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      The Neo-Comintern Electronic Magazine  --  Installment Number 204
 .... .. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . .. ....
    `""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'
      
                  Subversive Literature for Subverted People

                  Date:                         June 9, 2002

                  Editor:                                BMC

                  Writers:                            Heckat                                              
                                                Gnarly Wayne


  d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
 ;P                      Featured in this installment:                     .b
 $                                                                          $
 $                   Black Fairies Have All The Fun - Heckat                $
 $                      A Good Day to Dye - Gnarly Wayne                    $
 `q                                                                        p'
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                                EDITOR'S NOTE
                      (please do not read the following)

  A perfectly petty afternoon seethes about us.  We think of our choices for
  the future, pretend to weigh the good of the self against the good of the
  other, and finally side with the self.  The other, after all, can be
  ignored - isn't that correct, my friend?  As your best friends rob, steal
  and commit crimes insincere, where do you fit into this world?  As far as
  I can see, there are only two options.  The first of these is vengeance and
  malice, the second is the inward voyage into the hiding place which is the
  human mind.  There is a third choice, of course, but perhaps that should
  be saved for another day.  Today's not the day for self-confrontation or
  honesty or dealing with the pain, the anguish, the solitude that is the
  essence of all human relationships.  So once again, lay this issue down
  on the table and do with it what you wish.

                                                                       ,o$o
   o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$b
  d$


                                                               `  `$b 
 d$'                   Black Fairies Have All the Fun                    ,$
 $:                              by Heckat                              ,$P
  `$n,.. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . ..P' 
    `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'

  You come dressed for Hallowe'en in traditional garb: one pair of wings
  covered in black feathers, one black halo.  The halo was a simple affair
  (styrofoam and spray paint) but the wings were another matter.  When you
  made them it took you weeks.  Weeks of luring ravens home with the shiny
  white pearls your grandmother left you when she died.  Weeks of laying
  traps and setting snares.  Weeks of breaking tiny frightened necks and
  smashing small skulls on rocks.  Oh, your fingers are still bleeding from
  plucking out the feathers one by one, but it was worth it.

  You strut into the castle, expecting to surprise everyone into a serious
  fright, but instead of a Hallowe'en party, you stumble into the new
  princess's baptism.  Silence, dead silence.  It takes a moment to
  register that you aren't invited, and then your rejection complex sets
  in.  You decide to stick around a while, play it cool, only everyone's
  staring at your hands.  You make it to after-dinner drinks without too
  much of a fuss.  Each guest has waved their polite hello to you and
  quickly moved away.  Is it your fifth glass of wine?  You can't remember
  anymore, but suddenly the anger starts to bubble at the back of your
  throat like a cauldron of magma and you absolutely lose it.  Someone
  (probably that sentry who spent all night in the corner) has to drag you
  out kicking and screaming.

  The next morning you only vaguely remember casting the curse.  Head
  pounding as you look in the mirror, the paranoia sets in (as it always
  does when you look in that goddamn mirror) and when you go out later to
  get your groceries, it feels as if everyone is staring at you.  When the
  King orders that every spinning wheel be removed from the empire, you
  think it might be your fault but you can't say why.  You think of all the
  wasted wool, all the sweaters you might have sewn.
 
                                                                       ,o$o
   o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$b
  d$


                                                               `  `$b 
 d$'                         A Good Day to Dye                           ,$
 $:                           by Gnarly Wayne                           ,$P
  `$n,.. .  .   .    .     .      .        .      .     .    .   .  . ..P' 
    `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'

  I was getting a haircut within a day or two and so I also decided to
  dye my hair as well.  I don't dye my hair often, and when I thought about
  it, I could not discern as to why I did not.

  I didn't dye it anything crazy, like blue or green or gold.  Just a blonde
  that was lighter than my natural dark blonde (I have never liked the term
  'dirty blonde'.  Makes me sound like I don't wash my hair or am obsessed
  with sex.).  While listening to some Miami bass group in the bathroom, I
  looked at myself in the mirror.  "Time for a new look, a new style, A NEW
  WAYNE!" I screamed at myself (in my head, of course).  I opened the box
  and saw a jar half full of some milky liquid, two tubes (one was plastic
  and the other was made out of some pliable metal), a packet that looked
  the same as the packets that Neo-Citrin comes in, and a pair of crappy
  plastic gloves (noted on the back of the box as "Professional Dye
  Applicator Gloves").

  I knew what to do with the gloves, so I put them on.  I was about to read
  the instructions when I suddenly cried out "The new Wayne does not need
  puny instructions!" (this time I actually cried it out though).  In
  digust, I tossed the instructions to the side and proceeded to mix
  everything together in the big bottle.  Unfortunately, I happened to
  glance at the writing on one of the bottles and I read the word
  Conditioner.  Though I do not normally use conditioner, I knew enough of
  the fabled stuff to know that I should be using it later.  Disappointed in
  myself, I put the conditioner into the shower for later use.

  After shaking the bottle for some time, I started applying the dye to the
  top of my head.  It was kinda of cool, but pleasant.  I started working it
  into my hair and then moved to lower cut sides.  I had to guess as to how
  much I had to put on the back since I did not have a mirror to reflect the
  mirrored image of the back of my head.  I still do not know if I did a
  good job back there or not and no one but the closest of my friends
  probably has the guts/courage/love to tell me so.  They'd most likely just
  prefer to make fun of me behind my back, though just the act of dying my
  hair is most likely enough material to keep them back stabbing for awhile,
  at least.  Anyway, since I have fairly short hair (even shorter now, I had
  just gotten a haircut, remember?) I totally overdid putting dye on, I
  think.

  I also forgot to keep track of time which did not matter anyway since I
  did not read the instructions to tell me how long I should wait.  I could
  not leave the bathroom since I was basically naked and for some reason I
  had opened the shades that day.  I danced around to some Florida-grown
  booty bass for awhile and then checked out my hair again. It looked more
  blonde than before, but there was also a lot of white foam as well.

  I got into the shower and proceeded to rise off the dye and then I
  shampooed and used that "special" conditioner on it as well.  I did not
  know if I was suppose to shampoo or not, but my hair is pretty greasy so
  I figured I had to, even though I was not going to be going anywhere that
  day.  As I dried off my hair, I dismissed the notion of drying off the
  rest of my body.  I wanted to see that hair and NOW!  I looked in the
  mirror and my first thought was "This is a pretty shitty blonde".  It
  looked more orange with some red in it.  Upon further inspection, I
  realized the red was actually my skin from where I had rubbed the peroxide
  formula into my scalp.  Suddenly, reading the instructions seemed to be a
  good idea (but don't worry, I did not give in to temptation!).  Relief
  filled my being as the hair became drier and, hence, lighter.  After
  combing and playing it for awhile, I got it to the way I liked it at the
  moment and thought it was an okay job.

  I was to test the power of my new hair, which brings up to the scene
  currently in progress.  The players?  Me, the girl I always sit next to in
  class, and my new hair.  Let us partake in what transpires.



  "So, you dyed your hair, huh?"

  "Yeah, of course, I was there.  WHY DO YOU ALWAYS POINT OUT THE OBVIOUS?!
  CAN'T YOU SEE ITS DRIVING ME MAD!?"

  "*giggle* Oh Wayne, you're so fickled."



  So the power of my hair was working.  I could as rude and sarcastic as
  I like and people would think it was cute.  Several more scenes, all with
  different people, came to pass.



  "So, you dyed your hair, huh?"

  "WHAT?!?!?  Really?!?  I didn't even know.  Holy shit!  When could that
  have happened?  Oh wait!  I remember!  It was yesterday morning, right
  after I decided TO  DYE  MY  HAIR!"

  "It looks pretty good on you."

  "Hey, thanks."



  "So what colour is that kind of blonde?"

  "Oh, why its Light Golden Sunset XLS-83783... I DON'T KNOW WHAT FUCKING
  TYPE IT IS!  IF I DIDN'T READ THE INSTRUCTIONS I SURE AS HELL AIN'T GOING
  TO KNOW WHAT TYPE IT IS!  And why do you care?  What are you going to do?
  Go and buy the exact same brand and type so you can get the same results?
  Let me tell you something, nitwit, I saw a whole fucking wall of bloody
  dye and as far I can tell from the pictures, THERE ARE ONLY THREE SHADES
  OF BLONDE YOU CAN BUY ANYWAY."

  "Yeah, and since I have black hair, it probably wouldn't work as well
  anyway."

  "How did you ever make it into university?"



  "Oh Wayne, you look so totally hot with that new hair, I just want to rub
  my tits all over it."

  "Yeah, like I want some skanky hoe rubbing her Syphilis infected breasts
  all over me.  Neither me, nor the hair, needs that kind of crap in my
  life.  Come on, hair, let's go."

  "But we're married."



  "You look great today, G-Dub, I think I'll give you a raise."

  "Hey, Mister Big Shot, if you're going to give anyone a raise, it should
  be the hair."

  "I'll add it to the payroll."

  "Word."



  "Mr. President, we've just gotten word that your popularity polls are
  through the roof! The entire world loves you!"

  "HEY! You know The President can't speak.  You talk to him through me.
  Got it, asshole?"

  "I have a feeling we'll have world peace soon."



  Wait, I was still in front of the mirror looking at my freshly dyed hair.
  Oh, I see what had happened.  I had temporarily gained clairvoyance and
  witnessed the soon to be.  With the biggest smile my face could handle, I
  went to dry myself off but discovered that I was already dried... AND
  CLOTHED!  Seeing this as a good omen, I proceeded to do my regular
  routine, just waiting for these events I had forseen unfold.
                                                       

 .d&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&b.

  The Neo-Comintern Magazine / Online Magazine is seeking submissions.
  Unpublished stories and articles of an unusual, experimental, or
  anti-capitalist nature are wanted.  Contributors are encouraged to
  submit works incorporating any or all of the following: Musings, Delvings
  into Philosophy, Flights of Fancy, Freefall Selections, and Tales of
  General Mirth.  The more creative and astray from the norm, the better.
  For examples of typical Neo-Comintern writing, see our website at
  <http://www.neo-comintern.com>.

  Submissions of 25-4000 words are wanted; the average article length is
  approximately 200-1000 words.  Send submissions via email attachment to
  <bmc@neo-comintern.com>, or through ICQ to #29981964.

  Contributors will receive copies of the most recent print issue of The
  Neo-Comintern; works of any length and type will be considered for
  publication in The Neo-Comintern Online Magazine and/or The Neo-Comintern
  Magazine.

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  copyright 2002 by                                            #204-06/09/02
  the neo-comintern

  All content is property of The Neo-Comintern.
  You may redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and
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