the may 2000 issue of cc&d
issn 1068-5154

editorial When Credibility Doesn't Matter There is a fine line between what the media says is good and what the public says is good. This much I have discovered with the whole Clinton "scandal". I have made a point to stop listening to the reports on how Clinton is doing, what the media thinks the people think about Clinton, you name it. I did go through an article recently, though, and it started aggravating me right at the first sentence. As the editorial letter says, "President Clinton has lied and lied and lied some more..." I was already intrigued. Granted, that was the first line of the story. But I think we as Americas know that the average politician lies a lot anyway, to their family, to the other politicians, to their represented people. The only thing that is novel about this story, versus stories of other presidents, is that there is more media in the President’s face, and more avenues than there have ever been, to tell the public about the President’s wrongdoing. I think the majority of people I have talked to agree that this whole Clinton thing is pointless. The people don’t seem to care so much about wither or not the president bedded someone. Or didn’t. Or lied about it. You get the point. I think people get that Clinton has a private side; Clinton is just subject to a more volatile pressure from groups that want to expose him. I do not think that Clinton is going to make our country go down the tubes with a pending possibility of an impeachment. And I do not think that Clinton will make love to any stranger he can, whether or not he is the President of the United States. What I can think is there there has to be a fine line for what we as people can tolerate from the people we voted into office. We all have to make that judgement every day, it is just that now we have to do it when we learn more information. So we have been making these kinds of judgements for years; it won't be too hard to do that again. forums embarrassing forum "My date has a normal-sized nose." "Take it out on the peanut. It's all the peanut's fault." So we're here and it morning in Champaign and it's before noon and we are at Garcia's. And Eugene and Scott are getting another pitcher of beer. Janet: what is the most embarrassing thing that has aver happened to you? Sara: Well, it's probably not THE most embarrassing moment of my life, but what sticks out, in light of this weekend, is having to walk out of Joe's in front of all the damn Pi Kapps, knowing that they all probably knew why we were leaving, and knowing that I had lost for the night. I was really pissed, and felt really stupid. So that's my answer. Deal with it. Carol: This is probably not the most embarrassing thing, but at a pep rally in high school, I had the portable mike and was talking to the entire student body (pep rallies were mandatory) and I tripped and fell on my butt right in front of my class. Scott: I haven't had one yet.Mike: None of your damn business. Eugene: There have been so many, I really can't say...perhaps tripping over a dog or fumbling through a presentation in front of 500 people.now no more questions.Scott, you just don't know when you should have been embarrassed. You didn't have to be embarrassed; Sara was plenty embarrassed for you. humer BEER TRIVIA It was the accepted practice in Babylonia 4,000 years ago that for a month after the wedding, the bride's father would supply his son-in-law with all the mead he could drink. Mead is a honey beer, and because their calendar was lunar based, this period was called the "honey month" or what we know today as the "honeymoon". Before thermometers were invented, brewers would dip a thumb or finger into the mix to find the right temperature for adding yeast. Too cold, and the yeast wouldn't grow. Too hot, and the yeast would die. This thumb in the beer is where we get the phrase "rule of thumb". In English pubs, ale is ordered by pints and quarts. So in old England, when customers got unruly, the bartender would yell at them to mind their own pints and quarts and settle down. A variation has pub owners reminding their barmaids to keep an eye on exactly who was drinking what and how much. Either way, it's where we get the phrase "mind your P's and Q's". Beer was the reason the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock. It's clear from the Mayflower's log that the crew didn't want to waste beer looking for a better site. The log goes on to state that "them passengers were hastened ashore and made to drink water that the seamen might have the more beer". After consuming a bucket or two of vibrant brews they called aul, or ale, the Vikings would head fearlessly into battle often without armor or even shirts. In fact, the term "berserk" means "bare shirt" in Norse, and eventually took on the meaning of their wild battles. In 1740, Admiral Vernon of the British fleet decided to water down the Navy's rum. Needless to say, the sailors weren't too pleased and called Admiral Vernon "Old Grog", after the stiff wool grogram coats he wore. The term "grog" soon began to mean the watered down drink itself. When you were drunk on this grog, you were "groggy", a word still in use today.. Many years ago in England, pub frequenters had a whistle baked into the rim or handle of their ceramic cups. When they needed a refill, they used the whistle to get some service. "Wet your whistle", is the phrase inspired by this practice. In the Middle Ages, "nunchion" was the word for liquid lunches. It was a combination of the words "noon" & "scheken" or noon drinking. In those days, a large chunk of bread was considered lunch. So if you ate bread with your nunchion, you had what we still today call - a luncheon. '98 DARWIN AWARDS They have finally been released! For those not familiar with the Darwin Award - It's an annual honor given to the person who provided the universal human gene pool the biggest service by getting killed in the most extraordinarily stupid way. As always, competition this year has been keen again. Some candidates appear to have trained their whole DARWIN AWARD CANDIDATES 1. In September in Detroit, a 41-year-old man got stuck and drowned in two feet of water after squeezing head first through an18-inch-wide sewer grate to retrieve his car keys. 2. In October, a 49-year-old San Francisco stockbroker, who "totally zoned when he ran," according to his wife, accidentally jogged off a 200-foot-high cliff on his daily run. 3. Buxton, NC: A man died on a beach when an 8-foot-deep hole he had dug into the sand caved in as he sat inside it. Beachgoers said Daniel Jones, 21 dug the hole for fun, or protection from the wind, and had been sitting in a beach chair at the bottom Thursday afternoon when it collapsed, burying him beneath 5 feet of sand. People on the beach used their hands as shovels, trying to claw their way to Jones, a resident of Woodbridge, VA, but could not reach him. It took rescue workers using heavy equipment almost an hour to free him while about 200 people looked on. Jones was pronounced dead at a hospital. 4. In February, Santiago Alvarado, 24, was killed in Lompoc, CA, as he fell face-first through the ceiling of a bicycle shop he was burglarizing. Death resulted when the long flashlight he had placed in his mouth (to keep his hands free) rammed into the base of his skull as he hit the floor. 5. According to police in Dahlonega, GA, ROTC cadet Nick Berrena, 20, was stabbed to death in January by fellow cadet Jeffrey Hoffman, 23, who was trying to prove that a knife could not penetrate the flak vest Berrena was wearing. 6. Sylvester Briddell, Jr , 26, was killed in February in Selbyville, Del, as he won a bet with friends who said he would not put a revolver loaded with four bullets into his mouth and pull the trigger. 7. In February, according to police in Windsor, Ontario, Daniel Kolta, 27, and Randy Taylor, 33, died in a head-on collision, thus earning a tie in the game of chicken they were playing with their snowmobiles. 8. In September, a 7-year-old boy fell off a 100-foot-high bluff near Ozark, Ark , after he lost his grip swinging on a cross that marked the spot where another person had fallen to his death in 1990. DARWIN AWARD HONORABLE MENTIONS 1. In Guthrie, Okla , in October, Jason Heck tried to kill millipede with a shot from his 22-caliber rifle, but the bullet ricocheted off a rock near the hole and hit pal Antonio Martinez in the head, fracturing his skull. 2. In Elyria, Ohio, in October, Martyn Eskins, attempting to clean out cobwebs in his basement, declined to use a broom in favor of a propane torch and caused a fire that burned the first and second floors of his house. 3. Paul Stiller, 47, was hospitalized in Andover Township, NJ, in September, and his wife Bonnie was also injured, by a quarter-stick of dynamite that blew up in their car. While driving around at 2 AM, the bored couple lit the dynamite and tried to toss it out the window to see what would happen, but they apparently failed to notice that the window was closed. 4. Taking "Amateur Night" Too Far: In Betulia, Colombia, an annual festival in November includes five days of amateur bullfighting. This year, no bull was killed, but dozens of matadors were injured, including one gored in the head and one Bobbittized. Said one participant, "It's just one bull against [a town of] a thousand Morons." SOME ADDITIONAL... 1. Four people were injured in a string of related bizarre accidents. Sherry Moeller was admitted with a head wound caused by flying masonry, Tim Vegas was diagnosed with a mild case of whiplash and contusions on his chest, arms and face, Bryan Corcoran suffered torn gum tissue, and Pamela Klesick's first two fingers of her right hand had been bitten off. Moeller had just dropped her husband off for his first day of work and, in addition to a good-bye kiss, she flashed her breasts at him. "I'm still not sure why I did it," she said later "I was really close to the car, so I didn't think anyone would see. Besides, it couldn't have been for more than two seconds". However, cab driver Vegas did see and lost control of his cab, running over the curb and into the corner of the Johnson Medical Building. Inside, Klesick, a dental technician, was cleaning Corcoran's teeth. The crash of the cab against the building making her jump, tearing Corcoran's gums with a cleaning pick. In shock, he bit down, severing two fingers from Klesick's hand. Moeller's wound was caused by a falling piece of the medical building. 2. TAOS, NM - A woman went to a poison control center after eating three birth-control vaginal inserts. Her English was so bad she had to draw a picture describing how she believed she had poisoned herself. A translator arrived shortly thereafter and confirmed doctors suspicions. Marie Valishnokov thought the inserts were some kind of candy or gum, being unable to read the foil wrappers. After the third one, she realized something was wrong when her throat and mouth began to fill with a sour-tasting foam. She ran for the Poison Control Center, only a few blocks away where doctors were able to flush the foam from her mouth, throat and stomach with no ill effects. 3. La Grange, GA - Attorney Antonio Mendoza was released from a trauma center after having a cell phone removed from his rectum. "My dog drags the thing all over the house," he said later. "He must have dragged it into the shower. I slipped on the tile, tripped against the dog and sat down right on the thing." The extraction took more than three hours due to the fact that the cover to Mr. Mendoza's phone had opened during insertion. "He was a real trooper during the entire episode," said Dr. Dennis Crobe. "Tony just cracked jokes and really seemed to be enjoying himself. Three times during the extraction his phone rang and each time, he made jokes about it that just had us rolling on the floor. By the time we finished, we really did expect to find an answering machine in there". 4. TACOMA, WA - Kerry Bingham, had been drinking with several friends when one of them said they knew a person who had bungee-jumped from the Tacoma Narrows Bridge in the middle of traffic. The conversation grew more heated and at least 10 men trooped along the walkway of the bridge at 4:30 am. Upon arrival at the midpoint of the bridge they discovered that no one had brought any bungee rope. Bingham, who had continued drinking, pointed out that a coil of lineman's cable lay nearby. One end of the cable was secured around Bingham's leg and the other end was tied to the bridge. His fall lasted 40 feet before the cable tightened and tore his foot off at the ankle. He miraculously survived his fall into the icy water and was rescued by two nearby fishermen. "All I can say," said Bingham, "is that God was watching out for me on that night. There's just no other explanation for it." Bingham's foot was never located. 5. BREMERTON, WA - Christopher Coulter and his wife, Emily, were engaging in bondage games when Christopher suggested spreading peanut butter on his genitals and letting Rudy, their Irish Setter, lick them clean. Sadly, Rudy lost control and began tearing at Christopher's penis and testicles. Rudy refused to obey commands and a panicked Emily threw a bottle of perfume at the dog. The bottle broke, covering the dog and Christopher with perfume. Startled, Rudy leaped back, tearing away the penis. While trying to get her unconscious husband in the car to take him to the hospital, Emily fell twice, injuring her wrist and ankle. Christopher's penis was in a styrofoam ice cooler "Chris is just plain lucky," said the surgeon who spent eight hours reattaching the penis. "Believe it or not, the perfume turned out to be very fortuitous. The high alcohol content, which must have been excruciatingly painful, helped sterilize the wound. Also, aside from it being removed, the damage caused by the dog's teeth to the penis per se is minimal. It's really a very stringy piece of flesh. Mr. Coulter stands an excellent chance of regaining the use of his limb because of this." AND THE WINNER: Paderborn, Germany - Overzealous zoo keeper Friedrich Riesfeldt fed his constipated elephant Stefan 22 doses of animal laxative and more than a bushel of berries, figs and prunes before the plugged-up pachyderm finally let fly-and suffocated the keeper under 200 pounds of poop! Investigators say ill-fated Friedrich, 46, was attempting to give the ailing elephant an olive oil enema when the relieved beast unloaded on him like a dump truck full of mud. "The sheer force of the elephant's unexpected defecation knocked Mr. Riesfeldt to the ground, where he struck his head on a rock and lay unconscious as the elephant continued to evacuate his bowels on top of him," said flabbergasted Paderborn police detective Erik Dern. "With no one there to help him, he lay under all that dung for at least an hour before a watchman came along, and during that time he suffocated. "It seems to be just one of those freak accidents that happen." New State Mottos Alabama: At Least We're not Mississippi (Nair nair nair nair nair) Alaska: 11,623 Eskimos Can't be Wrong! Arizona: Dehyd-rific! Arkansas: Litterasy Ain't Everthang California: As Seen on TV Colorado: If You Don't Ski, Don't Bother Connecticut: Like Massachusetts, Only Dirtier and With LessCharacter Georgia: We Put the "Fun" in Fundamentalist Extremism Hawaii: Haka Tiki Mou Sha'ami Leeki Toru (Death to Mainland Scum, But Leave Your Money) Idaho: More Than Just Potatoes... Well Okay, We're Not, But the Potatoes Sure Are Real Good llinois: Gateway to Iowa Indiana: 2 Billion Years Tidal Wave Free Iowa: Land of James T. Kirk Kansas: First Of The Rectangle States Kentucky: Five Million People; Fifteen Last Names (nair nair nair nair nair) Louisiana: We're Not All Drunk Cajun Wackos, But That's Our Tourism Campaign and We're Sticking To It. Maine: Cheap Lobster Maryland: A Thinking Man's Delaware Massachusetts: Our Taxes Are Lower Than Sweden's (For Most Tax Brackets) Michigan: First Line of Defense From the Canadians Minnesota: For Sale Mississippi: Come Feel Better About Your Own State (there's not enough room to write all the necessary "nair nair nair nair's", though Shapley's does make up for quite a bit.) Missouri: Your Federal Flood Relief Tax Dollars at Work Montana: Land of the Big Sky, the Unabomer, and Very Little Else Aside From a Couple of Militias Nebraska: Ask About Our State Motto Contest Nevada: Whores and Poker! New Hampshire: Go Away and Leave Us Alone New Jersey: You Want a ##$%##! Motto? I Got Yer ##$%##! Motto Right Here! New Mexico: Lizards Make Excellent Pets New York: You Have the Right to Remain Silent, You Have the Right to an Attorney North Carolina: Tobacco is a Vegetable North Dakota: Um... We've got... Um... Dinosaur Bones? Yeah, Dinosaur Bones! Ohio: Don't Judge Us by Cleveland Oklahoma: Like the Play, Only No Singing Oregon: Spotted Owl, It's What's For Dinner Pennsylvania: Cook With Coal Rhode Island: We're Not REALLY An Island South Carolina: Remember the Civil War? We Didn't Actually Surrender Tennessee: The Educashun State Texas: Se Hablo Ingles (Home of La Ciudad) Vermont: Yep Virginia: Who Says Government Stiffs and Slackjaw Yokels Don't Mix? Washington: Help! We're Overrun By Nerds and Slackers! Washington, D.C.: Wanna Be Mayor? West Virginia: One Big Happy Family - Really! Wisconsin: Come Cut Our Cheese Wyoming: Wynot? Top ten things men SHOULDN'T say out loud in Victoria's Secret: #10 Does this come in children's sizes 9 No thanks, just sniffing 8 I'll be in the dressing room going blind 7 Mom will love this 6 Oh the size won't matter... She's inflatable 5 No need to wrap it, I'll eat it here 4 Will you model this for me? 3 The Miracle what??? This is better than world peace 2 45 Sbucks?! You're just going to end up naked anyway! and #1 Oh, honey, you'll never squeeze your fat ass into that... Simpleton web site June 1, 1999 http://www.simpleton.com/ tim@simpleton.com Just write "cc&d" in the subject line of the email so they know where this message was from Tim Cavanaugh is the sole proprietor of Simpleton.com, and editor of Suck.com. This article originally appeared at Simpleton, and is used with permission. Send email to the dead Fuad K. Taima, an Iraqi-born resident of McLean, VA, was found murdered at his home last week, a victim of what Fairfax County police and FBI officials claim may have been an Iraqi government death squad. According to this police theory, the people who murdered Taima, his wife and his teenage son were Iraqi agents avenging a business deal gone sour. "They don't hire lawyers," an unnamed and shamelessly melodramatic government source told the paper. The Simpleton has no desire to disparage Mr. Taima or make light of this crime. Even in the Washington Post's account of the story, Mr. Taima comes across as a devoted family man, and his son was apparently well-liked at school. And given the savagery of the United States policy toward the Iraqi people, Mr. Taima's decision to do business with Iraq - though it may cast a darker-than-usual cloud over his death - should probably be seen as a character virtue. However, it must be noted that the Taima web page is still fully functional, and even contains an email link to taima@cais.net. Anyone interested in taking the already ethereal medium of email to an even higher plane of abstraction might want to drop the deceased a line. A simple note of condolence would be in order, or you may want to forward the Bill Gates Beta Email Tracking email, and register the family for a free trip to Disney World. The repetitive stress injury spam might also be helpful. If you do send a message, please let me know what response, if any, you receive. (Be advised that your message will attract the attention of local and federal law enforcement agencies). news The following has been produced by the Ayn Rand Institute's MediaLink department. Visit MediaLink at http://www.aynrand.org/medialink/. Contact: Chris Wolski Media Relations Manager Phone: 310.306.9232 x213 Fax: 310.306.4925 chrisw@aynrand.org http://www.aynrand.org/ The Ayn Rand Institute 4640 Admiralty Way, Suite 406 Marina del Rey, CA 90292 The Ayn Rand Institute Press Release For Immediate Release Do Environmentalists Want to Protect Nature for Man - or from Man? January 18, 1998 Environmentalists claim they want to save the Earth for mankind. This is a lie. "Environmentalists view man as the enemy," writes Peter Schwartz, editor and contributing author of Return of the Primitive: The Anti-Industrial Revolution by Ayn Rand, in his essay "The Philosophy of Privation." "Environmentalism takes as its premise that nature must be protected, not for man but from man. It is not human welfare that sets the standard by which environmentalists make their judgments." Schwartz's unique argument shows that the environmentalists want us to return to a state of pre-industrial primitivism. He also argues that: Mankind will never run out of natural resources - as long as it has political freedom to engage in production. Environmentalism is fundamentally anti-science. Environmentalists regard privation as a moral ideal. Return of the Primitive updates and expands Ayn Rand's 1971 book The New Left: The Anti-Industrial Revolution. Schwartz's three new essays on environmentalism, multiculturalism and feminism gives currency to Rand's original book, showing how the philosophy of the New Left, a 1960s ideology opposed to industrialization, continues to permeate our culture today. Environmentalism Sacrifices Man to Nature April 21, 1999 MARINA DEL REY, CA - For the first time in American history, the government is ordering the destruction of a dam - for environmental reasons. This July, Edwards Dam, a small hydroelectric facility on the Kenebec River in Augusta, Maine, will be torn down by the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, because the dam is blocking the path of salmon that swim upstream to spawn. "On Earth Day, it is worth noting this event, for it illuminates the essential meaning of environmentalism," said Peter Schwartz, chairman of the board of directors of the Ayn Rand Institute. "The closing of Edwards Dam is the implementation of environmentalism's fundamental, though often unrecognized, tenet: that man ought to be sacrificed for the sake of nature." Schwartz said that the common view that environmentalism seeks the betterment of mankind - that it wants to purify the air and clean up parks so that people can live healthier and happier lives' is a superficial interpretation. "Litter-free streets or pollution-free air - or any provable benefit to man - is not what environmentalists seek," he said. "Their aim is to eliminate the benefits of the man-made in order to preserve - unchanged - nature's animals, plants and dirt. They want to protect nature, not for man, but from man." Schwartz is also the editor and contributing author of the recently published Return of the Primitive: The Anti-Industrial Revolution by Ayn Rand (Meridian/Penguin). He noted that, in the case of Edwards Dam, the environmentalists do not want to protect the salmon because it is a source of food - or of any other human value. Rather, they regard the "welfare" of salmon as an end in itself - for the sake of which man must forgo the benefits of the dam. Schwartz wants Earth Day to be the occasion for challenging the environmentalists' philosophy. "It should be the occasion for recognizing the Earth as a value - not in and of itself, but only insofar as it is continually reshaped by man to serve his end," he said. The Ayn Rand Institute, an educational organization established in 1985, seeks to advance novelist-philosopher Ayn Rand's philosophy of Objectivism and its principal tenets: reason, rational egoism, and laissez-faire capitalism. For further information, contact Chris Wolski, Media Relations Manager. Phone: (310) 306-9232 Ext. 213; fax (310) 306-4925; e-mail: chrisw@aynrand.org or visit ARI's Web site at: http://www.aynrand.org Fall of Berlin Wall Does Not Equal Victory of Freedom MARINA DEL REY, CA-When the Berlin Wall fell on Nov. 9, 1989, it was taken for granted that political freedom and capitalism had triumphed. But this belief is false, said a senior writer for the Ayn Rand Institute. "Freedom can never be won simply by eliminating those who are against it," said Edwin A. Locke. "When a tyrant is overthrown, he may simply be replaced by another one. This, in fact, is the pattern of much of world history and what we have witnessed since the Wall fell." He observed that much of the post-Berlin Wall world from the Middle East to Russia to China is still dominated by governments that are ruled by values antithetical to freedom: faith, sacrifice and dictatorship. Locke said that it is only by implementing a rational philosophy that freedom can triumph. The American Revolution broke the pattern of moving from one tyrant to another because it was fought for a specific, valid, moral political philosophy, not simply against tyranny. Three principles formed the core of America's revolutionary philosophy: Reason-rather than the mysticism entailed in faith or superstition-is man's means of knowledge and proper guide to action, thus leaving no room for rule by "divine right." Individual happiness-rather than sacrificial duty to the collective-is man's proper moral purpose. The role of government is not to force the citizen to serve the state, butto protect the rights of each individual. Fifth Anniversary of AmeriCorps = Five Years of Sacrifice MARINA DEL REY, CA-The AmeriCorps should be abolished, said the director of communications for the Ayn Rand Institute. "The AmeriCorps aims to indoctrinate young people into a life of sacrificing to society," said Scott McConnell. "That is the recipe for slavery, not freedom." McConnell said that the AmeriCorps is fundamentally anti-American because: It substitutes self-sacrifice for the individual's right to pursue his own happiness. It rejects individualism, adopting instead the idea that one's life belongs to others, the moral creed that underlies every dictatorship. It promotes service, obedience and duty as the standard of morality, not virtues such as honesty, productivity and independence. The growing bipartisan support for the AmeriCorps does not morally legitimize that program, McConnell said. Instead, such support demonstrates the ideological similarity and moral bankruptcy of the major political parties. Since 1997, the Ayn Rand Institute has been the only voice morally opposing volunteerism. Through the Institute's Anti-Servitude Internship Program, students have the opportunity to fulfill their school's volunteer requirements by working to abolish volunteerism. Fighting for Freedom On April 26, the Ayn Rand Institute (ARI) launched the nationwide Campaign against Servitude to battle President Clinton's call for "the ethic of service....The sense of duty...all of us owe to one another." * Student protesters from 13 states confronted the advocates of service who had gathered in Philadelphia for the Clinton-Powell summit on volunteerism. * At 160 campuses throughout the country, high school and college students papered their campuses with 20,000 anti-servitude posters. * Professors and professionals manned microphones and explained on op-ed pages their opposition to what General Powell praised as "voluntarily sharing the wealth." By the end of three days, from coast to coast, newspapers, radio and TV stations had printed or broadcast more than 90 times the Campaign against Servitude's moral stand. "Volunteerism is immoral. The Founding Fathers wrote a declaration of independence, not a declaration of servitude," says Dr. Michael Berliner, ARI's executive director. "The proposals for national service are an inversion of the principles on which this country was established: an individual's right to his own life, liberty and pursuit of happiness." ARI's Campaign against Servitude will continue during the upcoming months, culminating in a special July 4 event at which its "Petition against Servitude" will be presented to the White House. Any American citizen wishing to be a petitioner can do so on ARI's website at: http://www.aynrand.org/no_servitude. The Ayn Rand Institute, an educational organization established in 1985, seeks to advance novelist-philosopher Ayn Rand's philosophy of Objectivism and its principle tenets: reason, rational egoism and laissez-faire capitalism. For further information, contact Scott McConnell, Director of Communications, at ARI, phone: (310) 306-9232, fax (310) 306-4925. Giving Real Meaning to Veterans Day Honoring Our Past Soldiers Requires That We Ask Our Future Ones Not to Sacrifice Their Values, but to Uphold Them By Edwin A. Locke Veterans Day arouses three emotions in most Americans: solemnity, because it celebrates the veterans who have defended our great country; sadness, because so many have lost their lives in the process; and pride, because they have fought so well. The supreme value that our veterans have fought and died for (with some tragic exceptions) from the American Revolution to the Civil War to two World Wars is-freedom. America is the country of freedom. We were the first to declare that government exists to serve men, men do not exist to serve government. We were the first to proclaim that all men are equal before the law. We were the first to say that each individual has inalienable rights-the right to his life, his liberty, his property, and the pursuit of his happiness. There is no more precious possession than one's own life. But without political freedom, human life is empty. Man cannot exist in any meaningful sense as a serf. The New Hampshire motto says it perfectly: "Live Free or Die." Because human life is so precious, war should never be undertaken unless our rights are threatened. It is often said that our soldiers must sacrifice themselves for our country. This is precisely what we must not ask them to do. A sacrifice entails the surrender of a greater value for a lesser one. But if a man risks his life on the premise, "I would rather die than live in slavery," it is a tragic loss-but it is not a sacrifice. Such a man is acting in his own interests, to protect his most precious values. On the other hand, it is a sacrifice to send our soldiers to a country which has no connection to their interests and values. An example is Somalia. Many brave American soldiers died there-for what? To supply food to warlords who were perpetually seeking to kill one another. Vietnam is another example of a senseless, self-sacrificial tragedy. While it was in our interest to oppose the communist threat to America, it did not benefit Americans to throw away their lives in defense of a primitive nation whose people did not value freedom. The mere fact that they needed help should not have created a claim on the efforts and the lives of U.S. soldiers. Our heroic fighting men and women are not to blame for these disasters. It is the politicians who are responsible. It is they who believe that our soldiers are sacrificial fodder to fulfill the politicians' desire for "prestige-enhancing" adventures. They believe that our armed forces can be sent to aid Somalia-or Haiti or Bosnia-in order to be able to show the world how "humanitarian" the politicians are. But politicians desperate for prestige to assuage their self-doubts should be informed that they may not utilize our armed forces as the tool for obtaining it. And they should be told we have no duty to sacrifice ourselves for the sake of any country in need of our assistance. Our soldiers are sovereign beings who have a right to their own lives. Furthermore, our armed forces should consist only of volunteers. It is an ugly contradiction to claim that we must protect freedom-by coercing people to fight. If the cause is just and the American interests clear, there will be no shortage of enlistments. In fact, a volunteer force helps make sure that our soldiers do battle only when serious threats to our interests are at stake. A volunteer force will prevent politicians from involving us in senseless wars. We must be proud of our soldiers, but it is equally true that they should be proud of the cause they fight for. It is terrible to die in war, but there is one thing worse: to die in a war that has no meaning, a war that offers no reason for risking one's life. The best way we can honor our veterans and give real meaning to Veterans Day-aside from ceremonies honoring their past and present dedication and bravery-is to promise that we will go to war only when America's interests as a free nation are threatened. Which means that we will ask our soldiers not to sacrifice their values, but to uphold them. We will ask them to fight only when it is in the rational self-interest of each of them to do so. Then, instead of saying "My country right or wrong," every American could proudly declare, "My country, because it stands for the right." ___ Edwin A. Locke, a professor of management at the University of Maryland at College Park, is a senior writer for the Ayn Rand Institute in Marina del Rey, California. The Institute promotes the philosophy of Ayn Rand, author of Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead. http://www.aynrand.org God vs. Education MARINA DEL REY, CA- The assault on education has found a new ally in the Kansas Board of Education, said a senior writer for the Ayn Rand Institute. "By excising the theory of evolution from its textbooks, the Kansas Board of Education has paved the way for other states to elevate the feelings of religious fundamentalists over the accumulated scientific evidence of biology," said Robert Tracinski. "The role of education is to provide young people with the information and methods they need in order to learn how to think independently. Education has liberated mankind from the shackles of myth, superstition, and unchallenged tradition. But the prevailing trend-from both the 'progressive' left and the religious right-is to reverse this development, by enshrining feelings over facts and faith over reason. "Even a milder approach, which would teach both evolution and creationism as 'competing' theories, would undermine education," Tracinski continued. "Teachers would present the theory of evolution, supported by countless observations, all integrated into a comprehensive explanation of virtually every fact in the field. Then, to 'balance' things, teachers would present-what? All that the Creationist view offers is the 'revealed' assertion by self-proclaimed authorities that an ancient religious text claims that some 10,000 years ago God created the world in six days." Gun-Control vs. Terrorist-Control The dangerous idea behind Clinton's proposals to control guns but to free FALN terrorists. By Andrew Bernstein While President Clinton's recent recommendations for tighter gun-controls met with general approval, his move to pardon FALN terrorists is encountering widespread criticism. Yet the two proposals stem from the same mistaken belief-i.e., that the fundamental cause of any crime is the weapon used, not the person using it. Clinton endorses measures such as a requirement that all guns in the home be locked up, and a mandatory waiting period for buying a gun, even after a check of the purchaser's records shows no criminal history. Why? Although it is true that guns can be used for crime, so can almost anything else. The overwhelming majority of gun owners are not criminals. A private individual' s possession of a gun-unlike, say, his possession of a cruise missile-may serve a perfectly legitimate purpose. People use guns for hunting, collecting and-most important-self-defense against criminals. Why should such valid activities be punishable by law? Clinton's recent proposal to pardon 16 members of the FALN-a gang of terrorists claiming to seek Puerto Rican "independence"-is based, at root, on the same pernicious premise as gun-control. The FALN was responsible for 130 bombings on U.S. soil in the '70s and ' 80s, including a 1982 attack that left three New York City police officers maimed for life. Clinton has offered clemency to 16 convicted FALN members (some of whom, ironically, are apparently refusing to make even a perfunctory disavowal of the future use of violence). What explains Clinton' s attempts to restrict innocent gun owners while pardoning terrorists? Why is he so hostile toward guns, yet so accommodating toward actual criminals? The answer is he believes that guns or bombs, rather than the character of those who use them, are responsible for the criminal act. From this it follows that guns should be banned while perpetrators should be pardoned. Such twisted logic results in policies that consistently aid the guilty and harm the innocent. The kinds of restrictions Clinton is advocating reduce the ability of honest, law-abiding citizens to defend themselves. The victim of a rapist might require a gun today, not after some arbitrary "cooling-off" period. A family whose home is broken into in the dead of night might lose valuable possessions, and much more, while fumbling to unlock a gun in the darkness. As N.Y.U. law professor Dave Kopel points out, burglars in Canada-where the locking away of guns is mandatory-are three times more likely than American burglars to break into a home when people are present. The Canadian crooks have less fear of being shot if caught in the act. This consequence of abetting criminals while harming the innocent is a hallmark of many of Clinton's policies. Saddam Hussein, for example, is allowed to continue his reign in Baghdad, with his capacity to develop weapons of mass destruction unchecked. The Chinese dictatorship-which openly considers America its primary enemy, steals U.S. nuclear secrets and threatens military action against a free Taiwan-is appeased by Clinton with most-favored-nation status. The terrorist Osama bin Laden, who was involved in the bombing of the U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania, is still free more than a year later. It is only the American citizen, seeking a gun for self-protection, who is the target of a serious crackdown by our government. Clinton's policies of sanctioning and pardoning the guilty while controlling and punishing the innocent must end. But to do that the president must understand that it is the ideas people hold-not the weapons they possess-that determines whether they are dangerous. The U.S. military, armed with nuclear bombs, is no threat to the world, because this country upholds a pro-freedom philosophy; but a Hitler or a Stalin (or a Hussein) is a threat, because he embraces violence and rejects rights. Similarly, an honest man with a gun poses no danger to the innocent-but a John Gotti, even if he happens not to have a gun, does. Guns are not the problem. Pardoning murderers, or failing to bring them to justice, is. ______ Dr. Bernstein is a senior writer for the Ayn Rand Institute in Marina del Rey, Calif. The Institute promotes the philosophy of Ayn Rand, author of Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead. http://www.aynrand.org Moby Dick Here are the program notes Laurie has written for Songs and Stories from Moby Dick Laurie Anderson ©1999 I began to work on this project because a multimedia producer was making a series for high school kids about books. He was worried that books are disappearing and he wanted to do something that would get kids interested in reading. So he asked several artists to pick their favorite books and write monologues about why they liked them. I chose Moby Dick. Although pieces of Melville's text have cropped up in some of my songs and films over the years, I hadn't really read the whole book since high school. And I was a bit nervous. I had a dim recollection of being very bored by a lot of the whaling details and technical paraphernalia. I also remember thinking that the captain and his obsession with the whale was a bit over the top, too fantastic, too Shakespearean. Then I read it again. And it was a complete revelation. Encyclopedic in scope, the book moved through ideas about history, philosophy, science, religion and the natural world towards Melville's complex and dark conclusions about the meaning of life, love, and obsession. Being a somewhat dark person myself, I fell in love with the idea that what you look for your whole life will eventually eat you alive. The project for high school kids never materialized but I read Moby Dick five more times in a row. I began to hear it as music. The rambling, rolling sentences, the lapses into iambic pentameter, the lyrical poems all mixed with the thee's and thou's of another time. And the stories? On one level, Moby Dick is a magnificent collection of essays and short stories about the night sky, the behavior of polar bears, theories about the origin of the universe, all entwined with countless bits of information about rope and weather and oars and the many objects of a lost nineteenth century world. It's also a tour de force in narrative style. Melville tells his stories in hundreds of shifting voices, as botanist, lawyer, preacher, historian. These narrative styles and forms of address, from dry to dreamy, morph rapidly. And it's this daring approach to narrative voices that I've found most exciting and original about the book. Imagistic, concise and associative, Melville built his world and inhabited it with a cast of the living and the dead. Spinoza, Noah, Job and Jonah sailed on the doomed Pequod just as much as Ahab, Ishmael, Pip, Queequeg and the crazy cook. Is Moby Dick a Tragedy? Of course, from page one we know the ship will go down. Everything relentlessly moves to that vanishing point. But for me the Pequod is more like the Mayflower than the Titanic. When the Titanic sinks it's spectacular, it sinks expensive technology, money, power and savoir faire. It's a perversely satisfying experience, like blowing up the White House in "Independence Day". But when the Pequod sinks, it takes a whole universe down with it while somehow building a new one. So what does Melville have to say to late twentieth century Americans? Obsessive, technological, voluble and in search of the transcendent, we're a lot like our nineteenth century forbears. Melville's search for meaning is alternately frustrating and illuminating, multilayered and elusive, like the great white whale he searches for. For me, a key question is asked, almost as an afterthought, at the end of Father Mapple's famous sermon, "So what is a man if he outlives the lifetime of his God?" Yes, really. What do you do when you no longer believe in the things that have driven you? How do you go on? Translation and Invention Translating a complex and classic literary text into a multimedia production is a completely new kind of project for me. I've attended enough meetings of the Melville Society and read enough of the newsletter over the years to know that whatever I did with the book would inevitably have many gaps. How could I catch the spirit of this book and represent what I loved the most? Visually, I've tried to create several levels for the action by making a set where characters can emerge and then be reabsorbed into a more abstract place, a device I've used in pieces like "The Nerve Bible". The images themselves- words, water, paper, flowing textures, gritty machines fire and constellations- are meant not so much to conjure a place as to create a parallel dream world as well as to provide visual counterpoint to the sound. So how much of this show is actually Melville's text? According to my very fast computer, approximately ten per cent. Sometimes I picked my favorite passages and left them alone. ("Seat thyself sultanically among the moons of Saturn...") Other times I used only an idea or phrase to build a song. ("Because in all men there reside certain properties, occult and wondrous and hidden.") Other times, in the spirit of Melville's digressions, I just invented things and added whatever I felt like adding. In writing lyrics and words that would be sayable, I've used several methods to shorten the words and make them resonate when spoken aloud. In addition to the discursive quality of the text, much of Melville's language rings very differently for us than for his contemporaries who knew their Bibles better. When Melville wrote "Consider the subtleness of the sea...and how its most dreaded creatures glide underwater carrying on eternal warfare since the world began" this no doubt alerted his readers that he was making a dark rhyme with "Consider the lilies of the field..." from the Sermon on the Mount. The World of Sound To start with, obviously Melville was unaware that whales can talk and sing. He compared them to the "tongueless crocodiles of the Nile" and most of his descriptions of them are visual or spiritual. In fact Moby Dick is a curiously silent book. For every description of sound there are hundreds of visual descriptions. Instead, the music is all in the words and the way they riff and trip, skip and lumber. Because Melville's visual and mental world is so wide ranging, I wanted the music to reflect this. And besides, the realistic approach would have meant restricting myself to solo tambourine, the only instrument actually on the ship. "Songs and Stories..." begins with "Audite" an invocation in Latin inspired by Corsican singers who have developed a vocal style somewhere between Gregorian and Muslim chanting. Audite o vos in terra habitantes Hanc fabulam, audite de oceano. Et quo modo petiverint. Id quod desiderant Quoque modo eos tandem consumpserit. Loquimini, o machinae, de libertate Loquimini, o machinae, per aerem temporis nostri. Listen, o people of the land. To this story of the ocean. And how they looked for what they wanted. And how it ate them in the end. Speak, machines, of liberty. Speak through the air of our time. In the world of sound I've tried to represent Melville's various voices through digital filters. Also, The Talking Stick, which I have been working on with a design team from Interval Research and Bob Bielecki, is a new wireless instrument that can access and replicate any sound. Much of the book invokes disembodiment, phantom voices. The Talking Stick is a physical representation of the disembodied voice as well as being an extremely physical and digital descendant of turntables. As for characters, the performers in tonight's piece shift through many roles and voices, sometimes they're readers, sometimes sailors sometimes commentators or critics. Of course there is no way to tell the whole story in an evening. My goal is to translate some of my favorite parts of the book into music and images that suggest the flavor and strangeness and beauty of Melville's world. And finally to make a world of my own where ideas and obsessions take a new sensual form. Melville's Bible When I told a friend I was working on a project based on Moby Dick he just about went crazy. He said, "Moby Dick?! Moby Dick?" He said he had something for me and a few days later he brought over a big box. Inside was Melville's Bible, which Melville bought just before he began writing Moby Dick. It was filled with pencil notes and markings, many of which his wife had apparently erased (their relationship being far from idyllic.) My friend, who had gotten the Bible at Sotheby's, had checked through the Morgan Library and their contacts with the FBI, to see if it would be possible to reconstruct the passages that had been erased. The consensus was that this would have been possible if the marks had been erased thirty years ago, but not a hundred and fifty. So I went combing through the Bible with a magnifying glass, looking for little marks, signs, anything that might have something to do with a whale. And then I found it. Isaiah 27:1. "In that day the Lord with his sore and great and strong sword shall punish leviathan the piercing serpent, even leviathan that crooked serpent; and he shall slay the dragon that is in the sea." Next to this verse was a check mark and a long squiggle. And I thought. That's it! The whale is his snake and the ocean is his garden, the place where he works out good and evil. Songs and Stories from Moby Dick is in the end a kind of palimpsest, a piece of paper that is constantly being erased reinterpreted and re-shaped through many different lenses and filters. It has been a fascinating and wild journey for me, trying first to understand the book and then to bring it to life in a new way. Melville dedicated Moby Dick to his friend Nathaniel Hawthorne whose approval he sought throughout the writing of the book. Disappointed by Hawthorne's reaction, Melville dedicated his next book to a mountain. "Songs and Stories from Moby Dick" is dedicated to Herman Melville and to his search for the unknowable. - poetry Night Animal William C. Burns, Jr. sunhawk@greenville.infi.net In the darkness of the night I told myself that my eyes had adjusted Told myself the ebon landscape had become my turf Then you opened that damned door Your jet black silhouette Framed in searing white light etched itself on my retinas And I could see only your darkness I had to scream There was no choice The Old Man William C. Burns, Jr. sunhawk@greenville.infi.net He bragged about beating Death at its own game His sweat mixing with the soap as he washed the car His ratty T-shirt showing his freckles and moles on his back And the scar of the man that tried to kill him Thirteen Chantene men are not gentle a gengleman is an oxymoron men havesmaller brains straight bodies a lazy atmosphere no heart or soul they are dull i’ll have better orgasms with my own hands than with your so-called dick child-slayer womyn-hater always thinking about themselves i hate the love that i must have for him but i love you Three Chantene Whitened all your words. Misplaced all your dreams. When it all came back, you forgot what it meant. Say it now. Say what it should be. Later, act as if it were repeatedly sure. Say sorry. Don’t mean it because I do. Nothing smothered bleeds with a virus. Stop the fucking bullshit. Wipe off the fucking dirt. That’s all you are anyway, a bleeding virus-infected liar covered with Hell’s dirt. Welcome to my Hell. The King Works as a Gas Station Attendant at the Circle K By My House Holly Day yves@orbiter.com Elvis ripped me off again today During and After Holly Day in between kisses, the cat claws frantically in its box, the thick scent of catshit fogs up the room and I want to change the litter box or at least shut the door it seems I always think of housework when we're doing it. and afterwards, i rock you to sleep in my arms, because when you're asleep you can't get out of bed, can't leave me yet, and I want to tell you I lost our baby but being pregnant's a good excuse for being fat. Almost Heather Dyer The wind stands back-to-back with her; her "Winnie-the-Pooh" dress pleated out around her like a muffin cup. Her hair stretches out behind her like a black cape as She runs to the jungle gym. The other girls clot together, a set of cool eyes. She wants to tell them she can hang by her Knees and ride a two-wheeler- They leave her, hanging by her Knees from the chipped metal bars, her black hair almost touching the ground. Construction Heather Dyer "Hey,Baby, I Get off at four. We could make some noise, know what I Mean?" as a Snake to force himself on me in his mind. Or maybe the other way round- I don't know. It's his mind. All I know is that three blank blankets can't keep me warm anymore. And poptarts Taste better cold, but I heat them anyway. Slide them down city streets. Let the neon signs Hiss with their "Bigger-Than-Life" "S"'s and do their work. I'm afraid I'm missing out. One shot in the D-A-R-K, dark Miss Suzy and her boyfriend are kissing in the park. How far does he think? And can she keep warm? A Poem from Prague Michael Arthur Finberg Mfinberg@hotmail.com HarvestofGems@hotmail.com My Darling, can you see this wilderness in a rose in a we whose essence is always these new kinds of they, whose passing is our offering, in the middle of the city, whose altar is your absence, where dreams reveal their burdens, whose seeing is our plague. A GRUESOME BATTLE Michael Arthur Finberg Mfinberg@hotmail.com HarvestofGems@hotmail.com It was there by the cobweb fluttering in the wind now this afternoon, Where the nearby Autumn leaves were strewning, a distant din sealing and dripping its siphon like split sap slipping down from the hulk of some tree, seducing the insects as they slyly observed someone spilling open a loose piece of wood, in the dark hidden hood of the forest when suddenly, an old fridge chimed in with its damning rattle pulling in the reins of the newly distant leaves, who, I asked could win this gruesome battle, would it be the rutsy axe, the struggling leaves, maybe this rattling old fridge, or perhaps just diseased silence. her voice maura gage Her voice - her children still her past her departure, her death. It lilts on the breeze, catches them before they dream, makes them smile all along, a comfort in the recurring sound of what they presume to be memory. Peace overcomes them as they begin to realize it is their mother's voice speaking, singing signalling like comfort, peace, and conscience - their mother's voice soft as wings. < promises > ray heinrich ray@scribbledyne.com with its little steamings the hot tea promises < moonbone > ray heinrich ray@scribbledyne.com the dogs (the wolves) oh how they howled as i pried you from their teeth and threw you far from their teeth and how they howl tonight to see you soaked in red < no flying today > (from WWII letters) ray heinrich ray@scribbledyne.com there will be no flying today the wind says singing its notes its music suspended just a few feet off the ground it promises gales and earlier the forecast was for storms so mostly i sit and think of home and worry again if i'll return just like the other people here i am not special except to you and you how are you now? the wind is strong today i listen to it sing outside the house its music making promises of gales and the radio earlier said there might be storms but mostly it talked of war and i worry again if you'll return just like the other people here i am not special except to you and you where are you now? for shells Rochelle Holt Are we all shells some smooth and whole deep or shallow broken and ragged pink or irridescent asymmetrical fleshtoned greystriped with one eye or none pale and yellow closed & giving birth or being born after a dream young, mature or aged and old shattered and torn slender or full petite or tall closed to caress or open to touch sand clinging to an ear footprints on our backs coiled or unwound holding ants or seaweed on our tongues splashing with water sunning on shore shaded by driftwood poked by terns heavy or light blue or black mindful or without sense numb to sun in love with moon cleansed by rain soiled by gypsies dragging their heels across our brains or bodies silverfrosted like ash or violet-tinged beads breasts lips buried or elevated in a mound isolated on a throne checkered bones beige earth tones blending us with sisters or brothers mothers or fathers lost, our heatrts, or found? Are we all shells fragments blown by wind dancers choreosinging a duet with symphony of sky wind water exposed restless and bold like sign-language, hieroglyphics, the sound of the sea for one or none shadows of pelicans clothed in silk or ivory satin pure cotton naked lonely fulfilled, or have we known all the moments and none moods from bliss to despair? Are we merely there like children and other people waiting for time to whisper something of our nature or perhaps the other way 'round elements telling the echo to a seashell question rising and falling whitecaps and tides changing matter of factly not fate through art or craft but karma in the shells our shells she sells seashells not me or you who sieze a shell or soul adrift on sea or sand and dare not see the separate beauty of a single shell. the sucking by Jeana bonacci jeaner@chickmail.com I lie about the final swig of bath water feel it fuck it's way down my navel hiss at it scorching my forehead and reach for the toilet to pour my mom another. I think of how my fingers lick every time I let the gin lie to me. Then I run down at my ears - puking - laughing the glass of piss - and think of how these were the ankles that should have drank you away from the nun. But didn't. And I keep crying why I loved your hell, loved your holy water. I remember how you fucked your way through me. the hooker died with me from the inside out, and I kept said back. I let the therapist help me, and now you've mad a hole through the policeman. I beat it. Now I have to kick myself of the door, and my balloon is driving between the bike in the radio nestled in my neck. But I have to sit more. The sucking doesn't last as long as me. OCD Greg Jerrett biggus@iastate.edu I wash my hands when I think of you, Do everything else two by two. Running fours inside my head, Count my pencils, then to bed. Are the shoes touching in my closet? I can't sleep, gotta stop it. Scratch one hand and then the other, I'm not nuts, just ask my mother... She checks the stove... One, two, three, four... One, two, three, four... One, two, three, four... One, two, three, four... ...now we can go. Agoraphobia, anxiety attacks, Fear of dying? You bet your ass! Oh, why am I pursued by tedious demons? Compelled to act for obsessive reasons. Release me from this tortured tedium! Fucked-up head, defective medium. Another day of endless wiles, One more day counting ceiling tiles! and flowers and funerals janet kuypers my head didn't hurt all the time before there are supposed to be grand kids, and meals and flowers and funerals that can't be more than I'd forget. My life used to make sense then I'd see something else. I wonder how my grandfather was - I wonder how my grandfather lived. I can't imagine his life in the past - Hope I'll explain it all to him. Maybe then he'll understand. I wonder what details I lost in my life. That he lived too long, That he cared too little. Is that accurate? I wish I knew him. I wish I hated his face. I'm sure it will mean something someday I resorc what is left of my memories and hope that is enough All The Details (Conscious of It) "head up my" janet kuypers - this is what I go through - I wonder if it's just easier sometimes to think that you didn't die, that you were just ignoring me. Would it be easier then? Would I think that maybe you're somewhere missing me, feeling that hole in your heart where a relationship with me would go? Is it that way it's supposed to be done? I know that if you were alive you'd still want to call me, and you still would expect something out of me. And that always bothered me then, but I miss it now. I want to be able to talk to you, to pass the time with you, to know that you're there to listen Maybe if you were alive somewhere I could just be angry with you. Maybe then I wouldn't feel bad, maybe I wouldn't miss you. Maybe then I wouldn't want you near me, to make me laugh, or just to let me scream out loud, when I needed to let out a good yell Maybe you are somewhere, listening. That's a nice way to think about it. Maybe you know that I cared about you, and still do, maybe you know it hurt me when you were gone. It hurts me still. Maybe you're somewhere, just waiting to fill me in on all the details I've been lacking, all the details I've been wanting to know Only when I think about it, only when I'm conscious of it, only sometime when I think of you as alive... Maybe I should havegone to your funeral, maybe I should have seen your body, maybe I could have seen the color of your skin or the needle marks near your lips they used to put your mouth together Maybe I needed to see these things But I don't know if I was ready. I still don't know if I am ready. Maybe I wouldn't have so much to say to you, maybe I wouldn't expect you to come back Maybe then I wouldn't want to touch your face and feel your skin. Maybe it would be easier that way Over the years there are so many things that I have thought about. I always wonder if other people think the way I do. But with everything that has happened to me this year I did think of you, really I wondered what it was like for you to be in pain, if you thought it was the end for you, if you knew what was going on. Brian gave me one of your earrings yesterday I think it was the last one you wore and when I heard that he still had it i wanted it. I wanted to have something to remember you by other than these damn memories We should have had more memories together you know. Maybe it's better this way; that's what I keep telling myself I have to keep telling myself things, you know, to keep me sane but if everyone is right and you know my thoughts then I suppose you know what I go through When all you've got are memories don't you have to fill your time with something? I have no plans for the holiday this year. No parties. I'm dressing up for Halloween, though, in something that doesn't look like a costume. I want to be a Scotsman for Halloween. Not because I'm Scottish, I'm not. Not because I'm male. But I'll know. I never did anything with you for Halloween. Well, when it was Halloween before I put on a wig and dressed up when I picked you up from the airport. It's funny how easy it is to remember little stories like that. You were dressed as a cartoon character for Halloween one year. I never got to see you in that outfit I always thought I could see it another time. I didn't think you'd be gone before the next Halloween rolled around I thought you'd always be around, you always were, you know When I needed to talk to you, I called. Or else you called me instead. It was almost like I had a little brother there, who was always willing to listen to me, who was always wanting to put up with me. My question to you is this: were you always willing to put up with me? Did you think things would end this way? Just so you know, wherever you are, that I am thinking about you. Because I know the holidays aren't the same without you here I never thought about dressing up for Halloween, or about Scotland, or even other countries, but you, well, you were Scottish, through and through, and you wanted a kilt, and you wanted the world to know you were Scottish. We even planned on going to Scotland together this summer I always thought you'd be around. I thought, even when you aggravated me, that you would always be there for me. Now I just have to be there for myself. I wonder how lonely people get, if they lose someone they were close to, do they feel like a piece of them is missing too? And I figure someone has to be a Scotsman for Halloween, even if this year it has to be me Afraid of Telling The Truth janet kuypers do I think about him too much or should I at all who do I get my nightmares from? are the problems from the nightmare people that should have given me that pain or do my nightmares come from you are you the one that gave me that pain without trying maybe you were trying maybe you weren't I've turned off most of my hopes I can be afraid of telling the truth if anyone that can handle it, can quote unquote "handle it," well then, it would be me. it's irrelevant that I want you and need you and play along you should take all of my troubles away I'll scare you away, I'll scare you away if I tell you the truth A While janet kuypers It's been a while since we stopped going out and I'm sure you're still having one night stands and I'm sure you don't think about me this I'm sure of And you can tell me that you've thought of me and I don't care to hear your excuses anymore I thought when someone said they cared they meant it and feelings like that aren't supposed to change at the drop of a hat when does it occur to the average man that there is in fact no feeling there that maybe there never was feeling there maybe you don't get to that last part you just think, okay, I don't like this I'm going to have to end this, maybe she won't get hurt Well, in case no one ever told you women do get hurt even the strong ones A Select Few Things janet kuypers if you wanted me to think of ways, I could do that actually, I could think of a variety of ways but I think you are ready to only think about a few of them if you're thinking about me, well then, think whatever you want I've wanted to feel you kissing me I've wanted to have your lips on me I've wanted so much out of life there are a lot of things I want but right now I can only think of a few things a select few things I've wanted to know that you are willing to give me that that you feel it in the same way I do there's only so much teasing a girl can take and I'm not going to tease you about this and I'm not going to make any promises that I don't promise to keep because everything I say is a promise to you it's a promise to my life it's a promise to the future it's a promise to love you better believe in the same things that I believe in because I don't like getting my hopes up for nothing So prove me wrong A New Patient janet kuypers There's a child here with color pack of crayons with his coloring book how many colors are in the pack of crayons- the boy is with his mother does the mother have a patient here? This little boy can speak well. And walk. That's important for little boys, to walk and talk well do other simple tasks I wonder if the average patient learns to walk or dress or talk or learn or eat I don't interact with many patients so I wonder about these things A New Idea Pretty Quick janet kuypers what does everyone say about the world anymore they probably think the world is just about as useless as that great soap opera they watch on television every day Take that scoop of information into your own head if you like it, and mold it into your own opinion of the world and come up wit a better idea pretty quick Cafe Girl Joanne Legattolla Allusions of life and lobe fill the aromatic cabaret. Mingling singles and poetic solitudes share the common smoke infested air, without contact or communication. She lives her lie away from these others. The long legged beauty clad in black cannot see herself, as this crowded cafe intensely views her presence. Pain and fortune are catholicized similar to capacino and java, without emotion or much less self-doubt, or so we think. But self assurance for our girl is only a surface phenomena. Hidden beneath the poise and windswept looks is a needy person, waiting to be appreciated, instead of simply noticed. How long will she drink her bitter expresso here? Until a love god shares her isolated space, or until she lives her life for herself not for her image/ What I learned in tai chi today Lauren Leach "...pass your hands over the back of your thighs" Freeze. (grandmother's house, the smell of grandfather's cigarette hands, the whispered hail mary full of grace) Where the hell am I? (mother said "don't let anyone touch you between your neck and your knees", the smell of grandfather's) "...your hand is on your left thigh, and" (holy mary mother of god, my grandfather's cigarette hands) Try to regain control. (pray for us sinners, my grandfather's cigarette hands on my thighs) "...ok. Now are we ready?" (now and at the hour of our death) FINCH-FOLLY Dan Lukiv lukivdan@uniserve.com An arrowhead, As chiselled as Rome, Is so unlike an eyeo unlike an eyeball Trudging out of carbon- Soup. And a house, Without human hand For inhuman clay, Was never built, Was certainly never An arrowhead, But an ear- Its womb filled with Primeval slop- Is soup incarnate, A bee in Beethoven's Cochlea, A quarter note In a song of war. But do not re-read This poem That nobody wrote. flower boxes Anthony Lucero before there were nothing but seeds and the few that came up were gotten by the birds or the weather or something and then evan's wife laurie gave me a poinsettia she claimed would not die but it died within a matter of days and i told her so and then i- lene gave me a sunflower which was doing just fine but then i had to go out of town and when i came back the first time it was lamost dead and when i came back the second time it was long since dead and so i didn't plant nothing after that and one day i was coming down the alley up the alley i should say and i looked up at my windows and there they were those two little coffins the wooden bones of a poinsettia on the left and the brown carcass of a sunflower on the right and my blinds were shut tight and i thought yes that is where i live and i walked up the stairs opened the door closed it and got in bed and i thought about christmas and summer and everything in between. This is how I started to think when I turned 30 Alexandria Madero pinkmillay@aol.com the next time i think of you it will be with my poisoned pen aimed at your breast to the hollow place inside your chest and i'll do more than cry for me i'll denounce you publicly and with a bullhorn i'll gather the masses and hold you up as an example of the worst kind of man then when i am through and you feel as humiliated as i do i will take your balls which i am sure you hold dear run them up the flagpole in the public square and cheer Afterburners We stopped at the Donut Castle for a cup of coffee bur really to watch the hookers. We found out abruptly that they dislike spectators and we scalded our idle tongues. I said nothing as we drove away because once I paid a dime to look at the freaks on the midway. You also said nothing and I'm still wondering - for what else do you feel shame? by giovanni malito THE WARMTH OF SNOW Jaime Portell SwtJaime99@aol.com Floating around us it quietly snows Afraid to let go he holds me near Deeply in love he cannot impose Floating around us it quietly snows Lowering his face he kisses my nose Together in our world we have no fear Floating around us it quietly snows Afraid to let go he holds me near untitled Jaime Portell SwtJaime99@aol.com I think about you day and night About what happened. How it ain't right. I think I love you but I don't know How does this thing they call love go? I still remember all the rumors about you But you're so sweet how could they be true? I remember your laugh and the way that you walk Your hair and your eyes and the way that you talk. All of a sudden in the twinkle of an eye Everyone thought you're gonna die. We're all upset just about to cry Just thinking about saying that one sad good-bye. I lost a brother. I don't want to lose a friend I think about putting my life to an end. You told me I was stupid for saying stuff like that But those are my feelings and I can't help that. That's one way I figured you truly cared Including the special times that we shared. You may not have feelings for me as I do you But I know my feelings for you are so true. Pruning Nick Posteshev With careful pruning she turns azalea shrubs To trees in miniature, corkscrewing Their trunks and crooking their branches Until they tood the crabbed and gnarled Shape of rock-bound olives seen in Photographs of Sicily. There is more Moving than we were intended for. She loved their ovate fingernails of leaf, The way the jut wrist of stump Thickened at the base of a flange of moss. One can think without breathing Of the apple rust that invades the fields, A curse some obscure ancestor once let fall. Is there no question behind how we meet Seconding each other's emotions? Or Is it too weak a question, though Strong enough as an affirmation? One should never be in a hurry to end, To contrast the ending with the articulations That have gone before. Ten months of Twelve ours was the stoic sculptured Calm of Chartres's martyrs. One day She too would burst aloft in kites of bloom As if the very scale and symmetry She'd conjured from that potted inch of dirt Were but the fractions of this reckless yield. Overhead Nick Posteshev Out lofty wars hiding in height drone over Their farrow, rootling into the flesh of cities. Instruments of more aspiring mind Point into orbit, fettled for our though, That smoky flaw of which pushes one Who converts only the store of sorrow into song. There may be no need, though we may pray against it. The foretaste of ash that embitters the prospect of hope May come into all of our mouths, though we do not Lie down in consent to tthe earth we are trampling in passage. Curving the opal of glaucoma our night Will have been blinded of far more Than the brilliance that will have preceded the sun And followed out of heaven the stars. When we built Missiles in dead earnest I believed in the resurrection in words. Now as we live through the death of the words I know ther is no limit to decay. All that will be left After us is already overhead, that delirious harsh darkness In which we fold like praying fingers, grind like gritting teeth, The wheels within the wheels within belief upon belief. gsy dentist, dead, no suspects Reports say he lived the high life, gave parties, spent more than his means and those were large Someone set his car on fire with him in it. He had no significant other, though he did have significant debts. What grief spider put a web inside him, the jpurnalists never ask, prefrerring hard facts, salacious details. When another story supplants this one, they drop him like a fizzled date. by kenneth robo "heat" matt robinson matt@istar.ca this cold morning tangible breath weds fog. my fingers remember last night's embrace. the cold, the mist, the hour conspire against tactile reminiscence. my hands: still, warm. Untitled Eric J. Swanger jivatma@csrlink.net What was the 1st Minnesota Vol. doing in Pennsylvania? then, what was anyone doing there duty fate maybe fate But after the charge on the 2nd down the hill the colors falling three times to be picked up four the regiment a penisula alone and crazy with war though mostly alone to fall back on duty honor when support finally reared its glorious head But William suffered twice the loneliness first as a soldier would but after the charge alone that night to half sleep over cries of comrades' to live their bloody gargled last breaths to the next morning when he buried his brother by halves separated by a shell and a full measure of devotion each half facing the enemy in life as in death each half ... william buried his brother by halves my God, by halves I TOLD HIM OVER A BEER Cheryl A. Townsend that the size of his cock was not the most important aspect of a relationship unless he planned to have sex with it Rensselaer 3/17 Paul Weinman I betcha jack squirts further than you she said just when my grunts started PRIVATE PUSSY Paul Weinman She hid it where her lap was whispering of scurrilous dogs that howled at lampposts... that made contracts with dark forces to permit sniffing where others fail. I watched at night, followed their hunt initiated their long-tongued lappings. Then she'd stand stroke it lightly purse those lips only to sit on it again crushing my want with crossed legs. I POLISHED MY NAILS FOR THIS Cheryl A. Townsend and shaved my legs all the way up put on my best undies and most expensive perfume to make this all so perfect and a little less real I LEFT MY FUTURE Cheryl A. Townsend in his car wedged between the cushions with the seat belt where it slid when neither of us were looking or paying any attention it is there now as I try to lie my way out of this poem prose exerpts from the manuscript blue collar ballet, by c ra mcguirt BLUE COLLAR BALLET by "Luscious Leslie Love" (as told to Curtis R. McGuirt) RULEBREAKER'S BLUES We come from Memphis, Moscow, San Francisco, Tokyo and Teheran. We come from Parts Unknown. We come waving flags and wearing warpaint. We come in chains and leather; together and alone. We know the ropes that go to square the circle. We know just how to fall to fight another night. We're here because the world demands a battle, and we're paid to play the darkness and the light. You ask me if our dance is an illusion. I can only answer by asking you the same- Could be that all our struggles are with shadows, That birth and life and death are just a game... Boss, it might be true, but I'm no thinker- I'm a Bad Guy, and I win by foul or fair. I don't wrestle Principalities or Powers, and I only wrestle angels unaware. -Luscious Leslie Love SOMEWHERE IN CENTRAL KENTUCKY I can taste blood, smell sweat and beer, and hear the catcalls of the smalltown crowd, but with my face pressed against the rough and grimy canvas, all I can see is dirty gray. My lungs are screaming for air, and the skin of my chest stings from a series of hard open-hand chops. As I push myself to my knees, the faces of the ringside fans swim into focus on the other side of the ropes. Their eyes are slits, their mouths blank holes howling for my blood. I wouldn't mind resting another few seconds, but there's a hand in my hair, and before the insistent tug becomes too painful, I allow myself to be pulled to my feet. Gypsy Joe is smiling. As he backs me up against the ropes, my teacher growls: "Ready for the floor, boy?" I groan inwardly. The old bastard has thrown me out two times already, and I'm not looking forward to a repeat performance. But I offer no resistance as he runs me across the ring, and at the right moment, I allow our mutual momentum to hurl me over the top ringrope. During the long trip to the unpadded concrete, I have time enough to wonder just how the hell I got myself into this... A FEW WORDS BEFORE THE BELL Bridgework For a dollar or two, curses and cheers we build suspension of disbelief- call us catharsis engineers. -L.L.L. I was a better wrestler than Hulk Hogan. Not that I'm bragging. When you're nearly seven feet tall and 300 pounds, with a radioactive suntan and biceps like granite anacondas, you just don't have to work as hard in the ring. Though Hogan (AKA Terry Bollea) has, in the past decade, transformed himself from a flag-waving, all-American, prayer-saying, vitamin- gobbling cartoon superhero into a vile, black-stubbled, backstabbing, authority- flouting, equally cartoonish supervillain (and back again), he has added few moves to his limited repertoire during that time. "Hollywood" (as he is known this week) gets off the occasional "scientific" maneuver, but mostly he sticks to kicking, punching, stomping, choking, and the occasional folding chair to the head. Not that I'm against breaking the rules-as a former minor league villain, I still agree with what the present governor of Minnesota used to say, back when he was busting heads in the wrestling ring as Jesse "The Body" Ventura: "Win if you can, lose if you must, but always cheat." It's just that at five ten and two hundred pounds, I wasn't intrinsically physically intimidating enough to get by with Hogan-style power-cheating as a regular thing. My teacher was determined that I forego the cliched clotheslines and cheap chair shots; he wanted me to learn to wrestle. In the good old days, it was wrestling that packed them in, not mere brawling and ubiquitous gang-stomps. In my neck of the woods, middle Tennessee, the "good old days" meant grapplers like Jackie Fargo, Len Rossi, Tommy Gilbert, Jerry "The King" Lawler (who achieved national notoriety by apparently breaking comedian Andy Kaufman's neck, then slapping him down on the David Letterman show), and the man who would someday become my teacher, the legendary Gypsy Joe, AKA "The Meanest Man In Professional Wrestling.". Joe was, at least, a legend to me and my younger brother Scott. Growing up in Nashville, we used to watch him on the local Memphis-based Saturday morning TV wrestling show, and long before Philadelphia's infamous Extreme Championship Wrestling (ECW) popularized the "hard-core" style (which has now been copied by the Big Boys on the Block, Ted Turner's WCW and Vincent McMahon's WWF), Gypsy was the king of extreme. Who could forget incidents like these: Gypsy Joe battling Gorgeous George Jr. out of the ring and into the bleachers, where they tussled their way to the very top before falling at least fifteen feet to the concrete floor. After which they got up and continued to brawl... Or Gypsy, to prove his toughness, challenging a security cop to hit him on the chest with his wooden nightstick. The cop wound up and smashed the stick into Joe's knottily-muscled flesh with apparently full force. Gypsy laughed. Often, he was lead away in handcuffs by an entire contingent of rent-a-cops after going nuts, threatening to attack audience members (who recoiled in seemingly actual fear as Joe climbed out of the ring to answer their taunts), and beating up six or seven security guys before being overwhelmed and restrained. Gypsy was a high point of Tennessee rasslin', as was the grotesquely obese and maniacally masochistic Abdullah the Butcher, who sometimes stopped by to ram a few pencils into his already scarified forehead before eating a raw chicken and tearing up a few unfortunate preliminary bums. Then there were the one-hour, high-impact, see-saw Southern title matches between Jerry Lawler and "Superstar" Bill Dundee, along with such spectaculars as the oft-imitated, never-surpassed Concession Stand Brawl, with #10 glass mustard jugs and pickle jars whizzing by barely-missed heads to shatter and spatter condiments on the crowd. And yet, at 14-going-on-15, it was beginning to seem to me that the real "good old days" of wrestling had been back when I was a kid living in Lakeland, Florida, a few years before my family moved to Nashville in order for my father to pursue a songwriting career. In those preteen, pre-cable days, the wrestlers of the New York- based WWF (which later gave birth to Hulk Hogan and WrestleMania), and those of the AWA (a once-proud Minnesota area promotion which was killed off during the early 80s), were just names and pictures in the wrestling magazines I bought with my lunch money. Bruno Sammartino might be the World Heavyweight Champion of the WWF; Minnesota, Tennessee, Texas, and Washington state could claim World Champs if they wished, but as far as I was concerned, there was only one real undisputed Heavyweight Wrestling Champion of the World, and that was the NWA's handsome, unassuming, often-battered-but-rarely-beaten Jack Brisco, Master of the Figure-4 Leglock. And while I enjoyed the antics of Gypsy Joe and Abdullah the Butcher on Nashville TV, I was unimpressed with most of the rest of the local talent. In my recently-adolescent estimation, they just didn't hold a candle to the NWA Florida gang, which included the tough and vicious Funk Brothers, Dory Jr. and Terry (sworn tag-team rivals of Jack Brisco and his lesser sibling Jerry), the awesomely agile masked Gladiator (reputed to be a respected high school wrestling coach beneath the hood), Dusty Rhodes (a fat, bald, cigar-chomping slob, but cruelly effective), the vile and nasty Professor Boris "The Great" Malenko * (a supposed Russian Commie whose son Dean is now a major star in the WCW), and the inscrutable Hiro Matsuda, Master of the Deadly & Mysterious Japanese Sleeper Hold. (The dreaded Sleeper cut off blood to the brain, and could, we were told, easily kill; what's more, only the guy who had put it on could rouse the unconscious victim before he croaked or suffered permanent brain damage, by using a special secret Oriental technique which looked a lot like smacking the guy between the shoulder blades. Good-guy Sleeper experts like Hiro were always quick to employ the Secret Revival Technique on their downed opponents; Bad-guy Sleeper masters such as Dale Lewis tended to procrastinate until threatened with fines or suspension by the referee.) *The Russian word "Malenko" actually means "little guy", amusingly enough... In those days, I had been a Believer, and willing to lawn-rassle any kid who called my heroes fakers. Wrestling was, after all-as the laconic-yet-enthusiastic Dean of Rasslin' Broadcasters, the great Gordon Solie, often told us-"The Game of Human Chess" and "The Sport of Kings". I was indignant that the wrestling results only got a few column inches in the Lakeland Ledger sports section, while less regal sports such as football and baseball, received huge headlines. (We were lucky to get even a tongue-in-cheek results blurb; most respectable newspapers have never covered "The Game of Human Chess.") As I grew up and older in west Nashville, however, my interest in "The Sport of Kings" began to erode, replaced by other pursuits: trying to become a writer, singing in a garage band, exploring comparative religion, learning to drink beer and chase girls. In my earnest sophomoric pursuit of "enlightenment" and "the truth" (whatever these ephemeral things were), I'm sure that I accepted the concept that rasslin' wasn't exactly "real", but like a kid who's just learned there is no Santa Claus, I hated to say it out loud. More importantly, rasslin' wasn't cool, and for a good decade or so, I didn't keep up with it. Now I find myself not only a born-again fan, but a former wrestler. Wrestling, like rock & roll and comic books, has survived, grown, evolved, and been validated as a form of popular culture. Millions tune in each Monday night to one or the other of the Big Two's lavishly produced TV shows, or, like me, find themselves flipping channels back and forth to catch the best action or get in on the latest plot development. I have to think that some of those millions of fans would enjoy a grass roots insider's look at the indigenous American art form called Professional Wrestling. Some of them might not even be real fans, but others may have thought about becoming wrestlers themselves, and I'd like to talk about what that involves. A major television network recently ran an hour-long special "exposing" the "secrets" of pro wrestling. Their attitude was self-righteous and one-dimensional, and they took themselves far too seriously. These guys were especially indignant about wrestling fans being "tricked". They told us that there's a "trick" to flying fifteen feet from the top of a steel cage and landing on a wooden table without killing yourself, for instance. It's true; there is a trick to it. There's also a trick to writing a good poem or short story, playing a musical instrument, painting a picture, or performing a convincing role in a play or film. The first question I usually get asked when I mention to someone that I used to wrestle is: "That stuff is all fake, right?" I find the question amusing, because if the person was sure it was all fake, he or she wouldn't bother to ask. This isn't intended to be a mean-spirited "expose" of the business. I'm here to have fun telling you a little about my brief career as a very-much-bush-league bad guy, and let you in on the work and effort it takes to learn even minor "tricks" of the trade. I loved wrestling as a fan, I love it more now having been a wrestler, and it's not my intention to discredit the Art. But let me say this- If you believe, and want to go on believing, that Professional Wrestling is a completely non-theatrical, viciously competitive sport, and that all those huge, menacing men are truly intent on causing each other harm, maybe you shouldn't read this. On the other hand, if you're convinced that rasslin' is a lowbrow spectacle, conducted by big, stupid muscleheads who possess no real skill; if you think it requires little or no thought, and that anyone could do it, then maybe you should read this. It might change your attitude. Or maybe you're like most wrestling fans these days: you know in your heart that Pro Wrestling is Theatre. You're reasonably intelligent and perceptive, and to you, rasslin' is exactly what the WWF's public relations department decided to call it: "Sports Entertainment," with a heavy emphasis on "Entertainment." And yet, when the World Title match between "Stone Cold" Steve Austin and "The Rock" is into its fifteenth minute, the crowd is howling as the champ rolls the challenger up for the pin, and the referee's hand is coming down for the third time, you're still going to leap up from the couch, spilling your beer, and yell: "Come on, Rocky!", or "You got him, Steve!" You might feel a little sheepish as you mop up the beer, but come the next big pay-per-view event, you'll probably be watching. And if Steve and Rocky, or Goldberg and Hogan, or Diamond Dallas and Sting are doing their jobs right, you'll probably be spilling your beer again. Professional Wrestling is Entertainment. It's also an Art, much like a cross between dance, acting, and storytelling. Like any art, what wrestling truly represents or signifies is up to the beholder. To some, it's about the battle between good and evil. To others, it symbolizes the clash of elemental forces. Many enjoy it as a sort of testosterone-enhanced soap opera, or way of vicariously blowing off aggressive steam. But whatever the motivation, there's something there that keeps bringing all of them back to what I like to call the Blue Collar Ballet. by janet kuypers: letters from war time Dear Jeremy- August 3 Hi!! How are you? I'm doing okay, but I'm really kind of bored. You see, I have a lot of work to do and all, but I really just don't feel like actually doing any of it. All I want to do is lay down in my bed and put my head on your shoulder, and feel you holding me. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I am still thinking of you. Really. I want to see you in October. My money situation may be a little tougher than I had originally anticipated, but I still want to see you. Okay, I'll walk across the country to see you. That's probably the cheapest way to go. I'll find a way. Dreamy eyes misses you- Dear Jeremy- August 28 Hello... I'm bored again. It's not as if I only think of you when I am bored, honey... don't think that... It's just that I try not to allow myself the privilege of thinking about you too excessively when I have a lot of other things to do. Right now, it just so happens that even though I have a lot of things to think about, I can't help but think of you. Okay, okay, so I'm babbling again. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed your trip. I hope you didn't think that I was a crab for part of the trip- in fact, you were the one thing that made me feel better. You have a knack for doing that. Anyway, thanks for the flowers. And the meals... And everything. I really had a great time with you. I enjoyed sharing the champagne with you, and I really enjoyed sharing the grapes with you. Dreamy eyes already misses you. I don't want to have to resign myself to merely writing you letters again. I have to see you again soon. Okay, I'll drive. Well, maybe, if I can't afford a plane, I can take a train. Fine- I'll walk- just as long as I see you. dreamy eyes misses you- Dear Jeremy- September 1 Hi, honey. How are you? I'm okay- I talked to you last night, when you first found out about your ex-girlfriend's car accident. I want you to know that I really am sorry to hear about it all. I know that it has to hurt... a lot. I could just imagine what I'd be going through if something happened to my ex-boyfriend. I'm sure I'd be a wreck- crying all night would be just the beginning of it all. Wow. It would really be a messy sight, if someone I cared about was hurt- especially if I was all alone. Wow. Really messy. You better not let anything happen to yourself. I don't know what I would do. And I want you to know that I think it's okay to talk about it- to talk about your ex-girlfriend- and even to me. First things first, Jeremy- I'm your friend. Don't you forget it. And if anything ever happens to us (which, by the way, I'm kind of hoping that nothing ever does happen to us- I'm beginning to grow attached to you, you know), I want you to always know that I will be your friend. You can talk to me, Jeremy- and that means about anything. The first thing that I'm concerned about is your happiness. So I'll listen. And you don't have to worry about hurting my feelings or putting any stress on us or on our relationship, because- well, you're not. I really don't mind talking to you when you have a problem- that's what I'm here for. Even if I'm just listening to you talk about your ex-girlfriend... besides, right now you have a legitimate reason to want to talk to someone, or to have a shoulder to lean on. Actually, I only wish that I could be there to give you that shoulder to lean on, and not resign myself to merely trying to make you feel better by talking to you on the phone. I wish I could be there to make all of the hurt go away. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that. Dreamy eyes misses you. Misses you something fierce, Jeremy. Talk to you soon- Donna- September 9 I don't know, I just feel lonely. I get so insecure without a guy. Jeremy doesn't help when he's so far away. I want things to work out for us- I really do- but we've known each other for less than three months. I can't base any sort of future on that. I can't count on that. So I look for people like Eric, just to keep me occupied in the meantime. But that doesn't even seem to be working out... and, by the way, it's not because I'm thinking about Jeremy or anything. Something seems wrong at his end- I don't know, maybe he doesn't want a commitment, maybe he doesn't want to get too close... But then I start wondering if there is something wrong with me- I get the mentality that there has to be something wrong with me if someone doesn't like me. It has to be my fault. It gets depressing. Anyway, I really should be going. Write back soon- I don't know when I'll be able to visit again-it may not be October, but January, but I will let you know. I would be very happy to see you again, honey... I could use it. keep in touch- p.s....Yeah, things were good when Jeremy was here. We had a few little arguments in the last two days- I think it was because we in such confined living quarters and spent nearly every moment together for so long (how does the saying go-guests are like fish- they both get old after three days?). But it was so nice to feel like I was actually worth something for a couple of days. What a refreshing, comforting feeling...what a foreign feeling... Dear Jeremy- September 10 Hello, honey... how are you? I'm all right... It's 7:50 in the morning, I got up early just so that I could write you a letter and send it out in the mail today, so that you wouldn't feel like you weren't getting much mail... hint hint... Anyway, there was actually a reason that I wanted to write you a letter this morning. I got to thinking last night... granted, I've only had three hours of sleep last night, and I'm kind of weary, but I got to thinking last night. About you. And me. And this whole distance thing- okay, I know that we both want to give this a good try- at least I know that I do. But I've been in these long distance relationships before, and I've been trying to figure out for the life of me what I've been doing wrong in all of them (obviously I've been doing something wrong in all of them, or they wouldn't all be over with now...). Now, you'll agree that long distance relationships are pretty unorthodox, and therefore probably require pretty unorthodox rules to go by in order for them to work... Well, I probably sound like I have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, and that I have no point whatsoever. I'm working on it... I just think (now, this is the rational side of me talking, and surely not the emotional side of me talking, which is the side that will probably hit me on the head once I send this letter out) that maybe you and I shouldn't be so closed-minder about seeing other people. Maybe you're not... but I just started thinking that it's really unreasonable for me to think that you should be 2,000 miles away and totally faithful. You have needs, and there is no reason why I should interfere with you doing what you would be normally be doing if I wasn't in the picture. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't want you to be unhappy. I don't want you to be stringing yourself along because you feel compelled to because "you're going out with someone"- even thought she's 2000 miles away. I don't want you to feel burdened because of me. Granted, if you really don't want to go out with other people, please don't feel the urge to go out and screw some slut because you thought that that was what I wanted- I'd be happy to know that you were waiting for me, it's just that I want to be sure- and I want you to be sure- that you're waiting for me because you want to be waiting for me. I don't know. I guess I'm just babbling. I just don't want you to ever feel like I'm an inconvenience or anything. You're my baby. I don't want to lose you. Dreamy eyes misses you... something fierce. I just want you to be happy. A big part of me hopes you can find that happiness with me.. it may take a little more work to be happy, then, but I only hope it's worth it. I love you- Dear Jeremy- September 10 It is an hour before I'm supposed to talk to you. I decided that I had to get out of my sweat-box of an apartment, before I passed out from pure exhaustion from the heat... Granted, I've only had three hours of sleep, and that would be another reason that I would want to fall asleep before 1:00. I told you that I wouldn't be asleep by the time you called tonight...even if it killed me. I know how you must just hate having to deal with talking to me on the phone when I'm nearly comatose... I know that usually a speeding train can go through my room when I'm asleep and it won't wake me up. I'm a really heavy sleeper, to say the least. Please forgive me. I got a letter from you today- right after I dropped that other letter of mine in the mailbox. I feel like a real idiot for writing that letter- and I feel like an even bigger idiot for mailing that letter, even when I knew that mailing that letter was a stupid thing to do. Please take my mood swings with a grain of salt. With a fifty pound block of salt. No, this isn't PMS... this is just me. I go insane from time to time. For the last week I've been pretty much depressed and sad, and very tired. You know how I get down on myself so easily- well, I was just thinking that everything that was going wrong in my life was ALL MY FAULT, and it was just all of these inherent deficiencies within me that causes al of the problems that I seem to get in my life. Then for a few days I was pretty happy, kind of like a more content feeling than being joyously happy... I think it was partially because I was working full-time for a few days, and I was starting to feel a sense of accomplishment. I think it might also have had something to do with the fact that the weekend had sprung upon me, and I was free to go out and get plastered with my friends. Then this morning, I suppose after so little sleep, I went nuts. You would have thought that I just would have been overly tired or something- that would have made more sense- but I went to sleep after four in the morning, and by 7:40 I was up, dressed, and writing you a psycho letter. For the rest of the day I was going nuts, too- I was arguing with some people today, saying that they were the yuppie type that would have a kid and send them off to day care and expect some organization like the PMRC to regulate what their children can and cannot hear instead of regulating and explaining these things to their children themselves. I was freaking out. But now I think I've come back down to earth... Maybe it's just because of the lack of sleep that I'm experiencing right now... You know, my eyes are really sore. They've been open for far too long, without much of a break. Anyway, I really should be going. If I don't end this letter soon, I'll miss your call. And hell, that's the whole damn reason why I'm staying up in the first place, right? Well, happy birthday, my love. I wish I could be there to share it with you. I love you. Dreamy eyes misses you. Dear Jeremy- September 14 Hi, honey... How are you? I'm okay- actually, I'm in a much better mood than I have been in recently... I just found out that I got the account I wanted for my business... I mean, it's one thing to have a part-time job and make money the way that everyone always does, but it's entirely another thing to create your own business and set your own rates and make money ENTIRELY ON YOUR OWN. I don't have that much work yet, but I really don't have the time for much work- and the work that I'm doing is very easy for me and very fun, as well. For the time I'm putting into it, I'm making about $20.00 an hour, and it's doing something that I really like... So, in other words, at least for my business- things are going really well. But I'd much rather be seeing you... which is what I want to do in the beginning of November. I first thought that it would be good to see you near the end of October, but then I realized that I have too much going on. I think it would be better to come and visit you on the first weekend of November. I hate to have to wait that long, but it really seems like the best thing to do. But I know that I'm going to see you in January- if it kills me. Right after some of my Army friends' troops are sent out- I'm going to need to see you. I'm going to do it. I miss you, Jeremy. Dreamy eyes misses you. Various organs in my body miss you. I will see you soon- I love you- Dear Tim- September 16, about 7:00 p.m. I miss you a lot. I really miss you. I don't know why. I have to admit that there is something that makes me miss you- a lot. Maybe you can explain it; maybe you can explain it to me. Maybe I'm just babbling. That's probably it. I'll try to shut up now. I hate men. I hate them all. I mean it. They're either geeks, or... They either want to use you or they want to "just be friends". Fuckers. I hate them all. I mean it. I can't find one, I mean ONE, out there. What is my problem?? I'm ugly, I know, but I didn't think I was THAT ugly. And plastic surgery is out of the question. But I'm going to beat myself into a floundering pile of flesh if I continue to talk this way. So I guess that this is all for now- I miss you- p.s.: Do you know if Steve is going out with the first batch of troops? I never see him anymore. Maybe I should visit you guys in Iowa, just in case he's leaving. Dear Jeremy- September 16 Hi, honey... How are you?? How are you??? How is one of the sexiest men in the universe?? I'm feeling a little better, as you might be able to tell... Sorry. I'm being really weird, aren't I?... Whatever. That's just my style. I went out last night... and I stayed out until after four in the morning. Ouch. I was out the night before, too- until after three. Shoot me now. It's weird, though- I never get hangovers. Not even a headache. It must be from all the sex I'm getting... JUST KIDDING!!! Geez- can't you take a joke? Actually, I've been getting pretty lonely over here, and horny as all hell. You better come and visit me. Better yet- I'll come and visit you. How does the second week in November sound? I just checked the rates, and they're about $220. I think I could easily cover half of that- If you could cover the other half, I could come and visit. I hate to do this to you, but if I'm going to be taking two more trips before February, I'm going to have to save my money and really budget myself. I don't have a job where I know I'm going to get any money at all. And if you can't come up with the money now (you know, that really makes it sound like a ransom or something), I can cover it for now, as long as you promise that you will eventually cover me. How does that sound?? Here are the pictures from when you came to visit. I thought some of them were cute, and I gave you extras of the ones of you so that you could give them to people like your mom or something. Mind you, I don't want you giving any of these pictures to any other women. I don't want anyone else to even have a photograph of you to admire. Anyway- I should probably get going. Dreamy eyes misses you. Write me soon- and if you want, I really don't mind if we limit the calls for financial purposes. Actually, I do mind, but I also understand. I just need the occasional reminder that you still care about me. I love you- keep in touch- Dear Jeremy- September 20 Hello, darling. I'm in a weird mood. Last night- after I talked to you- my friend Christine came over and we had dinner. She's the type of friend with whom I only do things like have dinner with- I don't know, she just isn't the "going-out-and-getting-really-drunk" type. So we had dinner, and talked about our love lives- you see, she's starting to go out with this man from Seattle, Washington, so we're kind of in the same boat. She's not so crazy about Bob, however, the way that I am about you. Anyway, then Christine left and I went out with my friend Tara (she used to be my next door neighbor- she's really cool, I like her a lot...) and a bunch of her friends that I didn't know. Then I saw my friends Jessica and Rachel, and I eventually left the bar at close and hung out at Jessica and Rachel's place for a while. Then they walked me home and stayed over and talked- until about FOUR IN THE MORNING. It was like they would never leave.. I was about to fall asleep while they were over. But it was neat to talk to them... I think I'm going over to Tara's place for dinner tonight. This has really been a pretty busy weekend. I thought it wouldn't be, being Labor Day weekend and all, since everybody usually goes home. Maybe I'll even get the chance to go out tonight!!! Oh, and another thing, young man. Young, virile man. Young, sexy, strapping studly man... Sorry, I'm getting carried away again. I was just going to say that you don't have to worry about being jealous over me. I mean, it's cute when you say the things that you do over the phone, but I really hope that you not really worried that I'm cheating on you or anything. First of all, if I was going on a date with somebody else, I surely wouldn't tell you- unless you specifically asked about it, of course. So when I tell you that I'm going out with somebody who is just a friend, you don't have to worry about it. I don't want you to worry when there is nothing to worry about. Secondly, I think I like you just a bit too much to really think about looking for some other stud muffin to hang all over- maybe that will change in time, I don't know, but right now (if you don't ming me using stupid, tiring, worn-out cliches), I only have eyes for you. And one other thing, my beefy burrito of love... I'll probably get so jealous if I even suspect that you're looking at another woman, that I'll hijack an airplane or something, come down to Arizona and teach you a thing or two about trying to cheat on me. It won't be a pretty scene... Now that I've just succeeded in sounding really stupid, I'm going to get going. Dreamy eyes misses you. It's true. No, really. I mean it. Dear Donna- September 23 How are you?? Thank you very much for the very nice letter... I want to make a little note before I go on with this letter. This letter is confidential. I don't want a word of this getting out to Jeremy, do you understand me?? As soon as you read this letter, I want you to throw this letter away... No, don't do that, because it could then be found in the garbage or something. I want you to eat the letter. No, better yet, I want you to burn this letter when you're done. Burn it, and then eat the ashes. It's that important to me. Do this favor for me. It's weird, but I have been so busy in the past week that I really haven't had the time to be too depressed, so during this past week I've been fine. But this weekend, as soon as I had the time to think about my life, I got mortally depressed, and for the past day and a half, if I haven't been crying, I've been wanting to cry. I've already dumped my depression on two of my friends in long talks- I probably would be bothering more of my friends if so many people weren't out of town. Friday night I got really depressed. I was okay when I woke up Saturday morning, but then I started getting depressed. I cried. This is the way that I've been lately. And I can't even really explain why I'm feeling this way. I've been getting along with Eric pretty well (and I do say PRETTY well for a reason... it just seems that even though we go out a lot and get along well, we're just not very close. I need closeness, I suppose...)... I guess I'm just thinking about all of the things that I think are wrong with my life, and I'm thinking about all of the things that I could like to change in my life, and I'm thinking about all of those things which I cannot change... and it just all seems so damn depressing. I start thinking, for example, about my last relationship, and I start wondering what went wrong there. I just keep thinking that I had love once, and I let it go. I HAD to let it go... but I let it go nonetheless. I just keep remembering that I was once happy, and I keep wondering if I will ever find that kind of happiness again. And then I start to realize that the only thing I've been doing in my spare time is getting really drunk. What the hell kind of life is that?? I remember last year when I was spending wasn't unattached... I had BETTER things to do with my spare time that getting drunk. I had nothing to escape from by drinking. Now all it seems that all I'm doing is escaping. I want to find something in my life that I won't want to escape from. But then at the same time, I find myself sometimes pushing people away from me. I wonder if that might be because I don't want to hurt the way that I did when I lost love. Maybe I'm just starting to feel like I'll never find it anyway, so there's no point in getting myself in any sort of situation where I might feel vulnerable. I don't know. And then I keep catching myself holding a glimmer of hope that something might work out. I catch myself thinking that Eric might actually open up to me once, or that he might show me that he cares. All of the other guys he is friends with keep calling me his girlfriend. All of his close friends keep trying to reassure me that he actually does like me. But the thing is, why do I need his friends to reassure me? I shouldn't have to be reassured by his friends that he likes me. I should be able to know. He should be able to tell me. But he doesn't. You know, come to think of it, some of Dave's friends kept telling me that HE liked me... They kept trying to reassure me... and Dave turned out to be the biggest ass-hole... I wonder if there is any sort of correlation there... And I don't even want to think about Jeremy right now. It's not that I don't like him or anything, but... well, there are two reasons why I'm thinking this right now. The first is that he really doesn't fit into my life right now. He can't make me happy from 2,000 miles away, and there's no point in getting all depressed when there's nothing I can do about the situation. The other reason is that I don't want to get myself too close to someone that circumstance says that I can't be too close to, because then I'll only get hurt. The less I hurt, the better right now. So here I sit, dating Jeremy from afar, while trying to salvage this miserable relationship with Eric. Sorry that I've been babbling all of this time, but I've really needed to get this all out, and there really is no one around here that really wants to hear all of this. I know that none of this probably makes any sense to you whatsoever, but at least I got it out- somewhat... I hope this helps out. Anyway... Please don't tell Jeremy about ANYTHING that I've been writing. I'm probably just an insane woman babbling right now, and I'll probably change my mind in about ten minutes or so. Sorry again- and I hope that things are going a little better for you- keep in touch- thanks for everything- ps- and how ARE things going with you, anyway?? I don't mean to sound so self-centered when I write my letters and never ask about what is going on in your life... I know that you know that I want to know all of the gory details. Keep in touch- love you- Dear Donna- September 24 Hi... It's 12:37 in the morning. And here I am again, just babbling. I'm in a bad mood. I got some great news today- Eric just broke up with me. Yes, I know- I wrote you that whole letter yesterday and now we're "just friends". Aren't those words really awful? And the thing is, he says that he likes me, and this all has nothing to do with me- it's just him, and he doesn't know if he wants a relationship at this point in his life. So here I sit. I guess I have Jeremy. But what good does that do me? No, I haven't cried. I kind of wanted to, thinking that it might just get it out of my system. But I haven't. If anything, I've wanted to cry because I hate feeling sorry for myself, and I hate having to feel like I need someone in my life in order to feel important, and I really hate not liking myself. I think I'm going to stay away from all men for a while. In fact, I think I'm going to stay away from all people for a while. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of the system. I'm tired of me, and maybe I should just try to get all of the work in my life in order - just devote myself for a while to doing my work, getting myself organized. Well, I've got to go. Life goes on. Talk to you soon-- Dear Jeremy- September 25 Hi. I just got one of my letters back that I had sent to you (all of the preceding pages, in fact). It seems that the Post Office didn't like how I put the stamp on the damn envelope or something. Don't blame me... Anyway- I have to make this letter really short and sweet. I'm really busy- I've been really down all week. I can't help it. I have never liked myself. Not at all. I've just deduced that I don't want to hear that other people don't even like me, when I can't even like myself. It's a pretty simple theory. Pretty straight forward. Anyway, on that pleasant note, I'm going to get going. Keep in touch, jeremy. Dreamy eyes misses you something fierce. Just a thought... i love you- Dear Donna- September 25 Hi... It's 7:20 in the morning. I went to bed at about 2:30 last night and set my alarm for 5:30 in the morning,. So yes, I've been asleep for a whole three hours... Other than the fact that my eyes hurt a little, I'm really not tired. I think I have too much on my mind. I talked to a friend of mine for a while last night- Lori- and I ended up chain smoking and eating pizza at about 11:00 last night. Not very healthy. I figure I need all of the help I can get if I'm going to try to make myself look good again. I can use this little break-up with Eric that I now have under my belt as a sort of fuel-for-the-fire. I think people would call this a positive way to burn negative energy. I don't know what I'd call it. I think I'd call it feeling really bad because I hate being alone and I hate hating myself that I want to get my frustrations out on something. Maybe it doesn't make too much sense, but then again, nothing I ever do makes too much sense. Such is life. Well, I'm going to go. I look like hell. Granted, I have no one to impress... Well, enough of that. Keep in touch-- Dear Jeremy- September 26 Hi, Honey! How are you? I'm alright- especially now that I just got a card AND a letter from you today in the mail!! I was in an okay mood, at best... So when I got back today and found that you had sent me all this neat stuff, I was really excited. Well, not that excited- I reserve those feelings for when you are in the same part of the country as I am... I hope you like the birthday card. It was one of three (at least) that I wanted to get, but since I couldn't afford them all, I had to choose only one of them... Maybe I'll go back and get the rest of them another day. I just kept picking out the perverted cards and saying, "I want to get THIS one... and THIS one..." I really couldn't help myself. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for all of the attention that you have paid me. I know that sounds kind of queer, and I know that you're thinking that I don't have to thank you or anything, but I want to. There are times when I'm feeling awful, and then I'll find a card from you in my mailbox that says something like, (and let me quote from your card) "besides, I love you something fierce!", and I won't be able to help but feel better. If nothing else, those little cards and letters and phone calls keep me just a little more sane- and it seems like I need all the help I can get these days... But it's not as if that is the only reason that I like the cards and letters and phone calls- not only do they help me feel just a little closer to you, but they also help me to believe that you really do care about me. And I need that. It's also nice, by the way, to know what's going on in your life... I just wish that I could be more of a part of it. And I hope I can do the same for you with my letters and cards and phone calls. I hope that when you need someone to make you feel better, my letter gets dropped in your mailbox. It's the least I can do for someone I love. Anyway, I should go. I've got so much stuff to do. Dreamy eyes misses you- especially at times like this. Keep in touch, love, and keep thinking about me- Dear Jeremy- September 27 Hi, honey... I miss you. I've been really down lately. I don't know why. I don't even want to spend time with other people at all anymore. It's strange, how I can make a turn around in the way I feel about everything so fast. I just wanted to drop you a little note and tell you that I thought of you the other day. Well, I think about you every day, but this one time stuck out in my mind. I was thinking that I wanted you to make love to me again. But I was thinking that I didn't want it to be kinky, or really horny, or very creative. I just wanted you to make love to me. I wanted to feel your love again. It didn't have to be anything special- just the fact that you were making love to me would make it special. That's what I was thinking. Dreamy eyes misses you. Dear Tim- September 30, about 8:00 p.m. I'm always doing things for other people. I'm nice. Too nice. Why am I so wonderful? No, you're not supposed to be laughing. Okay, okay, so I'm getting a little carried away, but I can't for the life of me figure out why I'm so nice to people. People just use me. But of course... I forgot... That is the story of my life... Things just can't go well for me... that's just the way it is... I hate people. Oh, the guy that I'm spending time with used to like me, so now I'm worried that he wants to rekindle the flame. Oh, there's this geek on my back and I can't seem to shake him off. Oh, I like this guy, but he doesn't seem to like me, so I'll just sit here and stew in my own juices. I'm sick of this. I wish people could be open and honest with each other. I wish I could be open and honest with other people. Such is the price for living in a society such as ours. Do you feel like you can be honest with me?? I really hope that you feel that you can. I think that people, because they are too afraid to open themselves up (for ridicule, most think), they never get the chance to really live. I think nobody lives on this planet. I think they're just going through the motions. I don't want to just go through the motions. I want to live. But I'm afraid. I feel like if I don't break out of my shell, I won't see what the rest of the world is like. I wonder if I really want to know. My mind strayed from the real point that I was trying to make in that last paragraph, and that point was that I hope that you feel that you can be honest with me. Openness and honesty is so important with me. You should know these things about me, but in case you've forgotten (or are just trying to forget), let me remind you. I'm not the type of person that makes fun of another, and I'm not the type of person that would cut down what anther person thinks. If someone tells me what they feel, even if I don't like it (which usually isn't the case), I'm very flattered that they felt that they could say it to me, that they could share it with me, that I'm never disappointed. I think I'm losing the point again. Honestly, at this point, I don't know what the point is. I think I'm just tired of dealing with people who won't be honest with me. Honesty is all I ask for. I think I'm going to go. Thanks for reading my babble, and making me feel as if someone really cares about how I feel. Dear Jeremy- October 10 Hi, honey... how are you? I just wanted to send you a little note (it's 12:20 in the morning- it's about the only time that I ever have to write you letters...) and let you know that I still care about you. Honestly, my feelings haven't changed for you at all, and I don't want you thinking that they have. I'm still looking forward to coming to see you in November... it's just that I've been so busy lately and I've been so worried that I really haven't had the time to think about writing you letters, and all of the problems I've been having lately have made me, well... very edgy, to say the least. And I don't really want to talk about it- and there is nothing to talk about, since there are no problems- but it just had a bad effect on me because I was so worried. Please bear with me. I don't need any more complications in my life right now, that's all. Maybe it's part of this defense mechanism that I use to make all of the hurt in my life seem a little less severe... maybe I just want to distance myself from people, because it's usually people that hurt more than anything else. You're a wonderful person, Jeremy, but it really hurts when you're 2,000 miles away, and maybe I've been acting the way I have been because I want to emotionally distance myself from you so that I hurt a little less from missing you. It's just a theory... But I do care about you. And I don't want you to forget that. I wonder if I push you too far at times. I hope I don't. I hope you can stick with me. p.s.- I love you. really. It might not seem like it at times, but I do love you. I miss you... Dear Donna- October 10 I just wanted to let you know that there is nothing to worry about concerning my health. I don't really want to get into it- I hope you're not taking offense or anything, because it has nothing to do with you- but... well, I was really scared. I just thought that there was going to be some major problem with me. Thank God that there wasn't, but I was still worried. I've never had a problem with my health before- hell, I've never had a broken bone. So I guess I've taken my health for granted, and when I thought that there was something wrong with me, I went crazy. I've really been on edge lately. And I don't want Jeremy to think that I'm mad at him or anything. I mean, when he was on the phone with me before he was pressing things when I told him not to, and I wasn't really in the mood to battle with him on the phone. It just seems that lately we've always ended up in an argument by the time we get off the phone. I don't need that, and I don't want that. I don't want to argue with him. I don't want us to have any problems. But I think that when there are no problems, then I just miss him a lot and feel miserable. Why feel like something that you want is just out of your grasp? I don't know... I guess that I just feel that right now I have other things to worry about instead of thinking about Jeremy and merely adding to my misery. Anyway, I should be going. Have a good week... (couple of weeks, knowing the way YOU write)... hope that your time with your boyfriend goes well... keep in touch- Dear Jeremy- October 12 I know, I know... I haven't written in a while. Sue me. Honestly, though, I've been having some medical problems lately, and besides the fact that I'm in and out of the doctor's office, I've just been really preoccupied with the notion that something is wrong with me. Don't worry, honey... Nothing is wrong with me, as far as I know. It's just been the new emergency lately, and that's why I haven't written to you until today. You know, I think I've just decided that I don't like being around people anymore. I think I've gotten really tired of it. I don't want to go out in big groups anymore. And unless I'm really in the mood, i don't think I want to even go out to crowded places (like bars). I don't feel like drinking anymore. Actually, I don't really feel like doing anything anymore. I just don't think that I like people right now. Does that make any sense? It's just that everything is so superficial to me. I think I don't let anybody in to see me, or to actually be a real part of my life here. I talk to people, I get close to people... but I think that the only person that I can count on is me, and I think that right now I just need something that I can count on. Most of the time, I care about what other people think of me, and I would therefore care about whether or not I was close to people. But right now I think I'm just looking for something that I can really lean on, something that will never let me down, something that will never desert me or not be there for me... and the only thing in the world that fits all of those descriptions is myself. So I think I'm going to be staying home for a while, not going out, not talking to too many people.. Just listening to what I need and acting on that. It's not selfish, I don't think. It's just what I need to do right now. Okay, Okay, I'll shut up. In fact, I'll get going- I have to check to see if my laundry is done. Dreamy eyes misses you- Dear Tim- October 12, 11:33 a.m. I found a map, so now I can figure out how the hell to get to your house. That should be exiting- I'm imagining either a National Lampoon's Vacation thing here or an Ernest goes to Iowa thing. Ernest probably IS from Iowa. Whatever. It'll be good to see you and Steve again. Dear Jeremy- October 14 I just wanted to say 'hi' to you, because you think that i never write you letters anymore.. well, actually, I don't write you letters much, so I suppose you're right, but it just seems like there's nothing of any value going on in my life to write about. I just had people over last night for a little get together in honor of halloween, I guess... I think I told you that I was having a 'shindig'... By the way, it was Doug's birthday yesterday, so the party last night was also kind of in Doug's honor. He just turned 20. I feel so old. It's disgusting. Anyway- I should be going. I have to wash all the dishes from last night sitting on my desk in my apartment... It's pretty gross. It should take me a while. Miss you, honey- p.s.- thank you for you last letter. It was sweet. I liked the poem. What would I do without you?? Dreamy eyes misses you- I can't wait to see you in November- i love you, honey- call me, or write me a little note. love you- Dear Tim- October 26, 6:40 p.m. I don't want to do anything anymore- I'm so hyper about going to Iowa tomorrow that I can't do anything. I want out last night to the bar Gully's, and me and my friend Doug sang Happy Birthday on a mike to the entire bar for the radio station that was playing songs for the bar all night. For the embarrassment, we each got Peter Murphy's new tape. I haven't even listened to it yet. Today I went to Eddie's to meet my friend Tara- Eddie's is a restaurant attached to a bar that will serve infants, I think. We always get ice cream drinks there. I had an Oreo shake today- with creme de cacao in it. Anyway, I should go- Dear Donna- November 14 Hi, honey!!! How are you? Oh, I'm getting by. It was really nice to have a little vacation during the year- and it was really nice to be able to see Jeremy again. It had been far too long. He just left a few days ago, and I can't wait to see him again. I know you keep asking me over and over again how I feel about Jeremy, and I know I keep pussy-footing around the subject by saying "I like him, but there's no sense because he lives so far away, blah, blah, blah..." But now I'll give you the whole scoop. I think the reason why I kept saying that to you is because I didn't want to admit to anyone- especially myself- that I really liked him, because then I would only feel crappy that I never was able to see him. Well, all of that has changed. Now that I've seen him again, I've realized that there's no way that I could ever try to lie to myself again. I'm afraid that you can probably guess what I'm about to say, honey... Yes, I'm in love. At least I think I am. I could really see a future with this man. And I could see it being a pretty damn happy future, too. Going out with Eric again was such a stupid idea- and I know you told me it was- so I broke it off with him yesterday, within three days of being home, and I don't have the tiniest regret about it. I wear that ring Jeremy gave me all the time. I don't know... I'm always the one that's always so pessimistic about our relationship, but now I can't help but think that one day everything will work out perfectly and we will be together and i can actually be happy. But today I just got a letter from Jeremy, and he was saying that he didn't want us to get our hopes up because he might not be able to find a job near me. It was kind of depressing, especially when he's always the optimistic one and he has to pull me out of a slump. If he begins to lose faith... what will we have? Then the frightening part is about my friend Tim... I went to visit him Halloween weekend, the weekend before I saw Jeremy. Just friends, friends for years. Wanted to see our friend Steve, too, who lives out in Iowa near Tim, since he is leaving with the first set of troops in January. So then we drank too much, and Tim and I fooled around. I can't believe I did this. I could tell Tim was miserable after the fact, too- we didn't even want to look at each other the next morning. So now I'm wondering if I've lost a friend. And I had to do this just before I saw Jeremy. I hope he didn't suspect anything. I don't know of this is sounding all weird or something. I can't help it. The whole situation is pretty weird, if you think about it. Now I just think of Jeremy all the time. I can't visit Jeremy in the end of December/ the beginning of January, the way I had originally planned (all of the flights are booked). That really depresses me, because I'm going to be sitting at home by myself for two weeks wishing I was with him. I figure that I can visit him in a weekend in January, but it's a real shame that I have to squeeze in this short amount of time when I'll have so much time to kill two weeks before hand. And he doesn't even know if- or when- he'll be sent off for duty. I hate war. Everything else is all right- I've got most of my work out of the way. I just found out that my father is going to be in town for Thanksgiving weekend, so now my visit home will be a complete dysfunctional family gathering. It's just yet another thing in my life that I'm not looking forward to. Like the doctor's appointment I have in an hour and 20 minutes... I'm scared. Scared as all hell. And on that note, I'm going to go. Dear Eric- November 18 Hi. I'm writing this letter because I've been thinking a lot about you lately, and I've been thinking especially about the conversation we had when we broke up. I think there were some things that I wanted to say to you that I didn't know how to say at the time. But I want them to be said. I wanted to learn about you. I really did. I often try to act aloof and keep people at bay, I know I want to do that, and you might have had the impression that I wasn't interested in you as a person. I'm telling you now that I wanted to know about you. A part of me still wants to know. But I suppose it's too late by now. If there are some things you still want to teach me, I would love to be your student. Just don't laugh at my ignorance, and don't be amazed at how different I am from you. When we were going out I didn't want to stress our differences. You did that enough by breaking up with me every other week, I wanted to do everything I could to underscore our differences. Although I wanted to learn, I also didn't want to lose you. Not earlier than I had to. I wanted to think that you were willing to spend the rest of your life with me, that you thought I was worth it. But you didn't, and I guess I wanted to blame something, or to fight it somehow. I didn't know what else to do; I was in a losing battle. A part of me thought you thought less of me. That you didn't respect me. I started to feel alienated. I hope you don't think I blame you for it, though - I didn't, and I don't, although I think I wanted to, just so I'd have something to blame other than circumstance. But I couldn't blame you. The things I loved about you were the things that kept us apart. If you didn't have your personality traits, you probably wouldn't be as driven, as passionate, as successful as you are. You wouldn't have the strong moral background you have. And I loved and respected all those things about you. Oh, there was something else I wanted to say in response to that evening we talked. I had asked you if you loved me, and you ended up saying that you did, and you still did, and you always will. I wanted to hear that so much, I don't know why. Maybe because I felt the same way, and I wanted to know that I wasn't alone. I wanted to say it back to you that night, but the timing seemed wrong, or something. But I love you, and I always will. I don't know what writing this is accomplishing for me, I don't know why I'm doing it, but for some reason I thought it had to be done. I know I didn't do all the right things when we were going out, but I guess I just wanted you to know that my intentions were good, that I really did care, that I wanted it to work out. A part of me still does want that, and always will. Oh, great. Now I'm sounding like an idiot. I didn't want that. I hate losing face. I guess I just wanted you to know how much I value you. And if I can't have anything else, I at least that won't to change. Thanks for listening. Dear Tim- November 22 Hi, honey.... Thank you for writing. I understand exactly where you are coming from. I am so glad- and I mean SO glad- that you were as honest as you were with me. You know I like honesty and openness, and I am so glad that you said what you have to say. Now I feel I can be honest with you. Obviously, I knew that it wouldn't work out. I was even surprised when you kissed me goodbye when I was in the car. I just thought of you as a friend- a good friend- cute, maybe, but just a friend. When I came to visit you, you hugged me. When we walked down the stairs, you made a point to make sure that I didn't step on the glass that was broken in the stairwell. You picked me flowers from (i think) every flower bed that we passed by. You acted differently than I have ever seen you act, Tim. I couldn't figure out why. I think it was just circumstances. I'm not trying to make any excuses: you're cute, smart, interesting, talented- honestly, I'd have to admit that if I were to go out with a guy, he would probably be a lot like you. I do like you, you know that, but you must realize that I like you as a friend. I feel the same way as you do, Tim. And I'd never want to lose your friendship. Most importantly to me, you are my friend. I never, never want to lose you as a friend. Remember that. I think we can forget about this- or even look back on it without remorse. It is just something that happened- that probably shouldn't, but did anyway- and I can live with that. I hope you can, too. I knew that it wasn't ultimately right. That's why I stopped us before we got too far. But there is a part of me that thinks that what happened that night brought us a little closer. If nothing else, it can be a good sign, a good test to strengthen our friendship. You're my friend. My close friend. My good friend. That's what's important to me. And more importantly, I don't want to lose that. I'm worried that I will. But I think you were worried about that, too, and we're actually worrying about nothing. I think that, if you want it to be, everything will work out fine. I love you Tim. I love you as a person, which in my opinion is more important that any other way a person can be loved. Remember that. I know what you mean when you say that you need a relationship. I do, too. A real one. But I also need a friendship. And that can last over the distances. So- what do you say? Dear Donna- December 1 Just got a letter from Tim. Said he just wanted to be friends, that what we did shouldn't have happened. What an ego boost. I just wrote him a letter back saying "friends is good." Like I need another long distance relationship. Like I need another relationship with someone who isn't really interested in me. I've had too many of those. p.s.: Managed to get a Christmas airline ticket to see Jeremy. Finally got something I wanted for Christmas... p.s. again: I know what you're thinking, so... No, I didn't sleep with Tim. I wasn't that drunk... Dear Jeremy- December 5 2:30 p.m. Hi, honey. I've been sitting here working for 2.5 hours, but I haven't gotten anything done. God, I love work. Really. I just love it. To pieces. Little tiny pieces, hacked up with a big knife. Love it. I just thought I'd write you a note while I was working to tell you that i love you... and something fierce, I might add... so write back soon. I love you. I miss you. I can't wait to talk to you again tonight. keep thinking of me-- and I can't wait to see you at Christmas- Dear Donna- January 13 Hello, love. How are you doing? Thanks for the card- it was so nice to actually get some mail. I'm glad i got the chance to see you while i was at home for the whole four days. Anyway... I have to tell you about how things went with Jeremy. He brought me to this apartment. He prepared a candlelight lasagna dinner, champagne- the works. It was so incredibly romantic... and then we exchanged Christmas gifts... I got him a bunch of stuff, and he got me some stuff and a RUBY HEART PENDANT AND A GOLD NECK CHAIN. I think there's about 18 rubies in this thing. He even wrote me a poem to go with it. Donna, everything is so wonderful. I want to tell you all about everything.... In person. So come and visit me- p.s.: I'm still waiting to see if Jeremy is called for duty. They're sending the first troops there in two days, if nothing else works. I don't want to see my friends go. The government can tell me it's for the good of the whole, but they're not losing half of their friends. They're just signing their name and killing us. Dear Jeremy- January 17 Hello, angel. I love you. Sorry. I just wanted to get that one out. I'm writing to tell you about a dream I had last night. I was on the phone with Donna, and you were there. She said you would call back in two minutes. It was just like when I was waiting for your call the night we went to war. You didn't call. So I waited and waited, and finally I called back. Donna answered the phone. She seemed hesitant about giving the phone to you so we could talk. She seemed like she was hiding something, and it was scaring me. I started pacing the floor, biting my nails. The middle finger on my left hand had a short fingernail, so I started biting it. She then told me that you were busy and that people were over. She gave me the impression that you were there with another woman. I started bombarding her with questions until she told me that you were there with an ex-girlfriend of yours- I think her name was Julie. I was sobbing on the phone. I don't remember what happened next, but I remember in the dream that I never bothered talking to you on the phone. I sobbed. I remember that when I got off the phone I went to sleep. Then I woke up, and it was about six in the morning. I was trying to remember for the life of me what was real and what was a dream. I remembered talking on the phone last night, but everything was a blur. Then I checked my left fingernail. The only way I knew that I was just dreaming was that my nail wasn't bitten. I miss you. There better be no Julies in your life, young man. You'd be giving up a pretty wonderful thing if there were. I love you. Dear Jeremy- January 18 Hello, love. I just got back from work and I've got a little time to kill. We all went to C Street last night (that progressive bar that you'd probably hate), and Joe seemed to emotionally flip out while we were there. I'm sure it had something to do with me, so I think we're going to talk for a little while about it. I'll let you know how it all went. This afternoon I'm looking at an apartment. I'm looking at a few more apartments tomorrow. I have to decide soon. If you're going to move here next year (if, by chance, the job that you end up getting enables you to do that and you decide to), I'm still going to live alone- sorry- especially when I have to sign a contract soon. Besides, it would probably be wiser if we didn't live in the same place. It's not like we wouldn't see each other enough, right??? I talked to you last night. You were so very depressed... I wish I was there to make you feel better, honey, but as I said on the phone, but when you get back it will seem as if we were never apart. I think that since I was in such a bad mood before because I've been so worried about everyone I care about and the war, I just came to the point where I had to say that I couldn't take the depression anymore and I had to get on with my life. So right now I'm just trying to be happy that I'm alive and that everyone I know is safe- at least for now. A good friend of mine- a very good friend of mine, one that you met- well, his father is a high ranking Air Force official, and he's been briefing his son on what danger he could be in because they are related. He's been told about how he can tell when a package is a letter bomb, and he's been told that he should avoid crowded places and that he should change his route to work every day. He's scared. And he's been told that because we have an extensive computer system in town that is directly linked to the Pentagon and has access to very privileged information, there is a good chance that if there were to be an attack (terrorist or otherwise), this town could be one of the first places hit. So I'm hearing all this, and I should be scared, but I realized that there really is nothing I can do about it all, and if I continue worrying the way I have been, I just might fall apart. So I've decided that I'm just going to keep thinking about you. I'm just happy that I know you're out there, somewhere, and I know you'll come back safe. Just knowing you exist makes me smile. Which is how I want you to think from now on, Jeremy Stevenson. You have two options: you could either be mortally depressed and end up only hurting yourself, or you could just keep your chin up and let our love for each other keep us strong through these tough times. These are the times that we need each other. You say that you hate not being there for me- well, you are there- you're in my heart all of the time, and I feel blessed for it. Think of things that way, Jeremy, and things won't seem so bad after all. And just remember, I won't let you down, either. I'll never let you down. I'm always there for you, even if it's only in your thoughts. We're blessed to have what we have. Let me help you be strong when you can't be alone. Dreamy eyes misses you... And I love you. Dear Jeremy- January 18 1:40 p.m. Hello, angel. I love you. Dan is having a party tonight. I told him I'd go... but I'm not really in the mood to go out and drink. Maybe if I go, I'll only go out for a little while... I'm not even going to happy hour today. I'm starting to get ahead on my work... I really don't even know why. I can't help but either want to watch CNN or call you on the phone at night. I haven't had my mind on work too much lately. Dear Jeremy- January 20 9:11 a.m. Hello, honey... How are you? I'm getting by. I stayed home last night - I just didn't feel like going out the way I usually do... I'm going to stay home tonight, too. I've just felt like a homebody lately - I don't know why. And I'm still tired, but for some reason I decided to wake up and do my laundry now, thinking that there would be no one else there. I got the last of the washers, and I had to wait for them. I think everyone uses the same philosophy as me, and then they wait for the weekend because they have no other time for doing their laundry. That's why I'm writing this letter now - because I'm waiting for my clothes to finish washing. I saved the newspaper from the day we went into war. I want to have the front page mounted on a black board, along with the front page of the day when I was on it. I keep thinking about how I'm going to arrange furniture and decorate the apartment I have this summer... I'm so excited about it all. I really hope you'll get back soon, and you'll be there. I can't wait to see you. Have I told you that I miss you lately? Well, I do, honey, and I just can't wait until I see you again... I just keep thinking of how good it will be when we're together again. I can't wait to be in your arms again... You know, I'm looking forward to when you come home and we just curl up at home and be boring and snuggle up together for the night. I think anything we do together makes me happy. Which includes basketball. You would have been proud of me, honey- I turned on a basketball game on TV last night. I wasn't paying attention. But hey - this is a good start. Give me credit. And I was thinking- we used to go to the theatre to go see french operas and the like, and the symphony orchestra plays there usually every other week, and so we could go to see them perform when we wanted a change of pace. Maybe, in fact, we could go to see some little performance when you came back. It would be fun. Yes, I'm planning for when you come back from the war. Because I know everything will be perfect when you do. Dear Jeremy- 10:00 a.m. Hello, love... Oh- I found the perfect apartment! There's a spiral staircase, there are wood floors and oak kitchen cabinets... The furniture is nice and the apartments are totally new. It's all high security, and it even has an underground high security parking garage. It's got it's own washer and dryer, 11Ú2 baths, and the upstairs bedroom is actually the entire loft; it's about 15 feet long, and it's got a slanted roof... Oh, everything is great, and the guy said he'd even bargain it down to $650 a month. The catch??? Well, it's basically really far away. There are also at least two bus lines that run by it. But... I've got some heavy deciding to do... With that out of the way, I can write to you about how much I want you... You know, I really can't wait until I see you again... Until I can get you alone, take off your shirt, kiss your neck, your chest... feel your hand running over my shoulders, your tongue running along my ear... I want to be able to run my hands through your hair again, slide my nails down your back... Should I stop there? Well, I really don't want to, but I probably should... I love you to death, Jeremy. Can't wait to see you again. Dreamy eyes misses you... Dear Jeremy- January 20 5:00 p.m. Hello, the love of my life... the light of my nights... the apple of my eye... how are you? I Just thought I'd let you know that yes, once again, I'm thinking about you. I'm thinking about you in your hot tub... you in those cute denim shorts you have... I love you, honey, and I miss you- p.s. - I was at Dan's party Friday night, and he made a comment in a group that led me to believe that he didn't know about us (I know I've told him... he was talking about the men/women ratio, and he said "I think you're the only single woman here..." It was weird). So I told him on the phone today. I was always worried because I thought he'd be mad... I don't know, I just thought it would be a touchy subject. But it was over the phone, and it was short, so everything seems to be okay. I mean, I wouldn't want you thinking that I was trying to HIDE you from anyone, so I'm just trying to fill you in on these things... I love, you- Dear Jeremy- January 20 11:45 p.m. Just got off the phone with you. Why is this happening? I might not even get to see you for Valentine's Day. I know we've talked about this over and over again, but I don't feel any better. I know you don't want to go. I don't want you to go, either. So, leave. Skip the country. Go to Canada. I'll go with you. We can find jobs there. I just don't want you to die. Not when we've just begun to live. Dear Jeremy- January 22 11:55 p.m. Hello, honey. How are you? Doug came over tonight. And when he came over he brought food, and I just pigged out on chips and salsa. He bought french fries, cheese sticks and pepperoni pizza, too. And a diet Coke. Yeah, I just DARE you to understand it. I wanted to write to you today because I just got your card - you know, the one where you say that you love all the little moments we spend together, too... I just wanted to tell you that your card made me cry. I waited until I got home from class, then I fell into my bed, pulled over the covers, and opened it up. I cried. You're so sweet, Jeremy... and it's funny, but I think we sent out similar cards on the same days, because I figure that you got the card I sent you like that just a little while ago. Maybe we're getting into the same mood swings or something... or maybe it's just that we're both growing to care about each other in the same ways. I don't know what my problem is right now... I'm acting really strange.... I've been thinking about what I'm gong to do with my life... Who am I kidding? I know what the problem is. I don't want you to be shipped off to war. You leave the fifteenth of February, and I don't know if I can see you before then. Will we make it? Dear Jeremy- January 23 5:52 p.m. Hello, love. I want to start off this letter by telling you that I love you so much sometimes that it hurts. Really. Let me explain. I have been feeling down lately about the fact that you're not here, that you're leaving soon. I miss you. It's my turn to be depressed about it, I guess. I even was calling Midway Airlines to see if there was a flight that could bring me out to see you Tomorrow. Well, there is, but it's $757. No, that wasn't a typo... So I was calling around to see if I could use my Northwest Air voucher. I would have to take two different buses just to get myself home. And I'd get in Friday night (or should I say Saturday morning?) at 12:45 a.m., leaving Sunday morning at 8:30 a.m.. Yes, a whole day and a half. That's how much I want to see you, Jeremy. I was feverishly calling airlines and bus stations, as well as friends, just to see if I could lose a lot of sleep (and a lot of money, too) and see you for a day and a half. I just don't think I can afford it. I've been trying to keep myself busy, but it just doesn't work. I miss you. I got your message on my machine today - I loved it - in fact, I think I'm going to tape it, just so that I can listen to it whenever I want to. I miss the sound of your voice. I just want you to hold me again. Here I am, about to cry... See what you do to me? I mean, I've tried to sound happy to you on the phone, because I don't want you to feel all depressed about the fact that we're not together. But I can't help it any longer... Christ, it has only been 16 days since I've seen you. It feels like months. I just want to feel you kiss me, to hold me. I don't want you to let go of me. I feel miserable. I want to fall apart, or sleep for days, or something. Since I've sworn off liquor, I can't even go out and get drunk over it. It's just that I don't think you realize quite how much I miss you. Or quite how much I love you. I don't think I can say it creatively. I just want to feel your cheek next to mine when you hold me. I just want to feel you squeeze all the pain out of me when I'm depressed. I just don't want to feel so alone any more, so lonely. I just don't want to feel like a piece of me is missing. And when you go off to war I'm afraid I'll feel this hole inside of me forever, that I'll never be able to fill this void. Dear Jeremy- January 23 7:54 p.m. I'm feeling a little better, got my mind off my depression. I've been drinking coffee all day. I must be at least on my fourth cup since dinner. I'm not sure. But I'm starting to shake, I think. I can't really tell. My arms feel kind of weird. So does my head. Maybe I shouldn't drink this much. I want to see you. I want to be able to crawl into bed with you while you're laying on your back, lean my head on your shoulder, put my hand on your chest... kiss your cheek... shit. Why do I keep doing this to myself?? I'm just going to make myself feel worse. I just want to hold you. I want to watch t.v. with you, and sit on the floor with you sitting between my legs... so I can put my arms around you and unbutton you shirt, then your pants... or sit on the couch while you lay your head in my lap, so I can stroke your hair... run my fingers along your jaw... take your hand, kiss your palm, run my tongue up and down your fingers... I want to wear a negligee and come up to you while you're sitting on your bed and sit on your lap, straddling your legs, and kiss you for hours. I want to give you a face massage, so I can kiss you upside-down. I want to wrap my legs around you in a hot tub. I want to take a bath with you. I want to be able to run my hands up and down your body in the water, with a bar of soap... I want you in the shower. I want you to pick me up while we're kissing so I can wrap my legs around you. I want to grab onto the corners of the bed really tightly so you can push yourself into me over and over again, harder and harder... I have to stop. I'm sorry. I just can't take that any longer. I should go, I have to leave in a half hour. I'll be back in time for your phone call. Take my word for it- I miss you... Dear Jeremy- January 24 7:11 p.m. I have such an awful schedule... I thought I would have an easy time in planning a visit to see you later in this month, but I'm working on the weekends a lot. And everything is so well spaced out that my days feel like weeks. Well, I'm going to keep this short, since I've sent you so many letters already... Love you... Dear Jeremy- February 10 I hope you get this letter before you leave. I don't know how easy it will be for us to correspond when you're stationed in a war zone. I wanted to get you a Valentine's Day card, but I couldn't find anything that said what I wanted to say. I guess there's just too much to be said. I wanted to card to be serious, and yet I wanted the card to be funny. I wanted to make you laugh. Because that's exactly what you do for me. I wanted to let you know that I do notice it when you do things for me. I notice it all the time. You're so sweet, Jeremy, and I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you to call and talk to. Hell, I'd fly across the country for you. I think I wanted the card to be funny because we always crack jokes and act funny around each other. But I want you to know that I value you for more than that. You mean too much to me. I know I say it all the time, but I suppose I just want you to know it. To not have any doubts. I love you. It sounds hokey; it sounds stupid. I don't care. It's just that there are a select few things in life that I have learned to treasure. I may not say it enough, but you are one of them. I just remember thinking when I was down that I could tell you anything. I value that. I value being able to share things with you when I feel like there is no one to turn to. That means everything to me. If I didn't have you, Jeremy, I don't know what the hell I'd do. I'd probably just fall apart at the seams or something. It would be pretty messy. I'll put myself on the line for you. I'll hold you when you're feeling down. And maybe, every one in a while, I'll do something even when I don't owe you anything. Just because I love you. A lot of times I feel lonely, and I get to feeling down about myself and my life. I guess those are the times when it's just good to know that you're there, somewhere. I like being with you. You make me feel like I might actually be worth something. I need that every once in a while. And I guess that's why I'm writing this. I want you to know this, to have this, before you leave. I don't think I ever tell you enough that you're special, and that you mean a lot to me. I realize these things every once in a while about you, and I want you to know that I care about you so incredibly much that it hurts sometimes. May be you don't realize it sometimes, the way I realize it. So I'll tell you. I love you. I want you to know that I never want to lose you, and that I love you. I'll always treasure you, and value you. And I'll always be there for you. Let me know if I can ever make you feel as special as you make me feel. I love you, Jeremy, always remember that. I'll be waiting here for you, for the minute you come home. I love you. exerpts from the manuscript i've gotta write a book! by ira wiggins ...from "I've Got To Write a Book!" by Ira Wiggins Doctor's Days and Nights When I left the army I had paid off only a small amount of my debt to my father. Betty suggested that we take time off for the honeymoon which we had never had but I was not convinced. I was eager to start working in private practice, pay off my debts, buy a home and raise a family. We had decided that six or eight children would be about right, a number we were to reduce to four after the first baby and to further reduce to two after the second one. Declining to work as an employee or an associate, I preferred to be on my own and, through medical journals, had lined up several possibilities. One was a practice in the suburbs of Chicago, Betty and I looked at it and agreed that it was in an area that was too crowded, dirty, bustling and big-cityish. We both preferred life in a small town. The second place on our list was a small town, population 1,600, in southern Michigan, only about 35 miles north of the Indiana-Ohio border. It was on the highway between Chicago and Detroit., formerly the old indian Sauk trail. As we drove in from the north in my father's car we were impressed by the well-kept appearance of the farm homes and by the prosperous appearance of the fields and orchards. We were already half sold. The practice for sale was that of a recently deceased, older and well-loved physician. Office space was on the second floor over the bank building on main street. It consisted of a waiting room, a consultation-examining room and a drug room which did double duty as a dressing room for patients. On hot days I was to use a large block of ice in a pan with a fan behind it as a crude form of air-conditioning. The few hot days we had in southern Michigan did not warrant the expense of a regular air-conditioner, - at least not with my state of financial affairs. The town looked to us like our idea of a good place to raise a family and to start our life's work. The widow, Mrs. Fisk, let us know that she felt some responsibility for the type of physician she chose to bring to Jonesville. She intimated that the other physician in town, Dr. Luther Day, might not be entirely happy to see us come. When we met him we found the exact opposite to be true. He was overworked and was most eager to have another physician to share the responsibilities. He was cooperative to the extent that he even gave me the names of some of the most notorious "deadbeats" on his list. To me that was entirely "above and beyond the call of duty". His many acts of helpfulness and generosity to "the new doc in town" I will always remember. Mrs. Fisk was agreeable and on July 18, 1946 I gave her a check for $1,500.00 ($300.00 for drugs in stock and $1200.00 for equipment and medical records). The office space was owned and maintained by the bank. Rent was $25.00 per month (1946). Now there are certain disadvantages to having a doctor's office on the second floor with no elevator. For one thing, some disabled persons are unable to navigate the stairs. On the other hand I found the location not without its advantages. "How many times did you have to stop today coming up my stairs, Mr. Gillis?" "Y'know, doc, when I first came here I had to stop at least four times to rest coming up the stairs, but since I've been taking that heart medicine I only have to stop once, and I'm not breathing as hard when I get to the top." "That's good, Mr. Gillis. We'll continue the same dosage." Due to painting, cleaning and rearranging, the office was not scheduled to be opened until Aug, 12. Betty had agreed to be my nurse-receptionist for the initial months of my practice. Fortunately her memory for names was as phenomenal as mine was atrocious. On innumerable occasions she softly let me know a patient's name to save me embarrassment. Eleven days before the office was open a local widow lady called and asked me to see her in her home. I gladly complied. The diagnosis was arthritis and the charge was $3.00. Three days later, as I was leaving town for a few days just prior to opening the office, I dropped by her home to see if she was improving. No charge, of course. She was most impressed by this act of concern and told all the neighbors what a caring doctor I was. Well, she was my first patient in private practice and I wasn't about to let anything happen to her. On Monday Aug. 12, 1946, the first day the office was open, ten patients came in. The charges ranged from $1.00 (advice only) to $3.00, including medications. At 7:00 p.m. I was called to see a lady in her home 7 miles away ($6.00). Every patient paid cash and the total income for the day was $30.00. In the next few days there were Pre-marital blood tests ($1.00 each), suturing of an avulsion of the scalp ($10.00) and daily home calls ($3.00 plus mileage). The second Monday the office was open I saw only four patients, with a cash income of $8.00 and one $3.00 charge for a dressing. My busiest day of that month was Sat. Aug. 31 on which I saw nine patients in the office, made seven home calls and an emergency call to the local asphalt plant where a man had been run over by a coal car. He was being pronounced dead by Dr. Day as I arrived. Frantic by-standers had called both of us to the scene. Total income for the day was $51.00 cash and $7.00 in charges. The following day (Sunday) I made four home calls and sutured a lacerated arm in the office. Medical practice in a small town, I found, was to be a 24-hour-a-day, seven days a week job. A few years later, during a flu epidemic, I made 15 home calls one Sunday before instructing Betty to refuse further calls. The reason? I had the flu myself and was running a fever higher than most of the patients I was seeing. ***** One of the patients I had inherited from Dr. Fisk was a pleasant elderly lady who informed me she just wanted to come in once a month "to talk like I always did with Dr. Fisk." She was happy to pay for an office call each time. The blood pressure check and examination of the heart and lungs were incidental and unimportant to her. ***** During this post-war period there was a long waiting period for new cars. I was driving a car borrowed from dad and paying him $70.00 a month for its use but was anxious to return it to him. When I approached a local auto dealer in Jonesville he offered to put me in a priority position on the list if I would make it worth his while with an extra $500.00. The hospital was located in Hillsdale, five miles away. When I went to the Chevrolet dealer there and explained my situation he graciously put me in a priority position and I was soon driving a new car. The price was $1,249.00. During my subsequent 20 years in Jonesville the only cars I bought were Chevrolets. ***** I had been in Jonesville a couple of weeks and had never met Mrs. Fisk's elderly mother who lived alone across the street from her. I rang the door bell, black bag in hand and, I assume, with a bright, eager countenance. After the sound of shuffling steps the door was half opened by a rather tall, thin, slightly stooped lady with the furrowed face of age but with a clear, unfaltering voice. "Yes, what do you want?" No wasted words for her. "I'm Doctor Wiggins. You asked for me to come." "Oh, my goodness, I wasn't expecting a boy. Come right in." She meant no offense and I tried to take it in my stride but that wasn't the greatest confidence-builder I had ever encountered. After that we got along fine and she seemed to treat me with at least a little bit of respect. However, she usually did manage to let me know what she thought the diagnosis was and I had a tendency to listen to her suggestions as to what she felt the appropriate treatment might be. After all it might be some time before I became as familiar with her condition as she already was. It was about then that I entertained serious thoughts of growing a beard or mustache but got no encouragement from Betty. I endured the frequent "My, you look young for a doctor," and, as years passed, it became less and less frequent until one day I realized no one was saying that to me anymore. ***** In my first year of practice it was not unusual for me to take a blood specimen from a patient in his home and return to the office to do the blood count myself - as in a case of abdominal pain where I suspected appendicitis. On one occasion I even did a diagnostic spinal tap on a farmer in his home. Having found him with fever, headache and stiff neck, it was necessary to consider the dreaded meningitis. So I returned to the office, got the sterile spinal tap set, returned, did the spinal tap, then back to the office to examine the specimen under the microscope. There were an abnormal number of lymphocytes but no "polys", so the serious type of meningitis was pretty well ruled out. I phoned him to give him the good news and then learned by questioning that his daughter had recently recovered from mumps. That was the diagnosis: mumps meningitis. It often occurs without any swelling of the mumps glands and usually runs a quite benign course. He completely recovered in a few days, the only medication being aspirin. After the first year in practice I became too busy to do my own laboratory work and subsequently referred such cases to the hospital lab. Too bad, in a way, for I had saved the patients considerable bother and money. Presently, doing a spinal tap in the home without elaborate sterile precautions and proper assistance would, no doubt, be severely frowned upon - or even the basis for a malpractice suit. ***** The advent of multiple, effective, broad-spectrum antibiotics had not yet arrived during my first few years of practice. We had penicillin and the sulfas but tetracycline was only on the horizon; the -mycin drugs and their multiple, subsequent, highly effective derivatives were yet to be - with their initial introductory price of $1.00 per capsule. At such a price some of my patients declined the medication. Chronic pelvic inflammatory disease (P.I.D. for short) was thus difficult to treat. One treatment used was weekly injections into the hip (intramuscular) of two to five cc. of sterile milk. The milk used was the regular, household, pasteurized and homogenized cows milk which was delivered to homes in glass bottles with round cardboard stoppers. (Remember how in sub-zero weather the milk would freeze, pushing up the top to sit at an angle on a cylinder of frozen milk?) It was boiled, allowed to cool and the appropriate amount drawn into a syringe with a long needle. This foreign protein caused the patient to have a foreign reaction lasting two - four days. It was often reasonably successful in accomplishing relief of chronic pelvic discomfort due to P.I.D. ***** Our town was served by two telephone systems: Bell and the Independent System. There was no "cross-over" service, so we had two telephones on the receptionist's desk, in the examining room, in our bedroom and in the living room. When the phone rang in the middle of the night I, often as rot, grabbed the wrong one. I learned to sleepily ask Betty, "Which phone was that?" The Independent system was on its way out but had its advantages. "Mert" knew everyone and everything. If I would ask her to ring a certain number she might say, "Oh, they're over at McGriff's this afternoon. I'll ring there for you." Or, "There is no one home there. I just saw them walk by the office here, but it looked like they were headed toward home, so you might try them in a few minutes." Small town charm? You bet! ***** Betty laughingly told me of the call she had from a young man wanting to know if the doctor was an "army doctor". "He used to be, but is now in private civilian practice," was her answer. That was all he wanted to know. He had no use for anyone who had ever been a doctor in the army. He made no appointment. ***** One evening I received a phoned request to make a home call on a farmer's wife near Jonesville. The name rang a bell. Dr. Day had told me this man was in the habit of non-payment of medical bills but would often offer a $100.00 bill to be changed when a doctor made a home-call. I went prepared. After examining and prescribing for his wife I said, "That will be $5.00, Mr. Simpson (not his real name)". He went to the other room and returned. "This seems to be the smallest bill I have. I don't suppose you can change it." "Sure I can. No problem. Here is your $95.00 change." I don't remember ever being called again to care for the man or his family. ***** Dr. Fisk's medical records were hand-written, brief and often in code, I rapidly became expert in deciphering his writing. 0ne item, however, stumped me for several weeks, A commonly used medication noted in his records was "c.c. tabs. - ii q.i.d." This translated to "2 c.c. tablets four times daily." But what on earth were "c.c." tablets. They were given, I noted, to patients with fever, colds, flu and respiratory illnesses. In the drug room was a large bottle labeled "acetylsalicylic acid tabs., brown" and another labeled "acetylsalicylic acid tabs., pink" - brown aspirin and pink aspirin. I knew his code for the latter was "asa. p." It dawned on me that c.c. might stand for "chocolate colored". Showing the pills to a patient who had been taking "c.c." confirmed it. The pink ones were used for arthritis and rheumatism: the brown ones were used for fever and flu and colds. Many of his patients swore by them and would accept no substitute. I had frequent requests for "those brown cold tablets" or "the pink arthritis tablets". At the end of 20 years of Practice in Jonesville I still carried both types in stock and they continued to give relief. At one point I was employing a practical nurse as nurse-receptionist and was amazed one day when she came to me with a cold and asked, "Dr. Wiggins, which is it I should take for my cold, the pink or the brown aspirin?" I solemnly answered, "0h, the brown ones." No patient ever asked what they contained and I never volunteered. The closest anyone ever came was a lady who came in for the brown tablets any time she had a cold. On one such visit she said, "I don't know what those tablets are, maybe only aspirin, but just taking plain aspirin at home never does near as much good." Faith, perhaps. ***** During October of my first year the electric bill for my office was $2.88. I bought a small electric heater to supplement the forced air heat provided by the bank and in November the electric bill rose to a dizzying $8.14. Filling my car with gas cost $2.00 - $3.00, depending on how empty the tank was. During the four and a half months of my practice in 1946 I delivered only two babies. Expectant mothers prefer an older doctor. In 1950 the number rose to 32 deliveries and increased each year until it exceeded 100 per year. I found delivering babies to be an uplifting and joyous experience. The new parents are immensely relieved to have an end to the long period of waiting and equally relieved to have a normal baby. All in all it was a very satisfying part of the practice of medicine, despite the disruption of office hours and the middle-of-the-night calls to the hospital labor and delivery rooms. The fact of being up all night supporting a woman in labor and delivering the baby did not excuse me from arising at the usual time the next morning for office hours and hospital ward-rounds. ***** I was the family physician for an industrious and pleasant farm family near Jonesville. They had two children when I moved to Jonesville and I delivered the next three. The wife was a bucolic, easy-going but hard-working woman of very stocky build. She invariably came for her first Pre-natal visit to me sometime during the 8th month of her pregnancy. When I asked her the usual, "And what can I do for you, Mrs. ---?", she would chuckle with satisfaction and say, "You mean you can't tell, doctor?" She always corseted herself so severely during her pregnancies that her condition was in no way apparent. She was overweight and usually gained no weight at all during her pregnancies. Her neighbors and friends never had an inkling she was expecting until the husband announced that she was in the hospital having a baby. I never saw any ill effects on mother or baby resulting from this ill-advised, severe constriction of the abdomen. philosophy let us first start this philosophy section with an essay by matt yotko... we hope you enjoy it... The Herding of the Public Sheep First, let me say that I love this country and I love my freedoms. ALL of them. I hold a deep appreciation for the sacrifices that have been made by others in order to preserve those freedoms. Apparently, our leadership does not. After reading some of the unilaterally endorsed bills that are on the hill right now, I have come to a new understanding of what it means to possess freedom. The sacrifices of freedom which our government has been considering in 'quick fix' solutions to wide ranging problems such as teenage violence and domestic terrorism, in order to attain some artificial level of safety, is staggering. Tyndall once wrote "It is as fatal as it is cowardly to blink facts because they are not to our taste." What he says here is that every one of us whom merely accepts the paradigms put forth by our institutions, and takes no action to analyze or comprehend their underlying basis for ourselves, behaves reprehensibly. When a society does this, it moves closer to self-extinction. Fortunately, the founding fathers realized this. They took action within our government to limit its power, and to pass the majority of the scope of decision making into the hands of the society, where it belongs. This most honorable and grave responsibility is now being taken away from us. This brings me to my point. There has been a tremendous shift in the stance on government toward control in the politics of protection lately. I would really like to know why. Why are We, the people milling about as a herd of sheep waiting to be fed? What in the hell are we thinking? Are we so devoid of personal awareness that it has now become acceptable to sacrifice every bit of our humanity in order to avoid confrontation when we see somebody step out of line? I would swear that I've heard bleating a couple of times! Recent proposals by our government have been put forth to create further restrictions on our constitutional freedoms in areas ranging from purchase of firearms to the ability to visit the local public library and check out classical reading material. Such sacrifices of personal and private freedoms could only come from a society programmed to accept whatever dogma is spewed forth by the media as gospel, and the truly frightening part is that these proposals are being met with significant public support! Why not simply require thought? That's it. Require people to think before they act, and punish them appropriately when they don't. It isn't an enforceable law, and it shouldn't be. When we observe something that's obviously wrong, we should correct it and leave an impression. Place the responsibility for transgressions on the culprit and stop punishing society. It isn't society's fault if some idiot decides to start molesting children. Enough of the touchy-feely you can be rehabilitated and become a productive member of society garbage. Make it hurt. Because if we don't, it wont be long before it's time for our 'federally mandated' neural implants. It's for our own protection. Really. Of course, that just my opinion, I could be wrong! But I doubt it -Yotko Yotko is an arrogant know-it-all whose occasional unsyndicated opinion column, A Rant of My Own, fails to appear in more than 250 papers nationwide. now, here is the philosophy you were looking for... in parts: 1690 CONCERNING CIVIL GOVERNMENT, SECOND ESSAY AN ESSAY CONCERNING THE TRUE ORIGINAL EXTENT AND END OF CIVIL GOVERNMENT by John Locke Chapter I Of Political Power 1. It having been shown in the foregoing discourse:* * An Essay Concerning Certain False Principles. Firstly. That Adam had not, either by natural right of fatherhood or by positive donation from God, any such authority over his children, nor dominion over the world, as is pretended. Secondly. That if he had, his heirs yet had no right to it. Thirdly. That if his heirs had, there being no law of Nature nor positive law of God that determines which is the right heir in all cases that may arise, the right of succession, and consequently of bearing rule, could not have been certainly determined. Fourthly. That if even that had been determined, yet the knowledge of which is the eldest line of Adam's posterity being so long since utterly lost, that in the races of mankind and families of the world, there remains not to one above another the least pretence to be the eldest house, and to have the right of inheritance. All these promises having, as I think, been clearly made out, it is impossible that the rulers now on earth should make any benefit, or derive any the least shadow of authority from that which is held to be the fountain of all power, "Adam's private dominion and paternal jurisdiction"; so that he that will not give just occasion to think that all government in the world is the product only of force and violence, and that men live together by no other rules but that of beasts, where the strongest carries it, and so lay a foundation for perpetual disorder and mischief, tumult, sedition, and rebellion (things that the followers of that hypothesis so loudly cry out against), must of necessity find out another rise of government, another original of political power, and another way of designing and knowing the persons that have it than what Sir Robert Filmer hath taught us. 2. To this purpose, I think it may not be amiss to set down what I take to be political power. That the power of a magistrate over a subject may be distinguished from that of a father over his children, a master over his servant, a husband over his wife, and a lord over his slave. All which distinct powers happening sometimes together in the same man, if he be considered under these different relations, it may help us to distinguish these powers one from another, and show the difference betwixt a ruler of a commonwealth, a father of a family, and a captain of a galley. 3. Political power, then, I take to be a right of making laws, with penalties of death, and consequently all less penalties for the regulating and preserving of property, and of employing the force of the community in the execution of such laws, and in the defence of the commonwealth from foreign injury, and all this only for the public good. Chapter II Of the State of Nature 4. To understand political power aright, and derive it from its original, we must consider what estate all men are naturally in, and that is, a state of perfect freedom to order their actions, and dispose of their possessions and persons as they think fit, within the bounds of the law of Nature, without asking leave or depending upon the will of any other man. A state also of equality, wherein all the power and jurisdiction is reciprocal, no one having more than another, there being nothing more evident than that creatures of the same species and rank, promiscuously born to all the same advantages of Nature, and the use of the same faculties, should also be equal one amongst another, without subordination or subjection, unless the lord and master of them all should, by any manifest declaration of his will, set one above another, and confer on him, by an evident and clear appointment, an undoubted right to dominion and sovereignty. 5. This equality of men by Nature, the judicious Hooker looks upon as so evident in itself, and beyond all question, that he makes it the foundation of that obligation to mutual love amongst men on which he builds the duties they owe one another, and from whence he derives the great maxims of justice and charity. His words are: "The like natural inducement hath brought men to know that it is no less their duty to love others than themselves, for seeing those things which are equal, must needs all have one measure; if I cannot but wish to receive good, even as much at every man's hands, as any man can wish unto his own soul, how should I look to have any part of my desire herein satisfied, unless myself be careful to satisfy the like desire, which is undoubtedly in other men weak, being of one and the same nature: to have anything offered them repugnant to this desire must needs, in all respects, grieve them as much as me; so that if I do harm, I must look to suffer, there being no reason that others should show greater measure of love to me than they have by me showed unto them; my desire, therefore, to be loved of my equals in Nature, as much as possible may be, imposeth upon me a natural duty of bearing to themward fully the like affection. From which relation of equality between ourselves and them that are as ourselves, what several rules and canons natural reason hath drawn for direction of life no man is ignorant." (Eccl. Pol. i.)* * Richard Hooker, The Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity. 6. But though this be a state of liberty, yet it is not a state of licence; though man in that state have an uncontrollable liberty to dispose of his person or possessions, yet he has not liberty to destroy himself, or so much as any creature in his possession, but where some nobler use than its bare preservation calls for it. The state of Nature has a law of Nature to govern it, which obliges every one, and reason, which is that law, teaches all mankind who will but consult it, that being all equal and independent, no one ought to harm another in his life, health, liberty or possessions; for men being all the workmanship of one omnipotent and infinitely wise Maker; all the servants of one sovereign Master, sent into the world by His order and about His business; they are His property, whose workmanship they are made to last during His, not one another's pleasure. And, being furnished with like faculties, sharing all in one community of Nature, there cannot be supposed any such subordination among us that may authorise us to destroy one another, as if we were made for one another's uses, as the inferior ranks of creatures are for ours. Every one as he is bound to preserve himself, and not to quit his station wilfully, so by the like reason, when his own preservation comes not in competition, ought he as much as he can to preserve the rest of mankind, and not unless it be to do justice on an offender, take away or impair the life, or what tends to the preservation of the life, the liberty, health, limb, or goods of another. 7. And that all men may be restrained from invading others' rights, and from doing hurt to one another, and the law of Nature be observed, which willeth the peace and preservation of all mankind, the execution of the law of Nature is in that state put into every man's hands, whereby every one has a right to punish the transgressors of that law to such a degree as may hinder its violation. For the law of Nature would, as all other laws that concern men in this world, be in vain if there were nobody that in the state of Nature had a power to execute that law, and thereby preserve the innocent and restrain offenders; and if any one in the state of Nature may punish another for any evil he has done, every one may do so. For in that state of perfect equality, where naturally there is no superiority or jurisdiction of one over another, what any may do in prosecution of that law, every one must needs have a right to do. 8. And thus, in the state of Nature, one man comes by a power over another, but yet no absolute or arbitrary power to use a criminal, when he has got him in his hands, according to the passionate heats or boundless extravagancy of his own will, but only to retribute to him so far as calm reason and conscience dictate, what is proportionate to his transgression, which is so much as may serve for reparation and restraint. For these two are the only reasons why one man may lawfully do harm to another, which is that we call punishment. In transgressing the law of Nature, the offender declares himself to live by another rule than that of reason and common equity, which is that measure God has set to the actions of men for their mutual security, and so he becomes dangerous to mankind; the tie which is to secure them from injury and violence being slighted and broken by him, which being a trespass against the whole species, and the peace and safety of it, provided for by the law of Nature, every man upon this score, by the right he hath to preserve mankind in general, may restrain, or where it is necessary, destroy things noxious to them, and so may bring such evil on any one who hath transgressed that law, as may make him repent the doing of it, and thereby deter him, and, by his example, others from doing the like mischief. And in this case, and upon this ground, every man hath a right to punish the offender, and be executioner of the law of Nature. 9. I doubt not but this will seem a very strange doctrine to some men; but before they condemn it, I desire them to resolve me by what right any prince or state can put to death or punish an alien for any crime he commits in their country? It is certain their laws, by virtue of any sanction they receive from the promulgated will of the legislature, reach not a stranger. They speak not to him, nor, if they did, is he bound to hearken to them. The legislative authority by which they are in force over the subjects of that commonwealth hath no power over him. Those who have the supreme power of making laws in England, France, or Holland are, to an Indian, but like the rest of the world- men without authority. And therefore, if by the law of Nature every man hath not a power to punish offences against it, as he soberly judges the case to require, I see not how the magistrates of any community can punish an alien of another country, since, in reference to him, they can have no more power than what every man naturally may have over another. 10. Besides the crime which consists in violating the laws, and varying from the right rule of reason, whereby a man so far becomes degenerate, and declares himself to quit the principles of human nature and to be a noxious creature, there is commonly injury done, and some person or other, some other man, receives damage by his transgression; in which case, he who hath received any damage has (besides the right of punishment common to him, with other men) a particular right to seek reparation from him that hath done it. And any other person who finds it just may also join with him that is injured, and assist him in recovering from the offender so much as may make satisfaction for the harm he hath suffered. 11. From these two distinct rights (the one of punishing the crime, for restraint and preventing the like offence, which right of punishing is in everybody, the other of taking reparation, which belongs only to the injured party) comes it to pass that the magistrate, who by being magistrate hath the common right of punishing put into his hands, can often, where the public good demands not the execution of the law, remit the punishment of criminal offences by his own authority, but yet cannot remit the satisfaction due to any private man for the damage he has received. That he who hath suffered the damage has a right to demand in his own name, and he alone can remit. The damnified person has this power of appropriating to himself the goods or service of the offender by right of self-preservation, as every man has a power to punish the crime to prevent its being committed again, by the right he has of preserving all mankind, and doing all reasonable things he can in order to that end. And thus it is that every man in the state of Nature has a power to kill a murderer, both to deter others from doing the like injury (which no reparation can compensate) by the example of the punishment that attends it from everybody, and also to secure men from the attempts of a criminal who, having renounced reason, the common rule and measure God hath given to mankind, hath, by the unjust violence and slaughter he hath committed upon one, declared war against all mankind, and therefore may be destroyed as a lion or a tiger, one of those wild savage beasts with whom men can have no society nor security. And upon this is grounded that great law of nature, "Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed." And Cain was so fully convinced that every one had a right to destroy such a criminal, that, after the murder of his brother, he cries out, "Every one that findeth me shall slay me," so plain was it writ in the hearts of all mankind. 12. By the same reason may a man in the state of Nature punish the lesser breaches of that law, it will, perhaps, be demanded, with death? I answer: Each transgression may be punished to that degree, and with so much severity, as will suffice to make it an ill bargain to the offender, give him cause to repent, and terrify others from doing the like. Every offence that can be committed in the state of Nature may, in the state of Nature, be also punished equally, and as far forth, as it may, in a commonwealth. For though it would be beside my present purpose to enter here into the particulars of the law of Nature, or its measures of punishment, yet it is certain there is such a law, and that too as intelligible and plain to a rational creature and a studier of that law as the positive laws of commonwealths, nay, possibly plainer; as much as reason is easier to be understood than the fancies and intricate contrivances of men, following contrary and hidden interests put into words; for truly so are a great part of the municipal laws of countries, which are only so far right as they are founded on the law of Nature, by which they are to be regulated and interpreted. 13. To this strange doctrine- viz., That in the state of Nature every one has the executive power of the law of Nature- I doubt not but it will be objected that it is unreasonable for men to be judges in their own cases, that self-love will make men partial to themselves and their friends; and, on the other side, ill-nature, passion, and revenge will carry them too far in punishing others, and hence nothing but confusion and disorder will follow, and that therefore God hath certainly appointed government to restrain the partiality and violence of men. I easily grant that civil government is the proper remedy for the inconveniences of the state of Nature, which must certainly be great where men may be judges in their own case, since it is easy to be imagined that he who was so unjust as to do his brother an injury will scarce be so just as to condemn himself for it. But I shall desire those who make this objection to remember that absolute monarchs are but men; and if government is to be the remedy of those evils which necessarily follow from men being judges in their own cases, and the state of Nature is therefore not to be endured, I desire to know what kind of government that is, and how much better it is than the state of Nature, where one man commanding a multitude has the liberty to be judge in his own case, and may do to all his subjects whatever he pleases without the least question or control of those who execute his pleasure? and in whatsoever he doth, whether led by reason, mistake, or passion, must be submitted to? which men in the state of Nature are not bound to do one to another. And if he that judges, judges amiss in his own or any other case, he is answerable for it to the rest of mankind. 14. It is often asked as a mighty objection, where are, or ever were, there any men in such a state of Nature? To which it may suffice as an answer at present, that since all princes and rulers of "independent" governments all through the world are in a state of Nature, it is plain the world never was, nor never will be, without numbers of men in that state. I have named all governors of "independent" communities, whether they are, or are not, in league with others; for it is not every compact that puts an end to the state of Nature between men, but only this one of agreeing together mutually to enter into one community, and make one body politic; other promises and compacts men may make one with another, and yet still be in the state of Nature. The promises and bargains for truck, etc., between the two men in Soldania, in or between a Swiss and an Indian, in the woods of America, are binding to them, though they are perfectly in a state of Nature in reference to one another for truth, and keeping of faith belongs to men as men, and not as members of society. 15. To those that say there were never any men in the state of Nature, I will not oppose the authority of the judicious Hooker (Eccl. Pol. i. 10), where he says, "the laws which have been hitherto mentioned"- i.e., the laws of Nature- "do bind men absolutely, even as they are men, although they have never any settled fellowship, never any solemn agreement amongst themselves what to do or not to do; but for as much as we are not by ourselves sufficient to furnish ourselves with competent store of things needful for such a life as our Nature doth desire, a life fit for the dignity of man, therefore to supply those defects and imperfections which are in us, as living single and solely by ourselves, we are naturally induced to seek communion and fellowship with others; this was the cause of men uniting themselves as first in politic societies." But I, moreover, affirm that all men are naturally in that state, and remain so till, by their own consents, they make themselves members of some politic society, and I doubt not, in the sequel of this discourse, to make it very clear. Chapter III Of the State of War 16. The state of war is a state of enmity and destruction; and therefore declaring by word or action, not a passionate and hasty, but sedate, settled design upon another man's life puts him in a state of war with him against whom he has declared such an intention, and so has exposed his life to the other's power to be taken away by him, or any one that joins with him in his defence, and espouses his quarrel; it being reasonable and just I should have a right to destroy that which threatens me with destruction; for by the fundamental law of Nature, man being to be preserved as much as possible, when all cannot be preserved, the safety of the innocent is to be preferred, and one may destroy a man who makes war upon him, or has discovered an enmity to his being, for the same reason that he may kill a wolf or a lion, because they are not under the ties of the common law of reason, have no other rule but that of force and violence, and so may be treated as a beast of prey, those dangerous and noxious creatures that will be sure to destroy him whenever he falls into their power. 17. And hence it is that he who attempts to get another man into his absolute power does thereby put himself into a state of war with him; it being to be understood as a declaration of a design upon his life. For I have reason to conclude that he who would get me into his power without my consent would use me as he pleased when he had got me there, and destroy me too when he had a fancy to it; for nobody can desire to have me in his absolute power unless it be to compel me by force to that which is against the right of my freedom- i.e. make me a slave. To be free from such force is the only security of my preservation, and reason bids me look on him as an enemy to my preservation who would take away that freedom which is the fence to it; so that he who makes an attempt to enslave me thereby puts himself into a state of war with me. He that in the state of Nature would take away the freedom that belongs to any one in that state must necessarily be supposed to have a design to take away everything else, that freedom being the foundation of all the rest; as he that in the state of society would take away the freedom belonging to those of that society or commonwealth must be supposed to design to take away from them everything else, and so be looked on as in a state of war. 18. This makes it lawful for a man to kill a thief who has not in the least hurt him, nor declared any design upon his life, any farther than by the use of force, so to get him in his power as to take away his money, or what he pleases, from him; because using force, where he has no right to get me into his power, let his pretence be what it will, I have no reason to suppose that he who would take away my liberty would not, when he had me in his power, take away everything else. And, therefore, it is lawful for me to treat him as one who has put himself into a state of war with me- i.e., kill him if I can; for to that hazard does he justly expose himself whoever introduces a state of war, and is aggressor in it. 19. And here we have the plain difference between the state of Nature and the state of war, which however some men have confounded, are as far distant as a state of peace, goodwill, mutual assistance, and preservation; and a state of enmity, malice, violence and mutual destruction are one from another. Men living together according to reason without a common superior on earth, with authority to judge between them, is properly the state of Nature. But force, or a declared design of force upon the person of another, where there is no common superior on earth to appeal to for relief, is the state of war; and it is the want of such an appeal gives a man the right of war even against an aggressor, though he be in society and a fellow-subject. Thus, a thief whom I cannot harm, but by appeal to the law, for having stolen all that I am worth, I may kill when he sets on me to rob me but of my horse or coat, because the law, which was made for my preservation, where it cannot interpose to secure my life from present force, which if lost is capable of no reparation, permits me my own defence and the right of war, a liberty to kill the aggressor, because the aggressor allows not time to appeal to our common judge, nor the decision of the law, for remedy in a case where the mischief may be irreparable. Want of a common judge with authority puts all men in a state of Nature; force without right upon a man's person makes a state of war both where there is, and is not, a common judge. 20. But when the actual force is over, the state of war ceases between those that are in society and are equally on both sides subject to the judge; and, therefore, in such controversies, where the question is put, "Who shall be judge?" it cannot be meant who shall decide the controversy; every one knows what Jephtha here tells us, that "the Lord the Judge" shall judge. Where there is no judge on earth the appeal lies to God in Heaven. That question then cannot mean who shall judge, whether another hath put himself in a state of war with me, and whether I may, as Jephtha did, appeal to Heaven in it? Of that I myself can only judge in my own conscience, as I will answer it at the great day to the Supreme Judge of all men. Chapter IV Of Slavery 21. The natural liberty of man is to be free from any superior power on earth, and not to be under the will or legislative authority of man, but to have only the law of Nature for his rule. The liberty of man in society is to be under no other legislative power but that established by consent in the commonwealth, nor under the dominion of any will, or restraint of any law, but what that legislative shall enact according to the trust put in it. Freedom, then, is not what Sir Robert Filmer tells us: "A liberty for every one to do what he lists, to live as he pleases, and not to be tied by any laws"; but freedom of men under government is to have a standing rule to live by, common to every one of that society, and made by the legislative power erected in it. A liberty to follow my own will in all things where that rule prescribes not, not to be subject to the inconstant, uncertain, unknown, arbitrary will of another man, as freedom of nature is to be under no other restraint but the law of Nature. 22. This freedom from absolute, arbitrary power is so necessary to, and closely joined with, a man's preservation, that he cannot part with it but by what forfeits his preservation and life together. For a man, not having the power of his own life, cannot by compact or his own consent enslave himself to any one, nor put himself under the absolute, arbitrary power of another to take away his life when he pleases. Nobody can give more power than he has himself, and he that cannot take away his own life cannot give another power over it. Indeed, having by his fault forfeited his own life by some act that deserves death, he to whom he has forfeited it may, when he has him in his power, delay to take it, and make use of him to his own service; and he does him no injury by it. For, whenever he finds the hardship of his slavery outweigh the value of his life, it is in his power, by resisting the will of his master, to draw on himself the death he desires. 23. This is the perfect condition of slavery, which is nothing else but the state of war continued between a lawful conqueror and a captive, for if once compact enter between them, and make an agreement for a limited power on the one side, and obedience on the other, the state of war and slavery ceases as long as the compact endures; for, as has been said, no man can by agreement pass over to another that which he hath not in himself- a power over his own life. I confess, we find among the Jews, as well as other nations, that men did sell themselves; but it is plain this was only to drudgery, not to slavery; for it is evident the person sold was not under an absolute, arbitrary, despotical power, for the master could not have power to kill him at any time, whom at a certain time he was obliged to let go free out of his service; and the master of such a servant was so far from having an arbitrary power over his life that he could not at pleasure so much as maim him, but the loss of an eye or tooth set him free (Exod. 21.). Chapter V Of Property 24. Whether we consider natural reason, which tells us that men, being once born, have a right to their preservation, and consequently to meat and drink and such other things as Nature affords for their subsistence, or "revelation," which gives us an account of those grants God made of the world to Adam, and to Noah and his sons, it is very clear that God, as King David says (Psalm 115. 16), "has given the earth to the children of men," given it to mankind in common. But, this being supposed, it seems to some a very great difficulty how any one should ever come to have a property in anything, I will not content myself to answer, that, if it be difficult to make out "property" upon a supposition that God gave the world to Adam and his posterity in common, it is impossible that any man but one universal monarch should have any "property" upon a supposition that God gave the world to Adam and his heirs in succession, exclusive of all the rest of his posterity; but I shall endeavour to show how men might come to have a property in several parts of that which God gave to mankind in common, and that without any express compact of all the commoners. 25. God, who hath given the world to men in common, hath also given them reason to make use of it to the best advantage of life and convenience. The earth and all that is therein is given to men for the support and comfort of their being. And though all the fruits it naturally produces, and beasts it feeds, belong to mankind in common, as they are produced by the spontaneous hand of Nature, and nobody has originally a private dominion exclusive of the rest of mankind in any of them, as they are thus in their natural state, yet being given for the use of men, there must of necessity be a means to appropriate them some way or other before they can be of any use, or at all beneficial, to any particular men. The fruit or venison which nourishes the wild Indian, who knows no enclosure, and is still a tenant in common, must be his, and so his- i.e., a part of him, that another can no longer have any right to it before it can do him any good for the support of his life. 26. Though the earth and all inferior creatures be common to all men, yet every man has a "property" in his own "person." This nobody has any right to but himself. The "labour" of his body and the "work" of his hands, we may say, are properly his. Whatsoever, then, he removes out of the state that Nature hath provided and left it in, he hath mixed his labour with it, and joined to it something that is his own, and thereby makes it his property. It being by him removed from the common state Nature placed it in, it hath by this labour something annexed to it that excludes the common right of other men. For this "labour" being the unquestionable property of the labourer, no man but he can have a right to what that is once joined to, at least where there is enough, and as good left in common for others. 27. He that is nourished by the acorns he picked up under an oak, or the apples he gathered from the trees in the wood, has certainly appropriated them to himself. Nobody can deny but the nourishment is his. I ask, then, when did they begin to be his? when he digested? or when he ate? or when he boiled? or when he brought them home? or when he picked them up? And it is plain, if the first gathering made them not his, nothing else could. That labour put a distinction between them and common. That added something to them more than Nature, the common mother of all, had done, and so they became his private right. And will any one say he had no right to those acorns or apples he thus appropriated because he had not the consent of all mankind to make them his? Was it a robbery thus to assume to himself what belonged to all in common? If such a consent as that was necessary, man had starved, notwithstanding the plenty God had given him. We see in commons, which remain so by compact, that it is the taking any part of what is common, and removing it out of the state Nature leaves it in, which begins the property, without which the common is of no use. And the taking of this or that part does not depend on the express consent of all the commoners. Thus, the grass my horse has bit, the turfs my servant has cut, and the ore I have digged in any place, where I have a right to them in common with others, become my property without the assignation or consent of anybody. The labour that was mine, removing them out of that common state they were in, hath fixed my property in them. 28. By making an explicit consent of every commoner necessary to any one's appropriating to himself any part of what is given in common. Children or servants could not cut the meat which their father or master had provided for them in common without assigning to every one his peculiar part. Though the water running in the fountain be every one's, yet who can doubt but that in the pitcher is his only who drew it out? His labour hath taken it out of the hands of Nature where it was common, and belonged equally to all her children, and hath thereby appropriated it to himself. 29. Thus this law of reason makes the deer that Indian's who hath killed it; it is allowed to be his goods who hath bestowed his labour upon it, though, before, it was the common right of every one. And amongst those who are counted the civilised part of mankind, who have made and multiplied positive laws to determine property, this original law of Nature for the beginning of property, in what was before common, still takes place, and by virtue thereof, what fish any one catches in the ocean, that great and still remaining common of mankind; or what amber-gris any one takes up here is by the labour that removes it out of that common state Nature left it in, made his property who takes that pains about it. And even amongst us, the hare that any one is hunting is thought his who pursues her during the chase. For being a beast that is still looked upon as common, and no man's private possession, whoever has employed so much labour about any of that kind as to find and pursue her has thereby removed her from the state of Nature wherein she was common, and hath begun a property. 30. It will, perhaps, be objected to this, that if gathering the acorns or other fruits of the earth, etc., makes a right to them, then any one may engross as much as he will. To which I answer, Not so. The same law of Nature that does by this means give us property, does also bound that property too. "God has given us all things richly." Is the voice of reason confirmed by inspiration? But how far has He given it us- "to enjoy"? As much as any one can make use of to any advantage of life before it spoils, so much he may by his labour fix a property in. Whatever is beyond this is more than his share, and belongs to others. Nothing was made by God for man to spoil or destroy. And thus considering the plenty of natural provisions there was a long time in the world, and the few spenders, and to how small a part of that provision the industry of one man could extend itself and engross it to the prejudice of others, especially keeping within the bounds set by reason of what might serve for his use, there could be then little room for quarrels or contentions about property so established. 31. But the chief matter of property being now not the fruits of the earth and the beasts that subsist on it, but the earth itself, as that which takes in and carries with it all the rest, I think it is plain that property in that too is acquired as the former. As much land as a man tills, plants, improves, cultivates, and can use the product of, so much is his property. He by his labour does, as it were, enclose it from the common. Nor will it invalidate his right to say everybody else has an equal title to it, and therefore he cannot appropriate, he cannot enclose, without the consent of all his fellow-commoners, all mankind. God, when He gave the world in common to all mankind, commanded man also to labour, and the penury of his condition required it of him. God and his reason commanded him to subdue the earth- i.e., improve it for the benefit of life and therein lay out something upon it that was his own, his labour. He that, in obedience to this command of God, subdued, tilled, and sowed any part of it, thereby annexed to it something that was his property, which another had no title to, nor could without injury take from him. 32. Nor was this appropriation of any parcel of land, by improving it, any prejudice to any other man, since there was still enough and as good left, and more than the yet unprovided could use. So that, in effect, there was never the less left for others because of his enclosure for himself. For he that leaves as much as another can make use of does as good as take nothing at all. Nobody could think himself injured by the drinking of another man, though he took a good draught, who had a whole river of the same water left him to quench his thirst. And the case of land and water, where there is enough of both, is perfectly the same. 33. God gave the world to men in common, but since He gave it them for their benefit and the greatest conveniencies of life they were capable to draw from it, it cannot be supposed He meant it should always remain common and uncultivated. He gave it to the use of the industrious and rational (and labour was to be his title to it); not to the fancy or covetousness of the quarrelsome and contentious. He that had as good left for his improvement as was already taken up needed not complain, ought not to meddle with what was already improved by another's labour; if he did it is plain he desired the benefit of another's pains, which he had no right to, and not the ground which God had given him, in common with others, to labour on, and whereof there was as good left as that already possessed, and more than he knew what to do with, or his industry could reach to. 34. It is true, in land that is common in England or any other country, where there are plenty of people under government who have money and commerce, no one can enclose or appropriate any part without the consent of all his fellow-commoners; because this is left common by compact- i.e., by the law of the land, which is not to be violated. And, though it be common in respect of some men, it is not so to all mankind, but is the joint propriety of this country, or this parish. Besides, the remainder, after such enclosure, would not be as good to the rest of the commoners as the whole was, when they could all make use of the whole; whereas in the beginning and first peopling of the great common of the world it was quite otherwise. The law man was under was rather for appropriating. God commanded, and his wants forced him to labour. That was his property, which could not be taken from him wherever he had fixed it. And hence subduing or cultivating the earth and having dominion, we see, are joined together. The one gave title to the other. So that God, by commanding to subdue, gave authority so far to appropriate. And the condition of human life, which requires labour and materials to work on, necessarily introduce private possessions. 35. The measure of property Nature well set, by the extent of men's labour and the conveniency of life. No man's labour could subdue or appropriate all, nor could his enjoyment consume more than a small part; so that it was impossible for any man, this way, to entrench upon the right of another or acquire to himself a property to the prejudice of his neighbour, who would still have room for as good and as large a possession (after the other had taken out his) as before it was appropriated. Which measure did confine every man's possession to a very moderate proportion, and such as he might appropriate to himself without injury to anybody in the first ages of the world, when men were more in danger to be lost, by wandering from their company, in the then vast wilderness of the earth than to be straitened for want of room to plant in. 36. The same measure may be allowed still, without prejudice to anybody, full as the world seems. For, supposing a man or family, in the state they were at first, peopling of the world by the children of Adam or Noah, let him plant in some inland vacant places of America. We shall find that the possessions he could make himself, upon the measures we have given, would not be very large, nor, even to this day, prejudice the rest of mankind or give them reason to complain or think themselves injured by this man's encroachment, though the race of men have now spread themselves to all the corners of the world, and do infinitely exceed the small number was at the beginning. Nay, the extent of ground is of so little value without labour that I have heard it affirmed that in Spain itself a man may be permitted to plough, sow, and reap, without being disturbed, upon land he has no other title to, but only his making use of it. But, on the contrary, the inhabitants think themselves beholden to him who, by his industry on neglected, and consequently waste land, has increased the stock of corn, which they wanted. But be this as it will, which I lay no stress on, this I dare boldly affirm, that the same rule of propriety- viz., that every man should have as much as he could make use of, would hold still in the world, without straitening anybody, since there is land enough in the world to suffice double the inhabitants, had not the invention of money, and the tacit agreement of men to put a value on it, introduced (by consent) larger possessions and a right to them; which, how it has done, I shall by and by show more at large. 37. This is certain, that in the beginning, before the desire of having more than men needed had altered the intrinsic value of things, which depends only on their usefulness to the life of man, or had agreed that a little piece of yellow metal, which would keep without wasting or decay, should be worth a great piece of flesh or a whole heap of corn, though men had a right to appropriate by their labour, each one to himself, as much of the things of Nature as he could use, yet this could not be much, nor to the prejudice of others, where the same plenty was still left, to those who would use the same industry. Before the appropriation of land, he who gathered as much of the wild fruit, killed, caught, or tamed as many of the beasts as he could- he that so employed his pains about any of the spontaneous products of Nature as any way to alter them from the state Nature put them in, by placing any of his labour on them, did thereby acquire a propriety in them; but if they perished in his possession without their due use- if the fruits rotted or the venison putrefied before he could spend it, he offended against the common law of Nature, and was liable to be punished: he invaded his neighbour's share, for he had no right farther than his use called for any of them, and they might serve to afford him conveniencies of life. 38. The same measures governed the possession of land, too. Whatsoever he tilled and reaped, laid up and made use of before it spoiled, that was his peculiar right; whatsoever he enclosed, and could feed and make use of, the cattle and product was also his. But if either the grass of his enclosure rotted on the ground, or the fruit of his planting perished without gathering and laying up, this part of the earth, notwithstanding his enclosure, was still to be looked on as waste, and might be the possession of any other. Thus, at the beginning, Cain might take as much ground as he could till and make it his own land, and yet leave enough to Abel's sheep to feed on: a few acres would serve for both their possessions. But as families increased and industry enlarged their stocks, their possessions enlarged with the need of them; but yet it was commonly without any fixed property in the ground they made use of till they incorporated, settled themselves together, and built cities, and then, by consent, they came in time to set out the bounds of their distinct territories and agree on limits between them and their neighbours, and by laws within themselves settled the properties of those of the same society. For we see that in that part of the world which was first inhabited, and therefore like to be best peopled, even as low down as Abraham's time, they wandered with their flocks and their herds, which was their substance, freely up and down- and this Abraham did in a country where he was a stranger; whence it is plain that, at least, a great part of the land lay in common, that the inhabitants valued it not, nor claimed property in any more than they made use of; but when there was not room enough in the same place for their herds to feed together, they, by consent, as Abraham and Lot did (Gen. xiii. 5), separated and enlarged their pasture where it best liked them. And for the same reason, Esau went from his father and his brother, and planted in Mount Seir (Gen. 36. 6). 39. And thus, without supposing any private dominion and property in Adam over all the world, exclusive of all other men, which can no way be proved, nor any one's property be made out from it, but supposing the world, given as it was to the children of men in common, we see how labour could make men distinct titles to several parcels of it for their private uses, wherein there could be no doubt of right, no room for quarrel. 40. Nor is it so strange as, perhaps, before consideration, it may appear, that the property of labour should be able to overbalance the community of land, for it is labour indeed that puts the difference of value on everything; and let any one consider what the difference is between an acre of land planted with tobacco or sugar, sown with wheat or barley, and an acre of the same land lying in common without any husbandry upon it, and he will find that the improvement of labour makes the far greater part of the value. I think it will be but a very modest computation to say, that of the products of the earth useful to the life of man, nine-tenths are the effects of labour. Nay, if we will rightly estimate things as they come to our use, and cast up the several expenses about them- what in them is purely owing to Nature and what to labour- we shall find that in most of them ninety-nine hundredths are wholly to be put on the account of labour. 41. There cannot be a clearer demonstration of anything than several nations of the Americans are of this, who are rich in land and poor in all the comforts of life; whom Nature, having furnished as liberally as any other people with the materials of plenty- i.e., a fruitful soil, apt to produce in abundance what might serve for food, raiment, and delight; yet, for want of improving it by labour, have not one hundredth part of the conveniencies we enjoy, and a king of a large and fruitful territory there feeds, lodges, and is clad worse than a day labourer in England. 42. To make this a little clearer, let us but trace some of the ordinary provisions of life, through their several progresses, before they come to our use, and see how much they receive of their value from human industry. Bread, wine, and cloth are things of daily use and great plenty; yet notwithstanding acorns, water, and leaves, or skins must be our bread, drink and clothing, did not labour furnish us with these more useful commodities. For whatever bread is more worth than acorns, wine than water, and cloth or silk than leaves, skins or moss, that is wholly owing to labour and industry. The one of these being the food and raiment which unassisted Nature furnishes us with; the other provisions which our industry and pains prepare for us, which how much they exceed the other in value, when any one hath computed, he will then see how much labour makes the far greatest part of the value of things we enjoy in this world; and the ground which produces the materials is scarce to be reckoned in as any, or at most, but a very small part of it; so little, that even amongst us, land that is left wholly to nature, that hath no improvement of pasturage, tillage, or planting, is called, as indeed it is, waste; and we shall find the benefit of it amount to little more than nothing. 43. An acre of land that bears here twenty bushels of wheat, and another in America, which, with the same husbandry, would do the like, are, without doubt, of the same natural, intrinsic value. But yet the benefit mankind receives from one in a year is worth five pounds, and the other possibly not worth a penny; if all the profit an Indian received from it were to be valued and sold here, at least I may truly say, not one thousandth. It is labour, then, which puts the greatest part of value upon land, without which it would scarcely be worth anything; it is to that we owe the greatest part of all its useful products; for all that the straw, bran, bread, of that acre of wheat, is more worth than the product of an acre of as good land which lies waste is all the effect of labour. For it is not barely the ploughman's pains, the reaper's and thresher's toil, and the baker's sweat, is to be counted into the bread we eat; the labour of those who broke the oxen, who digged and wrought the iron and stones, who felled and framed the timber employed about the plough, mill, oven, or any other utensils, which are a vast number, requisite to this corn, from its sowing to its being made bread, must all be charged on the account of labour, and received as an effect of that; Nature and the earth furnished only the almost worthless materials as in themselves. It would be a strange catalogue of things that industry provided and made use of about every loaf of bread before it came to our use if we could trace them; iron, wood, leather, bark, timber, stone, bricks, coals, lime, cloth, dyeing-drugs, pitch, tar, masts, ropes, and all the materials made use of in the ship that brought any of the commodities made use of by any of the workmen, to any part of the work, all which it would be almost impossible, at least too long, to reckon up. 44. From all which it is evident, that though the things of Nature are given in common, man (by being master of himself, and proprietor of his own person, and the actions or labour of it) had still in himself the great foundation of property; and that which made up the great part of what he applied to the support or comfort of his being, when invention and arts had improved the conveniences of life, was perfectly his own, and did not belong in common to others. 45. Thus labour, in the beginning, gave a right of property, wherever any one was pleased to employ it, upon what was common, which remained a long while, the far greater part, and is yet more than mankind makes use of Men at first, for the most part, contented themselves with what unassisted Nature offered to their necessities; and though afterwards, in some parts of the world, where the increase of people and stock, with the use of money, had made land scarce, and so of some value, the several communities settled the bounds of their distinct territories, and, by laws, within themselves, regulated the properties of the private men of their society, and so, by compact and agreement, settled the property which labour and industry began. And the leagues that have been made between several states and kingdoms, either expressly or tacitly disowning all claim and right to the land in the other's possession, have, by common consent, given up their pretences to their natural common right, which originally they had to those countries; and so have, by positive agreement, settled a property amongst themselves, in distinct parts of the world; yet there are still great tracts of ground to be found, which the inhabitants thereof, not having joined with the rest of mankind in the consent of the use of their common money, lie waste, and are more than the people who dwell on it, do, or can make use of, and so still lie in common; though this can scarce happen amongst that part of mankind that have consented to the use of money. 46. The greatest part of things really useful to the life of man, and such as the necessity of subsisting made the first commoners of the world look after- as it doth the Americans now- are generally things of short duration, such as- if they are not consumed by use- will decay and perish of themselves. Gold, silver, and diamonds are things that fancy or agreement hath put the value on, more than real use and the necessary support of life. Now of those good things which Nature hath provided in common, every one hath a right (as hath been said) to as much as he could use; and had a property in all he could effect with his labour; all that his industry could extend to, to alter from the state Nature had put it in, was his. He that gathered a hundred bushels of acorns or apples had thereby a property in them; they were his goods as soon as gathered. He was only to look that he used them before they spoiled, else he took more than his share, and robbed others. And, indeed, it was a foolish thing, as well as dishonest, to hoard up more than he could make use of If he gave away a part to anybody else, so that it perished not uselessly in his possession, these he also made use of And if he also bartered away plums that would have rotted in a week, for nuts that would last good for his eating a whole year, he did no injury; he wasted not the common stock; destroyed no part of the portion of goods that belonged to others, so long as nothing perished uselessly in his hands. Again, if he would give his nuts for a piece of metal, pleased with its colour, or exchange his sheep for shells, or wool for a sparkling pebble or a diamond, and keep those by him all his life, he invaded not the right of others; he might heap up as much of these durable things as he pleased; the exceeding of the bounds of his just property not lying in the largeness of his possession, but the perishing of anything uselessly in it. 47. And thus came in the use of money; some lasting thing that men might keep without spoiling, and that, by mutual consent, men would take in exchange for the truly useful but perishable supports of life. 48. And as different degrees of industry were apt to give men possessions in different proportions, so this invention of money gave them the opportunity to continue and enlarge them. For supposing an island, separate from all possible commerce with the rest of the world, wherein there were but a hundred families, but there were sheep, horses, and cows, with other useful animals, wholesome fruits, and land enough for corn for a hundred thousand times as many, but nothing in the island, either because of its commonness or perishableness, fit to supply the place of money. What reason could any one have there to enlarge his possessions beyond the use of his family, and a plentiful supply to its consumption, either in what their own industry produced, or they could barter for like perishable, useful commodities with others? Where there is not something both lasting and scarce, and so valuable to be hoarded up, there men will not be apt to enlarge their possessions of land, were it never so rich, never so free for them to take. For I ask, what would a man value ten thousand or an hundred thousand acres of excellent land, ready cultivated and well stocked, too, with cattle, in the middle of the inland parts of America, where he had no hopes of commerce with other parts of the world, to draw money to him by the sale of the product? It would not be worth the enclosing, and we should see him give up again to the wild common of Nature whatever was more than would supply the conveniences of life, to be had there for him and his family. 49. Thus, in the beginning, all the world was America, and more so than that is now; for no such thing as money was anywhere known. Find out something that hath the use and value of money amongst his neighbours, you shall see the same man will begin presently to enlarge his possessions. 50. But, since gold and silver, being little useful to the life of man, in proportion to food, raiment, and carriage, has its value only from the consent of men- whereof labour yet makes in great part the measure- it is plain that the consent of men have agreed to a disproportionate and unequal possession of the earth- I mean out of the bounds of society and compact; for in governments the laws regulate it; they having, by consent, found out and agreed in a way how a man may, rightfully and without injury, possess more than he himself can make use of by receiving gold and silver, which may continue long in a man's possession without decaying for the overplus, and agreeing those metals should have a value. 51. And thus, I think, it is very easy to conceive, without any difficulty, how labour could at first begin a title of property in the common things of Nature, and how the spending it upon our uses bounded it; so that there could then be no reason of quarrelling about title, nor any doubt about the largeness of possession it gave. Right and conveniency went together. For as a man had a right to all he could employ his labour upon, so he had no temptation to labour for more than he could make use of. This left no room for controversy about the title, nor for encroachment on the right of others. What portion a man carved to himself was easily seen; and it was useless, as well as dishonest, to carve himself too much, or take more than he needed. Nick DiSpoldo, Small Press Review (on "Children, Churches and Daddies," April 1997) Kuypers is the widely-published poet of particular perspectives and not a little existential rage, but she does not impose her personal or artistic agenda on her magazine. CC+D is a provocative potpourri of news stories, poetry, humor, art and the "dirty underwear" of politics. One piece in this issue is "Crazy," an interview Kuypers conducted with "Madeline," a murderess who was found insane, and is confined to West Virginia's Arronsville Correctional Center. Madeline, whose elevator definitely doesn't go to the top, killed her boyfriend during sex with an ice pick and a chef's knife, far surpassing the butchery of Elena Bobbitt. Madeline, herself covered with blood, sat beside her lover's remains for three days, talking to herself, and that is how the police found her. For effect, Kuypers publishes Madeline's monologue in different-sized type, and the result is something between a sense of Dali's surrealism and Kafka-like craziness. Debra Purdy Kong, writer, British Columbia, Canada I like the magazine a lot. I like the spacious lay-out and the different coloured pages and the variety of writer's styles. Too many literary magazines read as if everyone graduated from the same course. We need to collect more voices like these and send them everywhere. Ed Hamilton, writer #85 (of children, churches and daddies) turned out well. I really enjoyed the humor section, especially the test score answers. And, the cup-holder story is hilarious. I'm not a big fan of poetry - since much of it is so hard to decipher - but I was impressed by the work here, which tends toward the straightforward and unpretentious. As for the fiction, the piece by Anderson is quite perceptive: I liked the way the self-deluding situation of the character is gradually, subtly revealed. (Kuypers') story is good too: the way it switches narrative perspective via the letter device is a nice touch. Children, Churches and Daddies. It speaks for itself. Write to Scars Publications to submit poetry, prose and artwork to Children, Churches and Daddies literary magazine, or to inquire about having your own chapbook, and maybe a few reviews like these. Jim Maddocks, GLASGOW, via the Internet I'll be totally honest, of the material in Issue (either 83 or 86 of Children, Churches and Daddies) the only ones I really took to were Kuypers'. TRYING was so simple but most truths are, aren't they? what is veganism? A vegan (VEE-gun) is someone who does not consume any animal products. While vegetarians avoid flesh foods, vegans don't consume dairy or egg products, as well as animal products in clothing and other sources. why veganism? This cruelty-free lifestyle provides many benefits, to animals, the environment and to ourselves. The meat and dairy industry abuses billions of animals. Animal agriculture takes an enormous toll on the land. Consumtion of animal products has been linked to heart disease, colon and breast cancer, osteoporosis, diabetes and a host of other conditions. so what is vegan action? We can succeed in shifting agriculture away from factory farming, saving millions, or even billions of chickens, cows, pigs, sheep turkeys and other animals from cruelty. We can free up land to restore to wilderness, pollute less water and air, reduce topsoil reosion, and prevent desertification. We can improve the health and happiness of millions by preventing numerous occurrences od breast and prostate cancer, osteoporosis, and heart attacks, among other major health problems. A vegan, cruelty-free lifestyle may be the most important step a person can take towards creatin a more just and compassionate society. Contact us for membership information, t-shirt sales or donations. vegan action po box 4353, berkeley, ca 94707-0353 510/704-4444 C Ra McGuirt, Editor, The Penny Dreadful Review (on Children, Churches and Daddies) CC&D is obviously a labor of love ... I just have to smile when I go through it. (Janet Kuypers) uses her space and her poets to best effect, and the illos attest to her skill as a graphic artist. "I really like ("Writing Your Name"). It's one of those kind of things where your eye isn't exactly pulled along, but falls effortlessly down the poem. I liked "knowledge" for its mix of disgust and acceptance. Janet Kuypers does good little movies, by which I mean her stuff provokes moving imagery for me. Color, no dialogue; the voice of the poem is the narrator over the film. Children, Churches and Daddies no longer distributes free contributor's copies of issues. In order to receive issues of Children, Churches and Daddies, contact Janet Kuypers at the cc&d e-mail addres. Free electronic subscriptions are available via email. All you need to do is email ccandd@aol.com... and ask to be added to the free cc+d electronic subscription mailing list. And you can still see issues every month at the Children, Churches and Daddies website, located at http://scars.tv Also, visit our new web sites: the Art Gallery and the Poetry Page. Mark Blickley, writer The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. "Scars" is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing her book. MIT Vegetarian Support Group (VSG) functions: * To show the MIT Food Service that there is a large community of vegetarians at MIT (and other health-conscious people) whom they are alienating with current menus, and to give positive suggestions for change. * To exchange recipes and names of Boston area veg restaurants * To provide a resource to people seeking communal vegetarian cooking * To provide an option for vegetarian freshmen We also have a discussion group for all issues related to vegetarianism, which currently has about 150 members, many of whom are outside the Boston area. The group is focusing more toward outreach and evolving from what it has been in years past. We welcome new members, as well as the opportunity to inform people about the benefits of vegetarianism, to our health, the environment, animal welfare, and a variety of other issues. Gary, Editor, The Road Out of Town (on the Children, Churches and Daddies Web Site) I just checked out the site. It looks great. Dusty Dog Reviews: These poems document a very complicated internal response to the feminine side of social existence. And as the book proceeds the poems become increasingly psychologically complex and, ultimately, fascinating and genuinely rewarding. John Sweet, writer (on chapbook designs) Visuals were awesome. They've got a nice enigmatic quality to them. Front cover reminds me of the Roman sculptures of angels from way back when. Loved the staggered tire lettering, too. Way cool. (on "Hope Chest in the Attic") Some excellent writing in "Hope Chest in the Attic." I thought "Children, Churches and Daddies" and "The Room of the Rape" were particularly powerful pieces. C Ra McGuirt, Editor, The Penny Dreadful Review: CC&D is obviously a labor of love ... I just have to smile when I go through it. (Janet Kuypers) uses her space and her poets to best effect, and the illos attest to her skill as a graphic artist. Cheryl Townsend, Editor, Impetus (on Children, Churches and Daddies) The new CC&D looks absolutely amazing. It's a wonderful lay-out, looks really professional - all you need is the glossy pages. Truly impressive AND the calendar, too. Can't wait to actually start reading all the stuff inside.. Wanted to just say, it looks good so far!!! Dusty Dog Reviews: She opens with a poem of her own devising, which has that wintry atmosphere demonstrated in the movie version of Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago. The atmosphere of wintry white and cold, gloriously murderous cold, stark raging cold, numbing and brutalizing cold, appears almost as a character who announces to his audience, "Wisdom occurs only after a laboriously magnificent disappointment." Alas, that our Dusty Dog for mat cannot do justice to Ms. Kuypers' very personal layering of her poem across the page. Fithian Press, Santa Barbara, CA Indeed, there's a healthy balance here between wit and dark vision, romance and reality, just as there's a good balance between words and graphics. The work shows brave self-exploration, and serves as a reminder of mortality and the fragile beauty of friendship. Mark Blickley, writer The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. "Scars" is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing her book. You Have to be Published to be Appreciated. Do you want to be heard? Contact Children, Churches and Daddies about book or chapbook publishing. These reviews can be yours. Scars Publications, attention J. Kuypers. We're only an e-mail away. Write to us. Brian B. Braddock, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies) I passed on a copy to my brother who is the director of the St. Camillus AIDS programs. We found (Children, Churches and Daddies') obvious dedication along this line admirable. The Center for Renewable Energy and Sustainable Technology The Solar Energy Research & Education Foundation (SEREF), a non-profit organization based in Washington, D.C., established on Earth Day 1993 the Center for Renewable Energy and Sustainable Technology (CREST) as its central project. CREST's three principal projects are to provide: * on-site training and education workshops on the sustainable development interconnections of energy, economics and environment; * on-line distance learning/training resources on CREST's SOLSTICE computer, available from 144 countries through email and the Internet; * on-disc training and educational resources through the use of interactive multimedia applications on CD-ROM computer discs - showcasing current achievements and future opportunities in sustainable energy development. The CREST staff also does "on the road" presentations, demonstrations, and workshops showcasing its activities and available resources. For More Information Please Contact: Deborah Anderson dja@crest.org or (202) 289-0061 Brian B. Braddock, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies) I passed on a copy to my brother who is the director of the St. Camillus AIDS programs. We found (Children, Churches and Daddies') obvious dedication along this line admirable. Dorrance Publishing Co., Pittsburgh, PA "Hope Chest in the Attic" captures the complexity of human nature and reveals startling yet profound discernments about the travesties that surge through the course of life. This collection of poetry, prose and artwork reflects sensitivity toward feminist issues concerning abuse, sexism and equality. It also probes the emotional torrent that people may experience as a reaction to the delicate topics of death, love and family. "Chain Smoking" depicts the emotional distress that afflicted a friend while he struggled to clarify his sexual ambiguity. Not only does this thought-provoking profile address the plight that homosexuals face in a homophobic society, it also characterizes the essence of friendship. "The room of the rape" is a passionate representation of the suffering rape victims experience. Vivid descriptions, rich symbolism, and candid expressions paint a shocking portrait of victory over the gripping fear that consumes the soul after a painful exploitation. want a review like this? contact scars about getting your own book published. Paul Weinman, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies) Wonderful new direction (Children, Churches and Daddies has) taken - great articles, etc. (especially those on AIDS). Great stories - all sorts of hot info! The magazine Children Churches and Daddies is Copyright © through Scars Publications and Design. The rights of the individual pieces remain with the authors. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author. Okay, nilla wafer. Listen up and listen good. How to save your life. Submit, or I'll have to kill you. Okay, it's this simple: send me published or unpublished poetry, prose or art work (do not send originals), along with a bio, to us - then sit around and wait... Pretty soon you'll hear from the happy people at cc&d that says (a) Your work sucks, or (b) This is fancy crap, and we're gonna print it. It's that simple! Okay, butt-munch. Tough guy. This is how to win the editors over. Hope Chest in the Attic is a 200 page, perfect-bound book of 13 years of poetry, prose and art by Janet Kuypers. It's a really classy thing, if you know what I mean. We also have a few extra sopies of the book "Rinse and Repeat", which has all the 1999 issues of cc&d crammed into one book. And you can have either one of these things at just five bucks a pop if you just contact us. It's an offer you can't refuse... Carlton Press, New York, NY: HOPE CHEST IN THE ATTIC is a collection of well-fashioned, often elegant poems and short prose that deals in many instances, with the most mysterious and awesome of human experiences: love... Janet Kuypers draws from a vast range of experiences and transforms thoughts into lyrical and succinct verse... Recommended as poetic fare that will titillate the palate in its imagery and imaginative creations. Mark Blickley, writer: The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. "Scars" is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing the book. You Have to be Published to be Appreciated. Do you want to be heard? Contact Children, Churches and Daddies about book and chapbook publishing. These reviews can be yours. Scars Publications, attention J. Kuypers - you can write for yourself or you can write for an audience. It's your call... Dorrance Publishing Co., Pittsburgh, PA: "Hope Chest in the Attic" captures the complexity of human nature and reveals startling yet profound discernments about the travesties that surge through the course of life. This collection of poetry, prose and artwork reflects sensitivity toward feminist issues concerning abuse, sexism and equality. It also probes the emotional torrent that people may experience as a reaction to the delicate topics of death, love and family. "Chain Smoking" depicts the emotional distress that afflicted a friend while he struggled to clarify his sexual ambiguity. Not only does this thought-provoking profile address the plight that homosexuals face in a homophobic society, it also characterizes the essence of friendship. "The room of the rape" is a passionate representation of the suffering rape victims experience. Vivid descriptions, rich symbolism, and candid expressions paint a shocking portrait of victory over the gripping fear that consumes the soul after a painful exploitation. Dusty Dog Reviews, CA (on knife): These poems document a very complicated internal response to the feminine side of social existence. And as the book proceeds the poems become increasingly psychologically complex and, ultimately, fascinating and genuinely rewarding. Children, Churches and Daddies. It speaks for itself. Dusty Dog Reviews (on Without You): She open with a poem of her own devising, which has that wintry atmosphere demonstrated in the movie version of Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago. The atmosphere of wintry white and cold, gloriously murderous cold, stark raging cold, numbing and brutalizing cold, appears almost as a character who announces to his audience, "Wisdom occurs only after a laboriously magnificent disappointment." Alas, that our Dusty Dog for mat cannot do justice to Ms. Kuypers' very personal layering of her poem across the page. Children, Churches and Daddies. It speaks for itself. Debra Purdy Kong, writer, British Columbia, Canada (on Children, Churches and Daddies): I like the magazine a lot. I like the spacious lay-out and the different coloured pages and the variety of writer's styles. Too many literary magazines read as if everyone graduated from the same course. We need to collect more voices like these and send them everywhere. Fithian Press, Santa Barbara, CA: Indeed, there's a healthy balance here between wit and dark vision, romance and reality, just as there's a good balance between words and graphics. The work shows brave self-exploration, and serves as a reminder of mortality and the fragile beauty of friendship. Published since 1993 No racist, sexist or homophobic material is appreciated; we do accept work of almost any genre of poetry, prose or artwork, though we shy away from concrete poetry and rhyme for rhyme's sake. Do not send originals. Any work sent to Scars Publications on Macintosh disks, text format, will be given special attention over smail-mail submissions. There is no limit to how much you may submit at a time; previously published work accepted.