DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Chaos, v. 1, issue 4, April 1945

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Chaos, v. 1, issue 4, April 1945

Page 2

Quite a Ways Down

NIGHT COMES LIKE THE CLOSING OF TIRED EYES, YOU KNOW : THE pretty bubble bursts and all that. Or you hand downwards and look at nothing, nothing at all. Which implies, at least, nausea. The human stomach is a sensitive thing. Brought into junction with the juices of dissolution the gastric juices do a quick about face. One would prefer one's demise to be, if not painless, at least dignified. Good Jesu! A man could lose everything, his health, his dog's domestic affections, or his suspenders -- but at least, merciful first cause, leave him his dignity. And who, friends, what mortal would shuffle off his coils in a constipated condition? The omnipresent stomach...you cater to it until the end.

That's death, probably. A cramp in the bowels and you feel irritated and uncomfortable. And there's no point in being shocked. Eventually everybody does it -- they can't help themselves, so to speak.

This business of dignity: self preservation. There was this chap in the cartoon, lying flat on his back 3 or 4 feet above the bed. His face was unmistakably that of an introvert. You could see he hated attention; he closed his eyes and tried to relax. He knew his dignity was vulnerable. He gritted his teeth and thought Why don't they go away. They went away. Then they came back with a shotgun and shot him and his vulnerable dignity full of holes. Excapist!

As the caption goes : he never knew what his him.  Don't you believe it. He knew all the time but the character was shy and an introvert. Even when they brought the shotgun up and took aim he thought his dignity wouldn't stand for it. Should he say No, don't? Or merely let himself fall on the bed? Hardly. He though it less trouble to hold his peace. BOOM! And the lady with the shotgun cried He never knew what hit him. Bah.

But there was no order to the thing...no dignity. The character should have lain on his bed and quietly starved to death. That would have been legitimate if unoriginal. The character, perhaps, saw a better way out: He would levitate himself 4 feet in the air and wait until somebody else did something. Maybe he would start a fad, get a radio announcer and contract complete with sponsor, make money in the good old modern manner. So with his last positive action...up-p-p-p, four feet in the air. Someone else did something. They lacked imagination.

Perhaps Sal Hepatica would have saved him.

Anyway, no matter how thin you slice it, it'll still be the same old common practice of dying. One could do it with finesse -- with practice. But I wander. 

Now this levitator was an excapist, but extreme. He's a little moral object lesson; you can take him anyway you want. I'll take him as the opposite of the solid citizen. /We'll take him with spinach and whipped cream./ Possibly a good woman or a bowl of

Saving...

Quite a Ways Down NIGHT COMES LIKE THE CLOSING OF TIRED EYES, YOU KNOW : THE pretty bubble bursts and all that. Or you hand downwards and look at nothing, nothing at all. Which implies, at least, nausea. The human stomach is a sensitive thing. Brought into junction with the juices of dissolution the gastric juices do a quick about face. One would prefer one's demise to be, if not painless, at least dignified. Good Jesu! A man could lose everything, his health, his dog's domestic affections, or his suspenders -- but at least, merciful first cause, leave him his dignity. And who, friends, what mortal would shuffle off his coils in a constipated condition? The omnipresent stomach...you cater to it until the end. That's death, probably. A cramp in the bowels and you feel irritated and uncomfortable. And there's no point in being shocked. Eventually everybody does it -- they can't help themselves, so to speak. This business of dignity: self preservation. There was this chap in the cartoon, lying flat on his back 3 or 4 feet above the bed. His face was unmistakably that of an introvert. You could see he hated attention; he closed his eyes and tried to relax. He knew his dignity was vulnerable. He gritted his teeth and thought Why don't they go away. They went away. Then they came back with a shotgun and shot him and his vulnerable dignity full of holes. Excapist! As the caption goes : he never knew what his him. Don't you believe it. He knew all the time but the character was shy and an introvert. Even when they brought the shotgun up and took aim he thought his dignity wouldn't stand for it. Should he say No, don't? Or merely let himself fall on the bed? Hardly. He though it less trouble to hold his peace. BOOM! And the lady with the shotgun cried He never knew what hit him. Bah. But there was no order to the thing...no dignity. The character should have lain on his bed and quietly starved to death. That would have been legitimate if unoriginal. The character, perhaps, saw a better way out: He would levitate himself 4 feet in the air and wait until somebody else did something. Maybe he would start a fad, get a radio announcer and contract complete with sponsor, make money in the good old modern manner. So with his last positive action...up-p-p-p, four feet in the air. Someone else did something. They lacked imagination. Perhaps Sal Hepatica would have saved him. Anyway, no matter how thin you slice it, it'll still be the same old common practice of dying. One could do it with finesse -- with practice. But I wander. Now this levitator was an excapist, but extreme. He's a little moral object lesson; you can take him anyway you want. I'll take him as the opposite of the solid citizen. /We'll take him with spinach and whipped cream./ Possibly a good woman or a bowl of