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Honey I'm Hooome!!

Posted 29 October 2002, 11.44 pm by Sickan

I have had a plan this weekend with a friend of mine, Jack. We were to practice for the Danish Championship in Tekken 4. I could not play with him because of my broken arm, but I could just hang out. I kinda had to, because min roomie were to have his girlfriend over. That’s just cool.

Then I got a call from Jack and he cancelled our ‘date’ because his girlfriend came home from Spain earlier than expected. Now I had a little problem, there were nowhere for me to go in Aarhus where I live… I could not visit my boyfriend because that was just too far away and stuff. Then I made a decision, one that even seemed wise at the time – I could visit all my friends in my home town, I hadn’t been there for almost 3 months – and I was starting to miss them.

I hurried to get my train and off I was. I quickly heard that they were having a party at an apartment we call ‘The Castle’ – cool! I was all in for it and exited to see them all again. I don’t usually drink and I had no intentions to drink that night even thought it seemed like a good idea, but I was doped up on painkillers. Anyways…

I got to my home town where my father were to pick me up and drive me home to his place where I could have my bags and stuff. I got out of the train and looked for him in the dark and rainy station – he was nowhere to be seen. I found my phone and called his number, both cell and stationary but there was no answer.

I looked around and waited about ten minutes before I decided that he was probably not coming. I wasn't really surprised, after a whole childhood where you haven’t been picked up one single time after a trip with the class, you just stop expecting stuff like that to happen, but one always dream.

I walked, admittedly pathetic and somewhat depressed, with my broken arm, a big bag pack and soaked clothes through town – hoping to get a hold of my father – but at last I stopped and got a cap out to my friends place, ‘The Castle’.

When I got there and the door opened I couldn’t help but smiling all over my face. I had really missed them – them being the inhabitants of the apartment and the one I in my mind immediately related to that place. I was the first one to arrive.

Not soon after they all stumbled in the living room and there was crowded with people I had seen a couple of times before and people who know some of my inner secrets. The scenery was really funny. See, there is a good reason that we call ‘The Castle’ ‘Castle’ – it is a very good remake of one. The walls are painted like they were big rocks placed on-top each other, there are small dragon-skulls over the doorways (keep in mind we are all role-players here), there are live-role playing outfits hanging in one end of the living room, there are swords, shields and other combat stuff on the walls, there are several chain mails and other really nice stuff. Everything home made.

Well everyone were surprised to see me and made fun of me (cause of that fucking arm) and it was great to be ‘home’. They all sat down and I chatted to my people for a time. They all seemed so happy and satisfied. It was nice to see that. Unfortunately I got a huge headache after a couple of hours and I was tried as hell – so just after midnight I had to go home, well not home but I could sleep at a friend who would stay at him girlfriend. Cool. So I wandered across town to his place.

As I was walking my phone rang – it was my father. I could hear he had been sleeping. He realized what time it was and apologized so many times and he was truly sad that he had fallen asleep. In any other case a 19 year-old girl wouldn’t matter, but I was hurt and sad that he once more had ’forgotten’ about me and left me there.

But nice as I am I said that there was no need for him to worry I wasn't mad, I would come visit him tomorrow. Cool! And we said goodnight. I arrived to my friends place.

I placed my ass by his computer and logged on, and my boyfriend was on – so I stayed on for quite some time, after a while my pains vanished. Soon time had passed us by and it was early morning. It knocked on the door and it was my friend, he how lived there.

He needed some clean clothes - I could see that he was somewhat wasted. I asked him how his night had been and he looked at me and started blabbering about his girlfriend and how lame she sometimes were and stuff like that… and I was kicked back in time 3 months to be exact. I suddenly understood everything and I remembered why I had moved and I didn't miss them anymore – I just wanted to go home – back to my new world.

Now I love them all and I DO miss them. I just don’t miss those whiney bastards they sometimes turn into – I hate that! I hated my father because he made me feel like little left-all-alone-in-the-world-girl, he made me feel as if I was incapable of doing things on my own. Which I know is wrong but that’s just the feeling I got.

I must admit that I have thought about the symbolism in the weather as well. When I left Aarhus it didn't rain at all, as soon as I got to my home-town it pissed down and it was so dark and depressed. Heh… funny how that works.

Well thank you for listening to ME bitching.

Peace




Reader Submission #87198527

Posted 28 October 2002, 9.03 pm by Alexander

This is a reader submission from Chronocidal, which between you and me I don't think is the name his mother calls him.

Rite of Passage:

My friends and I were driving by the dormitories in Manhattan, Kansas, and I observed a couple of college-age students sitting outside and shooting the breeze; I realized something when I saw the simple scene playing out before my eyes… I never got to lead the life that they very well could be taking for granted. I've never lived the stereotypical “have fun now, make up for it later” lifestyle that’s running rampant in America’s ghettos and suburbs, and I suppose I feel like I've been scammed out of a very important piece of my life. Even my future’s foreseeable plan of attack doesn't involve the raging teenage angst that I've almost cried out in anguish for. Do I really wish I was living that life, or am I suffering from some sort of adolescent cry for normalcy that has been reoccurring more and more frequently as of late?

I suppose that delving into my previous experiences with my social peers would be helpful in unearthing the reasons behind my sudden ill temperament. My high school days, which seem all too previous for having occurred less than 3 months ago, were relatively uneventful. I was the ordinary smarter-than-school intellect and frequently found myself neglecting my school work due to lack of patience and/or lack of willpower to make myself do something that I felt was too trivial to apply brain power towards… but I feel my current situation has to deal more with my relationships with students more than it does with books and teachers. I never went out and did the party scene as much as numerous people I knew; it wasn't so much that I wasn't cool enough to be invited to parties, as is the case with a growing number of intellectual teenagers these days, but I ordinarily didn't feel the desire to immerse myself in the superfluous partying lifestyle that I saw my friends diving into headfirst. Michelle would invite me to parties, Scott would hold parties and invite Chuck and I, and I have several other acquaintances which would periodically host parties to which I was invited.

Something about that lifestyle never appealed to my specific taste in fun, I suppose it was the fact that I saw my step-father and mother in their current states (I usually hypothesized that I wanted to be the complete opposite of my family that resides in the same housing complex as I did… an ordinary reaction, I've come to conclude) and I found myself not wanting to live their current lifestyle. My mother is a hypocritical, drunken excuse for a matriarch, much the same as my sister (Angela) is, and my step-father is a washed out ex-Army depression case. I think that, albeit I like to play my life out to a more grandiose level than it should be taken, I am a relatively normal child. Which makes my lack of excitement at the prospects of partying all that more disturbing to me… if I don't show any outward signs of horrible exclusion from the rest of 18 year olds, why should I feel any different about certain situations than my friends?

I hope that people who party and read this don't feel like I'm being condescending towards them at all, because that isn't the purpose of this self-discovery; however, I feel that the reason that I never immersed myself in the popular culture evident all around me is that I don't want to feel like I have to grow out of anything else. Partying, drinking, and doing drugs is something that ends with age, and I don't ever want to feel like I have to reach a certain coming of age to realize who I am. People who have recovered from doing drugs have some life-altering event take place that shakes their faith in their current lifestyle… I don't want to look back on my life and say that I honestly regret any of the actions I've undertaken in my short stay here. I hope that perhaps I'll be able to tell my children, which I do plan to have one day (sooner than most people), that I did what they're doing at the moment once in my life, but I learned my lesson and tuned my life around before something catastrophic happened.

I suppose the underlying factor in all of this is that I've found someone who I feel like I can feel complete with, regardless of whether or not I'm in the scene I'm supposed to be in. I suppose that teenagers and college students party and do the drug scene to fill an empty void in your life, and I'm sure that most rehabilitation centers tell their patients that they need to find something to take the mind off of the void they feel without drugs… I suppose at the moment I've found the occupation of that void naturally inherent in my soul. Who knows what will happen in the future, but I'm thankful for now and as long as I can possibly conceive that Ashley’s part of my life and part of my upbringing… the fact that she doesn't disapprove of my seemingly unnatural lifestyle shows me that I'm not as against the grain as I previously conceived.

I suppose that every person has to achieve a certain rite of passage so that they too can come to a strikingly similar conclusion I've come to; I suppose another way to put that would be to say that everyone has to find their own Ashley. I still have some scruples about my life as it is, due mainly to it’s oddities from the normal, but at the same time I like to think that my life has been enriched by its oddities and idiosyncrasies. I have no problems with others living the life that they choose to live (to do anything else would be condescending and overly-judgmental on my part), but I have to choose the path that my own life will have to tread. I'm happy with where I am.

Documents on the Beltway Sniper

Posted 27 October 2002, 2.39 pm by Craig


Visit Site.

Ultima Ratio Regum

Posted 27 October 2002, 11.38 am by Jake

Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson is a jet-fueled romp through a geographically skewed, post-apocalyptic futuristic society. It introduces a very Neuromancer-like Metaverse, which is the digital equivalent of the real world, albeit where everything is related to information.

Action in this novel switches almost seamlessly between Reality and the Metaverse, which shows Stephenson's proficiency as an author. The plot is driven mainly through the character development and setting (ironically enough, the lead character is named Hiro Protagonist), and Stephenson does a great job of blending action into the plot so as not to bore the reader.

Throughout the story, there are several perspective shifts, which in fact don't affect the pacing and cohesion of the story, but actually give this already atmospheric novel more depth. Stephenson's writing style is a force to be reckoned with, also. When leafing through this book, his style is all over the place.

With a God-given knack for imagery and his spitting out lines such as "It feels like being massaged with a hundred ball peen hammers", you know you're in for a reasonably entertaining ride. Bristling with cultural criticism and sprinkled with a generous bit of Sumerian history, the sheer size of the book (438 p.) may turn off some readers.

But if you're looking for a good, fun read to kill some time, Snow Crash might be just what you need.

To get you in a Hallowe'en mood...

Posted 27 October 2002, 7.57 am by Acheron

This site is just packed with monochomism-like, text-based, goodies.

67 bourgeois die, who cares?

Posted 26 October 2002, 6.22 pm by Acheron

The gory end to the recent siege in Moscow gives us our first real chance to examine not only reactions to terrorism, but especially those of the Americans following September 11. Certainly, the "axis of evil" and its many God-hating minions have been busy these past thirteen months, but this is the first visceral example where a terrorist group has from the outset been blamed.

My question is why answer violence with violence? The current Russian government, since Putin's election, has enacted a surprisingly un-democratic campaign into Chechnya for the past three years.

Now, call me silly, or politically uninformed, but is it not the duty of a "democratic" government to listen to the demands of the people? If there is a separatist movement in a region of a country, is it more in line with the premise of your government to talk, vote, and accept; or is it the way of the democrat to drop fuel-air bombs over villages of women and children? Is all of this worth the price of two of your own soldiers a day, on average? If that is the death toll among the trained and equipped Russian soldiers, what must be the death toll among the rebels?

One Russian was quoted as saying, "Putin has only one choice. [U.S. President George W.] Bush showed the world what to do with these bastards after September 11. It's Putin's turn to liquidate them in Russia." I suppose the aspect of such statements that disturbs me most is that, whether or not they like it, these people are citizens of Russia. Regardless of their religious or political beliefs, they are countrymen to the people they held hostage, and to the soldiers who kill them.

It scares me when the prevalent belief among a country is that part of its population should be, "liquidated."

Play Gameboy Online

Posted 26 October 2002, 11.21 am by Craig


This site is Great! Play loads of the classic gameboy games in a matter of seconds.

Visit Site.

A Job to Do, part 1

Posted 25 October 2002, 6.03 pm by JamTorkberg

At first, I could only feel my fingers. As if my ten digits were the whole of my existence, somehow connected by an immaterial mind. I could even move them, though they still seemed to be attached to hands that did not exist. Before long, however, my hands did appear (I could tell by touching my palm with my middle finger). Then, not long after than, my feet materialized, followed by legs, arms, pelvic area, torso (which took a while what with all the organs contained within), and neck.

My head, now that was the difficult part. So complex, so many ins and outs. Even the slightest miscalculation could throw the whole thing out of whack, and I could end up with a huge dent in my forehead. So I thought about it very slowly and methodically: the exacta mass of my brain, the distance between my eyes, the length and shade of my lips, density of hair follicles per square inch, tongue density, nose size, ear level, cheekbone prominence, and so on.

Once all of my sensory equipment was in place and I had a brain with which to monitor and control everything, I began to take in the world around me. I was in an alley, somewhere out of sight of the main street, which is good. No man should have to be a witness to what I just went through. It was night, perhaps four hours after sunset. There was a fair amount of pollution about, so I was likely in a city. And I could hear commercial airliners not to far away. Sometime between 1970 and 2020

I nearly made the error of walking right out into plain sight wile still nude. I always seem to make this mistake. I’m not used to having limbs and a body, let alone remembering to cover them. If the shock and screams in those around me did not tip me off, the coldness assaulting my bare chest and buttocks would have let me know anyway. Luckily, a broken mirror lying on the ground of the ally helped me to realize my very nakedness.

I made some cloths, my customary fare. Gray cotton suit, white shirt, gray tie, black shoes, white socks, dark gray trench coat, and, you guessed it, a gray hat. I picked up a fragment of the mirror to look my face over, and make sure everything was where it should be. It was then I saw that my left iris lacked any pigment. It was both a relive and a shock. A relief in that I found the one mistake I made while putting myself together (I always make one, more out of necessity than lack of skill), and shock in that I had made my mistake to glaringly obvious. Missing the hair on one knuckle of one finger was the usual sort of error I would make, or missing a toenail, or an extra pair of ribs. Something that was wrong, but not very pronounced.

But one eye brown and the other stark white. This might be a problem. I took a pair of sunglasses out of a pocket, and put them on. It hid my imperfection, but the glasses might seem odd in the middle of the night. To make up for it, I made the gray of my outfit a few shades lighter, made my trench coat about an inch and a half shorter, and made my shoes a bit less polished. There. Much better.

I ventured out for the alley and into the grand city before me. I was instantly unsurprised by the images, sounds, and smells that assaulted me. It was the same old thing. I was disappointed that nothing was new, but you’d think that I would get used to the fact that things never change. I looked about for some place to get some dinner. Though it was dark, the hostility of the cold air meant is was likely winter, so darkness could mean anything. So I decided to eat dinner. I had to get something in me before the acid in my stomach started to tear at the soft walls around it. I spotted a diner a few blocks down, and walked over to it.

I was greeted by a nice lady who’s name was Lois. Lois was born in Brooklyn to a bank manager and his mistress, a secretary of a law firm he used to sue the man who hit his Rolls Royce, a man who’s son later died of a drug overdose in an alley, alone and forgotten, because all of his money was lost in a high risk venture that tanked when his partner accidentally ordered the wrong size nut (one sixteenth of an inch too small) and their product could not be manufactured. The partner ended up selling the nuts to a man named Stoan who owned a company that built diner stools. I sat down on one of Stoan’s stools and smiled. Connections everywhere.

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In 2018 I started painting again. This was one of a series of acrylic sketches I did to relearn techniques and revisit my skills from art college.


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Hmph

80s candy bars were pretty good

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

lol we all know you don't have a soul ghoti

my soul for some carbs...

But of course!

Yo ! Does this work ?

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