       _       _  _      ____.        _  _      ____.     ____
      FJ_     FJ  L]    F___ J       F L L]    F ___J    F __ ]
     J  _|   J |__| L   '-__| L     J   \| L  J |___:   J |--| L    ______
     | |-'   |  __  |    |__  (     | |\   |  | _____|  | |  | |   |______| 
     F |__-. F L__J J .-____] J     F L\\  J  F L____:  F L__J J   L______J 
     \_____/J__L  J__LJ\______/F   J__L \\__LJ________LJ\______/F
     J_____F|__L  J__| J______F    |__L  J__||________| J______F 
 
   ___      ____      __  __    __    _  _   ____   ____.             _  _
 ,"___".   F _  ]    F  \/  ]  / J   F L L] F___ ] F___ J    _ ___   F L L]
 FJ---L]  J |/ | L  J |\__/| L LFJ  J   \| L'--7 / '-__| L  J '__ ",J   \| L
J |   LJ  | | /| |  | |'--'| | J  L | |\   |  / //  |__  (  | |__|-J| |\   |
| \___--. F  /_J J  F L    J J J  L F L\\  J J  L.-____] J  F L  '-'F L\\  J
J\_____/FJ\______/FJ__L    J__LJ__LJ__L \\__LJ__LJ\______/FJ__L    J__L \\__L
 J_____F  J______F |__L    J__||__||__L  J__||__| J______F |__L    |__L  J__|

 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
 
    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 7 4
                  
                         We Are the New International
                         October 21st, 2001
                         Editor: BMC

                                             Writers:
                                                  xod
                                               Heckat
                                 Margarina Cataclysma
                                                  BMC


  d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
 ;P                      Featured in this installment                      .b
 $                                                                          $
 $                    The Night the Lights Went Out - xod                   $
 $                             Your Moon - Heckat                           $
 $            Theft, Thievery, and The Night - Margarina Cataclysma         $
 $                            Two Universes - BMC                           $
 `q                                                                        p'
   `nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'

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

  Please - interact with us tonight if you may.

  Tonight we talk about the night.

  These articles written by people in the night, for people in the night.

  So please, if it's not night where you are, put this aside, or print it
  out, and wait for night to come.  Then we can proceed together, and the
  night will be ours.

  Or just read it during the day and have a good laugh (ie "Har Har I am so
  witti and deuiant that I darest to read ye N-Comme by lyght of dae.)


  d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
 ;P                     THE NIGHT THE LIGHTS WENT OUT                      .b
 `q                                by xod                                  p'
   `nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'
                                                                    
  "The night is young" said the host.  

  Knowing all too well it was already 3.30am.

  "C'mon you gotta stay a little while longer".

  His guest, Mike, wasn't having it.  He had to be at work early in the 
  morning and he knew he was bad enough at getting up as it was.

  "C'mon Mike, Just one more for the road".

  "Ok, if I must".  sighed Mike.

  It was obvious Mike didn't want to stay.  The host knew it, but tonight 
  he must stay; he had plans.

  The atmosphere of the previous 7 hours drinking had died dramtically, 
  being replaced by a stale state of silence.  The host didn't mind, he
  liked silence, as long as he wasn't alone.  He wouldn't mind if no one
  spoke for hours, he just needed to sense a physical presence with him.  
  The host felt afraid when he was alone.  Depression in solitude you 
  could say, especially during the dark hours.

  The host poured another drink from the whisky bottle.  

  "Oh shit, we've run out of whisky, lemme get some more".

  With that the host picked up Mike's glass and walked into the kitchen 
  to get another bottle.

  In the kitchen the host opened the whisky bottle and poured some into 
  the glass.  He also poured a small amount of liquid from another bottle
  into the glass.  A devious smile crept onto the host's face.

                          _
                         |_|
                        / w \     _
                        | h |    [_] 
                        | i |   [***]
                        | s |   [poi]
                        | k |   [son]
                  ------[_y_]---[_*_]------ 
   
  "Sorry about that my friend" said the host.
  "No problem, thanks a lot" replied Mike.

  The host was looking at Mike.  Staring at him as he took a large gulp
  from the glass.

  "Nice Whisky" Mike commented.

  The host just let off another devious looking smile before taking a sip
  of his own.

  "Yes it is, isn't it".

  A minute or so passed.  But, to the host it seemed like hours, waiting in 
  anticipation.

  "I don't feel so good.  Infact I feel fucking awful" stuttered Mike.
  "Relax, it'll all be over soon" sniggered the host.
  "All over? What? Huh? urghghgruhgruhg? ahrjehgbnnnf? blehdhbvhehhhhh?".

  Mike slumped down in his chair.  The whisky glass hitting the carpet
  below him.  Head rolled sideways.  His eyes flickered, looking vacant.

  Mike could faintly make out the host getting up off his chair and 
  coming towards him.   

  "W-W-Why d-d-do this?" stuttered Mike.

  "I get so lonely Mike; You don't know what its like to be alone.
  "I feel so isolated, so depressed." deviously explained the host.

  "But now I have you for company, bwahaha" screamed out the host.
  "Care for another drink?".
  "bwahaha".

  Mike couldn't summon up the energy to reply.  He just sat there, 
  slumped in his seat, staring into space, there was nothing he could 
  do.  He simply kept staring at the host with a disgruntled look on 
  his face, knowing all too well what had happened and how he had been 
  betrayed by a so-called friend.

  Mike was slipping away.  Slowly but surely.  The room was getting dim.
  The host seemed further and further away every second.  The light 
  diminishing with every tick heard from the clock on the wall. 

  Before he knew it the lights were out..

  The host had won.


  d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
 ;P                               YOUR MOON                                .b
 `q                               by Heckat                                p'
   `nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'
 
  He was drunk
  and he would tell
  outrageous stories
  about how he had
  once invented
  the moon

  He explained how it was
  just supposed to be a joke
  someplace to send all the
  old newspapers and dirty
  laundry. . . 

  but at some point
  he started burying
  things there-
  I know because
  he whispered about
  them in his sleep

  Yes, the moon is a
  graveyard for tattered
  blueprints and foreign
  money and the door
  handle off his first car

  each plot nicely marked,
  things are placed
  strategically, like a careful
  game of chess: his old dead
  friends, eyes to the sun

  But eventually everything
  runs out of room
  and this is the way
  it was for the moon.
  He had buried 
  everything and there
  would never be need
  to collect it again.

  Now, he speaks of his
  moon and how, before
  it became fashionable,
  he sold it for 10 cents
                                         

  d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
 ;P                     THEFT, THIEVERY, AND THE NIGHT                     .b
 `q                         by Margarina Cataclysm                         p'
   `nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'

  In this year, which has been both short and long and has had a hot summer,
  I have perpetrated the following crimes: Forgot to return shirt
  (nondescript, grey) to friend.  Hatched evil plan which involved me not
  telling N. and K. where the last box of trees was, thereby ensuring a
  great day for me and mediumish days for them.  Hatched evil plan to
  obscure blatant cream-out of K., A., and C. by planting up the gully that
  divided the good from the ugly, but since the gully was the ugliest they
  thought I was doing them a favour.  With roommate J., conspired to give
  only 1/5 of the profit from a recycling run to other (absent) roommate
  rather than the 1/3 that was certainly her due.

  But although these events are shameful, they do not give adequate colour
  to my wickedness.

  Let me try to defend my position before I explain my point.  It's too 
  horrible to mention.  It's an enormous obvious fart.  If he who does `a'
  must also do `b', then I must tunnel on.  Let me couch this vaguely: I
  took the whole plateful, I emptied the hors d'oeuvres into my purse.  I
  did it for the sake of a dream, and maybe because I was hungry.

  Oh, Greed and Gluttony.  Lust and Whatever else.

  If not for theft my days and nights would be bereft of pleasure.

  I recently toured a portion of western Canada. As a tourist.  I stole
  locales from the locals.  I stole bread from the poor.  That's not true,
  actually, but I am to be writing a story re: Theft and Thievery.  I know
  not what to say.  The story I am thinking is not the story I am to write.
  I am like a ghost on a marooned ship.  Need I obscure my plot with the
  story I am supposed to write?  Hmm.  My editor wishes to divert my
  thoughts along a particular course.  He is a thief.  I call him thusly
  and so he is named.  I fly my flag high and so does he; we are at war.

  The story I am dreaming is so far true.  It began in the hot days of
  summer when limbs were bare and beer cold.  It began with a minor
  dilemma, and its solution.  It was a thunderstorm and a becalming.

  First, I wrote a poem.  To tackle the so-called inexpressible.  I kept
  the poem to myself, almost.

	Imprimer

	I burned him with my thighs
	from across the room,
	and at table
	side by side.

	And knew it,
	and could do nothing to stop it;
	mesmerized myself,
	and illuminated

	like a manuscript
	not seen for 3 hundred years

	Me,
	my thighs,
	the page,
	flither tremble
	with the light from his eyes.

  There are syntactical flaws with that poem.  It's not done yet, although
  the thought is complete the mood is not right.

  Later, it began again:
	Gas = Diesel = Store = Liquor

	Before we left town, we purchased gas.
	The car thought it had a diesel engine.
	The store clerk tried to hide her hair.
	With our breakfast, we drank liquor.

  My editor, genius and kindly soul, has changed the theme of the issue.
  It is now to be Night.  This suits me just fine, although I would like to
  expand the topic to include the part of the morning that touches night.
  Thank you very much.

          Shadow filled the gaps between objects.  Under the hood, in the
  dark, the pistons cranked.  The wheels rose up the hill and the man
  beside her told her how people have two faces, a day face and a night
  face, and how they are very different, revealing different parts of a
  person's character.

          They drove and drove, and the road limited their travels to two
  directions but at the same time took them places they had never been.
  Geared up, geared down, banked around corners.  Volant volant.

          The place they came to was thick and black, and had thick black
  trees surrounding it.  There was a cold stream and if it had been calm the 
  starlight would have been reflected in it.  Her feet invisibly touched the 
  ground.  The ground was, by nature of it's invisibility, uneven.  The man 
  beside her held her invisible hand and she could feel him warmly as they 
  moved over the dark.  In the dark, a place, a foreign place, might as
  well be Mars, or upside-down.  They found a flat spot between them, and,
  blind as they were, felt the angles and folds of the tent to erect their
  bed.  They entered darkly the place of their solace.

          Not seeing each other, they exhausted themselves with touching
  and talking and looking for reflections from unseen eyes.  Some
  impossible dark gleam.  She could feel his smile.  She may have been the
  one to fall asleep first, questions answered, but perhaps they did not
  sleep at all but remained dreaming as they rolled and drifted.

          At some point, they both awoke and muttered sounds and words to
  each other.

          Later, the very light was blue around her.  Her body lay softly
  long in the blankets, and he lay beside her, a loose mass of muscle and
  hair, quiet.  She looked and blinked and looked away.  The morning rose
  gorgeous.  The scent of him was infused into her hair.  She slept again
  and did not know what he did while she slept; whether he slept too or
  watched her sleeping.

          She awoke again, rose and washed herself in the small pool, and
  returned to the tent-bed.  His eyes were blue and they caught the light.
  They conferred.  They discussed genius and perfection and glory.
  Compared notes, nuzzled and grasped limbs and other body parts.


  d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
 ;P                             TWO UNIVERSES                              .b
 `q                                 by BMC                                 p'
   `nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'
 
  As we stand together, looking up at the night sky, we see a dome, divided
  into four quarters, lines intersecting above the point where we stand,
  wrapping around the Earth.  There is one quarter from which the moon
  shines, the opposite quarter that bears the deepest darkness, and the
  quarters between light and dark that illustrate how round the sky can
  seem on these nights.
 
  On these nights, away from the interference of lamp posts, we can see the
  point where domed quarters meet, and step away from ourselves.  Lives
  can change, awareness can be realized, we can be led to enlightenment by
  someone close to us, even a stranger.  Only the domed quarters above us
  will remember, and only the ground below.  Nothing between those realms
  bears such consistency.

  But we need each other tonight.

  Tonight is a night like when you look up at the moon and (like so many
  times before?) realize that it is just a tiny rock orbiting a small world
  in a large universe.  But this time as you think of how small the
  seemingly firm Earth is compared to the stars and how small we are
  compared to the earth - this time it feels different.

  For once it doesn't lead to complete nihilism.

  Yes we are insignificant, but it doesn't matter - because there is
  something beyond the scope of infinity.  Scratch that - while infinity is
  important, dwelling on it is too far-sighted.  Tonight, anyway.

  Now I understand that making a small difference is important too -
  everyone perceives things differently - so we all have our own universes.
  I think of you, your fragile universe, my respect for it, my love for
  you, my desire to see your universe from the inside.

  And aside from we lovers, each person's conceptions, beliefs, and ideals
  give them their own universe.  -Vast- and within a lifetime, not explored
  to its fullest.  A universe is no small thing and if we can make anyone's
  world better, we are into something universal.  Anyone can do something,
  in some universe.  So as we look at the stars tonight, know that you are
  not alone.  You're in your universe, I'm in mine, and we co-exist in a
  strange state of overlap.

  The world can seem like a big empty void.  Something that flys fast with
  black space and eternal outer cold night.  But here we can be together,
  find warmth.  And this is how we connect.


 .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   |
   |        Questions?  Comments?  Submissions?        |
   |           Email BMC at: thebmc@home.com           |
   |___________________________________________________|

 .d&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&b.
 Copyright 2001 by The Neo-Comintern                           #174-10/21/01

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.

