       ___________ __              _______                         
       \__    ___/|  |__   ____    \      \   ____  ____           
         |    |   |  |  \_/ __ \   /   |   \_/ __ \/  _ \   ______ 
         |    |   |   Y  \  ___/  /    |    \  ___(  <_> ) /_____/ 
         |____|   |___|  /\___  > \____|__  /\___  >____/
                       \/     \/          \/     \/
       _________                 __        __
       \_   ___ \  ____   _____ |__| _____/  |_  ___________  ____  
       /    \  \/ /  _ \ /     \|  |/    \   __\/ __ \_  __ \/    \ 
       \     \___(  <_> )  Y Y  \  |   |  \  | \  ___/|  | \/   |  \
        \______  /\____/|__|_|  /__|___|  /__|  \___  >__|  |___|  /
               \/             \/        \/          \/           \/ 
.......... ......... ........ ....... ...... ..... .... ... .. .  .   .    .
   .   .  . . .. ... .... ..... ...... ....... ........ ......... ..........

    t h e  n e o - c o m i n t e r n   e l e c t r o n i c  m a g z i n e
                 I n s t a l l m e n t    N u m b e r  1 4 5

                         We Are the New International
                         March 11th, 2001
                         Editor: BMC

                                             Writers:
                                 Margarina Cataclysma
                                                  BMC
                                                     

  d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
 ;P                      Featured in this installment                      .b
 $                                                                          $
 $                Metal Streets - BMC (with Margarina Cataclysma)           $
 `q                                                                        p'
   `nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'

                                EDITOR'S NOTE
                      (please do not read the following)

        Ok, I feel the need to say something exceptionally brilliant this
week, so here it is.

        Umm... Sartre, no... umm... Descartes... umm... Foucault

        This isn't working, is it?  In fact, it seems like I'm just trying
to list off a bunch of cool French names.  How embarassing.  Maybe I should
try again.  This one should be more brilliant.

        Agdestis... Rhea... Gaea... Oceanus... Charon... Semele... Phlegeton

        Ok, that's a bit better.  At least I can show a bit of comepetence
when listing names of characters in Greek myth, but I just don't know what
to do next.  Ahh yes, I should say something about them.  That would seem
intelligent!

        The story of Agdestis is a metaphor for something.

        Oh, I'm so close!  I used a big word like metaphor and after looking
it up in the dictionary I even understand what it means.  But I still don't
think it makes any sense.  Damn, this is the hard part.  Ok, I'm going to
do it this time.  I must succeed or I will look like a fool in front of you
(well I'm not so worried about you because of our former intimate
relationship, but what about all the others??? Thay'll hate me!)

        Ok so the metaphor in the story is like an allusion... allegory...
umm... Agdestis... Zeus rock.... AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
I'm going to kill myself!  That's it!  I can't do this anymore!  I can't take
it!  I can't be something I'm not, can I?!?!?  Or.... can I?  Yes, that is
the solution...


                The version of Arnobius--Timotheus is the most interesting
        one. According to it, Zeus found his mother Cybele sleeping in the
        mountains.  Zeus, filled with incestuous desire, tries to possess
        her but fails.  His semen flows out on a mountain rock, which
        becomes pregnant and bears the androgynous Agdistis (Agdestis), a
        being of male/female nature. This Agdistis, like the androgynes of
        Plato, was extremely mighty and had strong sexual feelings toward
        both men and women.  The gods are afraid of Agdistis' debauchery and
        so they send to him the god Bacchus the Liberator.  He gives wine to
        Agdistis and when this creature, Agdistis, is asleep from
        drunkenness, Bacchus castrates him.  Agdistis thus loses his male
        nature and changes into a womanly nature--the Earthly (the second)
        Cybele.  But the drops of the blood of Agdistis nourish the soil and
        it bears a blooming and fragrant tree.  The nymph (the daughter of
        the river god Sangarias) puts the branch of the tree under her
        clothes.  She then becomes pregnant and bears a son, who is Attis,
        the bearer of the male sex of Agdistis.  The earthly Cybele meets
        Attis and falls in love with him, because in reality he is her own
        half of herself.  But the relatives of Attis want him to be the
        husband of the daughter of the king.  During the wedding, party
        Cybele-Agdistis enters the palace; she is in a fury.  Everybody
        feels horror.  The king castrates himself, the princess cuts her
        breasts off.  Attis runs to the forest and there castrates himself,
        too.  Then he dies from the loss of blood. The earthly Cybele is
        full of repentance.  She prays to Zeus (Phrygian Sabasius or Papas?)
        to resurrect him and make him eternally youthful and immortal.
        Resurrected Attis, together with Cybele-Agdistis, ascends into the
        celestial world (apotheosis).

        Did that work?  I am not sure.  Just please don't let anyone know
that I stole all of that stuff from Dr. Evgueni Tortchinov or they'll all
get mad at me and then they won't think I'm smart.  Please, for their sake,
don't ruin the illusion.

                                                  
  d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b. 
 ;P                              METAL STREETS                             .b
 `q                     by BMC (with Margarina Cataclysma)                 p'
   `nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'
 
Benjamin Horatio Algier lived with his mother and baby sister in a chateau
in of one of those old Swiss alpine villages.  The town was old and creepy
and slightly futuristic.  Benjamin Horatio attended the local kindergarten
and was an exceptionally talented colourer.  That was really the only thing
that he could do well.  His peers made fun of him and his teachers and
friends would say, "Ha h ha," or, "That child is useless!"  But someone
would usually defend him and say, "Well not entirely, after all, for he can
colour and that is my word of truth."

One day, the teacher consulted with him after class.  "How come you can't do
anything well except for colouring?" asked his teacher.  "That is my life,
madam," replied Benjamin, "I can't do things other children do.  I got to be
one thing, Mrs. Teacher - a colourer."

Mrs. Teacher put him over her knee, whipped him, and gave him his report
card to take home to his mother.  The marks were all low F's.  With tears
dripping down his cheeks, he buckled his skis on and slowly skied home
through the metal streets in the cold twilight.  When he got home, he showed
the report card to his mother and she said, "Oh my boy, do not worry.  We do
not judge you by your grades at school, for school is unimportant.  It is
how you ski that makes the difference."  Benjamin pretended to cheer up
because then his mother would feel better and then he wouldn't have to worry
about that.  He went to bed early that night with no supper because he felt
like he deserved to be punished.

He fell into an instant sleep and dreamt of a time and place where there was
no school and no cruel teachers, where instead children skied back and forth
upon the metal streets with their skis crunching over the rusty shards of
metal every day.  Around eight o'clock, he woke up sweaty with a beautiful
new idea implanted in his mind.  He ran down the stairs to tell his mother
all about the ski competition, for which first prize would be freedom from
school forever.

He said, "Mother!  There's a race, and I'm going to enter, and whoever wins
never has to go to school again!"

She smiled at him in that way that mothers have and said, "Oh Benji, I am so
glad.  I am so proud of you, I knew that you would have this dream
eventually.  When I was a girl, about your age, I was no good at anything
but math.  The teachers thought I was great, 'cause math is better than
colouring, of course, but still I was pretty much the same as you."

Benji blinked.  His mother continued, "Yes, well, this race of which you
speak, is it here in this town?  On our beautiful metal streets?"  Benji was
confused.  "No mother, it is in the dream world!" he answered.  Mother
stopped what she was doing and looked directly at Benjamin, "Well, Benji,
then this is an exclusive race, by invitation only.  From the very day of
your conception I have hoped that you or your little sister Emily would have
the dream, but quite frankly I don't think this small child will ever have
what it takes."  Emily continued to smile, and Mother continued to speak of
the race.  "Since everyone in our family has special talents (with the
exception of Emily), we have all won our races.  After we win our races, we
retire and do fun stuff like... whatever we want!" and she trailed off and
went back to making soup.

Now that was food for thought.  Benji was stunned by the range of
possibilities that would be open to him if he could win his race.  He went
through the paces of the day, waiting patiently for night to fall so he
could dream again.  Well, perhaps patiently is an overstatement.  Benjamin
was eager to learn more about the big race, and as his skis ground against
the cold metal streets that morning, he could think of nothing else.  He was
restless through his six hours of school, so excited that he was barely able
to colour.  He did colour though, and his pictures were better than ever
before.  He was inspired by the dream, and this filled his young artistic
soul with enough passion to take him to the higher heights of creativity and
spirituality.  One of the pictures he coloured was a portrait of himself
with an expression that had never been seen on his face before.  It was a
smile.  Mrs. Teacher came up to him and asked what the picture was of.   He
proudly said it was of him never having to go to school again.  For this she
beat him and even scolded him.

Benjamin cried until school was done.  When the siren blared he strapped on
his skis and shuffled to the door, still weeping.  As soon as his skis
touched metal, though, his sadness disappeared and the hellish day of school
was left in the past.  The screeching of ski against metal soothed Benjamin
and as he turned a sharp corner, he noted that the flying sparks might just
as well have been the lights of heaven for all of the beauty he saw within
them.

When he returned home, Benjamin ran, nearly flew, through the house and into
the kitchen.  He had a big bowl of lentil soup and ran upstairs to his room.
He dove toward the bed and the sheets rose to meet him,  wrapping themselves
around him.  As warm yellow light poured from the swirl of sheets and
subconsciousness, the other world was there to welcome him.

Here he was in the Dream World.  It was different than he remembered it.  He
had learned so little about it the first time and this time he needed to
find out.  Where was the race?  What did he have to do to win?

Benjamin believed that since dreams are a creation of the mind he should
have been able to control it a bit, at least enough to figure out what to do
next.   He looked all around but the landscape kept changing and it was
difficult to control what he was doing!  Apparently there were different
rules for functioning normally in this world.  The ruler of Dream World, who
called himself the Por of Pades, walked up to Benjamin and asked him if he
was excited to be part of the upcoming race.  Benjamin didn't know what to
say - no, he didn't know how to speak!  He stood there silently, and the Por
looked at him, waiting for a response until several hours later when
Benjamin's dream finally came to an end.

What a sad dream that turned out to be.  Benjamin began to weep as he rolled 
out of bed.  He went downstairs to tell his mother.  "Mother!" Benjamin 
said, "Last night I talked to - " 

"The Por of Pades?" asked mother.  

"Yes, how did you know?"

"We all meet the Por of Pades from time to time, Benji.  I remember the
first time I met him, and that was when he personally invited me to enter
the ski competition when I was young."

Benjamin was envious.  He hadn't been invited to the race by the Por
himself, but by a mysterious quadruped.

"So what did you say to him, Benji?" Mother asked.  

"Nothing," he replied.  "I didn't know how to talk.  I didn't know how to
move."

"Ahh, that is a fair obstacle!" said Mother.  "So how are you going to race
then?"

He didn't know.  He ate his breakfast potato and begged his mother to let
him stay home from school.  She said no, the same answer she gave him every
day.

Benjamin slowly scraped his way through the metal streets to school.  His
first lesson was math.  As the other students were learning to add numbers,
Benjamin coloured a picture of the Por of Pades.  It was exact.  The skin
tones were identical, and the blackness of his suit and hat were exact.  The
colouring was so accurate, in fact, that the shadow of the Por would
actually shift depending on what angle you viewed the picture at.  It was
amazing.

The siren sounded, and that meant it was time for colouring class.  This was
the one class that Benjamin excelled at.  He got respect from all of the
other students because of his extreme skill and willingness to teach and
serve as an example to others.  Colouring was more than a class for
Benjamin, though, it was an art.  It was a way of life.  It was a subject.
The teacher gave the class a few minutes of instruction, and then the
students began their colouring lab.  Benjamin's ravishingly excellent
colouring kept everyone narcotized.  Though the students were supposed to be
working, they gathered around Benjamin, who sat cross-legged on the floor
with his head pointed downward and his work-in-progress immediately ahead of
his eyes.  From each angle, they could see something different.  To one
child it looked like an ice cream truck and to another it looked like a
camping trip.  Each person saw the best in Benjamin's colourings, and when
Benjamin looked at the colouring, he saw his dream, the strange-looking
streets, and a figure that he couldn't quite make out.

He continued to colour and waxed the figure in more and more until he was
out of orange crayon.  It was a giraffe on skis.  How silly to us, but to
Benjamin it was nothing out of the ordinary.  His colourings were different
from, yet better than what was considered to be normal, and that was what
made people love them so much, even if they didn't understand them.
Benjamin didn't understand it either.  It was raw natural ability, know-how
knowledge.  He couldn't describe the colouring process or what made it so
amazing, he just did it.

In his mind the giraffe spoke to him and this is what he heard:


Millie: "Hi, Benji."

Benjamin: "Hey how's it goin?"

Millie: "Pretty good." 
        [Silence.  Benjamin is confused]
        "So, since this is your picture, you must know who I am, right?"

Benjamin: "Ummmmmmmmm... yep!  I mean... nope!"

Millie: "Sigh.  I'm Millie the ghost giraffe."

Benjamin: "Were you supposed to say the word 'sigh' out loud, or was that
          supposed to be an actual sigh?"

Millie: "Well, I guess it was a combination of both, wasn't it?  You heard
        it, didn't you?  Oh!  I get it, you were clearing it up so the
        reader would know.  Well, you had better stop talking like that or
        you will ruin the suspension of disbelief... if it ever existed."

Benjamin:  "How couldn't there be a suspension of disbelief?  Doesn't it
           sound reasonable that there would be a real world like this,
           metal streets and all, and I would have weird skiing dreams and
           talk to coloured pictures?  Oh, by the way, my name is Benjamin."

Millie: "I know your name.  I'm here to tell you..."

Benjamin: "So how do you know my name anyway?  Is it going to be explained
          or does the reader have to guess.  Hi, reader."

Reader: "Hi." (this is the part that YOU are supposed to say... go ahead,
        say it!)

Millie: "Oh, now look what you've done, Benji.  Good one.  I know your name
        because I'm from your subconscious.  I'm from the dream world.
        Plus, you just coloured me, so why in the world shouldn't I know
        your name?"

Benjamin:  "But why should you?"

Millie: "I just told you, you punk kid!"

Benjamin: "But I don't understand those words... I'm just a little boy!"

Millie:  "I'm part of your mind.  If you didn't understand those words
         neither would I, so shut up and start listening."

Benjamin: "But..."

Millie: "Do you want me to tell you about the race, or what?  Ahh, now that
        got your attention, you little rabble rouser!  When you race, Benji,
        you will have to do your best.  You will have to do everything you
        can to win.  Ask your mother how she won..."


...and Millie became a stationary character on the page again.  Benjamin was
excited to learn the secret of the race and when he got home he spoke to his
mother.

"Mother, mother!" cried Benjamin, "I must know how you won your race!"  

"Well," said mother, "it is not a long story.  The race is a difficult one
to win, but if you rely on your talent you will be able to do it.  I don't
know if I ever told you this, but I was good at mathematics when I was your
age.  I've forgotten everything about it now, mind you, but at the time I
would have been able to tell you the distance across this room, the number
of corners on that picture frame, the number of fingers on my hand, or the
volume of root stew in this bowl.  When it was my time to race, I had to
calculate which angles to hit on the ski hill, I had to align my skis,
position my body in the most aerodynamically efficient manner possible, and
a bunch of really complicated stuff that I don't remember the terms for.
Would you like your soup now, Benji?"

Without stopping, Benjamin ate the soup and continued to his room to get
ready for the ski competition of a lifetime.  Mother said nothing more.
Benjamin went upstairs with a good idea of how he must win his race.
Somewhat distractedly, he opened his backpack and pulled out his box of
crayons.  He sat down on the floor next to his skis and started to colour on
them.  On each ski he drew a mural more beautiful than Arachne's tapestry.
On the left ski he drew the Alps, each mountain in exquisite detail.  On the
right ski, he drew a map of the city's metal streets and back alleys.  Then
he flipped them over and coloured the bottoms.  He drew the oceans of the
world, even the unexplored Southern seas, and he drew all of the fishes in
them.  On the other ski he drew all of the stars and all of the stars'
satellites.  And then he fell asleep, with his head resting on the ski, with
the last nub of a crayon in his little clenched fist.
  
Would tonight be the night?  Benjamin was ready.  As the dream world poured
all around him and filled his subconscious, he felt once again as though he
was a traveler in his own mind.

Benjamin looked around and saw the great slopes in plain view.  They were
directly in front of him.  He walked toward the hill.  There was a
mysterious substance on the ground that appeared to be made up of crystals
of frozen water.  It was something that Benjamin had never seen in his world
before and in the subconscious they called it snow.  He walked through it.
Crunch, crunch, Crunch, crunch.

His right foot was like an anchor.  It dropped onto the ground and secured
his position.  His left foot was like a hook.  One foot held the ground in
place, the other one pulled him forward.  Hook and anchor.  He had a strange
way of walking, but then again, we all do.  Most of us don't notice it like
Benjamin did, though.  He had plenty of credit in the boredom bank, and he
always carried plenty with him, even in the subconscious world.  He
continued to look at his feet as he walked and when he finally looked up
again he was at the top of the mountain that he would ski from.  It was the
beginning of his moment.  It was what he had been anticipating for days.

But then he woke up.

The school siren was blaring, and this meant that Benjamin was late for
school.  Not concerned with the outside world, he tried to fall asleep again
to re-enter the dream, but the siren was too loud and Benjamin was not tired
enough.  He closed his eyes as tightly as he could and tensed his body,
hoping for sleep to fall over him like a bucket of rolled oats and warm
water, but he had no such luck.  His mother came in the room.

"Benji," she said, "why aren't you up yet?"

"I don't know," he replied, and closed his eyes again.  Benjamin decided to
give up on the idea of sleep.  He smelled his mother's porridge in the air
and got up and into his woolens.  He went down the stairs and there at the
bottom were the skis, glowing in the early morning light that came in
through the window.  He picked them up and walked into the kitchen with
them.  His mother spooned out a glop of porridge for him, and smiled at him
and his skis.  He ate, slightly stunned by the strangeness of it all, and
then his mother said to him, "You'd better get going.  You'll be late for
school, Benji." And so Benji got up, grabbed his skis under his arm and
said, "Can I stay home, mom?  Can I stay home and ski?"

His mother looked at him with disapproval, but as she remembered the Por of
Pades and what special meaning the race had for her, her eyebrows
straightened out and she looked into Benjamin's eyes with compassion.  "Yes
Benji, yes you can stay home and ski.  But you must go to school this
afternoon or the firemen will come to the house and burn it down."

Benjamin couldn't argue with that.  Ever since Viscount Edgar Death came
into power, the villagers had followed the town rules obediently for fear
that he would execute anyone who stepped out of line.  (It wasn't true, by
the way.  The Viscount never really had anyone killed.  He was actually a
benevolent ruler and a really nice guy if you got to know him personally,
but people had always been fearful of him because of his name.  Years later,
when Viscount Edgar Death learned that the people of Benjamin's village had
been afraid, he wept.)

But that was in the future, and the present was not a place for tears.
Hell, the present isn't the place for the Viscount at all... he isn't even a
part of this story from here on.

Mother said that Benjamin could stay home and ski, and that's exactly what
he did!  He ran up the stairs, strapped his skis on, and skied down to the
bottom, crashing into the bookshelf and destroying several valuable texts.
That didn't matter though, his mother reminded him.  All that mattered was
how well he skied because that was his key to freedom.  If he didn't win
this race he would be doomed to be ordinary like everyone else and grow old
and die with his dreams unfulfilled.  Don't worry though, because he won the
race.  Oops.  No wonder people don't like watching movies with me.

Should I even continue?  



































                      This Section Left Intentionally Blank






































I'll take that several minutes of silence as a yes.


Benjamin skied all day, leaving scrapes and black marks all over the non-
metal stairs inside his house.  After hours of practice and hundreds of
climbs up the stairs though, Benjamin had accomplished something amazing: he
had mastered skiing.  Mother was proud of him and kissed him on the forehead
as he left for school to attend his afternoon classes.

What they didn't realize was that the crayon colourings on Benjamin's skis
would eventually be known as ski wax, the greatest invention for the sport
of skiing since the ski!  Oh there I go fucking up the foreshadowing again!

Ok, forget what I just said about Benjamin winning the race because of his
new invention called ski wax, and we'll go on and finish the story with an
unusual surprise ending that you wouldn't have expected.  Shit.

Let's try this one more time.  Ok, forget everything that you have read up
to this point.


                                METAL STREETS

Benjamin Horatio Algier lived with his mother and baby sister in the flat
and he skied on metal streets and he liked to colour.  He had a dream about
this ski race where the winner gets to do whatever they want for the rest of
their lives, even make soup like Benjamin's mother if they want to.  So the
thing is, the race takes place during a dream, but he doesn't know this.  It
gradually unfolds through dreams and discussions with his mother and the
tension builds as the big race seems to come closer with every dream
Benjamin has.  Eventually he colours his skis with wax and this will one day
become known as ski wax.  Blah blahblah blahblah.  So that is the synopsis
up to this point, including the part where I ruined the ending for you.

The second lunch siren sounded and Benjamin ran out the door into the metal
streets of his hometown.  He had the confidence of someone who knew they
could not fail.  He had the confidence of Benjamin Horatio Algier.  He
bolted out into the sunny street and ran toward the school as fast as he
could, knowing that today would be his last day.  Yes, tonight would be his
ticket to freedom.  Benjamin knew the big race was waiting in his next
sleep.

Benjamin leaped through the door of the school just as it slammed shut.  He
had made it in time for his afternoon class without a moment to spare.  He
paused to catch his breath and then proceeded to his classroom.  As he
entered the room, Mrs. Teacher looked at him and her eyes narrowed.  She was
angry.

"Why weren't you here this morning?" she barked.

"I was... sick," said Benjamin.

The teacher didn't believe him.  She asked him what he was sick with and if
his mother would say the same thing when she contacted her via telegraph.
Benjamin caved in and told her the truth.  He had been skiing.  He was a
champion and he was going to win the ski race and live forever and go to
school never.  The teacher didn't believe Benjamin.  She didn't believe in
him.

"I've had enough of you, you little troublemaker!" she screamed, and
smothered Benjamin with a pillow until he fell into unconsciousness.  The
ski competition was about to begin.

Benjamin stood at the start line amidst a league of young people.  The hill
was steep and covered with snow.  Benjamin didn't realize that the crayon
colourings on his skis would one day become known as ski wax!  The Por of
Pades and his entourage watched from a tower at the finish line as the
racers prepared to ski.  Millie the giraffe stood by the start line with a
starter pistol.  Benjamin felt he was prepared.  He was ready for anything
as he heard Millie squeeze the trigger.

Bang.

And the group of skiers took off down the hill, racing wildly.  The wind
whipped through their hair as they achieved velocities that could only be
felt and appreciated in a dream.  In a matter of moments the race was won
and the Por of Pades declared the winner.

It was Katie from down the street.

Benjamin looked down.  He was still at the start line.  He had left his skis
at home and was unprepared for the race.  He was sabotaged by a teacher with
no regard for the hopes of a young generation.  Benjamin fell to his knees
in the snow and began to cry.  Just then, the Por of Pades approached him
and attempted to comfort the young boy.

The Por of Pades said, "You live by the heart and by the crayon, young man,
and for that you should be proud."  Benjamin didn't understand.  He didn't
win the race; he was a failure.

"What now, sir?" asked Benjamin.  "Now do I have to go back to school
forever?"

"Benjamin, not everyone wins the ski race... Benjamin, when someone loses
the ski race...  Benjamin, when I was your age I lost my ski race.  That is
why I must stay here.  That is why I am the Por of Pades.  Now you must stay
here too, live in our cities, and ski our slopes until the end of time."

"Is there school here?" asked Benjamin.

"No, there isn't.  There is also no war, no poverty..."

"No school?  That's great!  I wish I would have died a long time ago!"

"Well it's not death, really... it's where we go when we lose our races.
When your father, me, lost his ski race..."

"Wow!  I can't wait to not go to school!  I'm going to start right now!"

And he did.  

The End.   
                                                      

 .d&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&b.
    ___________________________________________________         
   |THE COMINTERN IS AVAILIABLE ON THE FOLLOWING BBS'S |
   |~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|
   | TWILIGHT ZONE                      (905) 432-7667 |
   | BRING ON THE NIGHT                 (306) 373-4218 |
   | CLUB PARADISE                      (306) 978-2542 |
   | THE GATEWAY THROUGH TIME           (306) 373-9778 |
   |___________________________________________________|
   |   Website at: http://members.home.com/comintern   |
   |           Email BMC at: thebmc@home.com           |
   |___________________________________________________|

 .d&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&b.
 Copyright 2001 by The Neo-Comintern                           #145-03/11/01

All content is property of The Neo-Comintern.
You may redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and the
content must not be altered or modified in any way.  Unauthorized use of any
part of this document is prohibited.  All rights reserved.  Made in Canada.

