! FOVY 5 December 6, 1993 "Welcomere" Well, what can I say? Last Friday I accidentally busted my computer AND I got fired from my job. But will I let these minor setbacks prevent me from bringing you Fovy? Well, yes, actually, but I had most of this issue done before that fateful day, so issue 5 is a reality, albeit a few days late. But this is an important milestone, as almost all of my publications have disintegrated with issue 3 or 4, so getting to 5 is a real high. See you soon, maybe. (Is this pathetic, or what?) GET ALL OBLIVIANA PACKET 1 April 21, 1994 "Framepoint" That's me, Frank Edward Nora, on the cover--trying my best to look dark and mysterious. Not that I'm not dark and mysterious--it's just that usually I'm more like nerdy and loserish. But I have this great system of entertainment for you, Obliviana Super Occult Amusement (OSOA), and I think you'll like it. With this, Get All Obliviana Packet (GAOP) 1, the thing you're reading now, OSOA begins. GAOP is the centralized place to find out everything that's currently happening in Obliviana. And best of all, you can keep getting it for FREE! Read on for more details, You may be curious as to the thing binding this Packet. Well, this is an Analog Pinser, as I've come to call it. It's a cheap, efficient way to bind Forge of Wander (FOW) Packets. To add new FOW Packets, just unscrew, insert, and rescrew. Sounds great, eh? The motto of Forge of Wander is: "A constant stream of potent reading material in convenient 8-page Packets." And this is what it is meant to be, an ever-ready source of up-to-the-second information and entertainment. But there's a lot more to OSOA than just GAOP and FOW--so keep reading GAOP to get a grasp on it all! OK! (better get used to the acronyms--space is at a premium, eh?) GET ALL OBLIVIANA PACKET 2 April 29, 1994 "Earlyday" Welcome to the 2nd Get All Obliviana Packet. This time, I'll continue my overview of Obliviana by introducing you to a number of new Revolvers. And if you don't quite understand what this is all about, don't worry--it'll take quite a few GAOP's before everything is clear. But to steer you in the right direction, just remember that Obliviana Super Occult Amusement is an entertainment system designed to work well with the coming Digital Superworld (my term for a world with an Information Superhighway, massively powerful desktop computers and videogames, a population with more money and less work to do due to technology, etc.) Well, a lot has happened to me in the week since the first GAOP. For one thing, I got fir... er, laid off from my job--you know--"job"--that thing which was enabling me (albeit in a roundabout way) to fund the development of Obliviana. So to pick up the slack, so to speak, I'm launching a new Revolver--Obliviana Logo Design--a desktop graphic design company which will offer logo creation and digitization services to individuals and companies nationwide--check out all the details in GAOP3! So--on with the Packet. GET ALL OBLIVIANA PACKET 3 May 12, 1994 "Earlyday" Ah, how refreshing it is to be here at the beginning of such a wonderful enterprise. The time has come for Obliviana Super Occult Amusement to burst upon the scene! Yes, it's beautiful, isn't it? Can't you see it? In these first GAOP's I'm strinking out rather randomly, painting a broad overview of OSOA. I can see that's it's confusing, but like I said last Packet, stick with me here and hopefully you'll start to see just what the heck I'm developing here. Well, it's been a little over a week since the last GAOP, and what a shockingly odd week it's been! Around the middle of the week, I lost all concept of what was going on, and was sleeping most of the time--I think I was sick. This didn't help my frantic efforts to get my first true business enterprise, Obliviana Logo Design (OLD), off the ground. But soon, very soon, OLD will be open for business! Now, while writing the first GAOP, I wrote a long and rambling History of Obliviana, which I decided to split up and print over the course of several Packets. And thank goodness this is the last installment of "Came". Also in this Packet are details on some more Revolvers, further revealing the nature of Obiviana. Enjoy for sure! "Earlyday II" The earlier Earlyday was done several days ago, before this amazing development in the development of Obliviana. Today, May 10, 1994, I wrote, in its entirety, the Declaration of Obliviana! So here it is, presented to you, and for me it is 11:57 pm! (see "Declaration of Obliviana II" in OsoaWeek027) *OW* [[06034SR]] Severe Repair SEVERE REPAIR 34: "Powers of the Land" Let us begin our story in the midwestern section of the southern continent, where the kingdom of Rilnar is. King Drey was in a small room of his huge palace in the city of Thartos, on the western border. The small room (small for a king) was his private "office" where he would sometimes retire to relax and think alone. He sat by a desk and stared into space and thought. Earlier that day he got a letter from a sorcerer friend of his who had recently came across a bit of information while reading an old book in his huge library. It went like this: To King Drey of Rilnar, Greetings, old friend! While recently looking through some old books I found a strange bit of information that might interest you. Maybe you've heard about the ancient Southern Nomars, who were overrun by the Emrasian Empire. Well, as I read, just before the invasion they worked on and completed a crystal, with wondrous Powers, said to be called The Amarith. I thought that since this may be a little-known fact, you might like to try to get it. Possibly we could in our younger days of adventuring. Try to get whoever you send to go to the Northern Nomars of the Valley Darthule. They might have some information. Sincerely Yours, Therlid the Sorcerer Drey thought "That is a very interesting letter. I think that it would do our kingdom good to have that crystal, that... Amarith. I must ask Illergrom tomorrow if he could recommend anyone to go to visit the Nomars of the North. It was late, so King Drey decided to retire for the night. The next morning, after the king of Rilnar awoke, Illergrom, Drey's chief enchanter, was summoned to see him in the small room. In case you don't exactly know what an enchanter is, I will tell you. An enchanter is a magic-user whose primary powers are in the art of making and "enchanting" magical items, such as magic crystals, flaming swords, etc. Illergrom was a Triltan, or humanoid wolf. King Drey, and most of Rilnar, were too. In the small room Drey welcomed Illergrom and gave him the letter to read. After he finished reading it he asked the King "Well? What about it? I suppose you want to get it. Right?". "Yes." Drey answered "Very much. I'm wondering if you knew anyone who might go to the valley Darthule to get some information about the Crystal?" "Well, to think of it, I have a nephew, Thalerdrad, who has been taught the fine art of swordfighting by his father. He has always wanted to go adventuring like his father, you know him, Dradmer. Hasn't he gone adventuring with you, a long time ago?" the enchanter said. "Yes, I have." Drey answered "I must send him a letter and ask him if he would like to go. I know that you are busy, so I won't keep you any longer." "Yes, well, good-bye." the enchanter answered. The king took out a pen and paper and began to write the most important thing in Thalerdrad's life. * * * Thalerdrad, in the year 2717* (*The dating system in most of The Land was begun when civilization was just beginning, and Mount Vrennar in Voltaria erupted.), was staying with his father, Dradmer, in the town of Elorimm, in Rilnar. Dradmer, when he was young, was an adventurer, as was Drey, who went on a few with him. Dradmer taught his son all that he knew about swordfighting, and Thalerdrad caught on fast. Thalerdrad hoped to one day travel through The Land on some quest or similar thing. When Dradmer received the letter, he naturally assumed that, since being from King Drey, it would be for him, but it wasn't, it was of course for Thalerdrad. His father gave it to him, and he read it. As he did, his face lit up, because this was what he was waiting for. The letter was long, but mainly Drey said that he would like it very much if Thalerdrad would travel up to the valley of Darthule to ask the Nomars for some information about the Amarith. "What does it say, son?" Dradmer asked. His son gave him the letter and his father read it. "Oh... well," Dradmer said "you can't go, you're not ready for it." "I'm sorry father, but I'm going. I may never have another chance like this." They argued for a long time, but finally Dradmer said "All right, go, but I know that after you leave, I'll never see you again." Thalerdrad made no reply, but set out to write a letter to King Drey, that said he would go. The way letters and other mail is transported is mainly by being carried by an amazingly fast sort of cat-person known as a Rayvar. A week or so later, they were in the palace of King Drey, the adventurers who were going on the journey to the valley Darthule. The appointed leader of the group was Thalerdrad, the Triltan. His friend Thirk, a gnawling, was accompanying him. Now you see, a gnawling is a short rodent-person, and Thirk was rather small, even for a gnawling. A third member of the party was Gorblame, a huge monstrosity made of black metal called an Obscuriot, since he was a magical construct made of an impervious metal called obscurium. Gorblame's mind, however, was transplanted from an ancient seafarer, whose soul had become trapped within the palace walls centuries earlier, only to be discovered by Illergrom, who fused it with his latest Obscuriot, to save it from oblivion. So Gorblame, Thalerdrad, and Thirk stood before the king, receiving final instructions for the journey, as well as receiving a letter of authorization from the king to show the Nomars of the valley Darthule. Soon it was time to go, and Felptash the Highwayist, Illergrom's magical associate, set about to create a "highway", or magical road, on which it would only take several hours for the three adventurers to reach the valley Darthule, which would normally be several week's journey. Felptash, an ursan, or bear-man, was a brilliant violet in color, and he raised his hands and chanted and opened the highway to Darthule. "Be on your way!" Felptash said "And hurry! I cannot maintain the gateway much longer!" "Safe journey!" King Drey yelled after them as they entered the gateway. So the three set their way upon the highway. It was a shimmering road, the sky above it thick with shooting comets and beautiful wispy clouds drifting in and out of existence "Quite a remarkable sight." Thalerdrad commented. "So what!" Thirk squealed "I was on a highway once when I was young! It's no big deal!" "Eh," Gorblame muttered metallically "it's like the seaskys of elder days, me lads! When I was a fine muscular feller rather than a clattery pile of heavy machinery!" "Well Gorblame," Thalerdrad commented "you must admit that your current state is better than your soular confinement in the palace walls--or death, for that matter." "Better than the imprisonment," Gorblame chimed deeply, "but as for death, who knows? It may be much more pleasant than this." "Well, we might all find out about that if we don't keep on our toes!" Thirk said. "Eh," Gorblame said "You know, I regret telling you this, but we will die very soon. In Darthule. You know, the Nomars have the Amarith, and will send our dead bodies back as an answer to that fool Drey--they'll never give up the Amarith, much less to a military state like Rilnar." Then Gorblame began to make loud clanging coughing noises. All three then stopped, Thalerdrad and Thirk having shocked expression on their faces. "H... how do you know this, Gorblame?" Thalerdrad asked. "Eh," Gorblame said, "'twas, uh, fully more'n four centuries ago, as a young feller, I was a guest of the mystic Bazbith Ladies on the island Bheordiack. They were civil, and asked those of us on the crew of the ship if we wished to see the time and circumstances of our death. I was the only one with enough mettle. They took me into a cave and showed me a scene in a radiant waterfall. What I saw was you two guys and some Northern Nomars, we gave them the letter, then they slayed us. But since they said it was four-hundred years hence, I was happy. That gained me the respect of me fellow crewmembers--smiling after seeing me own death. That was the beginning of my great success on the seas. But soon, thank our Creator, I'll die once and for all..." Thalerdrad and Thirk were both wide-eyed as they listened to his tale. "Uh..." Thalerdrad began, "...uh... are you... are you sure, Gorblame? Are you entirely sure?" "Yeap." Gorblame clanged. "Eh, why not, uh, abandon the mission! Yeah!" Thirk said loudly. "Forsake the king and his stupid quest! I wanna live!" "Thirk," Thalerdrad said, "we cannot abandon the mission. We have sworn ourselves to Drey. If death waits for us in the valley Darthule, then so be it." "So be it nothin'!" Thirk yelled out "I'm going back!" With this, Thirk began running back the way they had come. "No!" yelled Thalerdrad, but it was too late. As Thalerdrad knew would happen, Thirk burst into flame and evaporated. Nobody can go the other way on a highway, Thalerdrad knew. He closed his eyes in sorrow for his childhood pal. "Look what you did, dolt!" Thalerdrad yelled at Gorblame. "Don't blame me," Gorblame said "He should have known the effects of backtracking on a highway. Besides, he got off easy--the Nomars method of death-inducing is unpleasant in the extreme. If I were you I'd do the same as him." "I think you're lying!" Thalerdrad said "You want the glory of gaining the Amarith yourself! Well, I'll not allow you to commit such an evil act!" With this, Thalerdrad drew his blade and held it before him. "Calm yourself, son of Dradmer. If I wished to kill him, or you, for that matter, I'd have done it myself. Neither of you are a match for me. Please believe me. I'm telling the truth." Thalerdrad, breathing heavily, faced Gorblame, but slowly released his tensed muscles, and then resheathed his blade. "So be it." Thalerdrad said "I will believe you for now, but I shall face my fate like a true warrior." "Okay." Gorblame uttered lowly, as they began walking again. They walked a long time, neither saying a word. Then Thalerdrad spoke. "How will they kill us?" "I will tell you. They place us in tanks of weak acid and baby snakes, and as we slowly decompose, the snakes feed on us and grow larger. It is called Thirteen Days of Agony." "Oh God!" Thalerdrad exclaimed. "Yes." Gorblame commented. "But--what about you, in that huge and impervious metal body of yours?" "Well, they regenerate my original body, just to kill me." They walked on a while longer. Finally Thalerdrad, who seemed to be in deep thought, spoke. "I believe you, since you have no reason to lie. I wish to find some way out of this situation. To blazes with the king!" "Well, when we exit the highway, the Nomars will be waiting for us. Then the highway will disappear, and we'll be trapped in Darthule. They already know of our mission, and have the acid vats ready. There is no escape." "Well," Thalerdrad yelled "I know one escape! No one who's jumped off a highway was ever seen again! But it might lead to anywhere--even everlasting life! Farewell!" With this, Thalerdrad jumped off the side of the highway. He fell for a long, long time, and watched as the highway above drifted farther and farther into the distance. Then he felt himself burst into flame and evaporate. "Such is life." Gorblame said as he continued walking along the highway. But just at that moment, Felptash the Highwayist took an ballista bolt through the heart as Thartos was being invaded by the Union of Draldia. Felptash dead, the highway disintegrated, and Gorblame fell into oblivion. In oblivion, Gorblame reminisced about his days as a tern-man on the high seas. Soon, he felt his metal body disassembling and dispersing, and his soul was finally free. He felt like he was naked in a thunderstorm. It was glorious. Liberty at last. Back in Thartos, the palace of King Drey had just taken a huge fireball on it's western wall, and was collapsing. As his dying thought, Drey imagined the harlot he made love to decades earlier in Boshophot. He thought to himself, in all my life, is that the most outstanding memory? Yes, he thought, it is the most memorable thought. Pity. * * * Quile Mightnarish needed no fanfare as she slammed the door open and stepped severely into the office. "Me! Choose me! Choose me choose me choose me choose me choose me choose me! Me me me!" a high-pitched voice wailed, from the theatercatten. Looking at it, Quile saw the cartoon character Kokle Pest in a frenzy, apparently yearning to be chosen for a scientific experiment of some kind. Quile Mightnarish, a 30-year-old woman with long curly black hair--somewhat unkempt! And a bit greasy looking--her face, a bit sharp--a bigger nose and weird, staring, intense expression made her look foreign, but did seem to inspire comfort in others. It seemed, to those around her, that she knew basically what was going on, and that--even if she didn't--then there wasn't much use in knowing. Not too tall--5'2", 5'3"--she was on the train. Sitting at her vestibule, she worked with her papers as the train rocked back and forth, speeding forward, in the stark noonlight. She felt as if she were dancing with her papers, at times. The train was heading thru a desolate part of the country these days--or a park of the country--or a parse of the country--or a--rocky, grassy, rivers of the white opaque liquid, ch!emderdapen. Living on the train wasn't so bad--but the job, at Jiobel--the job was OK--but somewhat--Uh--pointless--doing paper--that was all. It took skill, but she felt perhaps her talents were being wasted. No, not perhaps--but definitely--her talents were really being wasted. But she felt sort of calm, these days were easy--with pals at work and such--and the constant rocking of the immense train--and she really couldn't think of anything else good to do. She knew her body--a bit scrawny--not much of a chest to speak of--bony. Feeling forlorn for want of male companionship had passed awhileago--she sort of felt neutral on the subject. She had had lovers in the past--but not too recently--not for two years. At no time was she overly distraught or depressed over the situation. She enjoyed masturbating when the fancy struck her--which was fairly infrequently--there in her small quadrate on her bunk--she would do it--and...and...sort of feel as if she were making love with herself, the train, and God at the same time. She envisioned God as a tall, muscular, athletic woman with noble looks--solid limbs--big breasts--power. She had vague lesbian tendencies in her fantasies--mostly just dealing with the specific physical features of a tall, strong woman with big breasts, such as God. She never really considered making it with a girl--though she had been propositioned on quite a few occasions by lesbians--and there was a very cute one at the place she had worked before working here on the train. It was on unmoving ground, and this girl was sexy, no doubt, but Quile only imagined having sex with this girl in passing--and never really took the idea too seriously! She considered--if it were just pure physical sex--without knowing the woman before or after--just for a pleasurable eroticism--then, theoretically, perhaps. But the idea of having to deal with another girl as a lover was quite repulsive to her. She found that most women--herself included--could be real pains in the asses in romantic situations. But this cute girl--Tavmatey Numblem--"Tav" for short, of course--the thing that happened is one worth relating here. What happened was, at this job--the job at Belakzle--Quile had a friend--another female friend--called Sleap Drassy. Now, just before Quile quit, Sleap came over to her house and revealed that Tavmatey had seduced and ravaged her that weekend--and that she didn't know what to do. She thought she might be in love with Tav. So Sleap said, that as Tav did a certain thing to her, she felt as if she were floating thru a grand majestic outer space, that it was the most pleasurable feeling ever. Quile listened to the ceaseless description of this graphic lesbianism, mostly grossed-out--but subtly fascinated, shocked, and excited--and even a little envious, in a deep dark layer of her mind. She consoled Sleap in a generic fashion, told her everything would be OK, watched some TV with her, and felt relieved when she finally left. That was the last time she'd seen Sleap, since she got a job on this train and moved onto it soon afterward, just a few days after seeing Sleap, actually. Then 6 or 8 months afterward she got a letter from Sleap, saying that she saw Tav and made love to her several more times--but that Tav pressured Sleap into performing an act she didn't want to do. But she did, and she said in the letter she didn't like it at all and she broke up with Tav. She said in the letter, she had somehow started seeing a 50-year-old professional mountain-climber woman, who she said looked only about 30. She said the sex was good--but not as good as the best of the sex with Tav. Quile was amused by the letter--but never got around to answering it. The idea that Sleap had become a full-fledged lesbian did disturb Quile--years earlier everyone pointed out how similar Sleap and Quile were--like sisters or soulmates. Quile hoped the similarities had ceased--for she did not desire that lifestyle. And yet, several times a week Quile would think of Tav and get a tug at her heart and a flash in her groin, very briefly--too insignificant to even consider. Well now, Quile often fantasized, when she was masturbating, about God's breasts. Large, firm, perfectly shaped. She reasoned, the cause of her finding God's breasts so erotic was that she desired big breasts--not so much consciously--more like subconsciously. She often commented that big breasts were no more than toys for men, beverage containers for babies, and logistic hassles. But really she wanted them. She did she did. She did she did. She most certainly did, I guess. She irrationally felt that large breasts were analogous with power, and that part of the reason she was living such a low-excitement-level, ratherdreary life was because she wasn't powerful because her breasts were so small--almost not there at all. As she sucked God's breasts in these fantasies, she imagined also warm milk coming out of the nipples, flowing smoothly down her throat, into her stomach, and then coursing thru her veins--power. And this milk nourishes her, empowers her, makes her breasts grow--in a painful instant expansion, to the size of God's pair--maybe even a little bigger--as if God had come to Her senses and realized that in reality, Quile is more powerful than even Her. Ah, these fantasies. All this in masturbation--and the pounding pummeling throb of the massive train as it screeched and tore its way forth. God and the train seemed to be different aspects of the same primal force--the same primal power--the same primal scream. And the felt secure in the safe scrotum of her metal lover--or was that the safe arms?--inside the warm embrace of the train--herself, train, and God as one. Sometimes she would swallow the narcotic "hallway"--which came in clumps and had the consistency of dry mud, and an earthy, spicy taste. With it, her fantasies seemed to be exceedingly real. Too real. Too real--the tracings of her tongue and lips over God's lithe form--so real--sensual. Here on the train, Quile felt as if every inch of the train's forward motion in its momentum erased part of her past--that she had nothing left outside of the train. At times, Quile thought her life was fascinating and involved and... challenging. She drew occasionally--won a few art contests as a child--drew funny pictures at work for her co-workers--et cetera. Abzarby! The word for wanderlust in her country. She had it. What was happening. What was happening to Quile. Where was Sleap Drassy. Where was Tavmatey Numblem. Not on the big train. Quile was startled out of her dreamy thoughts by the crash of the office door exploding open. Someone jumped into the room--it all happened very fast. A woman--a woman with a huge mop of hair, a dirty T-shirt, and a crossbow. The intruder stood there, silent for a few moments as Quile's co-workers started to shrink back. Then the woman spoke. "Is there a Quile here?" Quile swallowed hard. Her law trembling, she slowly stood up. "Me." she said with difficulty. The woman strode forward in a casual manner and extended her hand to Quile. "How're you?" the woman said, grasping Quile's unsure hand and shaking it. "I'm Liss, and we really gotta get you outta here." "O-okay." Quile said. *OW* [[07034CN]] Contents of OsoaWeek034, March 16, 1995 BEGIN 01 034 CV--Cover 02 034 LA--Lord of Obliviana 03 034 NJ--New Jersey 04 034 SU--Superior 05 034 DH--Dehumidifier 06 034 SR--Severe Repair 07 034 CN--Contents END *OW* [[END034OW]] -------> ------------------- ----------- -------- -- -----