From the Inkwell	Letter to Editor
Quote of the Week	Word of the Day
history from below	24-Hour Contest Info

1838- 4,000 Cherokee die in "Trail of Tears" forced removal.

1921- Sacco and Vanzetti trial.

Happy United States Memorial Day

Sign Up Today!

Letter to the Editor:

Dear Editor~

You can keep on putting us down all you want, but, if you EVER have the courage to meet us, you won't be afraid of us anymore. We are REALLY just HARMLESS, ordinary people getting along the best we can, etc. Also NOTE that if you perceive me attacking you, it is in response to you going all RAZEE on us. You say that I do nothing. What does your friend RAZEE do? How much $$ have you contributed to his WEBSITE of "charity begging?" Well, as I said, you are welcome to come MEET us here in Augusta, or we'll arrange to meet somewhere else. Once you've met me, then, you can SAY whatever you want about me. For now, in your own words "moose snot". That is all you know, and what's more- I know that THAT is ALL you KNOW! Thank You. Moose Snot Becomes You and YOU SAID IT !

Hell, I'm from Ohio and now in Georgia. No MOOSE SNOT anywhere between! You are expert on all that, and probably Raz in Colorado, too. Keep up your "conflict" if you must. As I mentioned to you, we keep meeting NEW people every other month. We DON'T put down folks to draw attention to us. I have never met you or Razee, and I can't say anything negative of you OTHER THAN what negative things you have said of ME, someone you've NEVER met. But, hey, I'm just a dumb hick from Ohio. I honestly believe that if YOU actually MEET me, you WON'T be so afraid of me and you may EVEN like me, perhaps, but, that may be too much to ask...

xo,
~p

The 24 Hour Contest is Coming to an Electronic Quiver near you! Hurry! Time is running out! Theme will be announced on June 7th @ midnight, and contestants have 24-Hours to create, and submit their artwork, electronically, by June 8th @ midnight. Art must be original and created in the 24-hours time limit. Poetry, photography, and digital art are recommended, but other media will be considered, including movie and sound files. Please see www.razee.com for more details. All artwork will appear in the new and improved Electronic Quiver quarterly electronic and printed magazine, to be published on June 21st, 2003.

Perseus has escaped the nuthouse, and Medusa really needs to do something about all of these bad hair days all strung together with barbed wire and fear. Once upon a time, and all good stories begin with Once upon a time, there is a little girl named Helen Waite, who lives on the edge of Paradise, just north of Hell’s turnpike, and down the road from the Castle of the Damned, on the Island of Nowhere. Getting high on Vasoline™, she makes love to some guy named Revlon. Usually, she is dressed like most cowgirls would be, complete with cowboy hat and spurs. She wears two pistols on her hips, and carries a dagger in her boot. Her saddlebags are overflowing with Whore’s gold. She shoots straight from the hip. Helen Waite is twelve-years-old, going on thirty-seven, and next year, she is going to be a whore put out onto the streets to pay her way with the Circus. She participates in one sex accident, after another, a train of thoughts and crumpled panties, stashed in the glove box of an El Dorado pickup. Daddy’s Little Hooker is searching for a fix. When she gets up in the afternoon, she puts her wig and the war paint on, nice and thick, a painting of modern violence, under her eyes and spread across her lips. She is riding shotgun down the avalanche, and there is no looking back, or anywhere to go, but down.

“My name is Charles Musclewhite, and I work for the Office of Useless Information. We suspect that you are hiding weapons of mass emotions. Let us see who that is, hiding behind that mask.”

“I have built all of my palaces from the sales of weapons of mass emotions.” Helen says, to the investigator. “I am guilty of emotional espionage, and this is my confession. Maybe you should be taking notes or something.”

“Dreams do not take up that much room in a suitcase,” Agent Musclewhite replies. “Pack your bags, we are going on a road trip to Blamesville.”

“You had better stop threatening me with all this loneliness, or I am liable to call 1-800-Get-Even, and they will hunt you down, and kill you.”

Banging on the bars of her ribcage with her fists, Helen Waite throws a temper tantrum like nobody other. Perseus and Icarus are lovers, who live below Helen Waite. They share a balcony, at the end of the hall, where they meet each evening, or morning, whenever the mood is upon them. Perseus met Icarus at a party of dragqueens. He was sitting by himself, over in one corner, looking bored and out of place. Of course, that is the moment when Perseus decided that he would love Icarus for the rest of their lives.

"Gertrude Stein, where are you, when we need you, you old rusty bucket of a lesbian, says Helen, "Where have you been hiding yourself? Keep up the good work, that is, if the work does not keep you up, at night."

“You are showing signs of latent empathy,” Agent Whitemuscle says, to Helen, as they are walking down the Boardwalk Avenue promenade. “We suggest that you cease and desist from any unnecessary activities that might cause any outbreak of emotional upheaval.”

“You are the source of my anger, in case you have not noticed,” responds Helen, with a grimace on her face. “If you hadn’t shown up at my door, today, I am sure that I would be a much happier person.”

“We suggest that you trade your belief system in for a newer model,” counters Agent Whitemuscle, “there are several out on the market that we would be happy to recommend, if you are interested.”

“If you were to do any research at all, you would find that I come from a very long line of magical cowboy monkeys, we were rich and famous before your family left the cave. Show me a little respect, or I will have you banished to the Heavens above. If you do not believe me, just remember what happened to the milkman, when he tried to skim the cream off the top of my milk. It all begins with a few nightmares with flying monkeys in them, and the next thing that you know, you are a mumbling piles of bones, no more fit to face the world than a talking pig.”

“We do not take kindly to threats, ourselves, Ms. Waite,” Agent Musclewhite shifts from leaning on one foot to the other, as he speaks. “You should know better than to try and mess with a governmental official, in the line of duty.”

<To be continued>

The Mexico Diaries

 

Electronic Birdcages

Past Issues