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funny 'cause i married one, or perhaps it's just funny

Posted 22 June 2003, 1.17 pm by ghoti

you too can learn high til speak norn iron

Happy Tree Friends!

Posted 17 June 2003, 6.35 pm by unforgiven

Happy Tree Friends!


Link Exchanges

Posted 14 June 2003, 7.00 pm by Alexander

Hello, Alexander here.

It's time once again to go on the search for link exchanges. I've been having a bit of a springclean around the site code etc today, and noticed a few dead links in the 'Friends' box.

If you (or someone you know) has a relatively high traffic site and would like to exchange links, please email me.

Also don't forget, any signed-up user can have their writing right here, by simply clicking 'submit article' at the top left of this page. We're always looking for writing (on any subject), poetry, stories, rants, reviews and interesting weblinks.


Control and the Effervescent Smile

Posted 7 June 2003, 5.23 pm by Shaggy

It is in a human being's interest to search for the things that lead to its survival. We are, after all, no more than intelligent animals. Our meaning of life has become complicated and cloudy.

Sex is a great cloud. By that, I do not mean that it is "great". I mean to say that it is a distraction, something which is not as important to our survival as, perhaps, many people make it out to be. For starters: only sex for procreation is technically "integral" to our survival. I place the word 'integral' in quotation marks because, with the advent of cloning, and with the consideration of our present over-population, this form of sex is slowly becoming a dying art form. However, in a relationship, you are a whore (either male or female) if sex is the prime motivational focus.

We have a brain, and this is not to be used with anything so base as a moments pleasure. Oversaturation of pleasure is as bad as starvation of the same sensation.

At any rate, there are easy explanations to these distractions: the flesh. The soul works one of two ways: either you sever the flesh to avoid distractions, or you embrace the flesh and control it, like a dog on a leash. For those who cannot control the flesh (case in point: if you have ever dumped/cheated-on someone because they were not "putting out", then you fall into this category) are those who lack in discipline, who lack in desire, and who, much more dangerous, are lacking in goals. It is one thing to have a sex-life, it is another to let sex rule your life.

That said, I must admit, I am at a loss. I want to exist completely and utterly in the mind, spending an eternity with the woman that I truly love. However, the limitations of the flesh are excrutiatingly high.

Painters have attempted to erase the flesh in the form of... well... Form. We get the surrealists. Writers have attempted similar prospects, and similarily, we have the literary surrealists. Music has not been so kind to the endeavor, though even it has rebellions to traditions.

How do we remember, in the Platonic sense? How do we return to the world of Ideas, the world where we know all and see all, where knowledge is pure?

How do we ascend? My soul is a great cavern, and I stare down into it in the hopes that, should this feeling of vertigo give way and push me over, I will find, at the very bottom of this cavern, the True path to ascension.

There is a balance of sorts with everything in the physical world. In order to have energy, we must take it from some other form. In order to have darkness we must have light. There are things that must balance the darkness of this world, there must be another realm untouched on the edges.

Perhaps we are in light merely as we exist in the darkness.

Perhaps it is our destiny to fear death and to embrace death simultaneously, to DoubleThink our way to pleasure/pain, and perhaps it is a gift that the proletariat has some manner of receiving. Truth is in the proles.

The natural world, like every other doorway, has a key. With enough tools, one can find this key, and unlock everything that it is natural to know.

Until then, brothers, we exist in the realm of fantasy, not of surreality but of subreality.

Fare thee well on the journey.

No Sex, Please, I'm British

Posted 31 May 2003, 11.50 am by Villager

Until recently, I had never had any dreams which could really be described as sexual, unless you count having my hair washed by the amiable blonde at the local hairdressers (which I do, frankly). I was always curious as to what a sexual dream would be like, having never had one, especially in the times when actual sexual experiences were also a thing of the future. I wanted to know how my mind would portray such things. Well, I found out.

I'm not sure if either of my dreams have any solid connection to reality. I don't recognise the faces or environments, nor do the events strike me with any coherent sense of allegory. In the first dream, I am passing through a house at night by chance when I encounter a short and shapely girl with shoulder length blonde hair. She begins talking to me and suggests that we go upstairs. I'm more than open to the idea and she leads me into another room. Here we meet another guy who begins talking to the girl, completely ignoring me. The girl turns to me and tells me to wait a minute, but not to go anywhere. When she returns she tells me something else has come up. It's worth mentioning that all concerned were naked at all times. End of. I remember a distinct sense of disappointment and bad luck. Fear of rejection? Insecurities with my own sense of manhood?

The second dream was a little more disturbing. Another blonde girl (not the same one) is having sex with an older man in a room, my observance of which is secret; I'm spying on them somehow. Some time later the man leaves and I enter the room. The girl shows me the kind of affection as though I were in a relationship with her, and encourages me into bed. I get angry and ask what kind of a fool she takes me for. She sees that I know of what happened before my entrance and shrugs it off, as though I should not be concerned. I leave. I felt betrayed. This dream was characterised by being extraordinarily graphic.

What strikes me about these dreams is their oddities; I have never been involved with a blonde girl, nor do I often find them especially attractive; in the past I've never really had any reason to fear betrayal, nor to my knowledge have I been betrayed in such a way; finally, the dreams occurred in consecutive nights' sleep. The two and only sexual dreams I have and they're a day apart. If I'm honest, I'm disturbed by these only because insecurities such as trust, rejection and my own self image are issues which have caused me significant troubles, but only before I became involved in relationships. Now I'm provoked into reassessing them all over again.

No more dreams about sex, please, I was rather content with scalectrix, ice-cream and 50ft robots.

The Eyes of Jesus are Upon Your Bum

Posted 27 May 2003, 4.58 am by Jake

Yesterday afternoon, I had to get spruced up and go to a baccalaureate (ha! say THAT ten times fast) ceremony. I initially balked at the idea of attending such an event, seeing as how it was held in one of the local churches, which all seem generally strange to me. According to the principal, attending the event was mandatory. I thought that separation of church and state factored in there somewhere, but I could be wrong.

Anyways, they made each student drag their generally lazy ass out of the house and trek down to the Word of Victory Worship Center to be, and I quote, "recognized by the community". What the fuck good is that? "Oh, hey, you exist, now listen to us preach the word of the LAWD!" Please. So, as if you can't tell already, I was becoming increasingly cynical of the whole ordeal. Nevertheless, the desire not to risk punishment and a general mindset of "oh, the hell with it, I'll just go waste an hour of my life" overtook me and I threw on a suit and sped down to the good ol' "worship center". Out of the skillet and into the fire, as the old saying goes. Which is pretty ironic, considering that I was going to be entering the House of the Lord (should there be a trademark?) and should be at ease, if anything. And I was at ease. I was polluted with a general air of annoyance and irritation. They directed us to our seats with the customary "Pomp and Circumstance" blaring from the house speakers and the audience, filled with various members of the community, ranging from your common Mexican field worker to the posh owner of, you guessed it, the Shell gas station. I think some people may have urinated from the sheer ecstasy of breathing the same atmosphere as him. Whatever. Anyways, they guided us to our seats as if we were a crew of careless brats (which isn't too far from the mark, if I may say so myself) and then the fun started.

I felt as if I were plunged into Benny Hinn's Power Hour of the Bleeding Heart of Jesus Jehosaphat and Zion. They started off with a mediocre church band composed of an overweight drummer with a big cross around his neck, a scrawny guy behind the bass guitar, looking as if he were suspended on strings, and some hairy dude on the acoustic. Note to self: They all looked gay. The spectacle of this little collaboration of semi-skilled song spinsters was the lead singer, who was a rather hefty redhead who looked as if she was about to hyperventilate right there on the stage. She kept closing her eyes and murmuring to herself. "Praying," I thought, with a disinterested sigh. "Praying for God to get all of us through this rancid display of blind faith and the general fear of God." Ugh. She belts out a few songs whose lyrics seemed to be composed of "Oh, God, Our Host", "Holy, Holy, Holy" and some more holiness here and there. She kept on doing the little closed-eyes chanting routine before each song, and when it was all said and done, she wandered off the stage, all flustered, eyes still closed and mumbling to herself. I kinda wanted to see her trip on the carpeted steps while in her trance...yeah, where the hell's your divine intervention NOW?

People's behavior during the hymns...well, frankly, it scared the fucking shit out of me. People were undulating, singing along with the music, raising their hands to the roof and closing their eyes as if God was penetrating all of their orifices at once. It was creepy. Some people were doing their own little (I'm assuming church-sanctioned and copyrighted by the Man Upstairs himself) pantomimes along with the music. It drew to a close, and I swear to God that I saw some of them wipe a tear from their eyes. Wait, can't swear to God in his own place....or can I? "Well, God, of all the gin joints in the world...."

Then, the next spectacle of this three-ring circus of Christ was a rather portly fellow named Chris, who was there to "sing God's praise and to help the collective whole of the audience (and I'll bet half of the population of Cambodia, if he promised to stop singing those goddamned hymns) lift their souls unto the Lord." I was expecting him to say something about sunshiny rays of salvation when he finally shut his yap and nodded towards the back. A lachrymose, hypnotically spiralling tune laden with an orchestral tinge began to permeate the air around us. I was curious as to which Yamaha keyboard they had used to write and record this song. And then the poor bastard started singing. "Jesus," I thought, "if you do truly care about us, strike this poor bastard dead on the spot, and then I'll think about joining your nice little tea party." To no avail. The guy kept warbling on about holy holy holiness and how great God was. Yeah, I think we got the message the first 100 times we heard it from the portly chick. That's a big ten-four, God. Over and out. The poor man sounded as if he was having his balls pounded into mush by a sledgehammer. Underwater. I was elated when he finally stopped his wailing, which sounded like a pre-pubescent Meat Loaf singing gospel tunes. So elated that I almost had the urge to stand up and shout, "THANK GOD FOR WHAT HE HATH BESTOWED ONTO US ON THIS BEAUTIFUL SUNDAY!!!". Alas, I didn't. I was curious to see what lay behind door #3.

Finally. Someone seemingly rational. Another fellow (aptly named Chris) came to the microphone to give us a sweet sermon about the choices we should make. "This chapter of your life," he intoned, "is about to come to a close. Although, I've never seen life as a series of chapters. It's like movie sequels. Star Wars, Rocky...*yadda yadda yadda* I don't remember much of this part, because I nodded off. Propped up by the sharp elbow of one of my fellow students (thanks, Kelly) I began to drift off to places that didn't have ANYTHING to do with salvation. The only salvation I wanted was from that accursed pit of religious reptilian beings, all salivating over an orgiastic session of just plain' ol' loving God. I wanted the A/C ducts to fall from the ceiling. I wanted the power to be blown out by a freak lightning storm. I ached for the stage to collapse. None of this happened, but I managed to get my forty winks in. Of course, my sweet slumber was cut short by the almost linebacker-like elbow nudges from the girl sat next to me. "Wake up, it's almost over." I sat up and watched a lanky, nervous cowboy amble up to the stage and take his rightful, God-given space behind the pulpit.

"Well, ah'm here frum thuh Cow-boy Chuuuurch, and, uh, I wanted ta tell Gawd that we appreciate his good guh-races in allowin' us ta come here tuh-night and cawngregate in his name." A murmured assent rose from the crowd.
"Now, ah would like to lead you in uh puh-rayer. Bow yer heads, please." This didn't last long. I was rightfully happy, because if anyone needed the help of "Gawd", it was this poor, scrawny yokel. His Lord-lovin' diatribe ended quickly, and one more fellow came to the mic. I steeled myself for the impending deluge of proselytization.

He calmly strolled up to the mic, and lifted it from its cradle. He smoothed his hair back, adjusted his glasses, and spoke in a soft voice. "Class of 2003..." I wanted to scream "YES? WHAT? CAN WE GO?"
He took a deep breath and said. "You are now dismissed."

If God was in the room, I was definitely feeling the love. Walking out of there, I realized that it was a great day to be alive. And, out of the Word of Victory Worship Center.

Hasselhoff reviews on Amazon

Posted 23 May 2003, 8.06 am by Alexander

This had me crying with laughter:

Customer reviews of David Hasselhoff's 'Best Of' album.

The song "Hot Shot City" is particularly good.

Clouding Over

Posted 21 May 2003, 11.03 pm by Kateifer

Douglas kicked the ground angrily as Calvin tried repeatedly to launch his kite. Joe beamed as he watched the crisp breeze loft his dragon of hot pinks, greens, vibrant purples, and brilliant blues high into the soft sky. The string tugged at tiny Joe pulling him down the hill. My sister, Heidi, grasped his diminutive hand with one of her large ones and the slender string of the kite with the other. They would be leaving soon. This was one of the last times the boys would feel the gentle Wisconsin sun.
The expression of intense pain on Doug's face touched my heart as I watched him chuck a small stone into the trickle of water one might call a stream. Omnipresent, Africa loomed before him. Thirteen years old, he was leaving his country of origin for a life of sacrifice as a missionary's child. Doug's eye's glistened with unshed tears. Hesitantly, all the terrifying thoughts that drowned his conscious and unconscious mind tumbled out.
I listened to his soul pour forth. When he finished, he looked for an instant like an old man suddenly able to stand straight again. It seemed as though the burden of life had lifted from weary shoulders. I watched Doug meander back to aid Calvin with his kite. Holding back tears, I focused on the trees beyond the hill. The once green leaves rustled on their branches. A sea of gold, red, deep purple, and lively yellow swam before my blurring eyes. My gaze drifted from the swaying branches of the woods to the stillness blanketing the cemetery. I felt as though I, not Doug, would likely be buried on a different continent.
Carefully avoiding the slick spaces on the steep south side of the hill, I climbed upward to join the others. Joe's kite wafted back to the ground, but his face remained as light as ever. Determined to fly it higher, he took off running down the gentle slope of the hill, oblivious to the darkness infiltrating the day.
A while later, as we walked back to the house, Doug and I conversed again. His voice lost the edge of anger and pain; exhaustion enveloped his tone. He had finally accepted what he believed to be a bleak future. As we approached home, the sky clouded over. A chilling rain fell, as though the sky felt his pain and grieved for his departure.

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Doggybag/baggy_dog is an artist living and working in Barga, Italy. Click here to read about this piece in his own words.

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Hey Cris, it's as busy here as it was at the end - which is to say, not at all

I wish I could new you guys was here in the beginning of 2020 LOL

OMG I was feeling nostalgic and I can’t believe that AKP is still here! So how’s it going ?

Props to Green Mamba for bringing the weirdness


80s candy bars were pretty good

only because i traded it for a candy bar in the 80's.


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