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|| -------- -- ----- 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 069--11/17/95 <------- || OsoaWeek || Issues || Book 6 || -------> (Cup OWis069, Created v1 (4/27/99), Copyright 1999) = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = [[BEGIN069OW]] [[01069CV]] * * * O S O A W E E K 0 6 9 * * * November 17, 1995 "The weekly ezine of Obliviana Super Occult Amusement!" by Frank Edward Nora CONTENTS 01 069 CV--Cover 02 069 HR--Hemisinister Review 03 069 LA--Lord of Obliviana 04 069 NH--Nihilistica 05 069 SU--Superior 06 069 SR--Severe Repair OsoaWeek069, November 17, 1995 4th issue of OsoaWeek Book 6 Written by Frank Edward Nora Published weekly by Obliviana Super Occult Amusement (E-mail address in transition) 1-800-OBLIVIANA http://www.obliviana.com/~osoa All contents copyright 1995 Frank Edward Nora Regarding this file, you are free to make digital copies, so long as they're not altered or sold. All other forms of reproduction require permission. A CupFrontier containing this file will be available. Stay tuned for more details. Character count: 46090 / Line count: 1282 / Days late: 18 *OW* [[02069HR]] Hemisinister Review ***MOVIES*** JOYSTICKS Awesome teen sexploit video game movie. We got the fatso, the nerd, the cool guy, the clumsy villains. And babes--we got plenty of babes! The two big video game contests use Satan's Hollow and Super Pac-Man--venerable classics! They also get the mayor of the town addicted to Gorf. Well done and very funny, this movie kicks ass. THE USUAL SUSPECTS Back when the trouble started with my now ex-girlfriend Kerri, we were at her brother's wedding at Headquarters Plaza in Morristown. I was fuming over her not wanting me to talk to her grandmother's boyfriend about computers. Luckily, there was a movie theater in the mall adjoining the hotel, so I went there to cool off, choosing "The Usual Suspects", even though I knew almost nothing about it. I tellya, this is a great movie to see without any foreknowledge. At the end, I was confused and fascinated, so I went to see it again the next week. Anyway, it's a Brazil-like descent into the depths of fantasy and reality. It involves five criminals, who are recruited by the mysterious Keyser Soze for a crazy mission. Full of quotable lines and memorable performances, this is a film that keeps on getting better every time you see it. MALLRATS Followup to "Clerks", some might say it's Kevin Smith's "sophomore" effort, but I don't like that word in that context. Anyway, this movie bombed even though it's totally awesome. Sure to become a cult classic though. Filmed at the Eden Prairie Mall in Minnesota instead of the Woodbridge Center in New Jersey, the mall I'm sure the director had in mind. Shannen Dougherty fits into the madness very well, and newcomer Jason Lee is perfect in the role of Brodie. Too bad this movie disappeared--but it was marketed as some stupid 80's valley girl throwback or something, as opposed to the sophisticated, smart film that it really is. Definitely give this movie a chance on video. I saw it twice, and it definitely stands up as a cult film you can watch over and over again. At the end of the credits, it says that Jay and Silent Bob will return in "Chasing Amy"--I hope so. *OW* [[03069LA]] Lord of Obliviana 11/27/95 8:17 PM Hello. Here I am again, Frank Edward Nora, Lord of Obliviana. It's interesting to note that at this point, no issues after OsoaWeek052 have been released. Book Five was minimal, and this is just the fourth issue of Book Six. The problem is that I am no longer of America Online, and the downloads from NJ BBS The Familiar Spirit are hardly worth the effort of uploading. Ah, who knows--maybe I'll upload Book Five there, just so that it's released. But what I'm working toward is having OsoaWeek released exclusively on the World Wide Web. So right now, OsoaWeek is in a kind of limbo state. I had a great idea before, and I think I'm gonna try and make it a reality. Basically, it'd be little publications designed to be read in the bathroom, while waiting for things, on the train, etc. They'll be small and chock fulla infostimulation. And to make them easier to produce, I'll be introducing the Interactive U-Rip system, where you get to rip open the publication. Interactive fun for you, and no need to cut for me! Huh. I finished Obliviana Year One (OsoaWeek001-052) exactly three months ago. Wow. I remember how fucked-up I was after that. Amazing it was just 90 days ago or so. Got a guitar tuning device today. Also visited Nat Sherman cigars on Fifth Avenue and got an "Exploreur" or something, about $8, shaped kinda conelike. Awesome cigar. Burned myself on it outside Toys'R'Us. At Nat Sherman, they were really haughty. But I guess, y'know, that's the downside of such an upscale hobby. I wonder what I look like to people. A psycho misfit? I've been wearing a pony tail lately. My hair is a mess anyway I fiddle with it. I'M a mess. Pot belly. Crummy clothes. No wonder I sleep alone. But I do have this Obliviana thing going. Jesus Christ, imagine if I didn't? Guess I'd be into drugs or something. I better do a personal renaissance in '96, or I'll be quite potentially screwed. Screwed. Still working on "Principia Obliviana". Gotta get that going. Someone here on the train is doing one of those nerve-wracking "slow nose blows"--you know--where they blow their nose ever so slowly, and never cease repeating the same every 30 seconds or so? JUST BLOW IT ALL OUT, FUCKER! You'll feel better and so will all of us!!! Yeah, I'm a mess. But--I do have a job, and I do have Obliviana. Plus, at least I've been meeting women, even if I'm going nowhere with them. Gotta meet women in order to find one. Guess that'd fall under the category "common sense". At some level, I'm thinking maybe it's better NOT to have a girlfriend at this point; I need all my energy for Obliviana. But that sounds WAY too much like an excuse for not applying myself, not trying. So I guess I'll just have to strike a happy medium. And who knows--the situation as it is, I might get a happy surprise. There ARE a few girls with my number, and who knows--one of 'em might call. Yeah, but even so, what chance is there that it's develop into a relationship? FUCK! I have to improve myself! The better-looking I am the better chance I'll have to attract a cool woman! Dammit! 11/28/95 8:32 AM Unseasonably warm today. Windy. Weather that makes me think of reality travel. Last night I bought a whole lot of junk, which I shouldn't have, cuzza my bills. I'm late for work again today. When I'm late, I pay $6 for parking instead of $2. I'm way behind on my bills. I gotta embark on an adventure--the adventure of getting myself back on track. See, the problem is, when things get bad, I'm motivated to get moving. But then, when they SEEM to get a little better, I slack off. So right now, I see a winter of asceticism for myself. From my current perspective, going a few months without a girlfriend seems like a good deal. Save me some time and money. Right now I'm sitting Indian-style on the floor of an Amtrak--no seat available, you know. I don't know if the earlier trains are that much better, but--dammit, I gotta start being on time, spending less money, eating less, paying my bills, organizing my stuff, etc. Yes. So this is to be a winter of rebirth. I cannot indulge in the pleasures of sex and shopping. Not that I could indulge in the pleasures of sex anyway, being that I'm so unattractive to women, and so loserish with my video games and computers and World Wide Webs. But yes, this idea of a spartan lifestyle appeals to me. The big question is whether or not I'll be able to take the stress of such a lifestyle. And also, if I do manage to save money, I have to avoid some catastrophe coming along and eating all the money up. Ah, come on. It's almost 1996! I gotta get my life in order. One thing I'll do tonight is set my alarm clock for 5:00 AM instead of 5:30. I've just been ignoring my alarm--bed is just too comfortable (till Kerri takes it back--the bed, that is). I have to get out of bed at 5 and not go back. I have to go to the supermarket and buy food for myself to bring in. Ramen noodles? Hey, if ramen noodles is what it's gonna take to get me back on track, then yes. Jeez. How have I gotten to this point in my life? And what of Obliviana? I'm thinking of getting rid of 1-800-OBLIVIANA. I only use it to check my answering machine from payphones. And... and... Obliviana--my plan is to work on it furiously and have it ready to go for the Spring. Spring--late March--four months away. Yeah, I think that in four months I should be able to get my life back in some semblance of order. I mean, I got the guitar, and even though I sold my PlayStation to get it, I still have Jaguar, Super Nintendo, Genesis, TurboGraphix, Colecovision, Intellivision, Game Boy, Lynx, Odyssey, Atari 2600, Atari 5200, Atari 7800, and who knows--maybe even a few more. So what am I saying here? I'm saying that I have to rebuild my life, cuz it's fallen way apart. I mean, since college, since Anything But Monday, I've been struggling. I accumulated thousands of books--do I need 'em? Sell 'em off! Papers, trinkets, magazines--AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH--I can't take it! Too much stuff! I wanna be rid of it! I wanna be rid of the mess! I wanna cut it down. To think of all the shit I have--in storage, in my grandmother's garage. I can't take it! If I ever do become successful with Obliviana, if I become wealthy, I can always look back to times like these and realize that I deserve it. They talk about paying your dues, well, I'M PAYING THEM!!! The only problem with this winter plan of mine is that I'll have a hard time keeping at it. I'm very undisciplined. Also, it won't be winter for a month. Well, then it'll be a winter-plus-the-last-third-of-fall plan. Please. Okay, so am I nuts? Maybe. But I see a lot of my peers going through the same crapola. Generation X--yeah, we are truly lost. Hopefully I'll be able to tap into the spirit of my generation and become a popular entertainer for it. Popular entertainer? I could have come up with something better than that. 11/28/95 7:18 PM So, what do I have to do to get into my ascetic lifestyle? I mean, considering all the stuff I've accumulated over the years, I won't be lacking in infostimulation for awhile. But I have to do a number of things. Firstly, I have to get to work on time every day. That's a pretty tall order. Next, I need to be aware of how much I owe on each of my bills--right now, I'm kind of in a self-induced cloud of nebulosity over the state of my finances--I guess the obvious subconscious rationale is that what I don't know can't hurt me. But I'm paying the price for it. I know I can catch up. I just have to limit my frivolous spending, food spending, and every other sort of spending. I know it'll take me months to catch up--but being on time every day should make for a higher paycheck each week. I know this all must seem awful mundane to you--but y'know--as I've said before, it helps me to talk about these things in a manner in which I know that SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE will be reading it. And heck--the more successful I become with Obliviana, the more people that will be reading this, and the more interest there will be in my story. Am I self-aware, or what? Guess that's what makes these times so unique--success and fame have become such well-known concepts, one can hardly be unaware of them when working in a field that might lead to such. So I'm working on the ascetic thing. Maybe I'll be a "crazy old hermit" just like Ben Kenobi. Yeah. No, but I feel this is vital--to focus on that which is important. I know that 1996 will be the pivotal year. If I'm lean and mean by the spring, you know I'll be kicking some digital ass in the marketplace. Whatever. Like what is my plan for tonight? Go home, uh, maybe work on my bills, getting a handle on them. But a major foundation of everything is organizing my stuff. I mean, my bills are all over the place! Yeah. So I got my work cut out for me. 11/29/95 7:10 AM train First snow of the season, woke up to maybe 3 or 4 inches, and still going strong. Used 4WD. Had a bloody nose right after I woke up, minor, very rare for me. Parked my Jeep in a tight spot--inches from the car to my right. Bagged lunch today--pasta in a thermal container, s'posed to stay hot for hours and hours. Train gliding with trees alongside, winter wonderland again. Beautiful. Okay. Ignored alarm clock this morning. Not good. I have to start getting up at 5:30, not 6:15. Yeah. So winter it is. Funny that as soon as I decide to do this ascetic winter, there's a big snow. But, uh, one aspect of this hermit thing is that I'm expecting, at some level, that if I resist love, it will come to me. That is, if I just forget about it, and vow to spend my time on other things, an opportunity will be presented to me, just to piss me off and mess me up. Of course, I'll lunge at the opportunity--come on, I'm not THAT good a hermit. Monday, 12/4/95--8:17 AM--train Feeling discouraged and I shouldn't be. Last week, started bringing my lunch to work and being on time. Today I'm late with no lunch--back to my old ways. Friday--what did I do? Just went home, I think. Saturday, did a lot of stuff. I went to the bank around 11 or so, deposited the week's pay and $66 in nickels and dimes. At the train station, I bought a $76 weekly. Then I went to Cigar Parlor in Princeton and got some cigars. Then to Abel Bagel up the street for some food. Then I managed to get lost and took the long way to Kerri's place, to get the rent check from her. Then to Nanny's house, though she wasn't there, to get Mike Massotto's 100 copies of each issue of ABM. Pissed outside, next to the trailer. Then to Publix Self-Storage to pay my bill. Then I went into my unit and tore it up, looking for my Odyssey cartridges, to no avail. I did find my Intellivision, though. From there, I got on the Parkway and made my way to the Willowbrook Mall in Wayne to meet Massotto at Fun'n'Games. I was early, played some games (including Namco's Alpine Racer ski game for $1.50). Got a falafel, wandered around the mall some more, and then met Mike. We went to a nearby diner and spent several hours there discussing Mike's idea for an Ever Wonder, Ever Notice book. Went to his place, worked on the idea some more, then played Intellivision--B-17 Bomber and Utopia mostly. Awesome games. Then we went outside, had cigars, and I did my long night journey home past midnight, mostly Turnpike. Yesterday, didn't do much. I wanted to do laundry, to clean up, etc. Went to the supermarket just to look in TV guide as to whether the Philadelphia Fox affiliate was gonna show the Redskins game. They weren't. My brother and father would have come over, since I get the Philly Fox and they don't Best scene of the day, I lit a Bahia cigar and headed for a walk, but it was raining, so I got an umbrella. A little ways down the jogging trail, I saw a rabbit. I stopped, and it hopped into the weeds, but I stayed there, staring at it. Rabbits have always appeared to me at weird times--I think there's some sort of symbolism going on. Anyway, I kept staring at this rabbit, blinking and narrowing my eyes in a manner I find most mammals respond to. The rabbit did too. It narrowed it's one visible eye too. It was a magical moment, but then I saw someone coming and I got going, feeling annoyed. Then I got to a bench and sat. On the bench, I sat uncomfortably for a few minutes, as some annoying people passed. Then I heard a police car and saw it zooming by on Plainsboro road, in the distance. So I turned around--putting my feet through the back of the bench, and leaning my arms on the bench back. I sat like that for the better part of an hour, as it got dark. To my left was an office building of some sort. Ahead of me was a field with a drainage ditch and stuff. TO my right was a large mound with a trail on it, which bicyclists used. Further to the right were four majestic power line towers, with lines strung between them, heading back into the woods, behind me. Ahead of me, across the field, was Plainsboro road, with regular traffic. Across from there, apartments and/or condos, gray. As it grew darker, a distant tower's flasher went from bright white strobe to lazy red. The office center had three floodlights go on. Canadian geese flew overhead, and I could hear their wings flapping. I saw a cool leaf on the ground, with interesting holes in it and stuff. As I finished my cigar, I started to feel sick from too much smoke, grabbed the leaf, and went home cold. I stripped and lied down on the bed, feeling awfully unwell and dizzy. The bed felt wonderful. I tried to set my alarm, but since it was exactly 12 hours before it was set to go off, it went off immediately (5:20). So I figured I'd set it later. But I didn't fall asleep. I called Movie Phone and explored all its options, lying there in the dark, fingering the keypad like a blind person. I wound up trying the Philadelphia area code for Movie Phone (777-FILM) in NY and NJ. Got a message telling me the area code changed to 610. Called it, and got info on Reading-area Fox theaters. Heard some stammering fool read movie synopses. I eventually got up, but I didn't accomplish anything, and went to bed. When I was staring at the field I was trying to figure everything out--my recurring dreams of getting fired, Kerri leaving me, the stuff with the girls in New York, Massotto's renewed interest in ABM. I figured it meant it was time to get going, that I really needed to shock myself into action, that I was in such a rut, it might take something like getting fired to get me moving. The idea was that if I got moving on my own, nothing so traumatic need occur. But my performance the rest of the day didn't lead to much optimism. Then this morning--vague memories of shutting the alarm off and going back to sleep. Got up around 7--no chance of getting a $2 parking space, no chance of being on time. 8:47 now. 47 minutes late already, and I'm still in New Jersey. So, I have to get moving. But it's not so easy. I guess I could get moving by writing, right? What does it mean to "get moving"? I... Obliviana must become a profitable company. That's the goal, in a nutshell. Playing Intellivision on Saturday, it dawned on me that the interface of the future is not virtual reality, but classic video game. Simple graphics leave more to the imagination, stimulating the imagination, and providing a more compelling experience. As 3-D, fully-rendered graphics get better and better, less and less is left to the imagination, and the time it takes to lose interest in an interaction grows shorter and shorter. So while everyone else dives headlong into VR, I'll be working on CVGI--Classic Video Game Interfaces! And y'know what? I don't care about revealing this right now, cuz nobody's gonna understand where I'm coming from till I succeed. Yeah. Dammit, I don't wanna be late! Oh well. Anyway, I gotta write a business plan, figure out exactly what I'm gonna sell, and to whom. My goal is to be in business--that is, working for Obliviana full-time--by Fall 1996. By my 29th birthday, October 3, 1996? Well, my main goal is to be in business in 1996--and to definitely be in business at the dawning of 1997. Cuz if I'm not in business by then, considering all the shit that's gonna go down in '97, I might as well forget it. Okay. So I have this winter of retreat or something. By the dawn of Spring, I will have my business plan fully completed. I will have a fully-delineated blueprint of the structure of my business. 12/5/95 4:56 PM I forgot to say something stupid about this being issue 69--you know, mutual oral sex?--I wanted to say something retarded about that. Oh well. Get all Obliviana. *OW* [[04069NH]] Nihilistica ***THIS IS YOUR OSOAWEEK ON AMERICA ONLINE*** OsoaWeek on America Online as of 11/29/95 Columns are: upload date, category?, Name, # of downloads, most recent download 08/31 EZ OsoaWeek052 Ezine 30 11/27 08/31 EZ OsoaWeek051 Ezine 13 11/15 08/31 EZ OsoaWeek050 Ezine 6 11/19 08/02 EZ OsoaWeek049 Ezine 29 11/26 07/25 EZ OsoaWeek048 Ezine 20 11/17 07/13 ET OsoaWeek047 Ezine 18 11/17 06/29 EZ OsoaWeek 46 14 11/09 06/22 EZ OsoaWeek045 Ezine 26 11/20 06/16 EZ OsoaWeek044 Ezine 28 11/24 06/13 EZ OsoaWeek043 Ezine 15 11/15 06/05 EZ OsoaWeek042 Ezine 20 11/23 06/01 EZ OsoaWeek041 Ezine 14 11/28 05/23 ET OsoaWeek040 Ezine 41 10/23 05/08 EZ OsoaWeek039 Ezine 48 11/05 05/06 EZ OsoaWeek038 Ezine 11 10/23 04/29 EZ OsoaWeek37 Ezine 28 11/24 04/19 EZ OsoaWeek036 Ezine.38 11/18 04/15 EZ OsoaWeek035 Ezine 32 11/17 04/07 EZ OsoaWeek034 Ezine 9 10/23 04/07 EZ OsoaWeek033 Ezine 12 10/23 03/26 EZ OsoaWeek032 Ezine 26 10/12 03/12 EZ OsoaWeek031 Ezine 59 11/27 03/12 EZ OsoaWeek030 Ezine 27 11/19 02/22 EZ OsoaWeek029 Ezine 42 11/25 02/12 EZ OsoaWeek028 Ezine 38 11/11 02/07 EZ OsoaWeek027 Ezine 20 07/28 01/29 EZ OsoaWeek026 Ezine 19 10/21 01/19 EZ OsoaWeek025 Ezine 37 11/24 01/10 EZ OsoaWeek024 Ezine 46 11/27 01/02 EZ OsoaWeek023 Ezine 33 11/11 12/31 EZ OsoaWeek022 Ezine 10 05/27 12/19 EZ OsoaWeek021 Ezine 54 11/10 12/19 EZ OsoaWeek020 Ezine 11 11/13 12/05 EZ OsoaWeek019 Ezine 42 09/14 11/25 EZ OsoaWeek018 Ezine 18 11/15 11/19 EZ OsoaWeek017 Ezine 27 11/05 11/18 EZ OsoaWeek016 14 10/18 11/06 EZ OsoaWeek015 31 11/16 10/31 EZ OsoaWeek014 32 11/28 10/19 EZ Osoaweek013 40 11/19 10/14 EZ OsoaWeek012 47 11/12 10/05 EZ OsoaWeek011 23 11/22 09/29 EZ OsoaWeek010 28 10/29 09/20 EZ OsoaWeek009 21 11/15 09/20 EZ OsoaWeek008 16 09/10 09/13 EZ OsoaWeek007 22 11/11 09/06 EZ OsoaWeek006 Ezine 21 11/05 09/05 EZ OsoaWeek005 Ezine 12 11/15 08/22 EZ OsoaWeek004 Ezine 27 11/15 08/22 EZ OsoaWeek003 Ezine 46 11/22 08/21 EZ OsoaWeek002 Ezine 33 10/21 08/21 EZ OsoaWeek001 Ezine 38 11/18 TOTAL=1412 downloads HIGHEST=59 (031) LOWEST=6 (050) AVERAGE=27 MEAN=27 8/24/95 downloads=1101 ***DIARY OF A DREAMFRANK*** 10/29/95. Going to a southern town--in Alabama or Mississippi--where ordinary folks put on a show of mass explosions. One guy like a farmer says he spent $40,000 on his latest bomb, and brings it out into a field with a tractor, then has a certain amount of time to get away. But his is a flop--it doesn't work right. In this town, they have special cigarettes, in intricate little hardwood cases with a reddish hue finish, very well made. A kid getting harassed by other kids in the water, to get away he drags a bunch of dummies inside a quickly-sinking crashed jet plane--to make the kids feel sorry for him or something, then he escapes without much time left, but then he sees the dummy was one of the kids that was bothering him, so he is a hero and goes back in to rescue him. Me, Frank Edward Nora, am the emissary from the USA, and I get the 6th desk in a row. I have to have a little sign made for the desk with my name on it or something. Then they enclose the desks into little cubicles. I wonder what stuff I should bring in--a boom box, whatever. Pissing outside Nanny's house, eyeing the garage. 11/7/95. It was pre-dawn, and my girlfriend was sleeping in the front yard of my parents' house, so I went out to see her. There were two tabletops in the driveway, and I remembered she like to sleep on them, so I put them down beside her and asked her if she wanted to sleep on them with me. But she declined. Then I saw that the sun was coming up, but it was just a pale white disk behind the clouds. But then, as I watched it, I saw that it was rising at an incredible speed, halfway to its apex in less than thirty seconds. I started panicking, fearing the end of the world. Soon, the sun had made its way across the sky and had set again, and the sky became clear. A wizard guy came up to me as I gazed at the heavens--brilliant stars, shooting stars, fireworks-like bursts, and a general commotion. I asked him if it was the end of the world, and he started in on some complex explanation, somehow concluding that the fireworks-like stuff in the sky was a good sign. Then it was later--the next day--and a guy in a van drove into the driveway and talked to my mother. I was in the garage, and under a shovel, I saw a bag. When I checked it, I saw it was full of money. I then realized that my mother had paid the guy to do all that stuff to the sky, just to mess with me. So I took the money and went inside. Then the guy and his goons were after me. I called 911 as a guy from work was repeatedly ramming into the door, with a blank expression on his face. I yelled the address to the 911 operator as the guy smashed in and attacked me. Somehow I got away, and was in a vehicle in the driveway, again calling 911. I talked to the operator, describing the main bad guy--long hair, tattoo on his arm--and the operator realized that he was her boyfriend, so she couldn't help me. Then I ran over to the walkway that leads from the driveway to the front door, but I had nowhere to run. Then, out of the blue, a guy with a beard drove onto the lawn in a pickup truck, and opened the door. "Get in." he said, and I did. As we drove away, he admitted that he was one of them--said something about giving credit where credit was due. Guess I got away--I think I had the money, too. Earlier, I was on a plane, returning home from a one-night trip to Las Vegas. And I was asking myself--why did I come here?--why not go somewhere else--I was just in Las Vegas a few months ago. Then the plane started taxiing along these roads--and soon we were in Walt Disney World. We saw a huge fountain sculpture thing--big as a city block--with towers, fountains, and a variety of sculptures rising out of a pond. Then my father was there, and we went into this museum. *OW* [[05069SU]] Superior SUPERIOR 389 Is the act of saving the document and is like thunder in history. Cremate the opposition, they're gone man. Imagine if the world weren't wild with change, the panther would be obsolete. I'm not coming up the driveway just yet. I have some more spice and cowardice in me, the delicious bombing of the production. Is it. The walk and. SUPERIOR 390 To those who think Superiors are randomly generated by a computer program, you are foolish. They are all written from my mind. Can you not see this--is it not obvious? Superiors bring me great pleasure, I'm a fan. I like writing and reading them, especially a long time after. A lot of them, I just wrote and only read a couple of times, so going back, I can have a genuine thrill. Superior is remarkable literature. SUPERIOR 391 Standaback, Diamhardy. Ten years from now you'll thank me. SUPERIOR 392 Was the nap a means to avoid it, or just my disorganization, or what? Cute. SUPERIOR 393 I am paralyzed by so many forces, but these same forces could prove a potent fuel for motion. Writing this, I am moving forward. Are there choices, which result in branchings into the ahead, or is it more qualitative? But I think I know the cause of it all. SUPERIOR 394 A few in the tunnel. My heart is blazing with a bittersweet pain. It's a good, human feeling. Something I wouldn't feel if depressed. Yes, I have a lot. Every day smoothes over the destruction of the last a little. October is over--I'm ready for to reap what the winds of change have sown. SUPERIOR 395 Through with the tunnel. A New York Times page in my back pocket, a story about people who live inside a nuclear missile silo. They call it love, and I love feeling it. They had a poor little hedgehog on Larry King the other night--it was scared to death and held itself tightly in its ball shape. I know what I want. SUPERIOR 396 Pony tail new brunswick. Mr. Toad, come on. Parking Lot World, I wanna talk about my desire for you. Yeah, life is a sequence. Science, let me tellya, look at a halftone with a magnifier and all you see is dots. Nothing. Playing computer keyboard. People romanticize freehand and typewriter writing. Too little unbelief, where is society up to. *OW* [[06069SR]] Severe Repair SEVERE REPAIR 56: "Coward" Thalerdrad watched as the highway far above him receded into the distance. This falling felt good. With every second, he felt better and better about his chances for survival. But then came the flames. Silent, unfelt, only seen. Engulfing him. Well it was worth a try, he thought, as he started getting light-headed, losing awareness of his body. He thought of his friend Thirk, how he also burst into flame and evaporated, minutes earlier. Maybe I'll see him, he thought. Soon he was nearly gone, and through lips that may or may not have existed, he uttered words which cannot be uttered--a threat to his god, Xonzeft--a statement which brought certain death and damnation to any worshipper of Xonzeft. "Hated Xonzeft--I vow to destroy you." He had seen the results of saying this. When he was a child, a jagvain, or tortoise-man, named Naltosh, spoke the words in the Elorimm town square in a drunken rage. Instantly, the glowing, transparent, clawed, giant hand of Xonzeft appeared out of nowhere and ripped Naltosh apart in a matter of seconds. All that was left was his steaming remains and the painful howl of his soul being sucked into the netherworld. Thalerdrad never forgot the incident, and recalled it just about every day. Deep inside, Thalerdrad had a strange obsession with saying the phrase. He felt like he had to do it--he almost did a few times, when he was upset with his father. But he never did. Somehow, he thought he could beat Xonzeft. Knowing he was seconds from his end, saying the Sevenwords seemed the logical thing to do. First, he'd finally get to say it, satisfying his perverse desire. Second, maybe it would get Xonzeft's attention. Maybe Xonzeft would realize it was just a call for help, that the threat was used as an emergency call. Then Xonzeft could save him. "Coward" was the last word to run through Thalerdrad's mind as he reached full evaporation and vanished. * * * Thalerdrad began to wake up, and was in that state where dream is not yet sorted out from reality, where you might think you've been sleeping where you're used to, instead of a strange place. Curled up in a heavy blanket, the Triltan could feel the chilly air on his nose. He huddled up into a fetal position, savoring the warmth he had built up under the blanket. He had been dreaming, and it was a dream of his mission to Darthule, with Thirk and Gorblame. At one point, Gorblame started complaining about the "wrong kind of sky" on the highway--and soon, the mystical road started to slant downward. Gorblame said this was very bad. Thirk stated that he like the new downhill highway, because he liked danger. Soon the road's angle passed 45 degrees, and the three stopped. "What can we do?" Thalerdrad asked. "We can't go back--you know what'll happen. But it we keep going forward..." "Eh," Gorblame said in his monstrous voice, "if your suggestin' we stand still..." "No, but what else can we do? Look down there--you can't see much road--that means it must slope down further." "Your father would have the answer." Gorblame said. Thalerdrad became enraged. "What the hell do you mean? What answer could HE possibly have? Why does everyone... line me up... with my father?" "Cool it Thalerdrad!" Thirk chimed in. "We'll find a way out... as adventurers!" Suddenly the three heard a feral roar from behind them, and they turned to see the giant head of Felptash the Highwayist, the bright purple bear-man. He looked angry. "Stand still on the highway... hurts the one who made it!" Gorblame thundered. In a blind frenzy of hatred, Thalerdrad unsheathed his sword and, with both hands, threw it with all his might at the image of Felptash. It flew straight, and then hit what looked like a mirror, shattering Felptash's image. The dream fell into nebulosity then, but there was definitely a scene where Thalerdrad sat naked in a field of grass and flowers with a strange, alien woman. She looked similar to a Kiplaft, or monkey-person, but her features were much sharper, and her skin was furless. He felt both great attraction and repulsion toward her at the same time. This was the dream receding in Thalerdrad's mind as his consciousness began to kick in. For a few moments, he thought he was in the royal guestroom in Palace Thartos. Where he'd been staying for a few days before his mission. But something about the ambient sound and smell of the place, to Thalerdrad's keen senses, told him he was someplace else before he opened his eyes a few moments later. The image that struck him sent a jolt of pure shock through him. Whiteness with huge black dots. Indistinct. Taking a sharp intake of breath, Thalerdrad sat up and soaked up more of the situation. He was on a blue futon in the center of a huge black circle. All around him was white, with various formations of black circles. There was no horizon, no sky, nothing he could use to orient himself. The smell--there was no smell, and somehow it smelled wrong. The sound--nothing audible, but he was sure there was something bad making noise out there. Death, he thought. This is the place. Did Xonzeft rip me apart, and now am I damned? No memory of that. Just of the highway and dreams about the highway. And cowardice. And blaspheming. Suddenly, a crackling sound filled the air, followed by a female voice shot through with static. "This is Walter Mota, speaking from the body of Mildred, broadcasting from Thatterine College into the great unknown. Using nothing-band transmitter/receiver bought in Felptash yesterday. Seeking all and any replies. If you are hearing this, please reply." Felptash? Thalerdrad cocked his head and consider the situation for a few moments. Then he spoke, tentatively. "Hello?" His voice sounded strange--very pure and very strong. The voice continued. "Repeat--this is Walter Mota broadcasting from Thatterine--what? You heard something?" "Can you hear me?" Thalerdrad asked. "Yeah, I definitely hear it. Let me adjust these rings a little..." The crackling sound was joined with a jarring squeal. "Contacting person, do you read me?" the voice said. "Yes!" Thalerdrad said. "Can you hear me?" "I can hear you." "What's this all about?" "What's it all about? That's an awfully open-ended question, wouldn't you say?" "What?" "We are in contact. Yes. Yes." "Who are you?" "I am Walter Mota, speaking from the body of Mildred, broadcasting from Thatterine College." "I am not familiar with such a place." "What are your current surroundings?" "What?" "Your current surroundings." "Ah--white--all around--and black circles." The static grew louder and Thalerdrad heard the voice say something, but he couldn't make it out. "Hello? HELLO?" "Don't worry, Thalerdrad, we'll get you out of there!" Walter said in Mildred's voice, much clearer now. "How... how is it you know my name?" "Uh... must be a little time distortion. You told us your name, but that might have been in your subjective future." "What?" Thalerdrad said, frustrated. The voice kept on talking, but it sounded like the same voice saying two different things at once, and he couldn't make any of it out. Then, the voice came back, much louder. "...hearing you. Can you tell us your name and current situation?" "What?" "I said, we are hearing you. What is your name and current situation?" "I... I thought you already knew my name?" It sounded like the voice was talking to someone else, though Thalerdrad heard no one else. "...what? You think it could be time-unstable? ...yeah... Uh--contacted person--you could be experiencing some time-distortion in our signal." "You already... I thought you already said something about... time..." "Listen, this message and form of communication is very unstable, understand, but for now, just tell us your name and circumstances." Thalerdrad slowly stood up, looking around to see if he could make out any source for the sound. But upon standing erect, he found himself so disoriented that he sat back down again. "What is it you said about Felptash?" the Triltan said. "Felptash?" "Yes." "We bought this transmitter there." "There?" "Yes... Can you provide name and circumstances?" Thalerdrad looked suspicious, trying to figure out who this might be. He thought it might be some sort of afterlife test, maybe to determine his place in the Land of the Dead. "I am Thalerdrad, son of Dradmer, of Elorimm." "And.. you circumstances?" "I am dead." "That is understood." the voice said. "The are in the process of--" The voice suddenly grew much louder, and became indistinct, and the squealing began again. "Ahhh!" Thalerdrad yelled out, covering his ears. The ruckus continued, and he buried his face in the pillow, pushing it to cover his ears. But soon, the din subsided, and the voice was back, clear as day. "Thalerdrad--calling Thalerdrad. This is Walter. Calling Thalerdrad. We are back in Felptash." Thalerdrad sat up again, staring wildly into the air. "What about Felptash?" "Oh good--you're there. Thank goodness." "What is it about Felptash? Is he... angry with me for what I did?" "What? Who's angry?" Thalerdrad paused, then spoke. "I don't know who you are--but I know that Felptash could be very angry that I jumped off his highway. If you are a magical agent of his--sent to torment me..." "Listen Thalerdrad--I don't know what you're talking about. Don't you remember our conversation? Could be more time problems... yeah?... okay--just listen to me. We spoke about your situation and I told you we were going back to Felptash, to find someone who could help pull you through. Maybe that's in your subjective future, but anyway--he's here--Felpever Wand--to pull you in. Hold on." Thalerdrad listened to a series of chime-like noises before a husky male voice spoke. "Well now. Got a lost soul do we?" Thalerdrad didn't respond. The husky voice continued. "Okay. This is a somewhat... delicate operation. I'm going to need your full cooperation. I'm going to have to ask you a few questions before I can pull you in. Okay?" "Whatever." Thalerdrad said, giving up on understanding the situation. "Okay. Now--my friends here tell me that you're a lost soul, stuck in some sort of limbo, with no conceivable way out. Other than this. Is this so?" "As far as I know." Thalerdrad said, then added on impulse, "Are you an agent of Xonzeft?" "No, I'm not. Now--do you understanding that if I fif you in here, that there'll be no way for you to return to your current locale?" "What?" "I'm telling you--there will be no way to go back to where you are if you come here. Do you understand this?" "I... if you say so." "Fine. Now--knowing this--do you still want to come through?" "Where... where is it that I am coming through to?" "Felptash. Not a bad place. We'll provide you with food, shelter, emotional support, and the resources you require to start on the new life of your choosing. I'm reading you as a benevolent sentient, and it's our ethic to save those lost in the vastness of nowhere." "I--I don't know if I can answer you." "That's up to you." "I--can I answer--can I answer that I accept your offer, only so long as you're telling the truth?" "That is acceptable." "Okay then--I accept your offer--only so long as you're telling the truth." "Fine. Now, this is, as I said, a delicate process. We have to prepare, and--" Again, the voice grew in volume until it was unintelligible. "Damn it!" Thalerdrad yelled. He went to hide his head in the pillow again, but before his face hit the pillow he saw that the futon was sinking into the black circle. The sound of roaring, buzzing saws filled the air as he frantically tried to scamper away from the futon, but before he could get moving at all, he was waist deep in black nothingness. He howled a savage howl, and looking straight up at the queer arrangement of black circles in the distance, roared out "HATED XONZEFT--I VOW TO DESTROY YOU!!!" And he was swallowed up in the void, but only for a few moments. The darkness was all around him, but soon, something began to take shape below him. It was... a room. Yes... definitely a room. It coalesced out of indistinct mists. He watched the process in fascination, then before he knew it, WHAM!--he dropped to the floor of the room. It was quiet and very dark, but his wolfen eyes quickly adjusted to low light level. It was a richly appointed room--quality furniture, sculptures, a suit of armor, a fireplace, nice rug. He drew his sword and crouched. "What's going on down there?" a male voice yelled from somewhere above him. His combat instincts kicked in strong and he knelt behind a piece of furniture, hiding himself and making no noise. "Dailan--I warned you--there'll be no more chances for you!" Upon hearing the severity in the tone of the speaker, a great rage rose up in Thalerdrad, and he roared out "I'm tired of these games ! Show yourself!" Thalerdrad heard nothing for the better part of a minute. Then, filled with courage, tired of cowardice, he stood up and began walking toward the flight of stairs he could see in the next room. "I'm not afraid of you, whatever you are." Thalerdrad said. "I'm ready to face you." "Kindly identify yourself." the voice said. In the next instant, Thalerdrad looked up the stairs just as Finjear Morno began descending them. The two locked eyes. Both were stunned by what they saw, standing silent. "My god..." Finjear finally said, quietly. "Who are you?" Thalerdrad growled threateningly, holding his sword out in front of him. "Finjear Morno." he said with an icy calm. "This is my house you are in." Thalerdrad narrowed his eyes. "Are you the one... who was talking to me before?" "I--" "Talking about Felptash?" Finjear raised one of his eyebrows, regarding the gigantic wolf-man with a touch of amusement. "My dear fellow, you are lost." he said after a long pause. "I feel... I feel that you mean me no harm. I think you need help." Thalerdrad stood silent, but lowered his blade a little. "I'm coming down." Finjear said. "We'll go into the drawing room and talk." Thalerdrad stared at the horned man, trying to size him up. Then he sheathed his weapon and stepped back. "If you are willing to give me the answers to this nightmare, I swear I'll do you no harm." "Fine, fine." Finjear said as he carefully began to descend the creaky steps. Thalerdrad stepped back from the stairs as Finjear came down. The white-haired man cautiously approached the massive form of the Triltan and motioned toward the room where Thalerdrad had fallen in. "In there." Thalerdrad nodded as he walked into the room. Finjear turned on an electric light which momentarily hurt Thalerdrad's eyes. Then Finjear sat, in a chair, and motioned for Thalerdrad to sit on the couch. He did. "Now then." Finjear said, his voice trembling a bit even though he was trying to sound calm. "Let me tell you--I have no idea where you came from, nor any answers to your personal situation. I am, however, very curious as to how you wound up here." "So you know nothing of Felptash?" Finjear cocked his head in the manner of intense thought. "No," he finally said, "I can honestly say that I've never heard of anything called 'Felptash'." Thalerdrad coughed a mighty cough, then looked up at Finjear through bleary eyes. "Is this the Land of the Dead?" "What!?" "Am I... you know... dead." "You mean, are you a ghost?" "I--I guess so." "I don't know what you are. I certainly never saw anything like you before." "Nor I you. You appear similar to a Kiplaft--a monkey-man--but you--you--" "Monkey man!? That's what I look like to you?" "Yes." Thalerdrad said softly. "I have never seen such as you. Are you a unique mutant, or part of a race?" "What? I am a horned human! And we are NOT mutants! We're a... 'genetic echo', if you like--from a time when horned deities of nature and ribaldry intermated with humanity." Thalerdrad appeared interested, but said nothing. "So--" Finjear said. "How is it you wound up in my house?" "I--do not know. I was on a mission--to the Valley Darthule, in the name of King Drey of Rilnar. But, on the highway that Felptash made, I... I JUMPED OFF... I... I am a coward. I feared death." "Only a fool laughs at death." Thalerdrad smiled and continued. "I fell--falling and falling--until the flames licked me and my body began discorporating. Then--then I awoke in a terrible place..." "Here?" "No, no. It was a land with no features, save for black spheres. I woke up there--on a bed--and voices began assailing me, taunting me." "Oh?" "Yes--they told me that they would save me--bring me to a land called Felptash--the same name as the Highwayist who mad our highway. And I--I began to sink into the blackness. Then..." "You came here?" "Yes--I dropped down, from the ceiling." Thalerdrad said, pointing toward the ceiling. They both looked up, seeing a circular purple stain on the white paint of the ceiling. "I say!" Finjear said. "That's where I came from." Just then, the two heard a clattering noise from beyond a door on the far side of the room. Finjear narrowed his already-narrow eyes and made a look of frustration. He held a "hold on" finger up to Thalerdrad, and yelled toward the door. "You may as well come on out, Dailan, like I know you're craving to. Stop your cowering--come out here and greet our visitor." They could hear the doorknob slowly turn, and then the door slowly creaking open. "Finjear, I-- I--I just want to say, I accept you offer, and--" Dailan said as he was poking his head out, but stopped short when he caught sight of Thalerdrad. "Yikes!" "Calm yourself--he means us no harm. Our visitor here is from a different universe. He is lost--and I mean to provide him all my hospitality." Dailan didn't move--he stayed with his head poked out the poor, and began shaking in fear. "Oh, for heaven's sake!" Finjear said. Then suddenly, a crackling sound filled the air, and a voice began to speak. "This is Walter Mota, speaking from the body of Mildred, broadcasting from Thatterine College into the great unknown." *OW* [[END069OW]] -------> ------------------- ----------- -------- -- ----- |