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

Transcribe
Translate

Chaos, v. 1, issue 4, April 1945

Page 3

at soup would have saved him. It's quite clear, though, that he didn't want to keep his noce to the grindstone -- as the book had [him do], he floated clear of earthly grindstones up into a hall of earthly buckshot. He made it into a final fantasy. / See -- fantasy. What you've all been waiting for./

I think the allegory is a good one. Perhaps this is all allegories to all men. It's worth writing about, even without enthusiasm. The moral might be the obvious one ; don't go up in the air. But let the object here prevail -- to make the moral fit the tale. It has something to do with Disgestion, not to say life, I'm sure.

Got it : The man was a Frustrated Personality.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

MAYBE IF WE SAY IT ENOUGH TIMES YOU'LL TAKE THE HINT -- MAYBE

A few of the more obnoxious of our readers have been very persistently requesting why we do not have a legitimate cover. Let them take heed...we don't like covers. We haven't done a good cover since we dropped bleery -- or before.

Covers are a useless thing, god wot. They take up too much space, too much space that could be employed to better purpose. Besides, covers weigh an awful lot. We'dhave to pay Uncle Sam more money to mail out CHAOS if we put on a cover.

Anyway, the nights are warming up and we can sleep without covers, etc. etc. That is, any night can be turned into a warm night if you know the proper methods. Yes. Any night at all.

The caricatures this issue are by courtesy of Forrest J. no period Crackerman who also lives down in LA. All the disreputable people live in LA, or didn't you know. Well, you're pretty young, anyway, Weinstein, so don't let these subtle things worry you...maybe in a few years you'll be old enough to go down and learn the facts of life from one of them famous Broadway wenches, if you have the money and they have the time.

Then again maybe we should tell Raym that he wasn't found under a rock. But then again, we might be wrong. /Silly boy./ Maybe his uncle tripped over him in the bushes. Oh god, what's his uncle doing in the bushes? Tsk tsk, and on these virgin ears, too. Shame shame P** knows who is to blame.

And what has happened to the lovely Leslie anyway? Possibly playing second fiddle in MacNamara's Band.

The above bit of whimsy is dedicated to Virginia Kidd.

Saving...

at soup would have saved him. It's quite clear, though, that he didn't want to keep his noce to the grindstone -- as the book had [him do], he floated clear of earthly grindstones up into a hall of earthly buckshot. He made it into a final fantasy. / See -- fantasy. What you've all been waiting for./ I think the allegory is a good one. Perhaps this is all allegories to all men. It's worth writing about, even without enthusiasm. The moral might be the obvious one ; don't go up in the air. But let the object here prevail -- to make the moral fit the tale. It has something to do with Disgestion, not to say life, I'm sure. Got it : The man was a Frustrated Personality. */*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/ MAYBE IF WE SAY IT ENOUGH TIMES YOU'LL TAKE THE HINT -- MAYBE A few of the more obnoxious of our readers have been very persistently requesting why we do not have a legitimate cover. Let them take heed...we don't like covers. We haven't done a good cover since we dropped bleery -- or before. Covers are a useless thing, god wot. They take up too much space, too much space that could be employed to better purpose. Besides, covers weigh an awful lot. We'dhave to pay Uncle Sam more money to mail out CHAOS if we put on a cover. Anyway, the nights are warming up and we can sleep without covers, etc. etc. That is, any night can be turned into a warm night if you know the proper methods. Yes. Any night at all. The caricatures this issue are by courtesy of Forrest J. no period Crackerman who also lives down in LA. All the disreputable people live in LA, or didn't you know. Well, you're pretty young, anyway, Weinstein, so don't let these subtle things worry you...maybe in a few years you'll be old enough to go down and learn the facts of life from one of them famous Broadway wenches, if you have the money and they have the time. Then again maybe we should tell Raym that he wasn't found under a rock. But then again, we might be wrong. /Silly boy./ Maybe his uncle tripped over him in the bushes. Oh god, what's his uncle doing in the bushes? Tsk tsk, and on these virgin ears, too. Shame shame P** knows who is to blame. And what has happened to the lovely Leslie anyway? Possibly playing second fiddle in MacNamara's Band. The above bit of whimsy is dedicated to Virginia Kidd.