DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Voice of the Imagination (VOM), whole no. 6, April 1940

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Voice of the Imagination (VOM), whole no. 6, April 1940

Page 6

6
  issue by a whole page and produces on the awe-struck reader an impression that there ought to be Something Higly Significant and Vital to the Interests of the Community in it. Howerer -- let us thankfully spend a half-hour with rosay beads, praying-wheel or other approved method of celestial bribery and corruption -- this page is at least punless. ~~ . . . . Not so when little Fojak grabs the page, read we th'unending puns and simmer we in rage. When Allah has damned you to the houri-less pits of Jehanum, may I sneer down from my maiden-cluttered paradise and make some lousy pun out of your cries for water! ~~ All in all, the letters are the usual unreadable gems, or brummagems, that drool from the slobbering lips of the typical specimens of Homo Gapiens. Albeit I am but a 130-1b. weakling, my entire accumulation of tensed sinews and steel muscles hurtles behind that opinion, which I trust will survive the murderous onslaughts of those intellectual Hercules, those ponderous demagogues, those expelled ex-occupants of back seat in second class Opportunity School -- to wit,in brief, and as conclusion, SCIENTIFICTIONUTS. ~~ Michelism provokes, or should provoke,not a vulgar snicker buta hearty guffaw from the most fastidious. The really splendid brains of Engels and Marx could evolve only a theoretically flawless plan, with insuperable obstacles to practical development; Nietzsche sniffed out the trail of civilization's ultimate fate to its conclusion andcame back mad; the vigorous, keen-edged and (sometimes)cruelly impulsive brain of Wells can only formulate vague mumblings concerning a Modern State to be attained by (of all impossible things) co-operative effort. But, says Michel, there's nothing in it, just set'em reading science fiction. We should not be so smused bu the stupidity as appalled by the audacity, dear brethren; kindly file out without noise or undue commotion-oh, and drop a nickel in the Poor Box for the opportunity provided by the unimpaired pristine whitness of this page to inform you cuttingly that you and your kindred evil-minded associates will perhaps make a clever and/or amusing pun on the day the statue of Admiral Nelson climbs down from Trafalgar Square and, goose-stepping to Buckingham Palace, begins singing 'Deutschland uber Alles' in a strong, clear falsetto voice. ~~ This brief criticism is neither unduly harsh nor unfairly critical, not is it my attempt to emulate the Tin Woodman cardiacally; it is merely the logical outcome of the simultaneos occurance of an hour's spare time, hot weather and a congenitally vicous temporament. But now to bed and let that which knits the ravelled sleeve of care have a crack at picking up my dropped stitchos. (G, do we feel small. Yea, verily; the Voice of Midge!)
                                    The next letter we pick up--we hastily drop: We just heard its suthor was only 15 yrs old! Well, spose we'll hafta read it sometime, so--the sooner the quicker. (Snicker) From WEIGHT, Editor The Comet, RFD #1 - Bx 129, Martinez, Cal (15! - - Heaven Help us. Well, cauticously we approach the opening line...): "Yesterday I received your much improved Vom. (Hm; not the opening Vomshell we anticipated.) What a superb cover! (Well!) I like the chev and that super drawing by Bok. (Gosh, liked our cover.) Continue the table of contents, I like that, too. (Liked that too!) Migawd!! (Oh-oh; now er get it for sometinh'. That this was too good to last.) How many typerwriters do have around that place? (Izatall U wanted to noe" Whew! False alarm.) Liked the Editorial.. (But this is unbelievable.) Also liked that drawing on Page 7. (!!!) ~~ Good idea Marky has about Edi and Dick, the two phones. Little Joe good. (Still no complaints?) ~~ (Ourgosh!-- expletive for fanmag coeds--only one line left:) Your mimeographing is excellent, keep up the good work...." (We collapse, weak from reaction, retaining consciousness only long enuf to whisper "Tom, vouse is a Wright guy!")

Editor Macabre, c/o Parkhill, 24 Heriot Pl, Edinburgh, scotland, rites to the "Land of the Free": "I must say I

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6 issue by a whole page and produces on the awe-struck reader an impression that there ought to be Something Higly Significant and Vital to the Interests of the Community in it. Howerer -- let us thankfully spend a half-hour with rosay beads, praying-wheel or other approved method of celestial bribery and corruption -- this page is at least punless. ~~ . . . . Not so when little Fojak grabs the page, read we th'unending puns and simmer we in rage. When Allah has damned you to the houri-less pits of Jehanum, may I sneer down from my maiden-cluttered paradise and make some lousy pun out of your cries for water! ~~ All in all, the letters are the usual unreadable gems, or brummagems, that drool from the slobbering lips of the typical specimens of Homo Gapiens. Albeit I am but a 130-1b. weakling, my entire accumulation of tensed sinews and steel muscles hurtles behind that opinion, which I trust will survive the murderous onslaughts of those intellectual Hercules, those ponderous demagogues, those expelled ex-occupants of back seat in second class Opportunity School -- to wit,in brief, and as conclusion, SCIENTIFICTIONUTS. ~~ Michelism provokes, or should provoke,not a vulgar snicker buta hearty guffaw from the most fastidious. The really splendid brains of Engels and Marx could evolve only a theoretically flawless plan, with insuperable obstacles to practical development; Nietzsche sniffed out the trail of civilization's ultimate fate to its conclusion andcame back mad; the vigorous, keen-edged and (sometimes)cruelly impulsive brain of Wells can only formulate vague mumblings concerning a Modern State to be attained by (of all impossible things) co-operative effort. But, says Michel, there's nothing in it, just set'em reading science fiction. We should not be so smused bu the stupidity as appalled by the audacity, dear brethren; kindly file out without noise or undue commotion-oh, and drop a nickel in the Poor Box for the opportunity provided by the unimpaired pristine whitness of this page to inform you cuttingly that you and your kindred evil-minded associates will perhaps make a clever and/or amusing pun on the day the statue of Admiral Nelson climbs down from Trafalgar Square and, goose-stepping to Buckingham Palace, begins singing 'Deutschland uber Alles' in a strong, clear falsetto voice. ~~ This brief criticism is neither unduly harsh nor unfairly critical, not is it my attempt to emulate the Tin Woodman cardiacally; it is merely the logical outcome of the simultaneos occurance of an hour's spare time, hot weather and a congenitally vicous temporament. But now to bed and let that which knits the ravelled sleeve of care have a crack at picking up my dropped stitchos. (G, do we feel small. Yea, verily; the Voice of Midge!) The next letter we pick up--we hastily drop: We just heard its suthor was only 15 yrs old! Well, spose we'll hafta read it sometime, so--the sooner the quicker. (Snicker) From WEIGHT, Editor The Comet, RFD #1 - Bx 129, Martinez, Cal (15! - - Heaven Help us. Well, cauticously we approach the opening line...): "Yesterday I received your much improved Vom. (Hm; not the opening Vomshell we anticipated.) What a superb cover! (Well!) I like the chev and that super drawing by Bok. (Gosh, liked our cover.) Continue the table of contents, I like that, too. (Liked that too!) Migawd!! (Oh-oh; now er get it for sometinh'. That this was too good to last.) How many typerwriters do have around that place? (Izatall U wanted to noe" Whew! False alarm.) Liked the Editorial.. (But this is unbelievable.) Also liked that drawing on Page 7. (!!!) ~~ Good idea Marky has about Edi and Dick, the two phones. Little Joe good. (Still no complaints?) ~~ (Ourgosh!-- expletive for fanmag coeds--only one line left:) Your mimeographing is excellent, keep up the good work...." (We collapse, weak from reaction, retaining consciousness only long enuf to whisper "Tom, vouse is a Wright guy!") Editor Macabre, c/o Parkhill, 24 Heriot Pl, Edinburgh, scotland, rites to the "Land of the Free": "I must say I