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“I always know where I am by the way the road looks. Like I just know that I’ve been here before. I just kno


DEAR EVERYONE ON EARTH: WELCOME to the first installment of DREAM ZINE. This is a zine focused on DREAMS, the UNREAL, the SURREAL, the IMPOSSIBLY HOPEFUL, the HOPEFULLY IMPOSSIBLE and the INSENSIBLLY HOPELESS. this particular eDition appRopriatEly focuses on nighttime dreAMs—that blesseD escape fRom hamstEr-ball reAlity. our dreaMs can say so much about us, and yet so little—the meaning can’t really be parseD by anyone; nobody who knows us well enough will be able to give an unbiased opinion (especially ouRsElves!) your mind is like A Machine that has been upDated and impRovEd And worsened for years and years and years, but instead of being rebuilt, everything is just superglued onto the original. how is anyone supposed to figure out what anything Means at all? a terrible DREAM where a green monster is chasing you is just as likely to be based on that customer in that hiDeous gREen wool suit A week ago who threw a fit over wearing a face Mask as it is to be baseD on that one time when you weRE five yeArs old and your older brother chased you around with an oscar the grouch puppet until you started crying. Maybe it’s both? or neither? the mind is a mystery, a very scary, DangeRous normal place and anyonE who sAys otherwise either knows they’re lying or doesn’t know a thing at all. regardless of the inherent uselessness of knowing the dreaMs of someone you’ve never met, and hope never to meet, i hope you’ll enjoy this little jaunt through my brain. sit back, relax, turn some lounge lizards on low, and enjoy the ride… yours forever, T. L. SULLIVAN

The green grass melded into the clay on a windy day is magnificent. A letter arrives to me at the edge of the world. In a year-long hunger, no one asks for an extra meal. The thirst from illness is hindered, yet still addicted to tea. Yuan Liang's house holds last season’s willows, Wen Tong's brush brings last year’s flowers. You respond without a smile but an open rasp of solemnity. A white-haired servant's letter is the splendor of old age. -Wang Zhideng, trans. Carly Foy

SWEET DREAMS recommended playlist: 1. tHe funEraL party, the cure. 2. Love will tear us apart, jOy division. 3. i wisH i was stEphen maLkmus, beabadoobea. 4. La rOmanesca, alexander glazunov. 5. tHis night has opeEned my eyes, the smiths. 6. dead fLowers, fidLar (cOver). 7. HeavEn (Live), taLking heads. 8. help me scrape the mucus Off my brain, ween. 9. i don’t want to set the world on fire, Horace hEidt. 10. scarborough fair / canticLe, simon & garfunkeL. 11. true lOve will find you in the end, daniel joHnston. 12. california drEamin’, the mamas and the papas. 13. the end, sibyLLe baier. 14. beast Of burden, tHe rolling stonEs. 15. i’LL be your mirrOr (live), the velvet underground.

HAVE YOU ever had a good dream? not an okay dream, not a dream where you get up and Brush your teeth and go outside and some guy is floating outside your nEighbor’s sEcond floor bay windows, or a dream that just isn’t a Nightmare, or a dream where you feel a very mortaL kind of contentmEnt, but a really good dream. i have had very, very Few. my pleasantest dreams are always abouT falling in love or Being fallen in love with. whenever i wish on my eyelashes, i wish to fall in love. i guess providEnce decided to grant those wishes in my sleep. i Have never dreamt of success, because i am not an ambitious person. I think this is a good thing. i have dreamt of crashing a car, but in a good way. i have dreamt of missing a plane, several times. those were not good dreams. Never miss a plane, or you might plague yourself with nightmares about Doing it again for the rest of your life.

HAVE YOU ever looked out an airplaNe window on a cloudy day? it looks like how a good dream feels. like heaven. you almOst understand why people believe in that stuff. isn’t it lovely that That is right here for us to see, while we’re alive? when you fly enough, you get bored of looking out windows. that Is what people mean when they talk about growing up. It also means learning the “truth” about some things, which isn’t always the truth. i bet a lot of Children in galileo’s day knew that the earth revolvEd around the sun, before their parents tolD them otherwise. be verY careful about the things you accept as facts. you can love someone vEry much and not believe the things They say.

Wednesday, August 5, 2020: I was watching a movie with my friend and this guy I knew in high school. I kept having to remember not to touch him, because my palms were sweaty. He and I were talking about these people in the film, and he was looking at me and said, “and thankfully you haven’t painted your nails either.” He put his hand on my face, gently, said “don’t get me wrong…it’s like you’re Jesus. Feel my hand.” And that was it. Rarely do I have a something specifically dream no matter how lasting, make in my matter how wish to see

manage to dream about that I “want” to about. Crushes, serious or longrare appearances dreams, no much I may them. My subconscious has a will of its own. He knows what I want better than I do. Or at least he thinks he does. I remember all of the dreams I’ve had that I conjured through conscious obsession. That was one of them. Have you ever heard a calluminity bird? Their calls sound like raindrops. If you ever hear a calumminity, make a wish, but

only if the sky is cloudy. The Wish-Granter, Arenthe, is particularly fond of these birds, and will give your wishes special attention, in return for your appreciation. On a clear day, your wishes are liable to float up and out of the atmosphere and fall into orbit with all the discarded spaceship chunks that circuit the earth. Even though everything may seem less hopeful without the sun, the clouds will deliver your wishes safely to Arenthe, who may or may not follow through, depending on whether she’s had her breakfast yet. Don’t worry about the time of day; she’s on a very different schedule, since she lives on Mercury. She eats big scoops of the moon when she’s hungry, which is all the time. This is why there are so many craters on the moon. Every day, the moon is looking more and more like a half-gone pint of ice cream. We haven’t noticed too much yet because we only ever see a small part of it. When she finishes our moon, she’s going to have to move to Mars, and you will probably have to wait around a year for her to even hear about your wish. Be careful what you wish for. The more Arenthe works, the hungrier she is, the faster she’ll eat up the moon, and the sooner she’ll have to move. It took the clouds over a century

to get used to bringing wishes to Mercury after she moved from Venus. She is why Venus has no moon. They still sometimes bring the wishes to Venus before realizing their mistake, which is why sometimes you get what you wanted when you don’t want it anymore. Earth is much too populated for Arenthe, though she likes humans from a distance. Her favorite humans are children, the elderly, atheists, people who play the lyre, the mandolin, or the theremin, fishermen, cheesemakers (she has a soft spot for goat cheese), librarians, florists and gardeners, KoЯn fans, but not the band members, whittlers, gleaners (Arenthe hates waste), treehuggers, the people who work at Fruity Pebbles factories, and janitors. Clouds are almost all past sheep. There are very few “natural clouds”. Shortly before they die, sheep are contacted by a messenger of Arenthe. They are asked if they would like to prolong their lives by having their consciousness transferred to a cloud, under the condition of working for Arenthe, an agreement which can be broken at any point. Occasionally, Arenthe will allow non-sheep animals and objects to become clouds. This is why you can see various shapes, objects, animals, and even faces in the clouds at times. I learned this fact and its details (which I shall spare you) through a flying ant who had gotten lost in the wool of a sheep who was quite near death, and couldn’t

help but eavesdrop, from some good fashioned

and the rest olddeduction.

Though sheep are almost infinitely wise creatures, they are honest to a fault, and therefore terrible secret keepers, so the whole thing was rather easy to figure out. But don’t let that make you think that sheep are stupid in the slightest, as hubristic humans will try to tell you. They are incredibly witty and knowledgeable, if you can get them to talk. They clam up around humans, or just plain disdain them, but if you are adequately respectful, they’ll just chatter away. However, you ought to be aware that all sheep dialects have a bit of a learning curve—they have a habit of speaking in constantly changing code, for more than one reason. Sheep have been targeted by spies from nearly every species, including humans. The cloud thing is kind of an open secret—clouds are pretty obviously made out of wool—but some sheep secrets must remain sheep secrets. Many sheep codes are built on with sheep colloquialisms and intentional grammar manipulations, so that these codes do not simply seem like coded messages, but like they are saying something entirely different from what they mean. For instance, if a sheep says, “Inside grows yellow tamarind,” it could mean “I grant you that,” “I greatly yellow thou,” (sheep-speak for “I love you very much”), “Their yarn grazes insightfully” (sheep-speak for “they come from a long line of smart sheep”), and so on—you would have to determine the meaning from context. And this is just one code of

thousands. Fortunately, sheep are very straightforward, and rarely use sarcasm. They are also almost all excellent flutists. Arenthe herself teaches each sheep to play when they are just a lamb. Each sunset, one sheep, preferably the most talented, must go to the peak of the highest hill, and play the flute until the sun rises. If you listen very closely in an empty field at night, and the wind is right, you might be lucky enough to hear faint strains of that flute drifting through the blue air. Never look for the sheep. If you come across him by accident, turn around immediately, and go back to where you came from. If you were lost, you will not be anymore. Once you get home, fill a saucer with milk, open your window, and place the saucer solidly on the ledge. Get into bed, and go to sleep immediately. You will sleep better than you have ever slept before. The saucer will be broken on your floor in the morning, but there will not be any milk to wipe up. Take the pieces and bury them under the biggest tree in your next-door neighbor’s yard. If they have no tree, grind one saucer-piece into a powder, sprinkle a pinch on their doorstep, and find an excuse to be let in. Once inside, place the remaining shards into the very heart of the house, preferably in a way so that they will not be found and disturbed. Never

walk that path again, even in the daytime. Never tell anyone what you saw. Do not write about it in your diary. Do not hum the sheep’s song. Let it be forgotten.

My favorite dream that I’ve ever had, I had very recently, maybe a couple of months ago. I dreamt it after having a very bad night. There was hardly any setup, but essentially, I was in a recreational class where I had to hug everyone. The last person I hugged I was reluctant to, I’m not really sure why, but when I did, it felt like ecstasy. Like love at first touch. I don’t even know how to describe in words how it felt. I’ve never felt like that before or since, ever. I think I said “oh” aloud & just held him. I have never been in love. I wonder if it will be anything like that.

STRANGE DREAMS “It’s All Chinese To Me!” recommended playlist:

1. jockey full of bourbon, tom Waits. 2. coconut, Henry nilsson. 3. bob And nico, The lounge lizards. 4. tArantella, the lounge lizaRds. 5. armagEddon, cocorosie.

6. day-o, harry belafonte. 7. Time will tell, bob marley. 8. facing up to the facts, the jesus and mary cHain. 9. minniE the moocher, cab callowaY. 10. chtěla bych být robotem, eva hurychová.

11. She’s not there, the zombies. 12. the pAssenger, iggY pop. 13. dear prudence, sIouxie aNd the banshees (cover). 14. feeling Good, nina simone. 15. biwa-uta, tōru takemitsu. 16. la bicicleta de cristal, balún.

The vast majority of my dreams are ones that aren’t particularly good, and aren’t particularly bad, but they certainly don’t make any sense. To be fair, neither does real life. Life is a very confusing place. Wherever I was before I was born made a lot more sense. It was like when you sleep,

but don’t A lot of death, or they some gates.

dream. people fear think that will enter heavenly I do not think anything scary or

novel will happen to me when I die. I think I will die knowing exactly what is going to happen to me. I have few expectations of death, so I will not be disappointed when it comes to me. If I am wrong about

anything, I will not be too surprised. The one ignorance that every living human shares is that of death. I wonder if killer whales know better what to expect when they die. I do not think my “spirit” or “soul” will continue to traipse around this earth, or in the sky. I read some-

where once that certain scientists think that, after you die, your “soul” goes to another universe. I do not think that is true. I think there is life, and then the end of it. There is evidence that your body loses a small amount of weight when you die. I can’t tell you what that means. It is up to you to think for yourself. For a while I believed that the energy that you had within you would go somewhere else, and be used to create some other life, like reincarnation. But the energy that makes me up could just as easily be transformed into human or animal life as it could be transformed into any other expression of energy, like how a battery can be used in a flashlight, but you can also use one to power a small robotic parrot. I don’t have any great plans, or great wishes, because we will all be forgotten, whether you like it or not. Individual humans aren’t any more special than a blade of grass. Don’t think you are. It isn’t sad, but it can be troubling for people who have always thought they were more special than everything else. I want a green burial. That way, in the future, when

some other intelligent race exists, they won’t be able to exhume my body to burn to run their hoverboards. They’ll only have my bones. Maybe I should go on a milk strike so that my bones will be so weak that by the time this intelligent race comes around, there will be no trace of me at all. Sometimes it is better for people to not know who you are.

Monday, June 15, 2020: I had two or three sisters whom I injected with frog blood (with their consent). Candace from Phineas and Ferb was one of my older sisters. One of the injections went really south and her sweater started growing cacti. It’s possible that I injected the blood into the sweater and it possessed whoever put it on. Our mother had no idea what was going on. I fled to the parking lot of my old house, called somebody by the wrong name, and left the back door unlocked because the lock worked weird. Jennifer, the person I called by the wrong name, was super nice despite my name fumble and she offered me a ride, which I accepted, & I told her the whole thing. I later went back and started ripping the pages out of an evil book, but it seemed to have covers within it for every other page, and I was screaming and tearing up the pages, but they kept expanding and the curse moved to my little sister and that was the end of the “episode”. In the non-dream world, I am an only child. When I was a kid, I wanted a pet so badly that I started keeping house spiders who congregated in my bathroom in tupperware containers and naming them. I also kept what I later learned may have been termites in a plastic container on my bathroom counter. Sometimes, (rarely for termites, weekly for me) the termites would oblige me and invite me to see one of their famous plays. Unfortunately, I was unable to comprehend most of what happened in these epics, since I did not, and do not, speak Termitian, and I am quite stupidly unaware of their social cues. These plays have been passed down from termite to termite for centuries, human centuries. Some of their plays are as dire as King Lear, and just the simple summary that they

painstakingly calligraphed for me would bring me to tears. Regardless, I was able to appreciate the sentiment and made a point of applauding quite enthusiastically at the end of each act, which to many can seem like the end of the play, because there is a long intermission every time, since the only thing that makes termites hungrier than watching plays is acting in them. This means that at any opportunity, they will run off and eat paper or a bit of dead branch that they brought as a snack. (The theatre is made of brick as a precaution.) Sometimes, termites will leave in the middle of an act to eat. This can cause quite an issue. Though termites may look very similar to you and me, they vary widely in acting ability, so they have to put the whole thing on pause. No audience members rise up and storm the stage, or even complain, and I never noticed, even after several of them collaborated (on more than one occasion) to apologize for the talents’ unprofessionalism in my facile humanspeak. I knew it was very stressful for the managing termite, and on top of that stress (that occurred during normal performances with relative frequency) they had to be extra-polite, and keep things under some sort of control, because of my presence. Among their own kind, the manager was able to vent his frustration in low tones (too low for typical termite

hearing) at the cast, but with me there to hear him, he obviously couldn’t say those rude things. I felt it only right, especially as one who was semifrequently treated to complimentary theater tickets, to help him out as much as I could. So, after this happened a few times, I made a point of bringing dried wood in small, termite-serving-size portions for my friends at the amphitheater each time I was invited. they didn’t arrange for wellto give lectures on the culinary arts, which they all enjoyed tremendously. Once a month, they would serve me a different dish. It would always be, at its largest, the size of my thumb, but they were always so delicious I wished that I could have had a human-sized banquet of their food. I could infrequently recognize flavors (elderberry, saffron, cloves, and dandelion greens all made appearances at different times of year), but most often, they tasted of familiar things that I couldn’t name, or things I’ve never tasted elsewhere. On nights when perform, I would educated grubs

Sadly, I haven’t seen or heard anything of my little thespian friends for many years. I hope they are doing well, and do not miss me very much. I have sent them a few letters, but I

think they probably ate them, and I don’t think they understand how our postal service works. That’s O.K. with me. Sometimes the best part of something good is thinking about it when it’s all over.

Auntie T’s Termitian Soup Ingredients: -1 tsp macadamia oil -3/4 lb. snapping turtle meat -1 cup algae broth -1 small chicken bone -3 shell-on dust mites, deveined -1 tsp loose chai tea -2 (preferably stray) tabby cat furs -1 pinch cocoa powder -1 tsp dried oak leaf, ground -1/4 cup ferret milk (if you cannot find ferret milk, cow’s cream is an acceptable substitute) -1/2 tsp ground black wood -Salt, to taste Directions: 1) Head a cast iron skillet over medium-high heat. Add macadamia oil and swirl to coat the bottom. Place turtle meat in pan, sear on all sides, and remove to a plate. Slice meat into thin, bite-sized pieces. 2) Put algae broth and chicken bone into a pot. Place pot on stove and bring to a soft boil. 3) While broth is heating, cut a small piece of cheesecloth, put dust mites, chai, and cat furs onto the cloth, and tie it into a little sack with a piece of twine. Put this sack into the broth. 4) Once the broth boils, turn down the heat and allow to simmer for 15 minutes. 5) Remove and dispose of cheesecloth sack and bone. Stir in cocoa powder, oak leaf, and meat. Stir ferret milk in slowly, allow the soup to come back to a simmer, and remove from heat. 6) Sprinkle with black wood and season with salt to finish.

(I have never been able to successfully follow this recipe. Perhaps someone with smaller hands, and stronger finding powers, could do a better job than I. Please note that the ingredients should be measured according to termite measuring systems, not the human ones.)

(From what I can recall of the performance and infer from this bit of script, at the time that this scene takes place, Judas is engaged in a major battle that his son, Apollo, was seriously injured in several days prior. This information will become relevant in Scene V Act III.)

THE TRAGEDY OF THE ISOPEDES1 CHARACTERS: TERMUS, king of Isopedia MYKONOS, son of TERMUS JUDAS, brother of TERMUS SCENE IV ACT III The palace library. TERMUS reclined in a soft looking armchair, chewing on a book distractedly. Enter MYKONOS. MYKONOS (with highly passionate vibrations2): Most joyful tidings, father; the flower of my spring has bloomed; that which is most happy and sweet belongs to me. My heart leaps: my soul is like that of a ship on the Pacific; burdened, but wonderfully and honorably so, my head aflutter with songbirds; like a tree in mid-March, buds form but not yet bloom in the boughs of my life—but they shall, anon, they must! The nobility of my feeling is matched only by intrepid Orpheus, by Adam, the first ant3 to walk this unmerciful earth, and his purehearted relief at the divine introduction of Eve! Now I 1

In the human world, an Isopede is a type of spider, but due to the similarity between “Isopede” and the Latin name for termites, “Isoptera”, as well as the fierceness shown by the spider, “Isopede” has become a family name amongst the royal and very rich of termite society. 2 Termites, except for the king and queen, who have some vision, are entirely blind, and communicate significantly through vibrations and secreted pheromones. 3 Since these plays were handed down by “word of mouth”, there were frequent modifications made to the original dialogue. In this instance, the termites seem to have confused Adam, the first man, with Adam Ant, and believed the latter to be a literal ant.

may suffer—so long as my heart fails to bind with iron4 myself to that which I love, I suffer—but with your blessing, father, dearest father, I shall join hands with my love on the morrow! TERMUS: (with a stutter of a vibration) My son; sayest thou what I denke? Have you at last found the one with whom you shall break your wings5? MYK.: Tis true, father, tis true! Stoffer and I shall be the happiest clipped swans this castle has seen in many an age. TERMUS: Dear junge, but you must bear an heir! MYK.: It shall be the progeny of a servant girl. TERMUS: And how will you explain this to the people? MYK: If a babe did whence a virgin come, whyn’t a man? Still thy lips, father; (playfully) I fear they itch to blaspheme. TERMUS (a bit appalled, but mostly impressed): And the servant girl? MYK.: A close friend of Stoffer’s; if that changes, there’s always the dungeon. Oh, what a handsome young larva he once was, and what a virile, winged mite6 he’s grown into! What a divine bogue I have had the fortune to tie my heart to! TERMUS: Mein süss—you can barely see the creature. If looks are all that bind, pray reconsid’ dieses love; thy frau (or


Iron wedding bands, worn around the front or middle leg on the right, were very fashionable at the time that this play is set, sometime towards the end of the 200th termite century. 5 The king and queen (or in this case, king and king) of a colony break their wings off when they mate. 6 One example of a common Termitian misconception of human language. Most termites believe that “mite” means “mighty thing” or “redblooded creature”, the latter of which phrases they inexplicably gathered the correct metaphorical meaning of.

thy mann) ist deine life. You shall hardly be looking into that comely countenance on dein wedding-day! MYK. (stubbornly vibrating): But what a lovely blur he makes! Stoffer’s looks shan’t wane with age to me, a blessing that self-important Men are rarely so lucky to experience! No, no, papa, (scorchingly vibrating) looks are not all that bind. The good Dieu has seen fit to sew our hearts together. Should—G—d forbid—Stoffer die before me, my heart shall rot and fester alongside his until I, too, perish; I shall only refrain from suicide that I may be laid in his arms after my Christian passing. Yes, the worms that eat his eyes shall nourish themselves on mine as well; and if I find that I am being eaten alive in a pine box next to this love of mine, I shall thank mon Dieu for the kindness he has shown to me, seal us in together with what saliva and soil I can gather7, and go happily to sleep. You shall not hear /my/ mandibles scratching at the coffin-lid. TERMUS: You may enjoy ihm in death, but before? MYK.: (vibrating with barely restrained fury) Beloved king, if I am not to know happiness with Stoffer, I shall know it with none. If you wish me to live in mendacity, with love for naught but power and a single child of mine fortunate enough to gain my favor, as you have, I shall be forced to obey.

TERMUS: (vibrating tremulously) Mein junge— MYK.: (falls to his knees) Father, I beg you--givest us thy blessing! (producing a dagger) Must I spill my own blood toprove that it runs hot with passion8? 7

Before mating, the royals of a termite colony seal themselves into a shelter with saliva, soil, and feces. 8 Extremely sharp daggers that can easily cut through the tough exoskeleton of spiders, centipedes, and scorpions, as well as deter the attacks of frogs and lizards are bestowed upon each royal termite upon birth. Most skirmishes fought betwixt lower-level termites more closely resemble a stag fight than Rebel Without a Cause, though occasionally the littlest termites will break off one of their legs and wield it as a prop to recreate scenes from that movie, which is much loved by termites worldwide.

TERMUS: (staying MYK.’s hand): We need not go to such extremes. Yes, my son, follow thy liebe; my soul shall always support thine; for now, as in the crypt, which creeps closer ‘hind my heels each of these eleven clouded nächte, you and ich shall remain next to one other, preserved in filial love and duty for all eternity. MYK. (with lowered vibrations): Such black thoughts roam thy brain, dear father! (sheathes the dagger) SCENE V ACT III The palace library, some time later. TERMUS and MYKONOS are vibrating contentedly over some Saki. Enter MESSENGER. MESSENGER: Baron Judas has arrived, sir, and wishes to see you. TERMUS (with disturbed vibration): Show him in. Exit MESSENGER. MYKONOS vibrates inquiringly towards TERMUS, who says nothing. Enter JUDAS and MESSENGER.

MESSENGER: Baron Judas. Exit MESSENGER. JUDAS (hoarsely, coldly, head bowed): Der battle hath been won, my king. TERMUS: Excellent. How fares Apollo? JUDAS: He is dead. TERMUS (alarmed, stilted): I am sorry, brother. JUDAS: Thank you, my king.

Enter WINE POURER9 with BOTTLE OF WINE, gaily at first, then falling into solemnity upon seeing the faces of those in the room. WINE POURER: Wish ye to commiserate, gentlemen? TERMUS (distractedly): (waves) Yes, yes. The WINE POURER sets down three glasses, uncorks the bottle, and fills each to the top. JUDAS, remembering MYKONOS, vibrates in concern. Exit WINE POURER. JUDAS: (vibrating submissively) Perhaps dieses drink should be shared only among us brüdder, mein king. MYKONOS: I would not intrude. TERMUS (suddenly nervous): Mein junge, pray stay.

An uncomfortable pause. MYK. (hesitatingly, then impulsively grabs his glass, raises it): To Isopedia! TERMUS (taking his glass and raising it also): To Isopedia! JUDAS (following suit): To Isopedia. All appear to drink; JUDAS is not actually doing so. They set down their glasses; all are empty except JUDAS’. TERMUS (noticing JUDAS’ glass, vibrating staccato): Brother, why dost thou trinkst not?


For most of history, to drink, one termite would gather a large amount of water at a water source, drink his fill, and kiss another termite to give him water, and that second termite would kiss yet another termite to give him water, and so on. However, poisoning was a very popular practice during this period. Though it would have been desirable to simply cut out the poisoning altogether, so many innocent bystander termites were killed as a result that everymite who could afford it turned to drinking out of cups out of fear for their lives, though this obviously was not a foolproof solution.

JUDAS: (to TERMUS, vibrating with renewed strength) Your sadism, arrogance, and cowardice hath killed you and your only boy, brother, as well as my sweet niece, who knows heaven as dich—thou shall not. Perhaps I am a bad man in sum; perhaps G—d may see that my sins have outweighed my well-intentioned deeds. Even if He deems me unfit to commune with his angels, his chosen men, if he places me into the devil’s jaws; so be it. I can bear my weight knowing that the Isopede line dies with me, and that we shall never again reign over Isopedia. (vibration lowering with pain) Mykonos, my beloved nephew—I am sorry to end your days of blissful youth, thy faith in thy father at a point where it shan’t ever have the time to regain its strength. I do not anticipate your forgiveness. MYK. (weakly vibrating with sympathy, realization of suspicions long-held): Uncle, I forgive you. Let us not die enemies. JUDAS (vibrating with emotion): I reject your forgiveness— nay, I cannot deny you. Good-bye, sweet Mykonos. MYKONOS dies. TERMUS sees this as he himself is dying and cries out in anguish; vibrates pleadingly, hopelessly towards JUDAS. JUDAS: I shall not end my life with the same poison by which I am avenging Niece Termia, nor allow myself to die from this pinprick in my side, for neither a heretic nor a poet be I. I shall go to where none know the name of Isopede, marry none, speak to none, break bread10 with none. Judas shall not exist anymore from this day forth. What shame you have brought me to, my king. What ruin you have brought to this family. But destruction is our only savior, the only noble exit from this depraved life we live, mine in wrathful secrecy, and thine in private savagery. I can thank G—d for the death of thy son, for sparing him the continuation of the life that thou begat in him, and the death of my own, (vibrates once or twice, very To a termite, “bread” refers to some sort of brittle wood or other edible substance, such as drywall, sheetrock, or cardboard. 10

intensely, and then continues), that he died ignorant of our baseness. None shall know what happened here; none ought to know. (Straightens himself and is instantly reminded of the injury in his side, bends to it.) TERMUS: (barely vibrating at all) Brother, please to take my hand. JUDAS glances warily at TERMUS, then takes his clammy hand. JUDAS (breaking, affectionate): Brother. TERMUS dies; after a moment JUDAS drops his hand in disgust. JUDAS: That I should so tenderly take the hand that was in life so cruel--! JUDAS takes the crown from TERMUS’ head and drops it on the floor next to him with a clatter. He can’t even stand to look in MYKONOS’ direction. Exit JUDAS, limping.

Tuesday, September 29, 2020: I was on a field trip, and both of my parents were there, and I needed to get blood pressure medication for my dad by going through this tunnel that led into a room that was being continually pumped with water. This room was also a sort of lagoon, and in the middle of the lagoon, there was a half-flooded house. My friend and I went to investigate, and there was a corpse sitting on a chair in the house. I was not scared. I didn’t mind standing in water with a decomposing corpse at the time, either. When I told my friend about this dream, he said that in his family, this would be a sign that somebody close to me, probably my father, was about to die. Nothing happened. I was not worried that anything would. My dreams are not prophetic. I can infrequently predict the future while conscious. I have a slight psychic bond with my mother. I wonder if I will keep experiencing that after she dies, and if she’ll really be thinking the same thing as me at the same time, but in a place very,

very far away, or very, very close by. Hopefully not the latter. I really don’t want her living on in my head. I doubt that she would like it very much, anyway. It would be like us using the same toothbrush. I’d probably annoy her without realizing it and she’d tell my brain to give me a kidney infection. And if she threw out some of my important memories because she thought they were junk, which she definitely would, I could shake my head really hard, and she would get to find out what it felt like to be the horsefly that she caught in a disposable coffee cup and shook like a maraca during one of our road trips. It would also make taking my brain out for the occasional wash an even more delicate process. So, for both of our sakes, our telepathy should go no further than its current “being able to tell what song is stuck in the other’s head” stage. It is always better to part from someone than to tire of them, though you may not always have a choice.

NIGHT TERRORS recommeNded playlist: 1.

2. 3.

enth, crystal castles.

xxzxcuzx me, crystal castles.

frances farmer will have her revenge On seattle, nirvana. 4.

Tennessee waltz, patti page.

i don’t wanna leave you on the farm, ween.



cHanging, Ice cream boy. say it aiN’t so, weezer.

7. 8. 9.

oblivion, Grimes.

Nothing stOps detroiT, robert Hood. 10.

ya free just move, loco dIce. 11.


buildinG bridges, damieN fisher. 13.


15. 16.

jede Nacht, schnarph.

bring the nOize, vTss. mosH master x, hanatarash.

whIte aNal Generator, haNatarash. needle in the hay, elliOt smiTH.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Now, quite late or quite early in the night, depending on your longitude, it’s time to thank those who I am indebted to for the quality of this zine. Sincerest thanks to AJ, CARLY FOY, JEZ, and WARREN for relentlessly enduring my late-night texts of “Does this look okay? No, seriously, does this look okay? It’s hideous. I’m changing it. No, I’m not. Yes, I am. Yeah, I’m going to change it,” and “Please god reply I need to know if I have to rewrite this entire section.” Carly should be particularly commended for tirelessly answering my endless idiotic questions about Chinese translations. Special thanks to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Cleveland Museum of Art, and the British Library’s open access programs as well as the Public Domain Review for respectively releasing and showcasing the vast majority of the artworks & backgrounds included in this zine (significant exceptions being on the cover and pages 4, 15, and 16). Finally, thank you to ASHLEY D. ESCOBAR for motivating me to start writing this zine in the first place, and keeping me motivated through all five months of writing and designing it. If not for her continued support through all of my dubiously successful artistic ventures, I would likely be neck-deep in…well, something non-artistic, anyway.

Though I don’t strive for greatness or fame, I feared failure for a very long time. I experienced some things as a child and teenager that hurt me very much. These things, along with significantly more trivial events, are not likely to leave you just because you don’t think about them during your waking hours. Sometimes, according to psychologist legend, these sad things that happened in your earlier life, and sad thoughts that you have, can come out in bizarre ways while your guards are down, and your subconscious mind will torment you most creatively while you try to rest your weary limbs. What an odd explanation for nightmares! I think they are caused by the little men who crawl into my ears and torture me for accidentally rolling over and killing some of their kin in my sleep. When they are happy with me they give me nice dreams. This is why you should always leave a cookie under your pillow before you sleep. I found this out when I was nineteen—I had relentless nightmares up until when I realized they were just ravenous and eating some of my brain, instead of the nice cooked food that they generally prefer. The ones at my house like

macadamia nut with white chocolate best. If you are allergic to nuts, or chocolate, you can try sugar cookies, though they are less nutritious. I don’t know how the tastes of bed-men vary, since I primarily sleep in my own bed, and the little men at hotels tend to be used to rude sleepers, or the place will be very poorly reviewed. These ones will give you extranice dreams if you save them a bit of your salad or steak dinner. They are typically a bit malnourished. It is very sad. They generally like their meat welldone, so make sure to leave them the outer edges. They also like bread crusts, slimy lettuce pieces, chicken bones, some sushi but not all, guacamole that has turned brown, watermelon jolly ranchers, ranch dressing, poached eggs, cream puffs with just a little bit of mold on them, and pink-flavored paint, but this last one will make them sick and grumpy, so do not give them that, even if they ask for it. If they get very adamant about the paint, leave a can out, and leave the can slightly open. By morning, several will probably have died, or at least gotten sick, but they will know that it was not your fault, so don’t worry. Do not refer to them as bed bugs, no matter how angry you are with them. This will upset them so much that they leave, and you will never dream again.

Monday, February 22, 2021: There is some sort of plague in the world, but I am somewhat safely on a boat, the interior of which somewhat resembles a school. I am sort of an outcast, because I am the only one willing to wear a mask. I insulted or somehow wronged this guy who was on the boat, and I knew the crew was coming after me to kill me. I stabbed myself in the heart with a scalpel, so I could die on my own terms. They stopped chasing me, and just sat and watched me, waiting for me to die, in an act that I considered kind. But the first stab didn’t kill me, so I had to take it out and stab myself again, and I still wasn’t dying.

I have many nightmares about people not wearing masks, and not social distancing. Another very pervasive fear that I have is that when I play a telemarketer or robo-call’s voicemail, the recording will possess me and kill me. Anything you listen to can possess you if you let it. If you hear something you

oughtn’t, the best way to undo the damage is to obtain a good luck charm. The best good luck charms are found or gifted, not hunted for or purchased, but in an emergency such as this, as in, A Curse Has Been Set Upon You, And You Do Not Know Its Precise Intent Or How Long It Will Take To Set In, If It Is Permanent, Or If It Is Perhaps Lethal, storebought charms are acceptable. You can’t always afford to wait around for that special pigeonfeather on the side of the road, or a green key that you happen to spot while walking your dog, or a handful of sand from the beach after you had the best root beer float of your entire life and found a live clam as large as your palm on the same day. Select the item that feels the most right to you in your local knickknack or thrift store. Do not look for more than fifteen

minutes. You will know when you see it, and touching it should confirm your inclination. When your curse has been lifted (it is generally safe to wait about a year after a suspicious occurrence, according to the World Charms and Curses Administration, or WCCA), you should dispose of this storebought charm, whatever it may be. You will likely have drained all its energy in your attempt to neutralize your curse. It is only kind to release it when it has done all this work for you, with no promise of reward, even if it seems inanimate to you. Do so by burning it, mixing the ashes with Pepsi (not diet) and drinking it. If you cannot eat sugar, you will have to eat the ashes dry. The only way to really get rid of something is to burn it. Otherwise, it hangs on like a tick. You will never be able to remember exactly where it was, but you will never be able to forget that it was there, either, if only because of the rocky mountain fever.

Saturday, October 19, 2019: I was being followed by a line of clods/piles of dirt coming out of a mousehole. I thought I saw a black snake starting to come out of the hole, then I woke up. Sometimes, when I am very stressed or overwhelmed, I wish that I could be in a deep, dark hole, so far underground that the light from the surface is only a tiny little speck in the distance, like a star. When I finished my first driving lesson, I was so upset that I went home and cried, and then fantasized about living in a world where there were only dogs, and no humans, so I would never have to learn how to drive. Humans are very strange, unlike dogs, who are very logical, if not always kind. Many people will waste their entire lives doing something that they hate and consider it wellspent, as long as they have plenty of money. Or they will spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about how life is going to end, So So So Very Soon, And I Have Done So Little, Just Look At Usain Bolt!, and arguing over and preparing for What Might Maybe Happen When It’s All Over. Your life is very short. Perhaps it seems long to you. I’m sure that two months seem awfully long to a fruit fly.

Enjoy what time you have. Once it’s up, there will be no opportunity for a do-over. You will have no time for regrets, as much as you will have no time for reading a book that teaches you exactly nothing, daydreaming, listening to an album all the way through, going for a bike ride, painting something you will never show to anybody, or picking flow-

ers, ever again. Just because you are not “working” does not mean that you are wasting your time. Liking to do something is enough to justify doing it, as long as that thing isn’t throwing ice-balls at people who bike past your house, or eating glass. Importance is relative. Almost anyone you will talk to has forgotten that death is just a piano waiting to drop on your head. You never know when it’s going to happen. But it will.

ONE FINAL PLAYLIST “It’s Time To Wake Up!” chef’s selections: 1.

cattle call, eddy arnold.

2. 3. 4. 5.

earth anGel, the penguins.

where did Our love go, the supremes. share your love with me, aretha franklin. 6.

traveling On, the Decemberists. 7.


so many tears, 2pac.

sister golden hair, america.

maybe i will, Maybe i won’t, the young veins. 9.

stand by your man, tammy wynette. 10. Only the lonely, Roy orbison.

11. monday moNday, the mamas and the papas. 12. leavIng on a jet plane, peter paul and mary. 13. what once was, her’s. 14. do Not wait, wallows. 15. sunday morning, the velvet underground. 16. auld lang syne, Guy lombardo

Wednesday, March 3, 2021: Summer is my favorite season. Summer is like spring and summer is like fall but summer is not at all like winter so I like it the best. The worst part of winter is February, because everyone has taken down their Christmas lights, but the sun still sets too early and it doesn’t get above forty, even in the afternoon. I wonder what it’s like to be an animal who does not think about other animals of their species, apart from their own children, like a bear. I wonder what it’s like to sleep the whole winter through all alone in a cave. I wonder what you dream about for all those months. If a human dream can last 30 seconds and feel like hours, do they live decades in their sleep? Do they wake up lucky or miserable? At what point does a dream become a life? I am a child, but I am grown. I am old, but not wise. I am turning twenty-one in three months. Something about that makes me slightly nauseous. When I was immature in years, and not merely in my mind, I was not romantic with melancholy. I was, and still am to some extent, dull and stupid with pain and idleness. I would throw myself into my

moods, over-act. I tried to convince everyone that I was sad in this way, but nobody worried about me. I wanted them to, very badly. But I didn’t even believe myself. For how unhappy I was, I couldn’t express it. I couldn’t get it out of me. And I couldn’t ignore it. I would watch sad movies and listen to sad songs constantly because I couldn’t cry at what was happening to me, what I was becoming. I was

was too used to it. I tried to make myself fall in love. Sometimes I would obsess over people. But I didn’t love anyone. I went seventeen and a half years without love. The one thing worse than death is when you die and you’re still alive. You become a Half-Person. Not Quite Inhuman. I let everything around me die. I would sleep the whole day through. I was angry at everyone, especially people who went to college, people who had jobs, people who weren’t miserable like me, people who were miserable but unignored, “normal people”. I had to stop, though, because it made me sick. Nothing can make you sicker than yourself. I couldn’t remove myself all the way, no matter how much I wanted to. I belonged just enough to hurt. I am halfway fixed. I am three-quarters of a person now.

Some of the things I think seem so pathetic to me that I can hardly write them down. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to talk to anyone. Or see anyone. There are times when I feel like there is nobody else like me in the entire world. The good thing about there being 7 billion people on Earth is you know that can’t be true. The bad part is, you might not ever find those other people. But there is somebody out there right now who knows exactly how I feel. The older the human race gets, the fewer unique thoughts we have. This means that, according to my calculations, in about three hundred years, we should hardly have to talk to each other at all. We will just be able to read each other’s minds. But for now, and for our children, and our children’s children, we will have to make do with verbal and written communication. There is something of value in the clumsiness of our interactions, anyway. It’s nice to know that humans aren’t The Apex Predator, The Smartest Species, The Most Communicatively Advanced Creature On The Planet. We have our shortcomings, like everyone else. It is not earthly to be perfect.♞


“ah, my dear Augustine, our dreams are all done, done, done!”

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