         ________                                       \\  _     |
        /_______/   \                                      | \    |
        //          /___   ____  _____    _____   ____     | |\   |
        //_________ \   \ |____\ |____\   \_____ |____\    | | \  |
        //_________\ \   \ \______\______ _____/  \______  |_|  \_|
             ________
            /_______/                    | 
            //             ___  __   ___ |_/  ___     ___ ____
            //_________  |/     __\ /    | \ |___\  |/    \____
            //_________\ |     /__| \___ |  \ \____ |    _____/
   

             t h e   o n l y   t r u e   u r b a n   t - z i n e


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

FILENAME            DATE      INHUMANTERMS       DEDICATED2       CASUALITIES
 005-crackheadz.txt  04042003  April 4th, 2003    Freedom & Ideas  420 (a.p.i.)
 
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------------+ 
\____________________________________________________________________________/
 |   |   |  |||| HEY KIDZ,                                    ||||  |   |   |
 |   |   |  ||||                             A BRIEF REMINDER ||||  |   |   |
 |   |   |  ||||                                              ||||  |   |   |
 |   |   |  ||||            WINTER IS OVER                    ||||  |   |   |
 |   |   |  ||||          WE ARE OUT OF HIBERNATION           ||||  |   |   |
 |   |   |  ||||                                              ||||  |   |   |
 |   |   |  ||||                                              ||||  |   |   |
 |   |   |  ||||                                              ||||  |   |   |
 |   |   |  ||||                     SO WAKE UP &             ||||  |   |   |
/   / \ / \ ||||                                  REKANYZ     |||| / \ / \   \    
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|                                                                             |
| Cheese'N Crackers Staff Dept.   [applicable to this issue only]             |
|                                                |
|                                                                             |
|       brian                       founder;                                 |
|         <brian@bubblemonkey.org>     editor; <-- all submissions and        |
|                                      writer;      comments sent here.       |
|                                                                             |
|       mat (formerly matt)         writer;                                  |
|         <atarisrioter@aol.com>        realist;                              |
|                                                                             |
|       brandon                     writer;                                  |
|         <brandon@bubblemonkey.org>    ftp admin;                            |
|                                       supa-stud;                            |
|                                                                             |
|       sam                         writer;                                  |
|         <tocotronic09@hotmail.com>    dope poet;                            |
|                                                                             |
|       joe b                       writer;                                  |
|         <ahhjoeb@yahoo.com>           director;                             |
|                                       self-proclaimed genius;               |
|                                                                             |
|       billy sped                  diarist;                                 |
|         <unable to use e-mail>                                              |
|                                                                             |
|       GUEST APPEARANCE BY                                                  |
|         gir of angstmonster                                                 |
|         <http://www.angstmonster.org>                                       |
|                                                                             |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------------+
         | |                       \ * * * /                       | |
         | |                       / * * * \                       | |    
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|                                                                             |
|                    WANT TO WRITE FOR CHEESE'N CRACKERS?                     |
|                                                                             |
| Do you ever find yourself stuck in your thoughts with a great idea?  Up to  |
| this point, you never bothered to do anything about those feelings, until   |
| now . . .                                                                   |
|                                                                             |
|         IT'S EASY!                                                          |
|                                                                             |
|                             OPEN UP THE APPLICATION YOU WRITE STUFF IN!     |
|                             TYPE UP YOUR THOUGHTS!                          |
|                             COPY AND PASTE INTO AN E-MAIL OR                |
|                             SAVE IT AS A .TXT FILE AND                      |
|                             SEND IT TO BRIAN@BUBBBLEMONKEY.ORG              |
|                                                                             |
|         . . . it's that easy.                                               |
|                                                                             |
|                         So send -brian- your random, spontaneous prose.     |
|                                                                             |
|  --> EVERYTHING IS ACCEPTABLE, THOUGH NOT NECESSARILY PUBLISHABLE.          |
|                   [just don't let us intimidate you.]                       |
|                                                                             |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------------+
              }  {           ___________________             }  {
             }    {         | ISSUE REMINDER(S) |           }    {
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|_____________________________________________________________________________|

  current file name: 005-crackheadz.txt
  current file size: 101,075 bytes
  current lines:     1823
  pages:             29 (approx.)

  EVERYBODY RIGHT NOW, IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY, GO TO :

              http://www.angstmonster.org/txt/amspr8.txt

                  AND READ IT FOR IN THAT FILE LAYS A BATTLE BETWEEN GIR AND I.

      WHEN YOU ARE THROUGH WITH THAT, CHECK OUT :

              http://www.bubblemonkey.org/cheesencrackers/iahb

    FOR THOSE THAT READ IAMHAPPYBLUE, I SET UP A MIRROR OF THEIR T-FILEZ

         RAINDOG DOESNT KNOW I DID THIS, BUT IAHB IS GONE AND
           
                                                 THEIR LEGEND NEEDS TO LIVE ON.

    :  if you are even reading this line right now, then that means you will
        most likely be reading every other line in this rag.  are your eyes
        strained yet?  oh, no?  okay . . . well . . . are they now?  sure?  if
        that's the case, then i'd suggest printing cheese'n crackers up, it's
        so much funner to read that way.  BUT YOU DON'T HAVE TO TAKE MY WORD
        FOR IT!!!!!

    :  this issue took a complete makeover. don't let it fool you, just read
        left to right, top from bottom. it's not science, here.

    :  send me your submissions. if i like what i see, i'll publish it, and
        you will be a part of the Cheese'N Crackers craze.

    :  did you know the people that suscribe to Cheese'N Crackers by mail
        got a copy of issue five in their mailbox the day before I publicly
        released it?  that's right, and you can, too!  just e-mail me and
        tell me that you want to be on the mailing list. all e-mail addresses
        are confidential and one question you need to ask is: and why would i
        give your e-mail to ANYONE?  i wouldn't, that simple.

    :  if you see a grammatical error or spelling error, then e-mail someone
        that cares.  if you want to be in charge of editing this whole file,
        then e-mail ME. =\

    :  enjoy your filthy fifth issue of your new favorite t-mag.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------/
      *****                                                          *****
       ***                                                            ***
        *                                                              *
  00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
  0000        _____________________________                             0000
  000         CHEESE'N CRACKERS VIA E-MAIL?                              000
  000                                       000
  000          If you wish to receive Cheese'N Crackers by e-mail        000
  000             then send brian@bubblemonkey.org a message and         000
  000                 your wish will be granted.                         000
  000        PLUS!  You will receive it one day before it's publicly     000
  000                         RELEASED!!!!!!                             000
  0000                                                                  0000
  00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

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


                        PLAYBOYS AND CLUBBERS WELCOME

                               POSERS ARE NOT

                          HOMELESS PEOPLE BANISHED


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

                                                                April 3rd, 2003
Dear Layla,


Let's see, here . . .

April 4th, 2003 minus December 12, 2002 equals, um, uh . . . erm . . . some-
thing like . . . one-hundred-fourteen days.  It's been one-hundred-foureen
days since I last released an issue of Cheese'N Crackers.  I already know what
you're going to ask, so I'll answer it right now.

After the new year hit, my roommate and I decided we wanted to move out.  At
the time, we lived in Ballard, which is part of North Seattle.  It wasn't too
bad.  We were paying $785 a month for a two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment,
a large one at that, with nearly six available parking units.  Nobody lived
above us, no one behind us.  We were isolated on the entire north side of the
building.  We had a balcony that I set up two chairs on and an outdoor George
Forman Grill(R) around the side of it.  All in all, it was the perfect place,
but we wanted more.  We wanted the city.  We wanted the commotion, the loud
noises, the history, and all that tourist junk revolving around us.

We started going to school in late January at this college downtown.  I was
taking a Logic class, an introduction to fiction class, and this class on
urbanization in industrial nations class, which I ended up dropping.  On our
long breaks, my roommate and I would walk around in search of a new home.
Well, on the way to these studios, we came across this duplex that was being
rented out.  It was amazing at first site, believe me.  The asking price was
a bit steep, but infatuation of the location overwhelemed the both of us and
I made a call to the number posted and made an appointment to look at the
place the next day.

Upon looking at the lower level of the duplex, we both fell in love.  We
signed the lease, a six-month one, and added the parking for $90 more a
month.  If you have ever visited Seattle, then you would know why the land-
lord was charging so much, it's just ridiculous.

Our landlord told us that we could start moving in whenever we want, so we
started immediately.  I told Jake he could have the master bedroom if he paid
thirty more dollars a month for it.  The total rent was $1,220, Jake paying
$640 and me paying #580 a month.

Some time passed.  I was still doing in school and working a lot more to
keep up with rent.  In the meantime, my old cell phone bill got sent to
collections, my grades were slipping, and after the fifth of every month, I
was flat broke.  So broke that there were days where I wouldn't eat a damn
thing except a couple cups of water.  It was bad.

This wasn't the life I wanted to be living.  I thought moving downtown would
aomehow recreate tthe hibernation that is unconveniently placed me in. So what
happened is that I lost complete motivation to work on Cheese'N Crackers.  It
was on my mind, believe me, but the thought of compiling everything just didn't
sound satisfying enough to get my ass off the couch and work on it.

So, I put it off.  I thought about discontinuing work on it.  I thought about
abandoning it and leaving it for martyrdom.  Until Jake and I decided upon a
plan. We decided to move out, break the lease, and move back home.  How on
Earth could we break the lease, though?  Well, what if we felt in danger of our
lives while living there?

The day after next, our plan was put into action.  We found some old heroin
needles on the sidewalk and planted them in our carport.  We broke the front
door to give the illusion that someone broke into our house.  We convinced our
neighbor that someone had stolen our X-Box along with the Splintercell he let
us borrow.  And after we told our landlord all of this, we didn't forget to
include the part about the bums knocking on our door, looking for a place to
sleep.  It turns out our neighbor actually pulled some guys up that were trying
to sleep ourside our door.  Scary thought, but I must progress.

Our landlord was shocked and hadn't heard of anything of this magnitude ever
occuring at one of his rentals.  We forced our willingness and eagerness to
move upon him.  How'd it end?

Well, as I type up to you this t-file, I am in my old bedroom at my parent's
house, enrolled in a different school, changed my major, and have never been
happier.

Welcome back, my fans, you weren't forgotten.

                                                                Loving Regards,
                                                                          
                                                                          brian

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

________
|_______\_____________________________________________________________________
|                                                                             \
| I had this dope poem that >sam< wrote but I lost it in my stupidity.  Never |
| will I cut and paste ever again.I HATE MYSELF JESUS FUCKING CHRIST ALMIGHTY |
\_____________________________________________________________________________|
                                                                    \_________|
                    ________________________________________________/         '
                   |\     So here's Joe B > >                       |         '
                   |||         '
                   || what will it take to stop this war!           |         '
                   || The billions spent, not helping the poor      |         '
                   || Yet the poor stay poor, not wanting more      |         '
                   || While the interest rates still drop           |         '
                   || Captivating the wealthy to the top            |         '
                   || Millions in the streets,                      |         '
                   || The community shouting words of peace.        |         '
                   || But still your leader carries on,             |         '
                   || Some say his mind is gone.                    |         '
                   || The reports show images of brave souls        |         '
                   || Still fighting for that mistaken goal         |         '
                   || But who knows the truth.                      |         '
                   || May I pray that there is a fountain of youth? |         '
                   || So that one day my essence can be cleansed    |         '
                   || Still I challenge this war on friend          |         '
                   || But hey maybe in the next 30 years it will    |         '
                   ||   make sense                                  |         '
                   || When we read about it in past-tense.          |         '
                   || But for now I will still question it          |         '
                   || Tear down this government bit by bit          |         '
                   || Until they realize that there people are sick |         '
                   || For now it is all a trick.                    |         '
                   | \______________________________________________|,,,,,,,,,'
                   |_______________________________________________(,,,,,,,,,'

                     

                                 [[ [ . . . on with the magazine! ] ]]


[ a story by brandon ]---------------------------------------------------------
[                                                                             ]
[ Sy rolled over on the leather couch, awakened into the hangover by the      ]
[ soundof shitty animated Saturday morning television shows.  Trying to focus ]
[ on what exactly he needed first, he shuffled to the kitchen to grab a Coke. ]
[ Next, a quick trip to the toilet.  Having taken care of the necessary re-   ]
[ quirements for waking up into a hangover, he proceeded back to the couch to ]
[ await the impending phone calls.                                            ]
[                                                                             ]
[ He thinks to himself a lot.  Whether it's rhymes or just narrating what     ]
[ he's doing at that moment in time, his brain always churns, never relaxed.  ]
[ Sometimes he wonders if he's crazy.  BAM!  Sy snaps out of his dreamstate   ]
[ to see his little brother, Charlie, shooting suction darts at the cat, who  ]
[ just ran into a potted plant.  Another day in this hellhole.                ]
[                                                                             ]
[ Sy overanalyzes the wrong things, and doesn't give a second thought to the  ]
[ right ones.  Sy is an alcoholic.  Sy is an avid pot-smoker.  He likes to    ]
[ pretend that he's enlightened, but in reality, knows that deeper, he's just ]
[ as pathetic as that guy in the AA commercials.  You see, everyone that      ]
[ knows Sy doesn't really know Sy.  Sy puts on a show.  Yes, it is a flawless ]
[ show, and nobody seems to see what's underneath that exterior.              ]
[                                                                             ]
[ RING.                                                                       ]
[ "Ahoy-hoy."                                                                 ]
[ "What's up Sy?"                                                             ]
[ "Recuperating.  Yourself?"                                                  ]
[ "Nothing at all.  What's going on this evening?"                            ]
[ "Shawn and Parker spinning down at E4."                                     ]
[ "Word.  So you wanna pre-drink and hit that up?"                            ]
[ "For sure, see you in an hour."                                             ]
[ "Peace."                                                                    ]
[ Sy hung up the reciever, thought over the conversation he'd just had and    ]
[ realized he had no idea who the person on the other end of the line was.    ]
[ Thank God the phone companies add those mundane little features such as     ]
[ *69.  After discovering the identity of his friend, Sy took a rather com-   ]
[ forting shower.  He dressed in his normal street attire, not entirely fake, ]
[ but definitely somewhat.  Sy listens to and loves hip-hop and jungle music, ]
[ and that is basically what his life revolves around.  Other than scamming   ]
[ people, of course.                                                          ]
[                                                                             ] 
[ "Hmm.  I'll just smoke one."                                                ]
[                                                                             ]
[ Sy sits at the bus stop, all alone in the stupid suburb where he lives with ]
[ his Mom, brother and sister.  Stealthily, he loads a bowl of his self-pre-  ]
[ scribed medicine.  This bag was particularly nice, covered in crystals and  ]
[ hairs, definitely 60s.  But, like said before, Sy is a master of conning    ]
[ people.  He didn't pay for this sack.                                       ]
[                                                                             ]
[ The first hit is like a release.  You can taste the forest, and expelling   ]
[ the smoke in clouds is one of the more beautiful things in life.  He sits   ]
[ silently, smoking a bowl to himself and thinking, always thinking.  Some-   ]
[ how, this whole process is timed perfectly.  As his glass chillum gets hot  ]
[ to the touch, the bus rolls around the corner.  Nonchalantly tapping it out ]
[ on his foot, he stands up, eager to start another night of binge drinking.  ]
[                                                                             ]
----------------------------------------------------------------[ end for now ]

________
SHORTS. \_____________________________________________________________________
===============================================================================
 ||                                                                         ||
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                        \ brian
                                                                         
Plane Jane becomes the starlette social vanguard overnight and the next morning
she's there at the coffee stand preparing your triple vent, white chocolate
caff mocha, bouncing around the pinball machine as your voice guides her from
espresso machine to driver window to syrup rack to driver window and the shin-
ing starlette forgets to smile in between the tip jar--feeling tipsy?--and the
whipped cream.  There she stands, at 5:24 this Tuesday morning, the dawn's rain
drizzling down on your windshield sticking like tree sap to the quasi-glass
pane and, "Shit", you say, "I still need to fix those damn wipers." (Aside from
the new teflon wiper blades that are being advertised on highway marquees, you
never even THINK about pulling over at the automotive store to pick some up).

    She leans over the window, though not an attractive woman, holding a pleas-
ant smile that gleams.  "Three-fifty," she says, still smiling.

    You hand her a five and giving the change back, you grin and say, "You know
I don't want that back; just keep it."  She thanks you, the smile still locked,
and the words somehow leaked through the gaps between her enamel, and she
reaches for your mocha, hands it to you with two espresso bean candies on the
lid.  You finally drive off, thanking her as you accelerate out of the drive-
thru.

    Plane Jane goes back inside and plops herself down on a chair, continuing
to read her new issue of Cosmo, dreaming of one day being pretty.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                      \ brandon
                                                                       

every time i see him, my feelings are a furious clash of garbage that is abso-
lutely undecipherable.  pity seems like too soft of a word, and hatred just
isn't right.  he has nothing i want, and everything i don't.  he is the person-
ifcation of sadness.  the epitomy of a 'poser'.  i can't hate him for his
flaws, that's not fair.  everyone has flaws.  some are just better at hiding
them.  those people, are generally the ones you need to be afraid of, anyway.  
yes, i speak from experience.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                          \ mat
                                                                           
I shot a bird in the chest at my grandmother's when I was 13.  I watched him
fall to the ground and shake violently.  I walked up to it, grinning, as I
looked over my prize, then started to hear voices, I looked quickly around, 
then back down at the ground, at my now dying prize.  In a cackled voice, blood
streaming out of its mouth, I heard the sparrow cry out in pain, and then look
me in the eyes.  It said "Why have you shot me, what have I done to you?"  And
I looked down and shot him in the head with my b. b. gun as my smile slowly
faded . . . What had he done to me?  I don't know.  Not a thing, not even once.
I thought killing would be fun, but when it came down to the nail, looking your
victim in the eyes as it slowly dies away takes that fun sensation away for-
ever.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                          \ mat
                                                                           
You are intellectual and beautiful.  You write like you have something to say
before the world comes crashing down.  You make me feel like I'm living the
dream I've wanted to without reality interfering.  If we talk about the object
of my affection, I'll refuse to drop a name, simply because I'm afraid you'll
look at me and sigh, brush your hair from your eyes, and tell me, "Sorry hunny,
but you're just too young".

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                        \ brian
                                                                         
All he needed was a knock on the door.  One knock and he could get up from his
recliner, answer it, and break the silence.  Instead, he was given the news-
paper, front-page folded open, scratchy images, and his obituary trailing off
with three periods and a question mark.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                        \ brian
                                                                         
What I had in my mind wasn't particularly what I wrote so instead I just wrote
freestyle poetry in my car in some guy's driveway after I delivered his pizza.
He had no idea what I was recording but you now do:



and then what?
I die?
Fly outta my soul into the sky?
That all sounds so dull
I just wanna know why I can't read the novel
I never wrote?

What?  You wanna watch me hold the sieze?
Buzz around the hive, kill off
the queen bee, fend off the guards,
and steal all the honey? Jar
it up, smear the others blindly
and sell it all for money
as though it'd be fun? Please.
That's not my style.

After you've eradicated all my
beliefs or so you think,
I'll find you dilapidated
on the bathroom floor, beneath
the sink gurggling on the words
I spew.

You had to be there, I guess, because those rhymes are just whack.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                          \ mat
                                                                           
Reflection.  My reflection over the pond.  Skip a rock, maybe two.  Watch the
sparrow chase the fireflies, let out the heavy sigh.  Close my eyes.  Open
them.  Close them, see you, dance with you in my mind.  Ballroom victory, bal-
lad of the loneliest night.  Throw the rock.  Make a splash.  Scare the fish.  
Cry the tune, make the pond overflow.  If only you could see . . . The lover in
me.  From a whisper to a tune.  I think I'm in love with you.  Reflection.  My 
sad reflection over the pond.  Throw the last rock and walk away.  Walk away.  
W..a..l...k...     A...w..a........y

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                        \ brian
                                                                         
on the corner of 190th and 22nd, all i can seem to do is struggle to find the
water i hear in its waves below me. i'd ask god why, through this heavy fog,
he's forbidding me from seeing the beach below, but i think he went and stepped
out for a cigarette. or maybe the haze is from my own cigarette. at this point,
there are too many clouded thoughts occupying my mind.
    have you ever noticed that it's the scent of things that really stick with
you? a particular smell can make or break you. the beautiful scent of this sea
air travels through me, fighting a duel with the memories of another scent,
trying to break free from its chains.
    there are houses around me. i don't see any porch lights on nor do i see
any lights on inside any of the homes, save a lamp dimly lighting one man's
bureau in his study, but i just ignore it. a group of steps lead to someone's
yard, overlooking a sight far too beautiful for their eyes. i wonder why any-
thing so pure can be created? humans have no right to witness such divine cre-
ations.
    everything will be okay, though, because today is just today and all i
really need is a little rest.
    and so i close yet another chapter to my meager little life.
    
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                          \ sam
                                                                              
I thought alot about how my life has changed. I used to define myself by my de-
pression and overall discontent with myself. I took a sort of pride in being
what I considered a tortured soul. It sounded like a scene from a horror film. 
Hours old rainwater dripping off my deck onto the ground, dripping with ten-
sion, and a train echoing in the distance. That warm almost-new feeling 20 year
old black leather jacket I took from my grandmother's attic that I never wore
out of the house, and new vintage-wash Levi's I bought at Costco. Ugly black
Vans I mostly wore out here alone at night. Pushing smoke effortlessly from my 
lungs. My hair falling flat down my forehead and curling up before reaching my
brow. I half-stumbled slowly down the short rock path beside my brother's room,
out to my small front lawn and back. Dropping my cigarette into a dirty glass
ashtray that had been sitting there for months, and months. I missed.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                          \ mat
                                                                           
                             A Story From Reality

I sit at the foot of your bed.  It's a sensitive subject, my friend, and I gave
it my all.  Not the right time, not the right time.  I know your day was long, 
my friend, as mine was just as long.  But tonight, time doesn't slip by at all.
You look into my eyes.  I glance around your room.  I sigh.  Prolonged silence,
but not awkward, it's nearly expected.  Silence says more than you know.  I
sigh.  We drink our tea.  We hug the  pain away.  Gentle sighs.  Windy nights.
The red tea, it worked for me.  Insomniac deprived.  Not the right time, not
the right time.  Still not happy, but no longer depressed.  My stomach aches
are gone, my friend, I tribute that to you.  The night is through for me.  I
leave for the door, you follow.  Another hug.  Another sigh.  We bid good-bye.
The night swallows our story.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                        \ brian
                                                                         
The sky is overcast and I'm this outcast out looking for something to reap re-
demption on my past.  First it was her terrible habits that I habitually vomit-
ed up in her kitchen sink, and when the rain tapped against my window panes,
and when the tears of the clouds rapped at my constrained brain I'd search for
solace in words and pretty pictures in marble frames, stuck dreaming of horse-
drawn carriages trotting down Elm Street, seeking mends to patch leaky founda-
tion.  When Walter tipped his hat and smiled, I smiled back, sipped my wine,
and continued my evening of wild imagination, and the sores healed from the
last time I laughed this insanely.

/-----------------------------------------------------------------------------/


 _____________________________________________________________________________
 \                                                                           /
 /  Out of sheer curiosity, and the idea of getting to know my fans better   \
 \  appeals to me, anyone reading this tfile should e-mail me [brian] and    /
 /  let me know what kind of cigarettes you smoke, if you do at all.  Thx.   \
 \                                                                           /
 /  On the occasions I feel like smoking, I usually smoke American Spirit    \
 \  Mediums, though I also circulate thru Camel Turkish Royals, an assort-   /
 /  ment of imports, Camel Wides, and sometimes whatever comes in the 2-for- \
 \  1 deals (last time, it was Parliament). But most of the time, I can't    /
 /  stand the things, you know what I mean?                                  \
 \                                                                           /
 /  For those that smoke American Spirits, I think you'd be interested to    \
 \  know that R.J. Reynolds (the same producers of Camel) bought Sante Fe    /
 /  Natural Tobacco Company (the same producers of American Spirits) for     \
 \  $430 million sometime earlier this year.  You can read it in PDF at:     /
 /  http://www.nera.com/wwt/newsletter_issues/4842.pdf                       \
 \                                                                           /
 /                   That's all; thank you, everyone.                        \
 \___________________________________________________________________________/


_________________________________________________
ARCHIVED MATERIAL [how sadly played out, right?] \____________________________
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

an archived tfile, except i added to more of it. word, man.

                    _,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,_
                  -[ C H E E S E ' N ]-
                    ```````````````,,,,_
___|text file # 010|___-[ C R A C K E R S ]-______________!___________________
* *                      ````````````````                                  _>
*  "foretold.txt REVISION"                                                  |`.
*______________________________________[ brian : 31st of October, 2002 c.e. ] *
                                          * *
back when i was a part of iahb <http://www.iamhappyblue.com> (before i was
kicked off), i wrote a tfile that i thought was good at the time, but realized
it actually sucked. so, here, i have the original
<http://www.iamhappyblue.com/txt/0075.txt>, along with the revision. and since
this is the sort of dvd-equivalent of the file, i added the even earlier texts
that inspired me to write it.

so, without further adieu . . .


[[ THE ORIGINAL ]] :

 .---------------------------------.
 | 75# foretold.txt 03/19/01       |    
 | by cracker                      |         
 | childeater@hotmail.com          |     
 `---------------------------------'

the sun was quietly burning my scalp as we walked down the street.

the planet to his moon:

    "you are not yet alive. you live, yes, but
    you live without feeling; you live without knowing the truth." i humbly
    silenced myself and gazed past your face, trying to disclose my
    inability to comprehend your words.
    
    "you will one day find what has been seeking you for generations. it
    will hit you with full force and you will neither know what to do
    nor understand its presence, but you will know it is there for
    you."
    
    compliance blanketed your voice as we sat down on a bench.
    
the nocent sun played with the nape of my neck.

the moon to his planet:

    "i understand, man, but why are you telling me this now? i don't
    get it." i waited, expecting you to reply to my question. i had
    the notion that you, dare i say it, wanted to reply. one. two.
    three. four seconds. no answer.
    
    your eyes stared hopefully into mine. you were trying to say
    something through your gaze. pastures? meadows? what about
    open fields?
    
    i could not understand you.
    
    "i'm sorry, i don't get it."
    
solar combustion:

    you stood up, aged with wisdom and hope. you reached into your
    pocket and presented to me an envelope.
    
    as i eagerly, but apprehensively, opened the envelope, i saw,
    through the corner of my eye, a dark piece of metal in your
    grasp. i looked up. you were holding a revolver to your right
    temple. one. my heart was fast; a car speeding through a tunnel
    on a rainy night. two. the situation finally hit me; signals sent
    throughout my body via my nerves. three. too late. you pulled
    the trigger.
    
rebirth:

    i pulled out a piece of paper and read it:
    
        if it were this easy, it wouldn't be called life, now,
        would it?
        
        love ya,
        X
        
    as your body lay on the grass, i dropped to my knees, kissed
    your hand, and walked out of your life. forever.
    
the sun is now mine.


[[ THE REVISION ]] :

The Solar System Foretold

The sun was quietyl burning my scalp as we walked down the street. We stopped,
sat down on a rusty bench, and you began to speak:

THE PLANET TO HIS MOON:

     "You are not yet alive. You live, yes, but you live without feeling; you
     live without knowing the truth." I humbly silenced myself and gazed past
     your face, trying to disclose my inability to comprehend your words.
     
     "You will one day find what has been seeking you for generations. It will
     hit you with full force and you will neither know what to do nor under-
     stand its presence, but you will know it is there for you, and you'll be
     forced to make a decision, which may end up costing you everything you
     once believed true."
     
     Complacence blanketed your voice as we sat down on a bench.
     
The nocent sun began playing with the nape of my neck, hinting for me to reply,
so, without hesitation, I did:

THE MOON TO HIS PLANET:

     "I understand, man, but why are you telling me this now? I don't get it."
     I waited, expecting you to reply to my question. I had the notion that
     you, dare I say it, wanted to reply. One. Two. Three. Four seconds. No
     answer. Your slumped body assumed the position of an angel falling from
     the heavens.
     
     As you forced yourself up, your eyes stared hopefully into mine. You were
     trying to say something through gaze. Pastures? Meadows? What about open
     fields?
     
     "I'm sorry, I don't get it."
     
     I felt intimidated, but, oddly enough, at ease with my position, realizing
     we are different, despite what I tell myself all too often.
     
Looking antsy, you closed your eyes, tears welling up, then something startling
occured:

SOLAR COMBUSTION:

     You stood up, aged with wisdom and hope and reached into your pocket, then
     presented to me an envelope.
     
     As I eagerly opened the seal, I saw, through the corner of my eye, a dark
     shady block in your grasp. I looked up. You were holding a revolver to
     your right temple, hands trembling and eyes glazed over. Trains of
     thoughts broke through my mind and were left without brakes. One. My heart
     was fast; a car speeding through a tunnel on a rainy, windy night. Two.
     The situation finally hit me; signals sent through my body via the Central
     Nervous System, first my brain, then my neck, my arms, down my spine and
     finally throughout my legs. Three. Too late. You pulled the trigger.
     
Marvelously, the whole of existence didn't die with you; in fact, it rather
matured:

REBIRTH:

     I pulled out the letter you presented to me earlier and read it:
     
          if it were this easy, it wouldn't be called life, now, would it?
          
                                                                       Love ya,
                                                                       X
                                                                       
     As your body lay on the grass, I dropped to my knees, kissed your hang,
     and walked out of our life forever.
     
The sun is now mine and I refuse to make your mistakes my own.


[[ THE INSPIRATIONS ]] :

a long while back, i wrote these two files, cousins, basically, to each other.
i thought they were actually pretty dope at the time, but i was just a naive
kid, thinking he was the tish.


Changes

Your time is wasted and you complain to me about how you
never did the things you always wanted to. You, not having
that one night of glory. You were talking, but I guess I
forgot what you were saying. So, I go and ask you why you
never took the chance. You say something about chasing dreams
too far. "But, no dreams are too far," I say, in bewilderment.
As you laugh at me, I sit and ponder. Anyone can catch dreams.
You tell me about reality. About the world. About life, and
about me. Funny thing is, you're right. Reaching for yet
another hit, you start to tell me about how you were never
gonna do bad things. Never gonna have sex before you were
married. Never gonna smoke pot or drink so much that you can't
walk well enough to stay on the sidewalk. You tell me how
people change. How I'll change. How the world will change. I
look at you once more. You aren't God. That's just a story. So,
who are you? My savior? No, you're my soul. But you know too
much. Seen too much stuff. "Just been around a while," you
tell me. Awakening me from my dreams, you stand up. I watch as
you tower over me. After your last puff, you walk out of my life.
Forever.


Prosthetic Life

You sit there, telling me how you wanna live your life. How
you wanna have a wife and kid. I simply sit and laugh. You
were never the kind of guy to have someone you love. How can
you love when you don't even know what it is? You only learned
from movies. But that wasn't even love. Porno movies and
love; those just don't mix. Smoking your last blunt, you
start to tell me about dreams of being a somebody, being
famous. Funny how you get so caught up in yourself. I ask
you why you wanna be famous. You tell me something about
getting money. Getting money for what? Your next girlfriend?
Money doesn't buy love, kid. Money buys trouble and evil. Money
buys you a prosthetic life. Obviously your new life. You tell me
about flying. "Flying?" I ask. "Yeah, flying," you say, suave
as hell. I always looked at you and thought that you were
cool. Nonchalant about everything. I thought you had it all:
money, women, happiness. Once I looked past all that, I saw
your bleak, cynical soul. After the last sip of your drink--I
can't remember what it was, I think some Scottish rum--you
merely picked up a semi-automatic pistol and shot yourself in
the right temple of your head. As your body fell like a lifeless
doll to the floor, I watched as you flew away.


the first one sort of represents the PLANET (mentor) and the second sort of
represents the MOON (student).
_______________________________________________________________________________
                                    http://www.bubblemonkey.org/cheesencrackers
                             
                                                   cnc-011.txt written by brian
                                                       <brian@bubblemonkey.org>
                             
                         
                         copyright (c) 2002, your mom.

THEN {
      the added part :::

  What I never showed anyone was the inspiration for all of the above pieces.
  Following is that, typed directly onto your screen from its nested home on
  thick hemp paper in a book binded in leather.


  THE INSPIRATION FOR "THE SOLAR SYSTEM FORETOLD"
  

  I.
       I never really understood you.  There were days you would tell me how
  great you felt, while others you would tell me that niggers weren't people.
  I am the idol's doll.  That night, we snuck outside and planted an Evergreen
  tree in our special corner of the yard.  You hissed with laughter and I tried
  to mimick it.  I am the idol's mirror.  That was our childhood.  I welcomed
  you with open arms into my body.

  II.
       You screamed at me when I told you I was looking for my eye drops.  You
  started to toke up without me.  One.  Two.  Three.  Are you awake?  Found it.
  I threw the bottle of furtiveness at you.  You fumbled for it.  One.  Two.
  Three.  You eyes weren't as red anymore.  I am the idol's slave.  Then, you
  talked.


  III.
       Life is fuckin' precious, man.  You remember that tree we planted the
  night mom died?  I nodded my head, blowing smoke rings out systematically
  at the same time.  You continued with your thoughts.

  ---------------------------------------------------- UNFINISHED

                                WHY???

                   I lost the motivation to continue . . . . . . .



. . . and that is exactly what was written verbatum.


/-----------------------------------------------------------------------------/

  G A N J A  A L E R T ! ! !
  
  So, I'm not advertising this on the web site because a) this is solely
    for the immaculate readers of this magazine, and b) because a lot of
    the site's visitors are from Google or Yahoo in search of "piss sex"
    and those nymphs don't need to know about it, but I'm starting a sort
    of gallery holding scanned images of weed that I've had.
    
  So, I'm asking all of you bong-rippers, toke-hitters, and thc-critters
    to scan your own personal stashes, send them into me, and I'll add
    them to the collection.  If you're a stoner, say it loud, say it
    proud, and send me your weed pics right about now.
    
  So, e-mail me at brian@bubblemonkey.org with your pictures and your
    name (if you desire) and the name of the strand (if you have any
    clue), and I'll put it up.  We potheads need to keep the sacred
    plant held strong amidst this community we have here.  There's
    too much hate right now, so instead, rebuttal by adding your little
    nugs to the gigantic smoke-out.
   
   By the way, if you all don't know, the US is cracking down on the
    sales of bongs, glass pipes, and everything used for drugs. It's
    hit Oregon already, and I talked to some head-shop owners up here
    in Seattle and they it's supposed to hit up here later this month.
    GO BUY ALL THE GLASS PIECES YOU WHILE YOU STILL CAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
    Read more at http://stacks.msnbc.com/news/876686.asp?cp1=1 !!!!!!!

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------\
________________________________________________
STORY OF THE CENTURY SLASH TRIBUTE TO A FRIEND. \_____________________________
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                               by your beloved brian

Joe B and I refused to stay one more night at this place, no more camping, no
more rocks wedged in our slumbersome spines, no more waking up inside a wet
sleeping bag under a wet tent set down on a soaking fucking wet gravel ground.
That morning, over eggs and coffee at the local eatery in Vantage, Washington,
Joe B and I decided we were bailing out off this unworthy camping adventure.

    "I want to go home," I said, forking my scrambled eggs, aching all over my
backside trying to find a comfortable position.  I looked up at Joe B, sitting
across from me, staring at the pinball machines.  He forwards his glance to me
and agrees.  "Why not?  Why not just go back, tell them we're going home, pack
up all our shit and leave?"

    "Joe, don't you think they'd get mad or something?--"

    "Who the fuck cares, man?  I want to sleep in a real fucking bed in my own
room."

    "Yeah, it'd be nice to be in my own bed, huh?"

    "Yeah, dude, you know it."

    I smothered my sourdough toast in grape jam and thought about leaving this
hell hole.  Biting into the bread, I hear Joe B laugh.  "What?" I asked, lick-
my lips smeared in sticky jam.

    "The camp site is so lame, man."

    I laughed, remembering how our friends had persuaded us to imagine that
this place was essentially a party hangout in Eastern Washington, appearing to
be a generational paradise where kegs upon kegs laid dormant for our starving
saliva to tap and devour, where weed was smoked freely, by everyone, without
hassle, all willing to share their stash with you, inviting you into their
worlds, the foyers sparkling with razzle-dazzle glaze and twittering silver,
brandish glass leaving perceptual gazing of wonder and luminous--FULL OF BEAUT-
FUL LIGHT--desire.  David, particularly, emphasized its greatness, demanding
that we attain one full ounce of marijuana for the four-hour ride there, fin-
ishing the bag when we had gotten settled in.  "Think about it," David told us,
"sitting on the bank of the Columbia River, at sunset, roasting a bowl with
your friends."  We thought about it, all right, and we decided an ounce of
chronic wasn't enough.  Adam was able to score some mushrooms for the night
we were to arrive.  Shrooming would be Adam, of course, David, Tom, and myself.
Smoking would be David, Tom, as always, my brother, Joe B, maybe Colleen and
Adam if they felt up to it seeing as how they don't smoke all that much, and,
again, myself.  I threw up about fifty bucks on my drugs, the rest of the kids
threw up some more.

    "I'm driving," I told them with finality.

    "So, what?" Tom said, looking at me while he smoked his cigarette.

    "Hey, I'm driving, too!"

    "David's driving, too, so he doesn't have to throw up as much."

    "That makes no sense, Brian, what the hell!"  Tom again.

    Tyler interrupted Tom--it's what he does best--and said, "Tom, you don't
even drive, you have no idea how much it sucks to be the driver.  Plus they
have to lug everything around their cars and pay for gas.  Now shut the hell
up."

    "My brother's right," I said, "so all you guys need to do is just throw up
some more money on the ounce.  Tom," and I turned his way, when I told him,
"it's only twenty bucks more, man."

    "It's cool," he said.

    The issue was settled.  David and Adam, later that day, drove down to these
shitty, product-of-outcast-surburbia apartments to pick up the weed and the
mush-push.

-----|-+-|--|-+-|--|-+-|--|-+-|--|-+-|-*-|-+-|--|-+-|--|-+-|--|-+-|--|-+-|-----

    "You almost ready to go?" I asked Joe B.

    "I need to hit the head and then we can vacate," he said.

    "Rad."

    The both of us struggled to arise and as Joe B walked a couple feet to the
bathroom, I paid the bill, left a decent tip, and waited for him outside of my
car, parked conviently amidst the dust clouds and paper grass blades, stemming
out of the earth as boldly as I was hoping to feel.

-----|-+-|--|-+-|--|-+-|--|-+-|--|-+-|-*-|-+-|--|-+-|--|-+-|--|-+-|--|-+-|-----

    "Are you serious, Joe?"

    "Brian, I'm dead serious."

    "Who narced?"

    "No idea."
    
    "What'd she say to you?"

    "She told me I couldn't go camping."

    "Did your dad say anything to you?"

    "Yeah.  He told me I could go if I wanted to."

    "Won't your mom care, though?"

    "When she gets back from Arizona, she'll probably kill my dad."

    "Why'd he let you go, then?"

    "I guess he knows how it was."

    "What do you mean?" I asked.

    "He used to smoke pot all the time."

    "He did???"

    "Yeah, until he discovered the liquid alternative."

    "Al-kee-hall?"

    "Yep."

    There was a short silence between Joe and I until--BUMP!

    "You idiot."

    "What?" I asked, grinning, realizing I had swerved off the road, running my
tires into the gravel shoulder.

    "You realize," Joe says to me, "that one more foot and we would've driven
right off the side of the cliff."

    "You don't think I know that?"

    "I'm sure you did.  I'm sorry I stopped you; any place would be better than
this place, anyway. Even death."

    "Even death," I agreed as I drove my car on, all odds against my friend and
me.

                                               . . . TO BE CONTINUED (for real)
-----------------------------------------------
  .  .      .  .      .  .     .  .      .  . 
________________________________________________________
[ sickly slung syllabals slipping down someone's spine ]-------------__________
|                                                                    [ by gir ]
|                                                                             |
| her face is static, i'm just glad the doctor said it'd heal cause i just    |
| fell head over for this girl and don't want to get up ever again, you know  |
| the feeling, the way it's reeling me in on a platter like a disaster, drunk |
| as the cheery monk who partied hard in the woods and stone chambers of his  |
| monk parties' members, but they never remember the day after the next be-   |
| cause it's just the dirty haze that plays them endless and of course you    |
| know i've seen them there too, just like we used to do, girl you know it's  |
| true, that all i need, all i want, is you turned upside down and insides    |
| hanging all out and about on an autopsy table, and that's the end to my fa- |
| ble in a waiting room, suddenly overcome with the gloom smoking off my      |
| pipe, but we still ride, we still ride the clouds like we used to, haha do  |
| you remember that night?  out of nowhere we erupted into a big fight about  |
| how we never talked liked we did when were first met, frankly you were sick |
| of it, the way i was spending all my time on the internet, draining my soul |
| outta my head, so you left, we were both better off dead without one anoth- |
| er as lovers,  but still that's not enough, i want you back, and i'm fight- |
| ing against the stack of cards built up in a baggage house that'll collapse |
| if i don't remember why i left you out in the rain again another image      |
| slips passed me and here we are again just in someone else's dream.         |
|                                                                             |
\_____________________________________________________________________________/
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
###############################################################################
###################################### EMERGENCY BROADCAST ####################
############## WITH AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE ######################################
###############################################################################
######## "SAVING THE LAST MURMUR OF THE HEART" ################################
################## WILL NOT BE FINISHED DUE TO THE HIGH #######################
######### NUMBERS ON THE GAY-DAR ##############################################
###############################################################################
###################################### SORRY FOR ANY DISAPPOINTMENT ###########
###############################################################################
##### THIS IS ONLY A TEST #####################################################
###############################################################################
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
        -------------------------------------------------------------
     -- GUARANTEED: IF THERE WERE CHAPTERS, THERE'D BE A CAPTION HERE --
        -------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
]                                                                             [
 [            HERE'S A THOUGHT ... ... ...                                   ]
  ]                                                                         [
   [                                         posed by none other than your ]
   |                                                       EDIT0R-IN-CHIEF |
   |                                                                       |
   |   I came out of left-field.  Somewhere, at a certain time, in some    |
   |   unaccountable city, I spawned a text-based magazine with no tar-    |
   |   get audience, no connections, no off-the-head nick(name) for my-    |
   |   self,  and certainly no desire to be what anybody else wanted me    |
   |   to be.  My goal was aimless and, honestly, I started all of this    |
   |   in  mere  squalor,  and  I  cannot  lie,  so why  would I? There    |
   |   dwelled  inside  my  treasure  chest  of  ideas and  ambitions a    |
   |   loosely-rooted fathom of creating something I had never seen be-    |
   |   fore,  a puddle of water  holding the deaths  of raindrops  that    |
   |   never existed,  where  the grass  was greener on my side  of the    |
   |   fence,  hence the birth of Cheese'N Crackers (link it properly),    |
   |   which, now in its fifth release, continues  to grow and mold the    |
   |   "modern-style zine"  (JS. http://scene.textfiles.com/zines.html)    |
   |   writers,  contributors, readers,  and generally-speaking fans of    |
   |   of this  sort of scene. I don't say this as  a generalization of    |
   |   every single text-zine out there,  including the older rags, the    |
   |   the phrack/hack t-files, everything on textfiles.com, but rather    |
   |   as a sublet of the text-world,  the sublet known  notoriously as    |
   |   the  "modern-style zines".  Let me provide  some evidence before    |
   |   all of you big-boys out there get on my case.                       |
   \                                                                       /
   /                                                                       \
   |   Exhibit A  refers to  a  particular  new text-zine,  established    |
   |   a tad earlier than Cheese'N Crackers.  In fact, to my knowledge,    |
   |   the first issue was  released in September of 2002.  Claiming to    |
   |   be a group of "angry youth"  that "UNITE"  I refer to none other    |
   |   than    THE   BANANA    JUICE    FANZINE,   found    humbly   at    |
   |   http://www.shoecandy.com/~bananajuice  and already on it's third    |
   |   issue (two too many),  published  once a month (or so),  CaseyB,    |
   |   the editor of this nonsense,  keeps his effort strong, while the    |
   |   actual content and depth of each article he releases stays lack-    |
   |   ing.  I'd like to,  if I may,  bring to light a  particular line    |
   |   of issue three that amazed me.  Written by CaseyB, for his arti-    |
   |   cle entitled,  "School Is Evil",  he opens with, "I have discov-    |
   |   ered that  high school is evil.  Who needs  Antichrist dictators    |
   |   when you have teachers and deans?"  Strong claim?  Perhaps.  But    |
   |   written and projected very accurately? Of course not. I'm sorry,    |
   |   but how can I take a text-zine like this seriously when the  en-    |
   |   tirety of the magazine is written  from a high school-standpoint    |
   |   and sounds  like nothing  more than an ASB  meeting on  a Friday    |
   |   morning.  With articles  boldly titled, "Teenage Love"  (written    |
   |   by a teenager instead of an adult reflecting on his or her teen-    |
   |   age years),  "Home Alone 2"  (get over it,  the film wasn't that    |
   |   spectacular), and "Under-payed Youth!", I just can't find in my-    |
   |   self  the attention  span to  appreciate  this garbage.  I'm not    |
   |   trying to be an asshole  (it takes practice, ask CaseyB) because    |
   |   I'm sure that the  writers of  TBJFZ work  hard and are proud of    |
   |   their pieces, but please, just stop.  Unless  your audience con-    |
   |   sists of your small, tightly-knit group of  friends, then please    |
   |   don't imagine what you are obviously not.  Thank you.               |
   \                                                                       /
   /                                                                       \
   |   Exhibit B is much newer,  in fact it started this year in March.    |
   |   I'm  still not clear  on whether  it was  the glorfied image  of    |
   |   Lenin or if it was the third-party hyperlink to an anarchy-based    |
   |   web site, that caught me, but whichever the stimulant was, there    |
   |   was something in my skull, irking at me,  teasing me, telling me    |
   |   that Basement Prouctions wasn't going  to raise the  bar for me,    |
   |   textually-speaking.  Evergreen,  the founder  and main writer of    |
   |   this cherade, claims that he  "hasn't been writing for too long"    |
   |   found,  if lucky, inside his issue two, and let me tell  you, it    |
   |   really shows. This isn't a  bad thing, and that's not exactly my    |
   |   beef with the guy's whole idea and zine thing, but there's some-    |
   |   thing about his choices and  styles that bothered me. Upon first    |
   |   inspection of  issue one, all that shrouded my mind was "blatant    |
   |   Neo-Comintern rip-off", I kid you, not. Obvious reasons include:    |
   |   overusage of Communist content,  layout of the text,  and not to    |
   |   mention, he claims that BMC  helped him get started.  I also saw    |
   |   it as an emulation  of Angstmonster amidst the whole file.  In a    |
   |   nutshell,  I really am having trouble  appreciating another new-    |
   |   school text zine.  The best line of the volume  appears in issue    |
   |   two.  Evergreen writes: "There are  like 34983948 textfiles  out    |
   |   there..  About 3/4s  ofthem are SHIT!" Psst!  I think he's talk-    |
   |   ing about himself! Viva La Revolution!                              |
   \                                                                       /
   /                                                                       \
   |   Am I  the only  noteworthy  modern text zine  out right now?  Of    |
   |   course  I'm not.  The aforementioned  Angstmonster, modern in my    |
   |   regards, is a biweekly publication I thoroughly enjoy because it    |
   |   includes what the two previous helpless haps lack: creativity.      |
   \                                                                       /
   /                                                                       \
   |   So that's why I'm here; to bring back the creativity we've near-    |
   |   ly lost.  Peace to all the old-schoolers still keeping it coming,   |
   |   my regards to the legends,  but  to most, just stop, please.  We    |
   |   don't need your wood in this pot of gold.                           |
   [                                                                       ]
  ]                                                                         [
 [        (note: i'm really gonna get some hate for this one.]               ]
]                                                                             [
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
=                                                                             =
 =                                                                           =
 ===                                                                       ===
 ===== THE WORDS OF JOE B =============================== BY JOE B ===========
===============================================================================
<3                                                                           <3
<3 Love/Hate                                                                 <3
<3                                                                  <3
<3 What's the deal with all the                                              <3
<3 love-hate words flowing from human minds.                                 <3
<3 Making me wonder if love hate is such a thing.                            <3
<3                                                                           <3
<3 Then so what if love hate is not there!                                   <3
<3 All that the person can fell is the hate flowing through the body like a  <3
<3     cold ice flow of                                                      <3
<3 hard headed Amerikans hating the souls of the different,                  <3
<3                                                                           <3
<3 hating the souls of the sour suckers that sour by on their drug powered   <3
<3     cloud.                                                                <3
<3                                                                           <3
<3 Loving the ones who enlist.                                               <3
<3 Loving the ones who support the cause                                     <3
<3                                                                           <3
<3 Multibillion-dollar ads expressing                                        <3
<3 terror and dislike,                                                       <3
<3 Horror and fright,                                                        <3
<3 Panic and shock                                                           <3
<3 but what is love hate without Amerika.                                    <3
<3                                                                           <3
<3 Amerika is the force of the world.                                        <3
<3 that stands united for whites,                                            <3
<3 that stands united for the rich,                                          <3
<3 that stands united for senseless murdering of unarmed civilians.          <3
<3 The men of war with license to kill.                                      <3
<3 Fight for the                                                             <3
<3 The rising region that rapes the poor.                                    <3
<3                                                                           <3
<3 Fuel your oversized car with my blood, 30 tears to the gallon.            <3
<3      30 years off my life.                                                <3
<3 30 mirrors all facing the mainstream light, blinding our minds of the     <3
<3     true light.                                                           <3
<3                                                                           <3
<3 Amerika                                                                   <3
<3 You love it and you hate it.                                              <3
<3                                                                           <3
===============================================================================
=                                                                             =
==   Way Back When                                                           ==
===                                                            ===
==== They called on a dime,                                                ====
===  ordered a sack. Must be delivered                                      ===
==   to make what I lost.                                                    ==
=                                                                             =
==                                                                           ==
===  You are the soul that the heat wants to burn,                          ===
==== I am that soul with little concern,                                   ====
===  concern                                                                ===
==   for the soul that has little control.                                   ==
=    I am that soul you seek, I am the tear                                   =
==   You dismay through the mirror, minor I am.                              ==
===  But still I linger.                                                    ===
====                                                                       ====
===                                                                         ===
==   Your soul will light up,                                                ==
=    lighten up and what not.                                                 =
==   I am only doing what father has taught.                                 ==
===  He commends me to stop, this thought,                                  ===
==== Rots                                                                  ====
===  my essence,                                                            ===
==                                                                           ==
=                                                                             =
==   soon after I hinder                                                     ==
===  my ethics compel thinner, why must I decline                           ===
==== while profits shine bright.                                           ====
===                                                                         ===
==                                                                           ==
=    six months have gone by, since that last sweet toke.                     =
==   my life now, back then, would most likely be a joke.                    ==
===                                                                         ===
===============================================================================

                            Consistently Turning
                            
               "When are you going to stop fucking up" she says

                                 sorry mom I
                          changed the life I live,
                           I live it just for you
                      Changed the friends you loathed,
                     'cause in turn you loathed me too.
                             Dad doesn't care
                          never wary of my soul,
               laps another bottle back, in turn I do it to.
                               Wonder now
                        that things have changed,
                     wonder why you say those words,
                         in turn I say them too.
                   Wonder why I changed my life, soon
                          it won't be with you.
                             Bundle my bags,
                             Turn the corner,
           Going on my way. My mind is gone, my wits are thin.

                         I know now I am free.  

  The only thing now that gives me strength is the feeling when I'm with her.
              My love is beautiful in turn she shows it well.
                            Alive she is, 
                            you worry not, 
                      worry more about my life 
                   Care to start a life with me, 
                  live that life with you in turn 
                            I marry you.

                              Wait now
                     father said I won't get it, 
                      until you're in my shoes. 

===============================================================================
|                                                                             |
| Lacking self                                                                |
|                                                                 |
| Summer 2002,                                                                |
| by far one of the most drug-infested summers                                |
| he has ever had in his life.                                                |
| The boy was indulging                                                       |
| in the enticements of the world,                                            |
| cannabis.                                                                   |
|                                                                             |
| The virus had spread through his body                                       |
| and he desired to make it depart.                                           |
| The only virus that had hit him                                             |
| was the addiction and the need for the high.                                |
|                                                                             |
| So he did so what his weak brain told him to do,                            |
| even though the                                                             |
| repercussions were                                                          |
| revolting to consider.                                                      |
| With time the summer came to an end and his fried brain                     |
|     was not done being fried.                                               |
| "Little more time," Lucifer said.                                           |
| "Looks a little overcooked to me,"                                          |
| said the one they call him who is he.                                       |
|                                                                             |
| Oh well, one more scorched,                                                 |
| we got a few billion others to work with. After so                          |
| hurled into the                                                             |
| rubbish of wasted minds. The                                                |
| rubbish of wasted souls                                                     |
| who spend their last 20 bucks on a dub sack to soar.                        |
| Little more time in the fryer was all it took. The summer had ended but the |
|     excitement was far from over.                                           |
|                                                                             |
| A weekend end of relaxing, a weekend of thought,                            |
| a weekend of knowledge had come in the first month of school.               |
|                                                                             |
| This was the weekend he was going to have his fellow peers to earn his      |
|     respect and find his leadership.                                        |
|                                                                             |
| That was far from the truth. The truth was that there was no self-respect   |
|     for him to have,                                                        |
| as if there was enough for others to share.                                 |
| It also came to be that this weekend his weakness had emerged from his      |
|     backpack.                                                               |
|                                                                             |
| "What better way to bond then to pull out the bong and fly." He said to     |
|     himself.                                                                |
|                                                                             |
| That was the last mistake he made, the first was to invite every character  |
|     in the camp. Inconspicuous?                                             |
| I imagine not.                                                              |
| I imagine it was amusing too.                                               |
| And it was, because he would not see the consequences for another week.     |
|                                                                             |
| Then another week, it hit. Like a bombshell on an unknowing town in the     |
| Middle East. The price was set and the buyer was not pleased. But what      |
| choose did he have, there were no refunds on the deposit he made last week. |
| The only choice was to lose a losing war. In the end, was it the right ver- | 
| dict?                                                                       |
| He knows now it was.                                                        |
|                                                                             |
| "That the powerful play goes on and you may                                 |
| contribute a verse. What will your verse be?"                               |
| What will my verse be?                                                      |
|                                                                             |
| I'll tell you,                                                              |
| mine will not be a verse,                                                   |
| it will he the silence of an actor moving to the next scene,                |
| with sorrow in his eye                                                      |
| and                                                                         |
| the search for inspirado in his soul.                                       |
|                                                                             |
| The boy that wants manhood                                                  |
| and has many ambitions                                                      |
| on his life's list of luxuries and goals.                                   |
| But too lethargic to complete the tasks of                                  |
|                                                                             |
| God's will,                                                                 |
| Satan's will,                                                               |
| his father's will.                                                          |
|                                                                             |
| He will try his hardest to                                                  |
| fulfill                                                                     |
| his own will.                                                               |
|                                                                             |
===============================================================================
 ____________________________________________________________________________
/----------------------------[ THE DOPEST STORY OF THE ISSUE DEPARTMENT ]----\
|--[ The Addiction ]----------------------------------------------[ by mat ]--|
 
                                   Part 2
                                   
    We met up with Jake up at Mac Fields, only about 5 minutes away from my
house. I was unsure of this at first, because I was a little worried my par-
ents would chase after me, but I didn't want the fellahs to know. We parked in
the far back and waited for the black honda to pull up next to ours. Joe got
out of the car and took my twenty bucks.

    "Hey Jake. Just the usual. It's for Frank."

He winked at Jake.

    "All right, man. Here you go, it's some Northern Lights shit. Bang on,
bang on. I have to go, though. Can't keep my lady friend, waiting."

A beautiful girl with a nose piercing sat in the passenger side, as she
leaned out to say "Hey" to Joe. Apparently they knew each other from school. 
I didn't know her that well, so I didn't say much. Within minutes, we left Mac
Field and I looked the sack over. It was pinched, I could tell. But I am not
going to complain. I have my fix. Nothing else matters. I took out my pipe
and loaded a bowl, as I proceeded to take the first hit. The flame lit up. I
raised the piece to my mouth and started sucking in. I roasted the crushed up
succulents and breathed in heavily, as I felt the smoke creep down my throat
and hit my lungs. I had a good minute or so on it when I finally broke the
hold, nearly choking on my comsumption. I held it in for ten seconds, then
rolled down the window and blew it all out. Joe grabbed the pipe from me.

    "Hey! I'm not done yet!"

    "Fuck you, man. You have to share, in this car, eh Mark?"

    "That's right, Frank. If you don't share, we'll drop you off."

I didn't want to go home. I couldn't. So I just nodded towards Joe, as he
perceived to take a huge rip as well. Passing it over to Billy, he got his
turn. Then Mark took his, as Joe took the wheel for a moment. Coming back to
me, there was very little left. So I loaded another bowl and took another gi-
ant hit. I had to clear my conscious. I can't think about my parents right
now. I need to focus on my pot. My friends. My pot. My medicine. My sanct-
uary, my safety, my Jesus Christ.

 It was about 6:30 or so and Mark was talking about heading home. He
dropped Billy and Joe off, then told me I was next.

    "Hang on, man. I can't go home right now."

    "What? Why not?"

    "Because . . . Because my dad is beating my mom, and if I come home, I'm a-
fraid he'll beat me too."

    "What the fuck? Are you serious?"

    "Yeah, I swear. I'm worried about Nick, too."

    "Jesus, man. Why didn't you tell us?"

    "I didn't want you guys to know. I'm ashamed of it."

    "Fuck...All right, you can come over to my place for a while."

    "Thanks, Mark."

So that was that. That lie gave me a house to crash at for a while. I
promised Mark that I'd smoke him out tonight if he'd let me stay, and he
shrugged his shoulders and agreed to it. 

    Going on 8:45, Mark and I smoked a fourth of my sack  and went back out for
some food.  This time, we hit up Wendy's and we both ordered two large fries,
two double cheeseburgers, and a shake for the both of us.  We made our way back
to his place and gobbled our food up, as all stoners do.  Rolling onto 9:23, we
pulled into his driveway and were making plans to smoke one more bowl, just so
that we could go to sleep.  20 minutes into our own private bowls, the lights
in the house began to flicker on and off.  Mark's parents are deaf, so when
someone rings the doorbell, the lights flicker.  It's their way of "hearing." 
I always loved it when they flickered, it was hilarious.  Mark was a little em-
barrassed.  Red-eyed and staggering, Mark got up to get the door.  His parents
were all ready in bed.  I finished up my sweet delicacy, and when Mark went out
to the door, I snuck a toke from his stash.

    He came back into his bedroom, sweating a little, and shook his head.

    "Hey, Frank . . . You're dad is here.  He wants to talk to you."

    "Uhh . . . Tell him I can't talk right now."

    "No, man.  There is a cop with him.  You'd better go."

    "Shit . . . This is bad, Mark."

    I grabbed some cologne and sprayed it on me, rubbed my eyes a little bit,
and straightened my hair, as I made my way for the door.  My dads red car was
parked outside and a police car was right behind it, it's lights flashing on
and off.

    "C'mon son, you're coming home."

    "No."

    "Listen, Frank.  You have to come home with your dad.  One way or another,
you ARE going back."

    "I don't want to."

    "Jesus christ, man!  Don't you know what mum is going through right now?  
Nick is scared shitless, why can't you just stop thinking about yourself for
once!"

    "He hit me . . ."

    The police officer gave my dad a shifty look, but he quickly explained.  
The officer pulled out his hand cuffs.

    "Come on, Frank.  Don't make me use these.  We can do this the easy way, or
we can do it your way."

    I told them I'd go get my stuff, and I gave Mark my remaining sack, told
him to keep it for me until tomorrow.  The night was crisp, and my lungs were
full of magic, as I breathed in deeply.  It was like my lungs were breathing in
life itself.  In twenty minutes, we were back home, the police officer escort-
ing me up the stairs and had a discussion about how I needed to shape up and
start obeying my parents, even if I don't agree with what they say.  Then he
left.  It was just my mom, dad, and me.

    "Frank . . . What's going on in your life?"

    "I don't know, mom.  I'm just really depressed right now, and I guess that
smoking pot gets me through the day."

    "You aren't feeling suicidal or anything, are you?"

    "No."

    "You know we can get you help, right?"

    "Yeah."

    "Do you think you need help?"

    I hadn't thought about, really.  I've never had an addiction, before.  I
didn't know how to analyze my situation and openly admit if I had a problem or
not.  But I told them what I thought they wanted to hear, anyway.

    "Probably."

    "Well, we can't force you to do anything, Frank.  You have to want to get
help."

    "I do."

    "We'll enroll you into an AA program, and the police officer recommended
going to a rehab facility."

    "All right."

    "Come here, Frank."

    With tears in her eyes, my mom beckoned me to her side, and I slowly
shuffled towards her.  She grabbed me, and hugged me, and wouldn't let go for
two full minutes.  I cried, too.  I was mad at myself for being like this.  
This addiction, this horrible thing, is destroying me.  I need help.  I need
something else.  I need to live.  I'm hurting too many people.  I need to 
change.  I was going to change, for my parents, my friends, and for me.

End part 2

          {note from -mat-: "Finale will be depressing, I promise"}

\_____________________________________________________________________________/

     ________________________________________________
    | JUST A DUMBASS RHYME YO!                       |
    ||
    |   It's attack of the meatheads                 |
    |   adorned in their designer threads            |
    | O i'm stuck shuddering in their rental bed     |
    |   wishing the meatheads mother dead            |
    |   i said it once and let me say it again       |
    |   meathead likes to brag,                      |
    |   he hates saggy tits and loves smackin lips   |
    |   stackin tips in the strippers slippers       |
    |   and he sits, he sips on his drink            |
    |   as i enter lightly,                          |
    | O keeping to myself                            |
    |   and not trying to shine too brightly         |
    |   meathead loves to yell,                      |
    |   i've always hated ringing bells              |
    |   formed in big chops and ugly whitey-tighties |
    |   endevouring to their smell                   |
    |   "be proud of your odor"                      |
    |   he leaned into me and screamed               |
    | O  i replied with a                            |
    |   "dog, leave the room                         |
    |   cause yo you stink."                         |
    |________________________________________________|

_____________________________________________________
|- The Shame of it All ------------------------------\________________________
|-----------------------------------------------------by mat------------------\
[ ePIS0De: two \ 2 \ II ]
                         
After half-an-hour, I managed to find my boyfriend's apartment, as I knocked on
the door.  Within a minute or so, it opened, and I saw my lover's smiling face
looking back at me, inviting me in with warm sensations.  He made my skin crawl
with passion.  I stepped in, as we exchanged kisses and a warm "hello."  I was
soaked from the rain, so I slipped into a pair of his pants and a loose-fitting
Polo shirt.

    "I did it . . . I told my father."

    "Really?  Honest to God?"

    "Yeah."

    "Ahh!  I'm so proud of you!  How was it?  How'd he react?"

    "He kicked me out . . . "

    "Wh . . . . Oh my God . . . That sunovabitch . . . "

    "He couldn't handle it.  Jesus, Charlie, you should have heard him.  'Gay'
this, 'fag' that.  It was like waking up from a bad dream only to realize
you're living a nightmare."

    "Oh, you poor thing, you.  Come here, I'll make you feel like you're in a
dream."

    And for that night, I stayed at my boyfriends house, where I slept in his
arms and cuddled up against his tight body.  It made everything go away.  My
problems.  My issues.  My father.  The only thing I was thinking about, was how
perfect being gay is right now.

-=============================================================================-
       [][]                         [][]                             [][]
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                     THE DIEURY OF BILLY SPED!!!!!!!!!!!
                     

tusday januwary 4h.2000

okay my arm is feeling bettr which is good becuz a kid told me he wood brake it
off for me wutever that means. i got scared at skool today becuz i almost lost
my balance on my walker wheelchair becuz i cant fine my walker again i dont no
where it went. but its time to go bye.

                           ]---------------------[

wensday januwary 5 200

i pulled my friens finger today becuz he told me to and she smelled good i like
jane a lot becuz hes cool. i am on fire i think bye diury.

                           ]---------------------[

thursday january 6 2000

today i went rollerskating but i forgot i cant walk good right so i didnt
rollerskate a lot axchully none at all i didnt go out becuz i cant walk good.
i am gonna get a toy soon my mommy told me i cant wait becuz then i will get a
toy bye.

                           ]---------------------[

friday januwary 7-2000

i didnt have skool today becuz its a weekend i cant wate!!!!!!!

                           ]---------------------[

saterday januwary 8 2000

my mommy got mad becuz i didnt go to skool yetsterday becuz she got a call from
them but i thawt we didnt have any becuz my friend jane told me we didnt i
guess he was lying wutever that means. i will write to you later.

im back diury im about to go to bed its late so i need to go wash my sheets so
my mom can wash them too becuz water i think was spilt in them bye cyou
tomarrow.

                           ]---------------------[

sunday janry 9 2000

i wuz rilly buzy today and cant talk bye. i had a friend over and we played tag
but he wun becuz i cant win a lot bye.

                           ]---------------------[

monday januwary 100 2000

i hate mondays becuz they hert my head and my friend john punched me in the
head today and it hurt becuz it made a clapping sound kind of and i heard
beeping like mikrowave and i cant spell good rite now so thats why i am not
doing good spelling becuz i hert my brain and i am tired bye night.

                           ]---------------------[

tuesday januwary 11, 2000

today in class i got a sticker with a happy face and it had a tung sticking out
and i think i did bad i dont no becuz i am kinda confused and i guess i alwayz
do bad i am kinda confused i mean confused about life bye diuery time for
sleeping.

                           ]---------------------[

wensday januwary 12  2000

today i got my toy its cool i play with it all the time becuz its a ball
wutever that means. its round like a head and bounces like a head becuz john
said he wuz gonna use my head to bounce with today wutever that means i think
john is going to play for the skool team. hes my friend i like him a lot and i
need to go.

                           ]---------------------[

thursday januwerry 13 2000

my mommy isnt home i need to go look for her bye.

                           ]---------------------[

friday januwary 14 2000

mommy wuz in her room but the door wuz closed and she was yelling with my dad
but i dont have a dad so i dont no it wuz a gy and he seemed pretty mad becuz
he didnt say words but yelled still i dont no. he sounded like a gorilla or
munkey when he yelled. i need to ask my mommy wut happened so i will write
tomarrow.

                           ]---------------------[

saterday januwary 15, 2000

im really mad i need to go becuz i am mad! i hate stoopid people!

                           ]---------------------[

sunday januwary 16 2000

sorry if i hert you last nite diury i wuz mad and didnt mean to yell at you
like that but i am o.k. now becuz i am better. but my hands hert from writing
so much becuz i wrote stuff for skool today i learned cersive wutever that
means becuz cersive is weird langwage like german but i need to go.

                           ]---------------------[

monday january 17 2000

i got a call on the phone today and it wuz for my mommy becuz she gets a lot of
calls and so il. i wish people wood call me so i cood feel wut its like to talk
on the t.v. phone. now im sad.

                           ]---------------------[

tusday januwary 18 2000

my friend quagmire is mently retardid i feel really bad for those kind of peepl
i wood never want to be wun becuz they have a hard life and i think they get
picked on a lot but i dont no. wut shood i do diury?

                           ]---------------------[

wensday januwary 19, 2000

i rode the bus to skool today becuz my mommy ugally drives me but she coodent
today becuz the bus had to lift me up onto the seat i felt like neil diemin
that astronawt who went to jupiter and sed that stuff. i want to be an
astronawt when i grow up.

                           ]---------------------[

thursday januwary 20 2000

theres a talent show at my skool and i want to be in mine so i can be populer
more then i am. i think i might dance but i wont do good becuz i still cant
walk really good and i might sing but i dont no how becuz chad told me never to
talk to him again wutever that means.

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

[ ador `;`
            brandon @ http://www.bubblemonkey.org [ bubblemonkey ]
            gir @ http://www.angstmonster.org [ angstmonster ]
            bmc @ http://www.neo-comintern.com [ neo-comintern ]
            molly @ http://www.anticon.com/molly [ molly ]
            
            &

            fitshaced                   -  <http://www.fitshaced.com>
            f.u.c.k.                    -  <http://www.attrition.org/fuck>
            grill                       -  <http://www.quarex.com/grill.html>
            the head-space project      -  <http://www.head-space.org>
            hogs of entropy             -  <http://www.hoe.nu>
            long dark tunnel            -  <http://ldt.aguk.co.uk>
            r33t.org                    -  <http://www.r33t.org>
            twisted young minds expand  -  <http://www.720.st/files/TYME>
            w0wz3rz                     -  <http://www.w0wz3rz.com>
            y0lk                        -  <http://www.y0lk.org>


            true hip hop heads
            true soul dancers
            true turntablists
            and the two of us
            
                                                           keep dreamin y'all ]

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
           /  /  /  /  /  /                     /  /  /  /  /  /           

         ======== SEE YOU ALL IN FOUR MORE MONTHS (PSYCHE!) ========

           /  /  /  /  /  /                     /  /  /  /  /  /
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Cheese'N Crackers is created by brian <brian@bubblemonkey.org>
    but would not exist without the help from
        the writers, the fans, and all the encouragement.

All pieces are property of respective author and all views are (or are not)
    necessarily the views of the editors.  Respekt the DJ and his passion.

    Feel free to distribute this document as you wish, but do not tamper with
        it or edit any of it and release it as READ-ONLY, please.

        Like what you see?
            Yeah, so do we.

            (C)opyright 2003, your mother's cervix.


                      IT'S TIME TO SOUND UP THE REVOLUTION, COMRADES!

                                                                          [EOF]