The Unplastic News, August 1991

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From: tibbetts@hsi.hsi.com (Todd Tibbetts)

Date: Mon, 26 Aug 1991 09:56:25 EDT

X-Mailer: Mail User's Shell (7.1.2 7/11/90)

To: rita@eff.org

Subject: =={ could you send me confirmation on this }==

Status: OR

could you tell me when you have received this....

thanks

have a happy day

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

oo oo

oo the unplastic news issue #2 oo

oo oo

oo August 1991 oo

oo oo

oo TTTTTTTTTT HH HH EEEEEE oo

oo TT HH HH EE oo

oo TT HHHHHH EEEE oo

oo TT HH HH EE oo

oo TT HH HH EEEEEE oo

oo oo

oo UU UU N N PPPPPP L AAAAAA SSSSS TTTTTT II CCCCCC oo

oo UU UU NN N PP P L A A SS TT II CC oo

oo UU UU N N N PPPPPP L AAAAAA SSSSS TT II CC oo

oo UUUUUU N NN PP L A A SS TT II CC oo

oo UUUUUU N N PP LLLL A A SSSSS TT II CCCCCC oo

oo oo

oo N N EEEEEE W W SSSSS oo

oo NN N EE W W SS oo

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oo N N N EE W W W SS oo

oo N NN EEEEEE WWWWWWW SSSSS oo

oo oo

oo ....... the unplastic news ........ oo

oo oo

oo america's active global peace press-------->> oo

oo oo

oo special REALITY issue special REALITY issue oo

oo oo

oo special R E A L I T Y issue oo

oo oo

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!! !!

!! DISCLAIMER: !!

!! ^^^^^^^^^^^ !!

!! !!

!! The Unplastic News is published by !!

!! Todd Tibbetts who is solely !!

!! responsible for its contents. !!

!! !!

!! Views and thoughts herein are not !!

!! necessarily those of !!

!! 3M Health Information Systems !!

!! or 3M in general. !!

!! !!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

___________________________________________________________________________

===========================================================================

The Unplastic News is a compilation of quotes and

stories, all credited to the proper sources, and

arranged in absolutely no order whatsoever. We

present this material for entertainment and for

it's communication value. Computer networks are

a wild form of global human interaction and we

hope to post ideas and thoughts to be read

and digested.

Also, we love the tons-O-mail you've been sending.

We want more, please. Send us anything. Plus,

include WHERE you are writing from (if it is not

obvious in your address) because we are curious.

We hope you enjoy.............................

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INTERNET XXX Pass

Address: XXX This

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==========================================================================

__________________________________________________________________________

the reality issue issue #2 the reality issue

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

C O N T E N T S:

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

1. Quotes. Quotes. Things. Thoughts. Quips.

2. SHORT FICTION:

Tense

by todd tibbetts

3. Quotes. Thoughts. Stuff. Pieces. Parts.

4. SHORT FICTION:

The Continuing Story

by eric mielke

5. Quotes. Pieces. Thoughts. Quotes. Chunks.

6. SHORT REALITY:

The Unplastic News Visits The Rainbow Family

by thaloneous platypus

7. Quotes. Stuff. Things. Randomicity. Faroutedness.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

the reality issue issue #2 the reality issue

##########################################################################

"Knowledge is one. Its division into subjects is

a concession to human weakness."

--->> Sir Halford John Mackinder <<---

##########################################################################

"I don't understand guys who call themselves feminists.

That's like the time Hubert Humphrey, running for

President, told a black audience he was a

soul brother."

..... Roy Blount, Jr .....

}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}

}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}

"I have a simple }}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}

philosophy: Fill what's empty. Empty }}}}}}}}}}}}}}

what's full. Scratch }}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}

where it itches." }}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}

}}}}}}}}} Alice Roosevelt Longworth

}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}

##########################################################################

## ##

## "Moving amidst my own people I was never impressed by any ##

## of their accomplishments; I never felt the presence of ##

## any deep religious urge, nor any great asthetic impulse: ##

## there was no sublime architecture, no sacred dances, no ##

## ritual of any kind. We moved in a swarm, intent on ##

## accomplishing one thing-to make life easy. The great ##

## bridges, the great dams, the great skyscrapers left me ##

## cold. Only Nature could instill a sense of awe. And ##

## we were defacing Nature at every turn. As many times as I ##

## struck out to scour the land, I always came back empty- ##

## handed. Nothing new, nothing bizarre, nothing exotic. ##

## Worse, nothing to bow down before, nothing to reverence. ##

## Alone in a land where everyone was hopping about like mad. ##

## What I craved was to worship and adore. What I needed was ##

## companions who felt the same way. But there was nothing ##

## to worship and adore, there were no champions of like ##

## spirit. There was only a wilderness of steel and iron, of ##

## stocks and bonds, of crops and produce, of factories, mills ##

## and lumberyards, a wilderness of boredom, of useless ##

## utilities, of loveless love...." ##

## ##

## Nexus ##

## The Rosy Crucifixion III ##

## ##

## Henry Miller ##

## ##

## Grove Press, 1965 ##

## ##

##########################################################################

If your beard catches fire,

may others light their cigars.

__________________________________________________________________________

BIOGRAPHY #1

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Aldous Huxley

(1894-1963)

Educated at Eton and Oxford, was blocked from a career in

biology by his poor eyesight. During the 1920s he wrote

several ironic novels satirizing the decadence of European

intellectual life.

Migrating to California in 1935 Huxley devoted the rest of

his life to studying and writing about transcendental

philosophy, futurism, and the evolution of intelligence.

Doors of Perception, Heaven and Hell, and the utopian novel

Island made him the world's most influential advocate of

psychedelic drugs.

Huxley traced his interest in brain-change drugs to his

childhood reading about Erasmus Darwin (1731-1802), who

anticipated his grandson Charles' work by explaining

organic life in terms of evolutionary principles. Erasmus

Darwin is also famous for having grown England's first

marijuana plant (cannabis indica) with Sir Joseph Banks,

president of the Royal Society. The plant was eighteen feet tall.

Flash Backs

An Autobiography

Timothy Leary

J.P. TARCHER, INC., 1983

All other biographies in this 2nd issue of u.n. are also taken

from this same book by Timothy Leary.

____________________________________________________________________________

...have you found the reality yet?....

_____________________________________________________________________________

"The superintendent of the Floyd County, N.C., school system

apologized in February for the mistake of one of his teachers.

In the lesson on Martin Luthar King Jr., the teacher had

instructed the class that Rosa Parks (who actually set off

the Montgomery, Ala., bus boycott in 1955) was the person

who assassinated King in 1968..."

Funny Times

August 1991

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

"We are all born charming, fresh, and spontaneous

and must be civilized before we are fit to

participate in society."

**** Miss Manners (Judith Martin) ****

___________________________________________________________________________

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

___________________________________________________________________________

SAVE JAMES BAY STOP HYDRO-QUEBEC

============

Damming the Rivers of James Bay

FOLLY OF THE CENTURY

Hydro-Quebec wants to build

five dams

to generate

3,060 Megawatts

of electricity.

Hydro-Quebec claims its James Bay dams produce

Clean, Safe, Cheap Electricity

For Quebec and the

Northeastern United States.

What's the Price of Cheap Electricity ?

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Ecological Disaster Cultural Genocide

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The destruction of the entire James Cree hunters, trappers,

Bay ecosystem- the heart of the largest and fishermen are

remaining wilderness in North America loosing traditional

means of subsistence.

____________________________________________

"They are telling the Americans this is cheap

and clean. But it's not cheap for us. When

you turn on your switch, you're killing us."

--> Robbie Dick, Cree Chief of Great Whale

River Village

____________________________________________

"The right of indigenous people and the

commitment we have to the land, the environment,

should be universal and unbending. The environment

should not be forsaken on a whim to create economic

benefits. Human rights should not be abandoned on

a whim to assure that the air conditioners of New

York City can run full force. Not if we as a people,

as a planet, want to survive."

--> Matthew Coon-Come

____________________________________________

"I don't want to live like my great grandfather

lived in the farmlands somewhere in Quebec. I

need television, radio, electricity. I don't

believe native people want to live in the

Stone Age."

--> Jacques Guevremont, Vice-President Hydro-Quebec

______________________________________________

SAVE THE BAY SAVE THE BAY SAVE THE BAY SAVE THE BAY SAVE THE BAY SAVE THE BAY

Northeast Alliance to Protect James Bay

139 Antrim Street

Cambridge, Ma. 02139

(617) 491-5531

Ban the Dam Bulletin

Sierra Club Northeast Regional Office

85 Washington Street

Saratoga Springs, NY 12866

(518) 587-9166

_____________________________________________________________________________

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_____________________________________________________________________________

"Mother Earth is pregnant for the third time

For y'all have knocked her up

I have tasted the maggots of the universe

And I was not offended

For I knew I had to rise above it all

Or drown in my own shit."

Funkadelic

ALBUM: Maggot Brain

))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((())))

reality dreams are under your desk

!@#$%^&*()_)(*&^%$#@!@#$%^&*()_+_)(*&^%$#@!@#$%^&*()_+}{":<>?/.,;'][=-=-=!!2

Originality and the feeling of one's own dignity

are achieved only through work and struggle.

---- Dostoevsky ----

!@#$%^&*()_)(*&^%$#@!@#$%^&*()_+_)(*&^%$#@!@#$%^&*()_+}{":<>?/.,;'][=-=-=!!3

Trying to define yourself is like

trying to bite your own teeth.

@@@ Alan Watts @@@

}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}

SHORT FICTION

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Tense

^^^^^

by todd tibbetts

Today I actually moved in with Waldo.

Waldo's been my chum for some twenty wicked weird years.

We have never lived together before as housemates. And it was

our fucked up marriages that slapped us together just recently.

We were rushing to get somewhere when we were kids, struggling

to grab a goal. Any goal. Now we are nowhere and things are

fucking bad.

I've always told myself that it would be impossible for me to

live with someone like Waldo...not to mention someone who

actually IS Waldo.

I have a desperate need to practice my bassoon at least five

hours every day...and that's only counting the time I put in

playing scales, that's not counting composition time. I have

definate goals and I think of them while I play.

And Waldo needs to smoke crack and masturbate.

It is amazing that he can still be a dentist.

This new apartment that we moved into today is cramped. The

windows are closed. The air is musty. We are wrapped in a

giant sock.

Waldo makes a lot of money. He has a private practice. His

earnings are spent on rent, food, car and crack. And cable t.v.

He earns the exact amount he spends. Even to the untrained eye,

it is obvious what Waldo spends the largest portion of his

money on. But one might not notice that the second largest

portion of his earnings goes to t.v. But I, on the other hand,

have seen his lifestyle first hand. He spends more money on

t.v. than rent, food and car combined. He receives EVERY

channel. He owns EVERY extrainious gadget. He subscribes to

EVERY pay-per-view wrestling match...including those Brazilian

ones, the ones with subtitles. Waldo is the only man I know

who's external t.v. speakers are taller than he is.

Waldo is one of those Americans who has given up on growth. He

pushed himself to a point in his life where he was emotionally

and financially able to live a life away from a dependence on

his parents. That was the point where he decided that learning

was no longer necessary.

He is one of the Platau People.

Reach for comfort! Reach for lack of opposition. Grab at

promotions and car phones but, dear God...don't make me think!

This trend will kill everyone.

His wife walked out on him one bright afternoon.

His wife is now having sex with a professional body builder

whom she met at the health club Waldo forced her to go to.

He said one day to her:

"You know, the back of your legs looks flabby. I am buying you

a membership at the gym."

When she got so crazy with him that she had to leave she said:

"Your cock is like limp frozen-dinner turkey and you

fuck like jello."

Later she told him about her body builder lover:

"Now I know what it means to want it. Now that I've had a

thick man between my legs, I know what wetness is."

And just a few minutes ago Waldo turned on the t.v. The air

around the set began warming. From my bedroom I could hear

the static crackling before the volume kicked in, full tilt.

He clicked to number seven. Circus of the Stars was on and

these bright stars were having a circus. Swirling organ

crashes came loud like mufflers. Stars in a circus. Did the

producer plan the irony or was he merely an idiot? A part

of the thick American middle. T.v. drum rolls knocked me

off my stool. I placed the bassoon in it's case and gave up,

hoping that the situation did not foreshadow an unhealthy

pattern...the vices of others creeping at me, shattering

my practice.

I needed a grilled cheese sandwich.

In our new thin kitchen, I turned the stove knob.

And through the kitchen doorway rolled the shouts of

spectators and the oooohs and aaaaahs of children. And the

ego ramblings of microphone-holding people crept louder above

the rest.

With the stove knob turned, I searched for a pan in the

lower cabinet. I was on my knees.

I heard a scream.

I tried to bolt upright.

The back of my neck caught firm wood.

Waldo was yelping out screeches of excitement.

Sitting bent legged on the musty kitchen floor, I squirmed and

softly rubbed the back of my neck. I felt warmth.

There was blood.

I lay in a bent ache for some minutes. The pan in one hand. The

other hand grasping my neck. I waited. I stewed in thought. I

reveled in quiet anger. Those eight-foot speekers rambled with

stereo symbol crashes. Clowns were throwing pies.

I finally stood, dizzy-like and panting. I moved slowly at

Waldo...that smoking thing on the living room chair.

He couldn't suck the last half-a-hit from the dirty pipe

chamber so he offered the rest of the white smoke to me. The

glass above the water in the pipe was stained a chunky brown.

He slipped his hand into his pants.

I yelled.

I wanted to know why he was so unstable.

I wanted to know why he was strungout and stagnant.

I wanted to know why he put himself to sleep EVERY night by

smoking and then jerking off to a sticky magazine. No tenderness

to the self -- No concept of others.

I wanted to know why I was so mad and screaming, and why I felt

dizzy from the boob tube flickering and dizzy from moldy air and

dizzy from dizzy.

He did not make me mad.

I made me mad.

I made me.

Now he is lighting his pipe.

He owns a powerful lighter.

And I

smell

LOTS

of stove gas.

SHORT FICTION

SHORT FICTION by todd tibbetts.

+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+

| |

| If one is master of one thing and understands one thing |

+ well, one has at the same time, insight into and under- +

| standing of many things. |

| |

| * Vincent Van Gogh * |

+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+

"A Kitchener, Ontario, radio station, sponsoring a 'What

Would You Do for $10,000?' contest last fall, permitted

such stunts as eating a dung-covered apple and

regurgitating spaghetti and going snorkeling in a tub

of worms, but rejected the idea of a woman who wanted to

hand out bumper stickers while nude on a downtown street

corner. Said a station spokesman, 'We didn't want to

be associated with that.' "

Funny Times

August 1991

_____________________________________________________________________________

"The varying levels of reality in the second

issue of the unplastic news are awe inspiring.

Readers find themselves searching...and that is

enough. Simplicity. Two thumbs up."

Gene Siskle & Roger Ebert

___________________________________________________________________________

BIOGRAPHY #2

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Allen Ginsberg

(1926- )

One of the most influential American poets of the mid-twentieth

century, was born in Patterson, New Jersey and graduated from

Columbia in 1949. He was chief spokesman for the Beat

Generation, a movement that flourished in New York and San

Francisco during the 1950s. Essentially anarchic, Ginsberg

and the Beats rejected conventional culture and artistic

forms. They sought altered and intensified states of

consciousness, novel experiences, and mystical perceptions

through drugs and oriental yogic techniques, especially Zen.

Continually "on the road," usually accompanied by Peter

Orlovsky, his companion for thirty years, Ginsberg traveled

the world preaching a Buddhist quietist philosophy layered

with socialist anger and a pagan celebration of life.

During this era his stance was anti-scientific, anti-technological,

anti-future, non-evolutionary. In the 1980s Allen Ginsberg

functions as a genial poet laureate, meeting regularly in

international conferences with his "opposite numbers" in China,

the Soviet Union, and the Third World.

___________________________________________________________________________

Trust in God,

But tie your camel.

___________________________________________________________________________

"ADMONITIONS

boys

i don't promise you nothing

but this

what you pawn

i will redeem

what you steal

i will conceal

my private silence to

your public guilt

is all i got

girls

first time a white man

opens his fly

like a good thing

we'll just laugh

laugh real loud my

black women

children

when they ask you

why is your mama so funny

say

she is a poet

she don't have no sense"

Lucille Clifton

___________________________________________________________________________

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

"the mother

Abortions will not let you forget.

You remember the children that you got that you did not get,

The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,

The singers and workers that never handled the air.

You will never neglect or beat

Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.

You will never wind up the sucking-thumb

Or scuttle off ghosts that come.

You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,

Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.

I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim

killed children.

I have contracted. I have eased

My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.

I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized

Your luck

And your lives from your unfinished reach,

If I stole your births and your names,

Your straight baby tears and your games,

Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches,

and your deaths,

If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,

Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.

Though why should I whine,

Whine that the crime was other than mine?-

Since anyhow you are dead.

Or rather, or instead,

You were never made.

But that too, I am afraid,

Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?

You were born, you had a body, you died.

It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.

Believe me, I loved you all.

Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you

All."

Gwendolyn Brooks

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

____________________________________________________________________________

BIOGRAPHY #3

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Wilhelm Reich

(1897-1956)

Was one of the most brilliant and iconoclastic members of the

early Vienna-based Freudian psychoanalysts, a circle from

which he was eventually expelled. His concept of "muscular

armor" and his theories about sexuality and the body later

became the basis for a number of therapies, including

bioenergetics and Gestalt therapy, whose founders were once

his students. His classic treatises The Sexual Revolution

(he coined the phrase) and The Function of the Orgasm,

written in the early 1930s, were epochal statements.

Ironically, he personally disapproved of playful erotic

behavior.

An M.D. at heart Reich was mostly interested in the medical

aspects of orgone, the lack of which he believed resulted

in cancer and destructive tendencies. Reich designed a

container in which a person could sit and absorb the

healing energy. His work was scorned by the American

medical establishment, which considered him dangerous. He

went on with his experiments, attempting to comply with

restrictions placed on him by the Food and Drug Administration.

Finally he was jailed for selling orgone boxes. He died

in prison, unsupported by the psychiatric establishment,

persecuted by federal agents who confiscated and burned his books.

These books later became standard texts in sociology

and psychology.

___________________________________________________________________________

PATIENT: Doc, I got a weak back.

DOCTOR: Yea? When did you get it?

PATIENT: Oh, about a week back...

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

SHORT FICTION SHORT FICTION

N SHORT FICTION SHORT FICTION SHORT FICTION

SHORT FICTION SHORT

The Continuing Story

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

by Eric Mielke

Chapters in this Issue:

-----------------------

1. Moving In

2. The Church

3. The Dream

4. Father Knows All

I. Moving In

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

After every box was filed and sorted through, after the last

signature had been placed on the landlord's forehead, it

became apparent to me that I had just begun an exciting and

somewhat mysterious new life in a three room, six-hundred-

and-fifty-dollar-a-month apartment in Idaho.

It was a nifty neighborhood, pleasant and friendly (at first.)

I was not aware, when I first moved in, that the massive

church directly across the street would have an effect on my

life greater than that of the Australian flea bite I received

on my testicle back in '72. The fortress of God loomed

grim and mysterious across that road and little did I know

the true horrors which were taking place inside.

I had just been released from the mental institution in

Cuba and was happy to be out on my own. The new apartment

was nice except for the occasional disturbance from

upstairs. Two groundhogs lived above us and would mate

endlessly. This was inconvenient because their intercourse

was often extremely noisy. The rodents also had a horrid

wind chime that was a thousand times more revolting to the

ear. The

thing

would

TINKLE constantly, usually on cold, moonless

nights as I walked down the long alley to the front of the

complex. The tinkle, tinkle, tinkle drove me nuts. For

months I searched for the source of this incessant tinkle

without success. It hid like an infernal deamon waiting to

slash at my ears with it's tinkle, Tinkle, TINKLE !!! Finally,

I found it and shoved it down my garbage disposal.

My girlfriend, Debbie, and I arranged the apartment to resemble

the inside of a Poptart box. We argued only once about the

decor of a particular room. It was my third grade science

project that started the dispute, Mrs. Needlestein's kidney.

I wanted it displayed proudly above the mantel with two strips

of maroon track lighting and an accompanying sound track.

Deborah didn't want the soundtrack.

"I'm not listening to George Jetson sing Metallica!"

Deborah screamed after an hour of rational pie throwing. Deb

was a sensible girl with a large brown mole that covered her

entire face.

"It's not George Jetson," I replied defensively, "or

even Metallica. It's Anal Flapjack."

"It's manure from Hell and it is not being played in

this apartment!!"

We finally agreed to play a one note, four-hour operatic duet

sent to me on tape from my Uncle Sheckie in Paris.

Tyler, Debbie's cat, also had free run of the suite. Although

I never admitted it to Deb, I was quite fond of the old bugger.

Though one day, after it devoured my marijuana plants and

finished the last of the chocolate mousse, I set the bastard on

fire. And, you know, it was strange, but after disposing of

the cat I could have sworn I heard an erie voice chant, "Father

is Unpleased...Father is Unpleased."

II. The Church

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

One thing that attracted my attention more than the groundhog's

lovemaking was that church directly across the street. It was

called St. Googiewoogie. The building was of the old Gothic

variety with the usual statues of Mary, Christ and Sidney,

a large pink-marble platypus which rested on the very center

of the roof's pinnacle. The church also provided a perfect

curtain blocking the sight of Mrs. Snodgrass's eggplant farm.

The church was the public attraction on Tuesdays and Thursdays...

bingo nights. (NOTE: Those wishing to stop by the church

should make a note of Friday's elderly members meeting. The

elders pick the sexiest member of the congregation and then

pelt the nominee with rotting brussel sprouts.)

The very first morning of apartment life I noticed a shopping

cart on the front lawn of the church. It displayed a sign

which read {in bright yellow letters} "Father says, 'Eat Jelly-

Fish.'" Each morning for a week the cart moved two inches to

the north. I inquired to the orcish landlord about the cart,

but the mumbling bugbear only replied with a statement about

orange brush men displaying his wife's legs on yield signs two

blocks from some store. He still had the signatures on his

forehead and we both forgot about the shopping cart problem

after drinking paint thinner together in his garage.

III. The Dream

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

During the fourth night of occupancy, I had a bizarre dream

in which I was surrounded by shear black. Now that I look

back on it, I understand that the dream must have been caused

by the deamonic magical aura which St. Googiewoogie radiated.

the

dream I was physically supported by unidentified confines

in that pure darkness. The void had an odd feeling of

boundaries, it felt almost roomlike - though I never found

a portal. Perhaps I was searching for a way out. Perhaps I

wanted to let whatever existed beyond in. I never found

a way out.

I awakened from the black, as if still in a dream, and found

two loosely restrained pit bulls viscously growling at the

foot of my bed. Suddenly Debbie made a gallant entrance into

the room dressed only in red and green argyle socks which

covered the entire length of her arms. Ignoring the foaming

canines she proceeded to perform Macbeth with her had puppets.

During the final scene of Debbie's performance, a serious

looking priest emerged from the other room. He began screaming

something about my destiny and then lopped Debbie's head off.

Soon the dogs leapt into the air, landed on my chest

and I AWOKE in a chilling perspiration...

It was all a dream, from the dark non-room to the dogs...all

of it was a wild nightmare within a nightmare.

Debbie was standing above me holding two socks in either hand.

The dream put a hazy, unreal focus on the entire week.

IV. Father Knows All

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Approximately two weeks went by in our new haven without

anything unusual happening. The shopping cart had been

removed. The groundhogs had replaced their windchimes with a

mobile of human bones. A team of four gorillas worked most

of saturday morning replacing the faulty furnace with an

energy efficient blueberry muffin. However, the following

monday held events which still make me shudder with disbelief.

That morning Deb and I were running late due to the strange

clump of flesh we found in the bathtub. As we finally exited

the flat, a priest approached Debbie and began accusing her of

being a foul. "Chicken," he yelled. "Turkey! Chicken! Duck!"

The priest was identical to the man in my dream. He

screamed loudly as he tap danced on the sidewalk. After about

four verses of this abuse, Debbie joined him in harmonization

and they happily galloped across the street and up the

adjoining sidewalk. She seemed somehow dazed and confused as

if in a trance or under a spell. I called to her

and

then

passed

out.............

T H E E N D ??

{ the saga continues next issue...

read it, it's cool }

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"The great end of life is not knowledge but action."

--> Thomas Henry Huxley <--

__________________________________________________________________________

r e a l f a k e n e w s

__________________________________________________________________________

BIOGRAPHY #4

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Ken Kesey

(1935- )

Legendary American novelist, was born in Colorado. He

received a B.S. from the University of Oregon in 1957.

In 1962 Kesey published One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest,

a satirical anarchic novel about institutional attempts

to crush individuality. Sometimes a Great Notion (1964)

established Kesey as a first-rank American novelist.

Kesey is widely considered father of the hippie movement.

He had his first LSD experience as a paid subject in a CIA

sponsored research project. His later adventures

became know to millions through The Electric Kool-Aid

Acid Test by Tom Wolfe.

Kesey and his wife Faye have carried out the American populist

lifestyle of independence, humor, ecological consciousness,

and gentle resistance to authority.

__________________________________________________________________________

"Man, if you gotta ask, you'll never know."

-- Louis Armstrong (asked to define jazz) --

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

LEE (To Dusty) Frederick's done this whole new series

that I'm sure you would really love.

DUSTY Well, are...are they big?

LEE Yea. Some of them...yea, some of them are

very big.

DUSTY Cause I got a lot of wall space there.

FREDERICK I don't sell my work by the yard!

HANNAH AND HER SISTERS

a film by Woody Allen

/\></\></\></\></\></\></\></\></\></\></\></\></\></\></\></\></\></\></\

"Some days I feel dead. I feel like a robot, treading out

time. Some days I feel alive, terribly alive, with hair

like wires and a knife in my hand. Once in a while my mind

slips and I think I am back in my dream and that I have

shut the door, the one without a handle on the inside. I

imagine that tomorrow I will be pounding and screaming to be

let out, but no one will hear, no one will come. Other

times I think I have gone over the line, like Lily, like

Val, and can no longer speak anything but truth. An

elderly man stopped me the other day as I was walking

along the beach, a white-haired man with a nasty face, but

he smiled and said, 'Nice day, isn't it?' and I glared

and snapped at him, 'Of course you have to say that, it's the

only day you have!'

He considered that, nodded, and moved on.

Maybe I need a keeper. I don't want them to lock me up and

give me electric shock until I forget. Forget: lethe: the

opposite of truth.

I have opened all the doors in my head.

I have opened all the pores in my body.

But only the tide rolls in."

The Women's Room

Marilyn French

Jove/HBJ, 1978

___________________________________________________________________________

BIOGRAPHY #4.5

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Thaloneous Platypus

(1965- )

Freelance writer and Kalimba craftsman. He spends six months

of the year in Australia, where he enjoys "hanging around in

the water, looking under rocks." The remaining part of his

year is spent in peaceful travel about the planet in search

of cosmic and spiritual knowledge, music, lifestyle variations,

truth, hip parties and ravioli.

In 1981 he won the Mellowvoice Award for his participation in

The Flippie-City Project (a brilliant multi-media investigation

into the life of European clams) for which he wrote his magnum

opus, "The Clam is not Spam."

Virtually unheard of before the 80s, Thaloneous has gone on to

become an active voice for the end-of-the-century generations

as well as a proponent of free healthy love and free food.

Despite his two year stay in The Betty Ford Clinic for addiction

to Dramamine, he is still considered by most to be the father

of the present generations, those youth who haven't been named

yet by historians.

==============================================================================

REALITY RAINBOW REALITY TRUTH GATHERING LIGHT RAINBOW REALITY

TRUTH LIVING LIGHT REALITY RAINBOW RAINBOW LOVE GATHERING TRUTH REALITY

===============================================================================

REALITY REPORT

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"The Unplastic News Visits The Rainbow Family Of Living Light"

by Thaloneous Platypus ( on-the-spot reporter )

_________________________________________________________

| |

| What follows is a compilation of research |

| and personal anecdotes. This report was |

| assembled by Thaloneous Platypus before, |

| during and after the Unplastic News field |

| trip to the 1991 National Rainbow Gathering, |

| held this year just outside of |

| Granville, Vermont, in the Green Mountain |

| National Forest. Every word of this report is |

| 107% true. |

| |

|_______________________________________________________|

"...a loosely knit group called the Rainbow Family that has

been gathering annually in national forests for 20 years,

hanging on to a flower-child lifestyle that blossomed in

the 1960s and wilted in the make-what-you-can 1980s."

The Hartford Courant

July 2, 1991

"Over the centuries, the spirit of cooperation has enabled

hamanity to create wonders of social harmony and technical

achievement. Annually for nearly two decades, a group of

grown-up children has created a unique event dedicated to

this cooperative spirit. The event is called the Rainbow

gathering and this month (July) it is being held somewhere

in the Northeast corner of the US."

High Times

July 1991

"A rainbow-colored halo encircled the sun Thursday, minutes

after Rainbow Family members stopped their silent meditation

and prayer for peace and the Earth."

The Burlington Free Press

July 5, 1991

"...the Rainbows' disorganization is surprisingly effective."

Time Magazine

July 15, 1991

I spotted a small bald Jewish man approaching alone on the quiet

path before me, a path which wound into a thicket of pine. The

sun had just risen. The shadows were yawning loud and long.

Wetness on the leaves and wetness in my shoes was warming. And,

although I had sipped a tiny gulp of liquid LSD sometime after

midnight, I can still safely vouch for the reality of this man's

wonderful weirdness.

I know I met him in the woods that morning because he

handed me a xeroxed note which I saved. He was

dressed as superman. He didn't speak. It was that quiet time

thing.

His spandex jumpsuit clung to his spindle legs. He smiled

broadly under that thick black bush of a mustache and he

gave me that xerox. He held a whole stack of these messages,

all printed on yellow paper. He then bounded off toward the main

circle and left me holding his message tight in my hand, he

left me smiling at his flapping red cape.

What follows is a quote from that crumpled yellow xerox which I

still hold in my cabinet, though it is tattered and though it

was once soaked in mud and later dried.

"i have been sent to deliver a message to you

from ONE who is much greater than i, who cares

about you more than you could ever realize. The

simple message is to use your common sense and

to think for yourself.

Ever since childhood, society (parents, siblings,

relatives, friends, educators/teachers, priests,

rabbis, ministers, and most people in general, etc.)

has dictated to us what the purpose of our lives

'SHOULD' be...

...PLEASE feel compasion for those who have mislead

you...seek out the TRUTH for yourself...

Your Ever Well-Wisher,

superman

For further correspondence; Universal Life Church

P.O. Box 270963

West Hartford, CT

06127-0963"

Thaloneous Platypus, 1991

"Just because we are utopian naturalists doesn't mean we

don't get all of the problems of the human experience -

we do. We have the same problems as any other community -

including disease, theft, aggression and various forms of

craziness. But the uniqueness of our community is that

we get to apply our own techniques of healing, teaching

and cooperation to solve these problems."

High Times

July 1991

"...the Rainbows do a good job of cleaning up after

themselves. A crew of Rainbows stays for weeks after the

rest of the family leaves to pick up trash and reseed areas

that were trampled."

Hartford Courant

July 2, 1991

"For the twentieth July in a row, mostly to the displeasure

of local and state authorities, the Rainbows have invited themselves

to a different national forest, there peaceably to assemble. And

peaceably to shake free of the plastic society, hug each other,

wear feathers, wear safety pins in their eyelids (as a few

metal-head teenagers do), dance all night, smoke pot (some of

them), jiggle around nude (some of them), soak themselves with beer

(a troublesome minority), rant or chant or quietly meditate."

Time Magazine

July 15, 1991

On the night of the 4th of July, while in other parts of

the U.S. genocide was being celebrated, I wandered

madly and slowly through those friendly night woods. I

met friends and overheard conversation...

ALICE: My writing is merely a personal perspective of

my awakening to everpresent thought patterns

that exist in us all.

QUEN: Well, what about the fact that there is no real

linear time? Past, present and future are only

mental descriptions, placed on the infinite, by

weak animal minds.

ALICE: Eat me, Quen. You are too sure of yourself. Your

argument has inherent flaw. When you use the term

'fact' to describe the infinate, you undermine

your thesis. I do believe that there is no linear

time. I also believe that there IS linear time.

All realities (which, incidentally, are made up by

weak animal minds) are valid as well as

extremely personal.

QUEN: You were once quoted as saying, 'I only know one

thing completely, therefore I know everything

completely.' What the fuck does that mean?

ALICE: If one devotes all energies of the self to

achieving vast knowledge about one thing, then

(after a portion of lifetime) the person will

have a knowledge of all.

QUEN: Oh, you mean the concept of tapping into the

fucking cosmic oneness...achieving this peace with

the center by entering through any doorway.

ALICE: Sure.

QUEN: Well, what is the one thing you do with love and a

centered soul? What is that knowledge which connects

you with the everpresent all?

ALICE: Broom handles.

QUEN: Broom Handles?! What the fuck, broom handles?!

At this point Alice stands. The fourth of July in misty

Vermont woods is a swirling bath, like a state-wide dip

in the clear jello of lunar consciousness. This place is bad.

This place is swirling. Alice has wisps of smoke and dust

winding at her feet, obscuring our view of her lower half.

We lie on firm ground.

She spreads her arms. She stands behind the fire.

Bottle rockets pop and I turn to see the sky and stars. I

turn and feel those who dance with drums on straps.

Alice smiles, eyes closed, raising on her toes...spreading

her arms wider. She is high to a point of being comfortable

with all at all times. A constant high on the super oneness.

She laughs.

In the brush, two brown bodies make a noisy giggling love.

The dog named Sarah Jane, my puppy, is spread...back in the grass.

She is content and trusting enough to close her eyes in the

midst of this beating, chanting, running, laughing human crowd.

Upside down, scratching her back and twisting, she opens her

eyes and, with those eyes pressed to the ground, human feet

seem, to her, big...and bodies stretch away to a level where

sights are smaller,

far from her nose. She tells me this.

Everyone is doing what they want. Everyone is doing something

different. Everyone fits. It clicks. People here for the

first time fear sticking out or being out of place. The thing

is - it is impossible to be out of place during a celebration

of difference. We are all only a different part of the same

thingness. Everyone fits even if they don't try. There are

so many different flavors of oneness. I have my favorite,

but I want to try them all.

QUEN: You are floating away from me!! Tell me about the

broom sticks ! What do you mean ? I want answers...

ALICE: I accept, therefore I am free. I make broomsticks

for witches brooms. I've got a shop in Sarasota.

I run an honest business and my clientele bring me

smiles and magic.

With that said, she backed toward a tree.

An M-80 firecracker snapped off inside the fire, thrown by

a dirty child with no teeth. After the flash and confusion,

Alice is gone and the bark of that birch tree is curling.

"Here's blond, pretty Sittora, from Massachusetts, who gives

a warm, nude hug and a suggestion: Take off your shoes and

walk slower. Here's a leftover '60s flower child with a T shirt

that says JUST SAY YES! And a stilt walker, and a man with

a cobra...an unbeliever must testify that on a cloudy Fourth

of July noon, when a parade of children marched to break a

morning-long silent vigil at the Circle, the sun came out.

And around it was a haze ring that looked a lot like a rainbow."

Time Magazine

July 15, 1991

________________________________________________________________________

_________________________________________________________________________

"The liberals can understand everything

but people who don't understand them."

........> Lenny Bruce <.......

<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>...<^>

BIOGRAPHY #5

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Aleister Crowley

(1876-1946)

World-record mountain climber, was one of the most

controversial figures of the early 20th century. With

leading members of the Irish literary renaissance, Crowley

was an original member of the Hermetic Order of the Gloden

Dawn, which he broke from to start his own circle of adepts.

Crowley then journeyed to the East to climb the

Himalayas and to study oriental yoga and esoteric

philosophy.

In 1904 he claimed to have established telepathic communication

with Higher Intelligence through the medium of his wife

Rosemary. He foresaw the beginning of a New Aeon, to which

he contributed these aphorisms: "Do what thou wilt' shall be

the whole of the law" and "Every man and every woman is a star."

Over the next two decades he experimented with every

available drug as a means of transcendence. In 1910 Crowley

went to the Detroit headquarters of the Parke-Davis

pharmaceutical company to secure their newly developed

extract of peyote, which he brought back to England and

used to turn on the audiences at his lectures. In an

article on the effects of cocaine, published during World War I,

he articulated the viewpoint that drug prohibition was

not only useless but actually intensified the problem of

drug abuse.

Throughout his life and travels Crowley produced a flood of

articles and books on spiritual subjects, devising a new

Tarot (The Book of Thoth) and a streamlined version of the

I Ching in addition to many significant and sardonic works

on occult magic.

___________________________________________________________________________

A duck walks into a pharmacy

And says:

"Gimme some chap stick

and put it on my bill."

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The Unplastic News, August 1991

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