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+======== April 1995 =========================== Volume 3, Number 4 ========+
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| [ A JOURNAL OF THE POETIC ARTS ] |
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| Guest Editor: Igal Koshevoy |
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| Editor: Klaus J. Gerken |
| Production Editor: Igal Koshevoy |
| Associate Editors: Paul Lauda |
| : Pedro Sena |
| : Gay Bost |
| European Editor: Milan Georges Djordjevitch |
| Contributing Editor: Martin Zurla |
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+===========================================================================+
***************************************************************************
[ TABLE OF CONTENTS ]
***************************************************************************
* INTRODUCTION
+ "Welcome and technical foreword"
+ "Unravelings" -- introductory poem
* Poems
+ "faceless"
-- featuring clay sculpture "Pan" (kosh-pan.jpg)
+ "last shot"
-- featuring pen drawing "Fuzzy" (kosh-fuz.jpg)
+ "abyss"
-- featuring CAD drawing "Abyss" (kosh-aby.gif)
+ "DEATH SONG II"
-- featuring acrylic painting "OMC" (kosh-omc.jpg)
+ "shitterd"
-- featuring CAD drawing "Wratheon" (kosh-wra.gif)
+ "pity's bloom"
-- featuring painting "Stiff Patience" (kosh-tre.jpg)
+ "divulged infestations"
-- featuring metal sculpture "Fork, I" (kosh-for.jpg)
+ "Model ... under plexiglass"
-- featuring pencil drawing "a ballerina's world
through a blinded audience's eyes" (kosh-blr.jpg)
+ "parting momentum"
+ "an age of digital medicine"
-- featuring pastel drawing "Bastronaut" (kosh-bas.jpg)
* POST SCRIPTUM
+ "careless end of ... something...?"
-- featuring pencil drawing "Avenue of Escape"
(kosh-aoe.jpg)
**************************************************************************
[ INTRODUCTION ]
**************************************************************************
Welcome to a special issue that welcomes Ygdrasil's upcoming second
Birthday. It's hard to imagine that it's been this long, and that
we've come this far - but it's all been worth it. There's no regrets -
only gratitude.
I'd like to thank some friends who've made this wonderful experience
possible for me: Klaus Gerken, for his brave spirit and unstoppable
enthusiasm; Paul Lauda, for almost going to the poor house by doing
his thing to improve the world; Evan Light, for energetic activism;
Pedro Sena, for vision, truth and dreams; Tom Almy, for quiet and
dutiful service to others; all those that fought for dignified and
worthy causes; and all those we've lost along the way.
This issue steps forward into a realm of art that's just as poetic,
though much less wordy - throughout the issue there's intertwined
poems, pictures, sculptures and grafix. So if you're not seeing the
Web version, you're missing most of the show; and if you're just
seeing the only text & pictures, then that's barely second-best. If
you're only reading the text, well, I can only gently say that there's
a great deal more to this issue than what you're seeing. This is all
about hushed voices and images....
The Web version is at "http://www.ee.pdx.edu/~igal/ygdrasil/y-9504".
To get full viewing satisfaction, you'll need to get a HTML level 3
browser and JPEG & GIF graphics viewers to see the pictures - your
best bet is to get Netscape 1.1 (ftp://ftp.mcom.com) which does both.
Enjoy and spread the word.
And now let's start....
-Igal Koshevoy
PS: urgent notice to Centipede boards: Paul Lauda's Revisions Systems
had a tragic disk crash and may take a while to become operational
again. Tom Almy's Bitter Butter Better BBS has been officially
announced as the temporary hub of operations. To continue your
Centipede service, please send netmail to Tom Almy at 1:105/290 or
dial up BITTER BUTTER BBS at 1-503-692-5841 (new number) and leave a
message.
============================================================================
Unravelings
~~~~~~~~~~~
Cobwebs in musty closets, filled with things that weren't there. A
quiet drape of disappointment, maybe not too far from truth. Currents
seem like the only movement; close the window, kill the lights. Hazy
imperfection; outlines, shadows ... patient things.
Motion is measured by a framed perspective. Distances traveled; vistas
past. Sometimes seems like we're actually moving ... but it's always
just the earth beneath us - washing by.
Drive through every city and you're seeing the same thing, every
channel playing the same dry song. Flat dullness, rolling across an
absent void. We are our world. It's not surprising.
And the time flies past; there's no reason to look at the watch ... we
know what it's saying.
-Igal Koshevoy (TR)
March 26, 1995; 2:07am
============================================================================
faceless
~~~~~~~~
filthied union, one under the streaking mud.
collected leeches, barnacles and rainy gloom.
shades of grey and brown -
what a dirty, ugly place.
i can feel the indifference,
yeah,
i'm sopping wet.
in the cold of the moment,
words come flowing like turbulent sewage -
damp anger.
plastic translucence and
stainless appreciation.
thank you.
fuck you.
i love you.
go to hell.
irregular beat and enthropic carelessness,
waiting for Now to come.
self-defacement and soul replacement,
press the off switch on the battery-powered god.
stream of dissonance veiled by the steam of ignorance;
no really,
i don't want to know what's going on.
there's everything if one looks hard enough for it,
but shutting-in is good enough.
scratch the itch,
hit the bitch,
and caress the rich.
flick the button,
change my channel,
shift my focus to
bluurroouuutt..
tired,
live to sleep -
eternal night,
effacing nightmare.
so much better though....
traversing on a line-by-line.
...i'm faceless....
can't recognize a scream any more.
-Igal Koshevoy (lh^m^TR)
February 17, 1995: 3:07pm
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
last shot
~~~~~~~~~
collapse
framework crumbles
heart-rot wormed from limb-to-limb
filthy rags lay uninspired
unwashed lies just sit and stare
ghostly aberration fall down from wooden throne
quiet whimperings of one too numb to cry
the knot disintegrates
the shadow melts and spawns
a mattress sags
enfolds and holds me close
`tis only i, the loser
the robber
the ghost
wander aimless
through unending hallways
mind subtracts itself from empty space
burned down embers
glow the coals forever
swimming awash of sky and motor
glistening
pretty lights
with fingers extended
reaching like an infant
one thing in mind:
-Igal Koshevoy (de-tr)
April 1, 1994; 12:17am
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
abyss
~~~~~
nothing left to worship
everything forsakened ...
tainted
twisted away
my gold has turned to rusting heaps
the bibles have crumbled down to blowing dusts
the statues have fallen from their marble pedestals
. . .
so close
but still
so far away
my fingers can almost reach you
almost hold you again ...
almost
the reaching out ...
and i know it's wrong -
i know it
bringing you closer
brings closer to tragedy
i'd do anything -
absolutely anything
to bring things back to the way they were before -
anything to just glimpse back at what might have been
. . .
all those pictures of you
that hang in my darkened hallways,
i'm afraid to turn the lights on -
i'm afraid to look at them ...
but i can still -feel- the accusing eyes
staring
whispering with slitted throats
drowning me in pools of unspoken shame
and even with all its hatefulness
the gauntlet i run
each and every day -
i can't escape it
some faces so darkened by the shadows
the names lost
the details contorted ...
but their message remains
and the others
the fresher kills
with features glowing red
by the light of my infernal heart-pyre ...
they stare back
unmoving
frozen as they burn in time
glaring
unforgiving ...
not them -
not i
. . .
the gods have fallen
the devil left
the idols crumbled
the faith has been shed
stalking the ruins
a black, hauntling glitch
staring into the anger-streaked horizon
and the shattered remnants
reach to the sky like broken teeth
in a world a million miles away
transposed onto another reality ...
too real
too false
so artificial ...
so far
. . .
i can almost reach you
my extended fingers ...
almost ...
almost able to hold onto you.
i know it's poison,
i drink it just the same.
i know it's wrong -
but i can't stop it, not again.
nothing can
hold it back.
as if by a butchering-stencil
it all falls back into place ...
each step closer to you
a step closer to assured disaster.
. . .
the red sun
forever setting ...
watching me
mercilessly
for hours
years
eternities -
always setting,
never leaving
me behind
-Igal Koshevoy (m^bw)
January 18, 1994; 11:21pm
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
DEATH SONG II
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i am the wild-toothed rider
of the fresh pine wood coffin
that rides the nightmarish tidal wave of hate!
ENGULF! ENGULF! ENGULF!
'ah just gonna rip 'em apart,
limb to limb, organ to organ!
mow 'em down with a wall of glittering steel,
LET'S GO SEVER SOME HEADS!
i'm the child of the flames.
gonna find that Dream Child
n' toast a drink of battery acid for 'er health.
i'm a bat out of hell.
find the damned Child,
and pierce 'er throat
suck all the reeking goodness out
and spit back the seeds.
i'm the pain in this world.
jus' gonna hum a tune,
strike up a song,
pull up a keg of blood,
for the night is young and long!
come 'ahn DOWN, ye'r neXT!
i am the incinerator,
i am doom!
hell on wheelZ,
pain in a wheelbarrel,
death on a stick!
simpl'y gonna do ya' all,
make no damn diffRence ta' me!
scream all you want, i'll make
PLENTY more.
can't get away,
i'm on you heels,
on your intestines,
on ye'!
come on down and
take my bony hand
and with leering skulls dance
through the flames
of our burning pasts.
dance to the new rhythm
set by the beat of a meltdown reactor core.
dancin' thru da' flameZ - we go hand in hand!
yeah, 'ah gotta head in my freezer
ya' see.
was an ol' luv o' mine: WAS, ya' see!
so damn, maybe she never smiles - such'a damn shame
but she don't bitch, don't gripe, don't whine.
jus'a handful of somethin' clean
to gnaw the hours away.
and so U'll go,
'ah smile as
i gleefully grasp
my rusted fork.
jus' gonna take from you,
what i never had.
gonna take it
ALL from you:
everybit
everypiece
everydrop
everypart.
'n gonna shove't 'en ma meat locker
for a RRRrrrrrainy day!
i am your creation,
you made me what i am.
i am what you tossed out with the trash.
i am the one you unceremoniously flushed down the john.
now i'm back
with a vengeance,
with a plan,
with a fork!
ain't nuttin' gonna stop me this time.
all those times past,
stopped by silly
morals
beliefs
ideas
gods
explanations
contemplations
expirations
expectations
condemnations
justifications.
now eit's jus' decadence!
'ah know it all,
ultraomnipotent!
'ah know ye'r best kept secrets,
ye'r best told lies
told with slippery tongue.
but i've put ye'r testicles to the grindstone,
and i'm beatin' 'em as my war drum!
i've cut through the shit with a chainsaw.
it's all done now!
gonna stuff my pain
down the throat of a long dead corpse
gonna slay those god-damned souls!
i can see you through
like the frail polythene ghosts
fluttering and dropping away in
the acid rain.
i know who you are.
'ah can see your selfish selfs,
your beheaded saints,
your corrugated idols,
your burnished shrines,
that festered flesh,
the bleeding hearts,
the rotten minds,
and the inside - much worse.
and most of all,
i can see the emptiness that you are.
and i'm gonna kut it all out
with my surgical chainsaw
till the blood flows upon the planes in tides,
the day, the day ... shall come.
and we shall be ONE.
twisted, pained flesh and my glorious doom.
Cuz
blind devotion to my cause,
cause nuttin's gonna change my mind,
no matter, evermore!
-Igal Koshevoy; February 8th, 1993
METALLIFEROUS DECADENCE (RUST) 1:3
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
shitterd
~~~~~~~~
the tables turned
i find myself beneath
the powertrip replaced by fear
once i was somebody
once i was someone
once i was something
once...?
cornered into surrender
pushed into a shove
reality betrays me
falls out under my tired feet
i lost the luxury
my amenity
now a dysfunctionality
fucking through me in tyranny
stepping down as royal lord of evaporation
dropping knees to face my breaks
shuddering incohesion
r
e
c
o
g
n
i
t
i
o
n
you're the one
proud stand
now a one-night pity
the bruises glow unmuted
transdifiguration eats me
and i deserve
shut it out
propel to escape velocity
but it's not my whim
not my decision
this collision
passing reminiscence
permeated by insolence
feed by derogance
flushed with impotence
flash of light
hand comes down so hard
and the guilt even harder
stopped world stands in attention
focusing and staring into my weak and emptied soulruin
i'd defend myself
but it's too late to fight
i'd hide
but that wouldn't be right
i'd run
but i'm broken already
eyes clamped shut
tears wrestle for passage
too late for self-reproach
too late for anything other than shame
collapse to breakdown
and the stoning begins
raw flesh on shattered moans
. . .
draining
draining
. . .
drained
. . .
dragged by inertia
lead by purpose unbelieved
rebuild the paper-thin wall of decency
bite down, ignore the memory
. . .
fading
fading
. . .
faded
. . .
i'm sorry
-Igal Koshevoy (m^lh^at)
May 22, 1994; 11:37pm
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
pity's bloom
~~~~~~~~~~~~
raise the head
ungazing desire
security fixation
with a gun against head
trepid diffusion
swimming besides
refrigerated gardens
hidden inside
tread past
midst confrontation
through greying wounds
and brittle stares
unfurling unbeauty
thorned fenced and spayed
creep long the blockings
move slow the vines
tonight collapse and linger
forget the eyes you can't see with
ignore the world you won't live in
-Igal Koshevoy (M^bw)
August 2, 1994; 3:50pm
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
divulged infestations
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
returning, i wear the lark -
as stigmata
of my insolence
hidden under its lost innocence -
shattered,
torn asunder
asyncronism,
spinning mad -
breaking dimension's walls
insult to the living,
dead are neither proud,
in between - just hatred wrought
staring from under tattered feathers,
breathing from bloodied pores,
livid existence - petrified
singularity
on field of battle,
pride so hard on ground so cold
no expectations,
have i from you,
my darling
a moment collapses,
unfairness blurred -
de rigueur
reflective derision -
laugh so hard
you cry
-Igal Koshevoy (S)
October 31, 1993; 12:01am
ALTAR OF APOLOGIES 3:3
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Model ... under plexiglass
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
looking at you isn't enough
holding you in my arms isn't either
your eyes staring past me is enough
enough to shatter the glory of the moment
enough to break the myth
enough to lose the feeling
you're behind a protective glass wall
and i can't break through it
there's no way i can smash it
no way to get through to you
and i can see you
there on the other side
and you look happy
almost
i know you're hurt
you weren't one to look hurt
but i know you too well
i know the truth
but still the truth never mattered to you
it never will either
so there you are
smiling away
crying inside
holding him tight
as you break-down inside
and what am i left with?
a memory
a fast-fading dream
it was real, just moments ago
but it's turning to fantasy so quick
too fast
too fast for me to hold on to
i don't want to let you go
i never wanted to let you out of my arms
i didn't want to let you back into this hateful world
never wanted to let you hurt
i wanted to protect you
maybe too much
maybe too little
but whatever it was
it wasn't enough
i couldn't hold on
not the ride
and not the trip
now you're in my sight
and your soft smile and bright eyes
no longer bring me joy
they bring those same tears you feel
to me
i want so much
to tear those hateful emotions away
and love you again
but i can't
without you loving back
at least a little
if you at least look back a little
if you just give me a chance
if you just let me try
but you were never one for emotional types
you had to it there and now
i guess i terrified you
by being so different and yet the same
i was all i could be for you
seems it wasn't that much
i'm sorry
i'm sorry i couldn't be what you wanted
i'm so sorry i couldn't hold on to you as tight as i should
i'm sorry
it's cold up here
the wind is blowing
it's even colder inside me
i want to warm myself by your fire
want to warm your cold body with mine
i don't care what you've put me through
i still love you
and i wish i could say that
with the sincerity
that i once had
i miss you
it's lonely here
without you in my arms
it's getting colder
i can barely see you through this fog
i can barely see at all
i don't want to see anything else
i want you
i need you
i love you
wish you could say that for me
i can almost remember your soft hair against my fingertips
the way your eyes would sparkle just for me
your laugh
and smile
i can almost remember
almost
i hate this memory
because it's a memory
i want it to be reality
i want it to be now
i want you now
i need you now
i love you now
let me love you
while i still can
let me be something
while there's still something left
let me embrace you
while you're still here
you don't know how much i've missed you
you'll never understand what you mean to me
you don't know what you mean to me
-Igal Koshevoy (AT)
November 20, 1993; 12:13am
SHRINE OF LIES 7:3
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
parting momentum
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i can't live without you
and tomorrow you'll be replaced
right now you're my one desire
and soon you'll be a memory passed
everything i ever wanted from life
forgotten blindingly quick
i'm incomplete without you
and with you i can't be
-Igal Koshevoy (AT^LH)
March 15, 1994; 2:15am
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
the only distance between two points
is a circle
so be what /thou|they/ wilt
as all sentient beings -become-, whether they deserve it or not
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
an age of digital medicine
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
spinning slowly
little lights
cracked mirrors
in a small darkened room
somewhere an ironic melody plays
a cruel mechanical and joking song
its cords a punctuation
twisting into a revolving conclusion
mocking childsong serenades
a quiet whirling dervish
its pieces losing cohesion
dropping crashing to an unseen floor
jerky metal tune
playing on a spinning drum
and the harder one listens
the more it changes, the more it stays the same
each return to the placebefore
also a return to the hereafter
masked by almosthearing the hidden machineries
(wonder) is this inertia ... or is this eternity?
and the fragments of the broken chandelier
torn from sockets
by conspired gravity
come crashing down
spinning
falling
watching from outside
nothing more than a carnival inside a little head
...it's all inside a little head.
-Igal Koshevoy (M^sr)
December 3, 1994; 6:23pm
============================================================================
**************************************************************************
[ POST SCRIPTUM ]
**************************************************************************
careless end of ... something...?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
over a decade of punctual apologies
hidden beneath multi-lingual guises
under these hundred faces
none of which i even believe
the black clouds swell with anticipation
a need to give back something
waiting so long to impress
saving up for retribution
but they're only vapors
and the sun dies no matter how hard i try to hold on to
it watches with shutting eyes, the end of my world
the repeated mistakes hum dull inside the framework
"i did my best" ... or so i tell myself
with a soft whimper i hug myself a little tighter
and whisper quietly, "you tried" but i do not believe
amidst these chirping, faded strangers
amidst this perfumed sea of suits
i stand between no where and nowhere
and now i'm nothing
-Igal Koshevoy (m^LH^TR)
June 15, 1994; 9:10pm
============================================================================
Anyways, I've wasted enough of your valuable time and brain cells, so I
honestly hope you have enjoyed the pictures and poetry. I also hope that
some of the stuff written has 'rubbed-up' on you and has, or will, change
your life and that of others, somehow, for the better. Take care.
+---------------------------------------------------------+
| Copyright 1995 Igal Koshevoy, all rights reserved! |
| "Mess wit' mah' poems n' 'Ah break ya' finghas!" -JTB |
+---------------------------------------------------------+
============================================================================
**************************************************************************
[ DISTRIBUTION ]
**************************************************************************
Here's some ways you can get a copy of Ygdrasil --
Internet:
* Use the World Wide Web to browse "http://www.rdrop.com/~igal/ygdrasil" -
the official Web site. This contains EVERYTHING that's Ygdrasil,
including all versions, even hypertexted ones with really awesome
graphics that aren't available elsewhere. This is the place to be if you
can get there.
* Read Usenet's "rec.arts.poems" or "alt.zines" newsgroups, where the
7-bit Ygdrasil magazine is posted in full as it's released.
* Use Internet ftp to "ftp.rdrop.com/~igal/ygdrasil" - the official ftp
site. View "INDEX" file to see a directory explaining our files.
BBS & Fidonet:
* If your BBS gets Centipede (Ygdrasil's favorite Network) or EPub file
echoes, if so, look for files that start with "Y-yymm" where "yy" is the
last two digits of the year and the "mm" is the month of the issue.
* Perform a Fidonet FileRequest to 1:105/290 and look for files with the
above naming scheme. You can do this if you're a Fidonet "Point",
otherwise, just ask your friendly Fidonet sysop.
* Call 1-503-692-5841, that's Tom Almy's "Bitter Butter Better BBS" in
Tigard, Oregon which connects 1200 through V.FC & V.34 - it's our
official BBS site until RESY comes back. Enter "downloader" as the name,
"guest" as the password. Enter the (F)iles section, (E)nter group "1"
Fiction, and (A)rea change to "14" Contemporary Poetry. And download
away! You can be downloading within 15 seconds of connection.
Electronic Mail:
* Send email (Fidonet: Igal Koshevoy at 1:105/290; or Internet:
igal@agora.rdrop.com) and ask us to send you Ygdrasil by email. Please
tell us which version you wish to receive: (1) the uncompressed 7-bit
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specified, you'll get the 7-bit which you can read in your mail program.
Don't forget to mention any length related quirks in your mail reader -
such as you can't view more than 200 lines in OLX.
* Request and read the "A Very Brief E-mail User's Guide to Ygdrasil
Online" and get your own copies of Ygdrasil through email.
Postal Mail:
* Send snailmail to YGDRASIL PRESS; 1001-257 LISGAR ST.; OTTAWA, ONTARIO;
CANADA, K2P 0C7 and request either our printed version, or a files on
disk and specify disk size. This is a difficult, expensive and time
consuming so please send $3 Canadian or $2 US to cover. This is the
least preferred way to get in touch with us.
Other Distribution:
? If there's a way we can help make getting issues of Ygdrasil easier, by
all means, please tell us. If you know of a BBS that would like to carry
Y, or a file echo that it can be distributed through - we'd be thrilled
to know. Feel free to make any suggestions or comments, we look forward
to hearing from you.
Correspondence:
* Klaus Gerken, Chief Editor - for general messages and ASCII text
submissions. Use Klaus' address for commentary on Ygdrasil and its
contents: klaus.gerken@bbs.synapse.net (Internet)
* Igal Koshevoy, Production Editor and Distribution Coordinator - for
submissions of anything that's not plain ASCII text (ie. archives,
graphics, wordprocessored files, etc) in any standard DOS, Mac or Unix
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to ensure privacy of transaction: igal@agora.rdrop.com (Internet) or
Igal Koshevoy at 1:105/290 (Fidonet).
============================================================================
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