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t h e n e o - c o m i n t e r n e l e c t r o n i c m a g z i n e
I n s t a l l m e n t N u m b e r 7 9
WE ARE THE 5th INTERNATIONAL - LANOITANRETNI ht5 EHT ERA EW
October 16th, 1999 - 9991 ,ht61 rebotcO
Editor: BMC - CMB :rotidE
Writers: - :sretirW
3 anonymous "writers" - "sretirw" suomynona 3
BMC - CMB
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;P Featured in this installment .b
$ $
$ Satanism- 3 anonymous "artists" $
$ Voyage From Atlantis c.vii- BMC $
`q p'
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EDITOR'S NOTE
Good day and welcome to 79. I want to say peace to the gods of the
universe. This issue features an article that was a bit of an experiment,
so send in your hypotheses so I can... umm... gather data or something and
do some science kinda stuff with it. Peace.
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;P SATANISM .b
`q by three "artists" who will remain nameless (due to shame) p'
`nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'
Ok...so we're not talking about freaks...or maybe we are and we just
don't want to tell you. So yeah...I'm talking about sub-cultures I think...
It's the double-decker, triple-header quatro-mind hit to disrupt the walls of
fascism that the capitalist partisans have erected to keep the common folk
down. Though rap music might have you think that these barriers are placed
specifically against blacks, the truth is that the system of capitalism AKA
fascism is set up to restrain the proletariat from achieving equality.
Music has always been a force for political banter but never actual
change i.e. dirty hippies from the 60s (not specifically Mike Spindloe). We
can't say too much about Mike...except that we buy pot from Vinyl Exchange...
and that he is the voice of his entire generation. You know...the ones that
protested the war in Vietnam and later accepted jobs with giant corporations
or selling free posters for $5. And now, back to the music...
Rap music has proven to be the greatest driving force against the
machinery of fascism AKA liberalism. At this point it isn't even necessary
to get into the quotes of rap and roll, since the DJs can speak for
themselves. It is well known that Terminator X speaks with his hands, and we
don't even need an MC to tell us that he is "scratching against the system."
"Peace, brother," says Chuck D of Public Enemy when he is approched for an
autograph by a fan outside of his house in Compton. Flavor Flav declined
comment, and Professor Griff said, "hi."
And then there's punk rawk. Yes...punk. Punk started off where
the hippies gave up. Yeah...they were fighting the system and spiking their
hair. This music was commonly displayed alongside leather clad drunks and
fans that enjoyed cutting themselves with blunt knives and having orgies in
church basements.
This was was along the lines of what the British were doing in the
Dark Ages. Though it is impossible to ascertain exactly what influence the
jovial Brits had on the punks, it is obvious that they had a great influence
on rap and roll music. Just look at the political messages. Rappers such as
Ice-T and Kool Moe Dee reflect the ideals of feudal England with their
blatent use of the English language and their ideals of striking down the
kings, dukes, earls, and duke of earls of the United States of America. This
is a good thing, but much like Vietnam and Mike Spindloe, the ideals do not
reflect upon KKKanada.
I really don't think that anything reflects upon KKKanada. It's a
black hole of Uranium and other unminable resources due to political
correctness, much like our political lanscape. Oh yeah...punk "rawk". Oi,
oi, oi! I guess this should relate back to the original thesis or something.
So...yes...awwwww, fuck it(notice how punk rock that sounded?).
This line right here is dedicated to Carmina. Now that tha line is
done we will get back to some of that funky shit. Since we didn't dedicate
this article yet (which we probably shouldn't), we will now take the time
to put this to the zyne writers, specifically the genres of vegan-anarchismo-
feminazi-D.I.Y.us-hardcorus-punkus-rawkus and erotic-politio-socio-
bmcorgasmo-cogisodizmo-waynedrunkio-berrio-homoeroticio. They think they are
invisible but in fact, they are visible. Oi and peace out to the Punx and
G'z of the ziznyne industry.
THEE EnD
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;P VOYAGE FROM ATLANTIS (chapter vii) .b
`q by BMC p'
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That night we rented a room in South Central Grundo. It was a
beautiful adventurers suite, and we paid for it with our father's gold
Atlantean Express card (which is accepted in more places in Grundo than any
other card). Having failed yet another mission, but still in high spirits,
I popped open a bottle of elven champagne and poured several ounces into a
beautiful piece of crystal stemware. As I laid back on the crescent couch,
KOmrade B kicked over a lamp. "This is just great," said Komrade B, "another
mission, another fucking failure!"
"Oh, Komrade B," I said, "are you aware of the crimes you have
comitted? You have offended the high priests of Altantis with your foul
language, and the consequence for such vulgarity is death."
"Yes, brother," smiled Komrade B, "I have committed acts against the
throne and the gods of Atlantis, and I must be punished for these acts. I
do not fault you for pointing out my grave error. Instead, I will willingly
accept my punishment of death."
Komrade B pulled his jewel-encrusted dagger from his scabbard, and
turned and looked at me, as if doubting that there was indeed such a law. I
had never heard of any law like this, so I remained silent and let him
continue with the ritual.
He turned the dagger toward himself and prepared to commit the
honourable ritual. As the sweat dripped off his brow, he became very
self-aware, and as a result he hesitated to plunge the dagger betwixt his
organs. Hours of prayer and meditation passed for Komrade B, and I attended
with eager anticipation of the final moment.
I sensed his mind coming to certain determination, and he closed his
eyes and raised the dagger high into the air so the force of sine wave would
give sufficient momentum to pierce the outer wall of muscle.
As he breathed what would be his last breath in health, he drove the
dagger down. "Oh, wait!" I said. He faltered and stopped.
"What do you want?" he said.
"Oh, nothing."
After another hour of meditation and prayer I told him I was just
joking. I told him that there was no law against foul language. His face
flushed red with anger, and he clumsily lundged at me. I stepped out of the
way with minutes to spare. Just then the sea shell rang, and we knew who
was calling.
I raised the sea shell to my ear and heard the vioce of the sea.
"My most beloved son," said Namor, "I have been informed by the scribes and
wizards of the sea that our prized MoOn gem has been stolen by emperor
Jingis Kahn and been hidden in a cave of Kilimanjaro."
"Say no more, good father. I know what must be done."
I set the shell down and went to sleep. Komrade B woke me up. "Umm,
what was that all about?" he asked. "Shut the fuck up and go to sleep," I
replied. I added, "You know I hate you you stupid foo, and if I hear any
more of your dissent I am going to smack you in the face and maybe murder
you."
Seconds later Komrade B was snoring, and I was left alone to my
thoughts. Yes, tomorrow we had a huge task in store.
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___________________________________________________
|THE COMINTERN IS AVAILIABLE ON THE FOLLOWING BBS'S |
|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|
| BRING ON THE NIGHT (306) 373-4218 |
| CLUB PARADISE (306) 978-2542 |
| THE GATEWAY THROUGH TIME (306) 373-9778 |
|___________________________________________________|
| Website at: http://members.home.com/comintern |
| Email BMC at: thebmc@home.com |
|___________________________________________________|
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Copyright 1999 by The Neo-Comintern #79-10/16/99
All content is property of The Neo-Comintern.
You may redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and the
content must not be altered or modified in any way. Unauthorized use of any
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