Nick DiSpoldo, Small Press Review (on Children, Churches and Daddies, April 1997) Children, Churches and Daddies is eclectic, alive and is as contemporary as tomorrow’s news.

the June 2004 installment of...

Children, Churches and Daddies

Volume 136, May 22, 2004

The Unreligious, Non-Family-Oriented Literary and Art Magazine
ISSN 1068-5154

Editorial It took me flying to China to read about this story in the Shanghai Daily newspaper. Now, it’s hard to be a vegetarian in China; when you want to order food, everything has meat in it (even the meals that say they don’t have meat in them have two different kinds of fish in it...). But even meat-eaters would agree that it is crossing a line to eat human meat, and this was a potential peril those in Vancouver, British Columbia (Canada) learned about when it was reported that a pig farmer became a serial killer, and may have potentially placed human remains in pork that he gave to friends. http://www.karisable.com/skazpicton.htm said that 15 victims were among 63 missing women, from the Vancouver Downtown Eastside in October 2002. But March 2004 newspapers revealed that human remains may have been in the processed pork products from this man’s home. CNN reported on March 11, 2004 that pork products processed and distributed from the farm of accused Canadian serial killer Robert Pickton may have contained human remains. I checked out more sources on line, and saw that www.seattletimes.com even carried an AP story about this. The AP article stated: A news release issued by B.C.’s Health Ministry said RCMP investigators have evidence that some products were handed out by Pickton to friends and acquaintances in the area prior to his arrest in February 2002. *** A woman in California told John that it is possible to spread mad cow disease in the United States, because even though farmer are not supposed to feed animals the remains for their own species, they can feed remains of one animal to another, which becomes processed food for that original animal again. It seems that the way our society works, certain animals are okay to eat and to feed to others, but we don’t think about how that meat gets to our table, or what we have to go through to get our “daily serving” of meat. Maybe they would think twice about their meat consumption if they knew the entire process. Janet Kuypers, Editor In Chief “Double Wolf,” art by Edward Michael O’Burr Supranowicz From http://www.cbc.ca/news/background/pickton/ Robert Pickton Pig Farmer Arrested February 2, 2002 on a weapon’s warrant Charged: 15 murders No. of Suspected Victims: 6-54< He brought women to his pig farm. Allegedly disposed of bodies with a wood chipper, then mixed bodyparts with the pig feed or pig entrails. The victim profile was of drug-addicted prostitutes, many of them Native-American Indians. He Hunted in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside, and the prosecutors claim he killed in the Port Coquitlam pig farm. B.C. Corrections Service investigated reports that former inmates of the North Fraser Pre-trial Centre where Pickton is incarcerated are trying to sell poetry they claim he wrote. Wayne Willows, of the Corrections Service, said he’d look into it, but said it is likely a hoax as Pickton does not have access to other inmates. October 25, 2002 - Internet auction website Ebay pulled a site claiming to be selling dirt from the notorious Pickton pig farm. The seller going by the name Dizan Hamilton listed “Robert Pickton Dirt From His Pig Farm” on ebay.ca under item #727373047 in the Collectables: Rocks, Fossils, Minerals section. He was asking for an opening bid of $9.99. The site offered a brief description of the pig-farm story and claimed the seller is a local resident who has been to the Port Coquitlam farm. No bids were made prior to the site being pulled. On June 6, 2002. Using heavy machinery, two conveyor belts and dozens of additional experts and technicians, the task force began excavating the Dominion Avenue property owned by Pickton and his two siblings. May 11, 2002, The Sun reported that dozens of archeology students with training in identifying human bone helped with an expanded search at the Dominion Avenue property. February 12, 2002 - Speaking to the media on behalf of David William Pickton, longtime friend Gina Houston said the pig farmer is a “nice caring man” who likes to help single mothers and wouldn’t hurt a soul, especially a prostitute. Gina added that Willy “befriends a lot of them, and he kind of feels sorry for them and he does give them money. He’ll give them 20 bucks to go buy themselves... well, I mean, they obviously go get dope, but they say they need cigarettes and tampons and condoms and blah, blah, blah, blah. And he’d rather give them a couple of bucks than see them working -- the ones he has befriended, right?” Pickton was charged in 1997 with the attempted murder of Vancouver prostitute, Wendy Lyn Eistetter. He was also charged with unlawful confinement, assault with a weapon and aggravated assault. Police alleged that in April 8, 1997 Pickton picked up Eistetter on Vancouver’s downtown Eastside and took her to his PoCo pig farm where he stabbed her repeatedly with a kitchen knife, leaving the woman on the brink of death. She was able to escape and press charges against him. The charges were dropped in January 28, 1998, because the woman would not testify. According to the local press, the 10-acre PoCo property was in a state of disarray and full of broken vehicles and trash. A “No trespassing” signs hung from a huge wired gate, including one threatening an attack by a pitbull with AIDS. By nightfall investigators brought in generators and power lights to assist with the search as large crowds of onlookers gathered outside the farm. Police have also mapped the site with aerial photographs and RPMC brought in two corpse-sniffing dogs to help locate any buried bodies. The Threat of the Paternalistic State By Peter Schwartz A precondition of freedom is the recognition of the individual’s capacity to make decisions for himself. If man were viewed as congenitally incapable of making rational choices, there would be no basis for the very concept of rights. Yet that is increasingly how our government views us. It is adopting the role of a paternalistic nanny, zealously protecting the citizen against his own actions. In the process, our freedom is disappearing. Obvious examples of this attitude are laws mandating the use of automobile seat belts and motorcycle helmets. Gambling is another area in which the state believes it must keep the individual from harming himself. New York State, for example, has threatened to sue Citibank for allowing credit cards to be used for Internet gambling and for “making profits off the financial hardships of compulsive gamblers.” Now the food industry is being blamed for the “disease” of obesity. There are proposals for special taxes on “junk food.” A George Washington University law professor, who pioneered the lawsuits against the tobacco industry, says: “You could have states saying that they have this billion-dollar public health problem, and food companies are responsible for a certain percentage of it. It’s a reach, I admit. But they said the same thing about tobacco lawsuits ten years ago.” The paternalistic “food police” will thus keep people from buying cupcakes so that no one imposes upon the public the “social cost” of extra poundage. Instead of being morally outraged at this appalling violation of rights, the food industry--like the tobacco industry before it--is appeasing its attackers. Coca-Cola, for example, is giving schools exercise pedometers to show how social-minded it is about obesity. And McDonald’s has announced it will stop “supersizing.” The Wall St. Journal writes that food companies “are contemplating advertisements that would discourage consumers from overeating their products.” What’s next? Ads to discourage banana buyers from eating before peeling? But it is in regulating tobacco products, of course, that the tentacles of paternalism grip most tightly. The government maintains that, despite widespread knowledge about the dangers of smoking, the sale of cigarettes must be curtailed. With this approach, the government is making two declarations. The first is that you are not responsible for your decisions, and that if you are stricken by emphysema--or are injured in a car accident or become too fat, society will take care of you. The second is that, as a consequence, you cannot be given the freedom to make those decisions in the first place--i.e., your freedom to smoke cigarettes or to drive without a seat belt or to eat what you want will be restricted. Once your life is deemed to be the responsibility of the state, you are no longer permitted to incur “social costs” by making undesirable choices. Thus, the government tyrannizes companies for having the audacity to make products that so many people willingly buy. In a forced settlement that supposedly compensates state governments for their health costs, tobacco manufacturers will hand over about $250 billion across 25 years. To further prevent people from electing to smoke, it is illegal to sell fewer than 20 cigarettes per pack, to dispense free samples or to award gifts to frequent buyers of cigarettes. Then there are the pervasive restrictions on freedom of speech. To keep its “infantile” citizens from being persuaded to harm themselves, the government forbids tobacco-company logos on tee shirts. Industry advocacy groups, like the Council for Tobacco Research, have been disbanded; only “disinterested” parties--which the tobacco industry is required to help finance--are now allowed to state their opinions about tobacco. To compound the injustice, the industry had to characterize the forced settlement as “voluntary” and had to waive its right to invoke any First Amendment protections. It is a rationalization to describe these measures as necessary to safeguard children. While the sale of cigarettes to minors is justifiably prohibited, it is the free choice of consenting *adults* that is being controlled in virtually all these regulations. And if it is proper to use preventive law to stop adults from buying cigarettes for fear that children too may buy them and be harmed by them, to what area of life would such reasoning *not* apply? Candy or soda, for example? If we want to preserve our freedom, we must defend the right of companies to produce the goods that we voluntarily pay for--and the right of each individual to decide how to conduct his life. Mr. Schwartz is chairman of the board of directors of the Ayn Rand Institute (www.aynrand.org) in Irvine, Calif. The Institute promotes the philosophy of Ayn Rand, author of Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead. Send reactions to reaction@aynrand.org Things to do at a stop light And from the seven deadly sins: GLUTTONY David Spiering A vintage florescent orange GTO pulls next to me. It’s a warm day. I’m on a “vintage” 10-speed. My guts are full of meat and bread. Normally, I don’t eat much meat or bread; instead, I favor mostly rice and veggies. I like them well enough. The GTO’s pilot is an extremely fat man. His hair’s combed into a greasy grey duck ass with a huge pompadour sitting above his head-brow. His shape that I see is an incorrect rodent contour: his breasts ripple and rest on his stomach, his stomach has two distinct rippled rolls, disappearing from my sight below the car’s door line. The turkey-like skin drooping below his jaw line probably weighs five pounds. Whenever I see someone this fat, I think about death by stroke, heart attack or something therein related. Sometimes, I think my eating habits, most of the time, are linked with creating and preserving health. Longevity’s my comfort food, breathing’s my wine, waking up in the morning’s my drunkards’ high. But sometimes my orbit dips through greasy meat, sausage, commercial pizzas, and hamburgers. The light turns green, and the fat man in the fast car spins the wheels, throws sand and small stones over me. If my vision operated by digital break-up, in that way, I watched the back of the car grow smaller and smaller, square by square. To that man, speed is an artificial food type filling nature’s hunger. Things to do at a stop light And from the seven deadly sins: GREED David Spiering The next stop light or pause light as I call it, stop me good momentum, to allow fat, money grubbing state power executives to break into traffic the moment they reach the end of their drive ways. Suddenly, the light turns red, and an expensive car paid for by my power bill money, rolls out through the screeching tires , and angry faces. When the working people’s revolution happens there people’s homes, cars and playthings will be melted down to base cash value, and shared with all people, by the form of a check in the mail. I work my health down to a few sighs, a breath, a wrenched back (it took me fifteen minutes to put my underwear and pants on); I had to sink money into aspirins to control the pain. Later, I locked my bike and helmet to a bike rack. As I walk to the library to check my e-mail, a man asked me, “Can you help me with a little change.” “I was thinking about asking you the same question.” He looked at the faces to two retro-hippies coming behind me. They emptied their pockets into his plastic cup, and walked off. Somehow, either side of the situation didn’t seem fair. Maybe, sometimes, I’ll give him some change. It’s the rent for me each month that’s a worry. Things to do at a stop light And from the seven deadly sins: SLOTH David Spiering Off in the distance, through the wind’s strong breath, bringing tears to my eyes, making them stream down my cheeks, making shimmering heat lines. I could barely pedal my bike. The light flips to green, I keep coming, coming, then it flipped yellow and red. The other might I sat in my over-comfortable chair watching the PBS nature show about sloths. I was nervous, I was watching the sloth, that a crocodile would ambush it. Its fur seems to grow backwards. Like an upside-down Mohawk hair cut. I wanted to turn the TV off and back on five minutes later. The crocodile would crack the sloth’s head like a nutshell, after it finished eating its body. I’m sitting here watching TV when I could be reading or writing, or doing something to make my life better. My hair feels like its been charged with electricity---I can almost feel all the way out its send. I think, tomorrow I’ll do the positive things to improve my life. Tonight, I’ll drink beer. 379.081801 Michael Douglas Himmer Before the physical therapy began She held out hand + told us to walk slow + hurry back “Abstraction Number 17,” art by I. B. Rad derelict madwoman fugue ©2004 Charlie Newman Charlie Newman recorded live at The Cafe, April 20, 2004 (2 minutes, 37 seconds) “Derelict Madwoman Fugue” “Jester,” art by Edward Michael O’Burr Supranowicz epitaph (which could not have been written without having heard “Woke Up This Morning” by A3) © 2004 Charlie Newman “Building Ruins 20 Agrigento,” art by John Yotko Where Do They All Come From Donnie Cox “Then this morning I went to the bookstore and bought The Catcher in the Rye. I’m sure the large part of me is Holden Caulfield, who is the main person in the book. The small part of me must be the Devil.” - Mark David Chapman He lies, face-up, on the floor of a hotel room he can’t afford. His eyes are closed. On his chest, a closed paperback moves slowly up & down - marking time. The plan is clear. Everything he wants to say, reduced to a single blinding point. A warning message to false prophets. A Technicolor caution sign to purveyors of empty noise, & meaningless bullshit. A .38 special delivery from a real nowhere man, to the used-up hero who haunts Dakota halls, & hides behind elegant walls, that cannot save him. Lost to himself, hopelessly slipping into some half-assed parody... He opens his eyes & checks his watch. Almost time to rock & roll, lock & load, cross the street, & disappear into the faceless New York hum - “All the lonely people, where do they all come from?” Copyright � 2004 D.B. COX. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Telemarketing Bureaucrats (2) Michael Ceraolo He had peerfected the premises of his profession, spilling his spiel into my ears, not taking the first no for an answer, continuing his prepared presentation until he heard the second no, which he still refused to take for an answer, first insinuating and then directly insulting my intelligence until the phone hanging up gave him his third and final no I predict a great future for him if he continues in this profession Financial Bureaucrats (2) Michael Ceraolo They were customer-oriented: prompt courteous efficient until they got their hands on my money Then, when I had a change of heart, they went incommunicado and it was months before I could track them down “Tangle,” art by Mike Hovancsek STATISTICS Erin Kappel 50% sure 50% unsure The feeling in the pit of your stomach when faced with a hard decision. The tingle in your fingertips when you get nervous, like tickling a prickly cactus in the dark. 50% yours 50% theirs Knowing that YOUR child, is also THEIR child. Like owning a soul that you can never really claim. Something that slips through your arms like the yolk of an egg through the teeth of a fork. 50% recycled material Great, so what we saved, we technically just killed. A wadded up towel on the floor of the bathroom... it’s not yours... no way in hell you’re going to pick it up. 50% cotton 50% polyester And the difference is? 50% happy 50% sad Thank you for flying “YOUR LIFE” airlines, we hope you enjoy your stay in, “THE REAL WORLD.” Now, buckle your seatbelt and quit yer bitchin’... 100% casualty rate We’re all going to die... wait a sec... can we run those statistics again? “Worry With Curlers,” art by Edward Michael O’Burr Supranowicz AFTER READING THIS POEM, AVOID PROLONGED INTERACTION WITH THE HUMAN RACE Erin Kappel In today’s society, it’s more acceptable to be a homosexual than it is to be alone. It’s considered normal now for everyone to be either obsessive compulsive, or a “victim” of ADD. It’s even a common occurrence to find out about life changing situations on national television programs, such as Jerry Springer, and Oprah. (That’s right lady, you’re in there with the rest of them.) I’m tired of references to my mother in arguments. (If you have something to say about her, I’ll give you her phone number. Oh, and by the way, she’s not fat, ugly, or poor...) I’m tired of waking up every morning and paying more for a gallon of gas than I do for a gallon of milk. I’m tired of being a pawn in games between political figures whose careers last longer than peanut butter. (Where are the expiration dates written on the presidents?) And most of all, I’m tired of distractions made by the general public to make me “turn away” from the happenings of the real world. (That’s right, I’m talking to you and you and you and you...) I am not comfortable with the fact that everyone’s glued to their televisions on one half of the world, while the other half’s dying. I am not happy about the starving children, or the AIDS epidemic. And I’m certainly not happy about having to worry that some stupid fucking prick is going to shoot a nuclear warhead up my ass if I sneeze too loudly. I’m tired of having to constantly look over my shoulder and holler petty apologizes to people that I don’t even care about, just because I stepped on a few toes with my opinion. “Number 2 B&W,” art by Cheryl Townsend (If we could perfect a way to use our emotions as weapons, I don’t think we would hesitate.) But most of all, I’m tired of being part of a world that accepts such needless imperfections. The entire globe’s floating in the shitter, and we’re going straight down the drain along with the waste that we’ve helped to create. (Oh, you think I’m idealistic now? Just wait, it gets a lot less endearing soon...) The government is not the source of destruction in modern day societies, it’s the people within those societies. The people who don’t accept responsibility for their actions, but tell their children to. (“Just because I did it doesn’t mean that I’m going to let you get away with it...” C’mon, you got away with it, didn’t you?) The people who say it’s always wrong to lie, unless it delays some kind of inevitable pain or embarrassment. (No, your breath smells fine...) “Form,” art by Edward Michael O’Burr Supranowicz The people who sin knowing that they can just ask forgiveness eventually. (This is my nine hundred and fifty third confession. Hey, when I get up to one thousand... do I get a cake or something?) The people who stick their noses up at everyone they think is less important than them. (It’s hard not to notice a thing like that, especially with nose hairs that long.) The people who create a corporation based on a constricting stereotype that people still struggle to escape, while the person in question breaks free and tries their hand at the stock market. (“Martha Stewart worldwide...no, I’m sorry, she’s having sex on her everyday sheets right now, can I take a message?”) The people who break promises that they don’t even remember making until it’s, of course, too late. (“What?!? Little Timmy’s soccer game was today?”) No, I don’t hate these people, although it’s very difficult not to. I pity them though. I pity their cute, little excuses, and sympathize with the reasons they need them. But, at the same time, I feel sorry for myself too... because I’m one of them. I am a part of the problem just like everyone else. (Who’d have thought conformity would be so... comfortable?) But like every opinionate, free-spirit, I hold the “get out of jail” card. Which means that I can step outside of myself, or rather, my social class in present day America, and scream a few choice words into the beady, condescending eyes of the masses. (That means you...) Maybe, by doing so, I’ll change something. For better or worse, it doesn’t really matter. But something has to change. Or else, what the hell is the world coming to? And furthermore, who’s going to catch the blame on taking it there? “New Jerusalem,” art by I. B. Rad HUMMING WITH YOUR NOSTRILS CLOSED Erin Kappel People like me, are never equally balanced in anything. We cannot be happy, because there is no “happy”. We cannot be unhappy, because there is no “unhappy”. There is only a measure of satisfaction that cannot be related to an emotion, just a mixture of blue and purple that blends together in a jelly-sandwich bruise. A color-coded translation ring that everyone wears, except for those in one extreme or the other. (Sound familiar?) The chemically unbalanced, polar personality, scum-bags of the newest generation, who will now be compared with the hippies of the past eras. We weren’t born in time for the endless exploration of sex and drugs, not to mention every combination of the two. (Pity... it might’ve been quite an experience.) We are the forsaken children of the Holy Wars, left to scavenge through dumpsters in search of opportunity, not knowing what it looks like, or how it smells. (No wonder we’ll never amount to anything...) But not you... Oh, no... You’re going somewhere, aren’t you? You’re going to have it all one day, the “AMERICAN DREAM”: An adoring husband who fucks your childhood best friend behind your back, while you think he’s at a business meeting. 2.5 kids who hate you for trying to raise them right, and clear out your medicine cabinet for some extra income. A white picket fence that separates you from the neighbors; two gay men in their forties and their adopted, ADD, Chinese baby. The only meaningful conversations you’ll hold, will be with a telemarketer. (No thank you, I’m satisfied with my long-distance plan...) Yeah, you go for that if it’s what you really want. I think I’ll just sit here and accept the way things are, while you cling to the illusion that there is still some good in everyone, and that you, are truly loved... I’m satisfied with my perception of reality. I’m unsatisfied with your dependency on me to make you feel better. (Laugh it up lady,) because one day you’ll wake up and realize that you’re not happy, because there is not “happy”. You’ll realize that you’re not unhappy, because there is no “unhappy”. Then you’ll finally realize your degree of satisfaction, and join the rest of us, adding another tally to the list of victims who have received, a bitch smack from “the real world”. “Cave 20,” art by Xanadu from “Heroines Unlikely,” art by Stephen Mead “Legs,” art by John Yotko paper Gabriel Athens park bench paper pigeons watch you glasses legs hiding know you name face bench newspaper footsteps story here made move bench aloof sat away paper eyes burned pages breath streaming body. eyelids open close heat radiated paper you gone That I Get Helena Wolfe I’ve learned how to deal with the good and the bad I’ve learned how to deal with what I get no, I don’t know that this is good I just have to learn how to take it all in stride I’ve learned how to deal with everything that I get yes, I can still dream that you are by my side and I can dream that there will be a happy ending for me yes, I suppose I can dream people keep telling me that it could be worse, that I’m a lucky girl and no one can really know what it is like to wear my shoes but they try to tell me anyway I always have to rearrange my plans and ideas well, at least on the surface I do maybe this way I’ll be able to keep dreaming this way the days don’t seem so long Tired Of Life Marina Arturo Oftentimes I find that I’m tired of life It has grown stale like old bread grown dull like a used knife and I don’t know what to do I’m rushing in my life but I feel like I’m going nowhere like a car speeding down a highway that has no destination How many nights I have stayed awake crying until I could no longer? The number must be countless Those nights are only too familiar to me now What’s the sense? The pain I’m feeling never goes away It haunts me like a childhood fear and never releases the hold on me And whenever there seems to be a time when I haven’t a trouble it’s there And it always finds the way back to me The agony is indescribable and I don’t know what to do Hasn’t Happened Yet Aeon Logan there is so much in me that is ugly people can give me compliments but it is never enough it’s never what i want to hear it would be nice if the right someone came along and told me everything I needed to hear but that hasn’t happened yet people keep trying to make me feel better they talk about the sunrises and the stars in the sky and the babbling book when I look right over my shoulder I should see the beauty in things well, I never get to the beauty part I never get there so no, I don’t know what the answers are so no, I don’t know where the optimism is and I don’t know how to make things better “Wall and Door,” art by Cheryl Townsend Do That For Me Then Sydney Anderson That’s where the problems come from The problems come from having ideas, having theories, thinking they’re the right ideas, and then acting on those ideas without checking your premises to see if they were even the right ideas I’ve done that I thought that everything would fall into place and everything would have a happy ending for me I’ve discovered that after all of these years those happy endings haven’t come around and that there is no reason to have hope But people want someone to deliver flowers to them, for no reason and it would be nice People could say something nice to you, out of the blue or tell you they loved you I mean, you know they love you but it’s nice to hear I think men don’t get that I hate having to be the voice of reason, but here goes sometimes you have to do nice things I like nice things done for me I want someone to call me when they said they would I want someone to tell me I’m worth something I’ve wanted that for years “Statue 1,” art by John Yotko Enough So Far Shannon Peppers I appreciate your honesty I’m not used to honesty, you know I’m used to people trying to screw me over and I know I’m a girl but I have to act like a guy sometimes so that people don’t try to make my life tougher hasn’t it been tough enough so far? when you’re so used to not getting the truth from anyone well, honesty is nice I want to know if I should have hope when you talk, you give me reason to have hope and I don’t know if I should but now I’ll take whatever I can get “Ball Heads 2,” art by Cheryl Townsend Government Inefficiency Mackenzie Silver Our gas was shut off today. The gas company had a problem with our bill and shut off our gas without letting us know, while my roommate and I were out. We were not notified that there was a problem with our bill or that anyone was considering shutting off our gas. So my roommate straightened everything out with the gas company, and they told him that they would be at the apartment sometime between two in the afternoon and eight in the evening. Now, I won’t go into the fact that when someone you are paying for a service gives you a time estimate for a house visit, they are late over ninety-nine percent of the time. I won’t complain about that because it didn’t actually happen this time - someone arrived at around three thirty in the afternoon. (Besides, everyone already knows how awful it is to be held hostage in your own house waiting for people who never show up.) The man came by and turned on the gas, and asked to check the burners at the stove. So he did, and then he asked if the water heater was electric. I didn’t know, so he wanted to check, but it was in the basement behind a locked door, and the super was out of town for the weekend. So the guy said he’d have to turn off the gas until I could get the door unlocked to the water heater, to make sure. He said they had people working until midnight and all day tomorrow, so I should call back so someone else could get out here to turn on the gas again. So I waited for my roommate to come home, and he unscrewed a panel from the basement so we could get to the water cooler before the super got back. When I called the gas company back, I was only on hold for a few minutes (another pleasant surprise). Then when I explained the problem, the man told me that I had the wrong number, that this was an emergency line. Apparently not having gas is not an emergency for the gas company, so he gave me the other number. I was on hold for at least another ten minutes (no, make it more like fifteen), before a lady got on the line and asked me my problem. I explained what happened, and she said she couldn’t get anyone out there for another week. They were booked tomorrow and couldn’t schedule me in. So, from what I had gathered from the situation so far, our gas was shut off due to a misunderstanding, the person who came to turn on our gas wanted to check something we’ve never had to have checked before and wouldn’t keep our gas on, and then they couldn’t get someone out there to turn on the gas for another week. Did I mention that it was Fourth of July weekend and we needed to cook? Oh yes, and bathe. I suppose we could bathe in cold water. So then my roommate called back and tried to see if there was anything else he could do. When that didn’t work, he asked if there was any competition, or if we had to get our gas from them and we had no choice but to wait a week for gas. I already knew the answer, but I wanted to hope it wasn’t true, for one brief moment. When my roommate got off the phone, I started thinking about some of the problems we have because of monopolies. Yeah, it’s not something I’d have a problem with, normally I wouldn’t be complaining about monopolies, but the only place in this country where monopolies exist are in businesses where the government runs or subsidizes the business. The Post Office. Utility companies. The commuter rail system. Great. People complain about monopolies all the time - in our phone companies, with computer giants like Bill Gates - even though there is nothing close to a monopoly in these industries today. Of course there isn’t. The government steps in before competition gets a chance to provide a better product. But that’s a different rant. Back to the gas company. The government doesn’t let private businesses get too close to a monopoly. But when it comes to the government stepping in and running businesses, the last thing the government would want is something competing with them. Especially when any other private business would probably run any operation more effectively than the government. They’d have to; they’d have to make a profit and wouldn’t have the chance to get as much money as they wanted by taking it from people. Oh, the government calls it a tax. My mistake. How many times have you heard people complain - for that matter, how many times have you complained - about the long lines and the slow service at your local Post Office? Other than in an overnight package, where you’re paying for the immediacy of a next-day letter, what other opportunities do you have to mail a physical letter? How many times have you tried to take a train across the country rather than fly? Why are the costs of taking a train comparable to flying when airplanes are faster and more expensive to build and maintain, especially when rail companies get government subsidies in order to stay afloat? What do you do when your electricity goes out and they say they’ll come out between ten in the morning and two in the afternoon, so they make you stay home from work, and then, of course, they don’t even show up... What do you do - call another electric company for service? What do you do when the gas company cuts off your gas and says they can’t turn it back on for another week? Am I making my point here? My roommate was working outside earlier today removing a tree for a client, but he had called the city’s electrical department and asked them to drop the street light wires on that block during the day. In fact, he called it in and faxed it in - and checked to make sure with the department that the power lines for the street lights would be down so he could cut down this tree. Well, you guessed it - he went there to do his work, and during the entire four hour period where the lines were supposed to be down, no one came by to do the work. In essence, my roommate lost business time because this certain government department didn’t do what they said they would. If you were a private business and conducted business that poorly, you’d lose clients left and right. But when there’s no competition... I was working with my roommate, waiting for these city employees to come to our job site and do their job. When I still thought they were going to show up and just be late, I thought of asking them if they liked paying more taxes. When they’d answer no, I’d have to ask them then why they are so inefficient - because it’s their inefficiency that causes taxes to go up, so we can pay more than we should for these services. I imagine they can’t put two thoughts like that together, though. Sorry. Now I’m just getting bitter. But there would be not only increased efficiency in work and therefore better products and services and more choices if the government got out of these businesses, but there would also be less money in taxes to pay, since we wouldn’t be subsidizing the inefficiency of the existing government agencies with money we worked hard for. My point? Well, I guess you get my point. Nobody likes have to deal with inefficiency, but no one stops to think of where it comes from or what to do about it. So what do we do about it? Well, I suppose you could complain as much as I do, but then everyone would think that Americans were just a bunch of complainers. (Well, maybe we are...) We could stop voting for government officials who think we want them spending our money on ineffeciency. Or we could tell our officials that they’re right, we don’t like monopolies... And the first ones we want to get rid of are the ones run by the government. The government doesn’t have to be running companies for us - we’ve proven that we can do that well enough ourselves - in fact, we can run them better. It’s the government’s hold on companies and industries that’s strangling us. Untitled 11/24/99 Mackenzie Silver There are so many times when I consciously have to stop myself from crying. I constantly feel as if there is no one for me and I can talk to no one. When I do count on someone they let me down. This is a consistent pattern in my life, and this is what I get for having dreams and hopes and aspirations. Why didn’t those fuckers succeed in their ‘98 mission to kill me off swiftly and efficiently? How do you explain this to anyone? My curse is that I have the brains to know what happened to me, to suffer from it, and to pick up the pieces and function on my own. I think that people think that when you get out of the hospital you must be FINE. Clean bill of health. They are so wrong. I know I could have had it worse. But I think to lose that I would have to lose part of my brain as well. Now I feel like a soldier and I don’t know what I’m protecting any more. I want to give the enemy what he has been looking for. It’s a battle I am so often not willing to fight. Here. Take my weapons. You’ve stripped me of most of them now, so let me hand you the rest, freely. Let me have this, let me do this. This is what my magvum opus should be. A compilation of everything and nothing. Isn’t that what it’s all about? helping men in public places Janet Kuypers so it was new year’s eve and we were standing on forty-second street and the avenue of the americas we were a few blocks away but we had just the right view of times square. and yes, there was freezing rain but i didn’t really care, since i was just in new york for a few days. it was 10:55, we still had a long time to wait standing with i don’t know how many thousands of other people, some of them were climbing up the light poles, all of us pushing forward into the street, despite the police officers on horseback rushing at us back toward the sidewalk. and our paper bag fell apart in the rain, so i let the glass water bottle fall to the curb, and our friend told us he needed to go to the bathroom real bad, you know, so i told him to go right here in the street, no one will see him. but he didn’t want to piss on someone’s shoes, so he asked if i had a bottle, so i picked up the water bottle from the curb, and when he finished his job he closed up the bottle and put it back on the sidewalk. god, and you, too, getting on the train after the ball dropped, more rain and a bottle of champagne later, saying you had to go real bad, too, so i pulled an empty beer bottle from my coat pocket, you covered the train window with your coat and i blocked your view from the aisle while you took care of the matter at hand. i’m amazed that that bottle didn’t tip over on the train floor during that hour commute, our first of the new year, while i slept on your shoulder. and i’m amazed that i ended one year and began another helping men i know, in public places, piss into bottles. I’m a Record now Janet Kuypers I feel like I’m a record now you know how vinyl goes That there is a ridge, trailed in circles That groove that the needle can easily slip into Well, I feel like I am that record now And the needle of life is in me And it is playing my story And I am stuck on this record player At this certain speed And I can’t get the needle out of the groove And my life is being played out for me For everyone to hear And see And live And they don’t feel a God-damned thing But they claim to know how I feel But that needle is stuck there And the R P M has been set on the player And now my life is an open book And now my life is a playing record And people can choose to read the book And people can choose to listen to the music And sometimes that excites me Sometimes that fascinates me And sometimes that scares me Because I wonder if people who listen know too little Or too much Dancing Woman, painting by Dave Jarvie

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@scars.tv... 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

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 1999 book “Rinse and Repeat”, the 2001 book “Survive and Thrive”, the 2001 books “Torture and Triumph” and “(no so) Warm and Fuzzy”, which all have 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 and tell us you saw this ad space. 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.

Children, Churches and Daddies the unreligious, non-family oriented literary and art magazine Scars Publications and Design ccandd96@scars.tv http://scars.tv Publishers/Designers Of Children, Churches and Daddies magazine cc+d Ezines The Burning mini poem books God Eyes mini poem books The Poetry Wall Calendar The Poetry Box The Poetry Sampler Mom’s Favorite Vase Newsletters Reverberate Music Magazine Down In The Dirt magazine Freedom and Strength Press forum plus assorted chapbooks and books music, poery compact discs live performances of songs and readings Sponsors Of past editions: Poetry Chapbook Contest, Poetry Book Contest Prose Chapbook Contest, Prose Book Contest Poetry Calendar Contest current editions: Editor’s Choice Award (writing and web sites) Collection Volumes Children, Churches and Daddies (founded 1993) has been written and researched by political groups and writers from the United States, Canada, England, India, Italy, Malta, Norway and Turkey. Regular features provide coverage of environmental, political and social issues (via news and philosophy) as well as fiction and poetry, and act as an information and education source. Children, Churches and Daddies is the leading magazine for this combination of information, education and entertainment. Children, Churches and Daddies (ISSN 1068-5154) is published quarterly by Scars Publications and Design. Contact us via e-mail (ccandd96@scars.tv) for subscription rates or prices for annual collection books. To contributors: No racist, sexist or blatantly homophobic material. No originals; if mailed, include SASE & bio. Work sent on disks or through e-mail preferred. Previously published work accepted. Authors always retain rights to their own work. All magazine rights reserved. Reproduction of Children, Churches and Daddies without publisher permission is forbidden. Children, Churches and Daddies copyright through Scars Publications and Design, Children, Churches and Daddies, Janet Kuypers. All rights remain with the authors of the individual pieces. No material may be reprinted without express permission.