Flash Fictions :: The Fabric of Time :: Saturday, September 30th, 2000

Flash Fictions :: The Theory of Relativity :: Saturday, September 30th, 2000

“The Mortigi Tempo was a silver sculpture of a skyscraper with knives stabbed in it. On the top, there was a man in a business suit with one hand raising its fist in the air and the other hand holding a knife. The man on the skyscraper was obese and round and one customer to the store had commented that the man was a ‘gluttonous beast’.”

Target Or Flag :: Guitar Heroes on the Improv Side :: Wednesday, September 27th, 2000

Dark’s Corner :: The Only Thing Constant Is Strange - September 26th, 2000 :: Tuesday, September 26th, 2000

Archikulture Digest :: Number 11: October, 2000 :: Monday, September 25th, 2000

Minority Report :: Open Letter to Ronald W. Reagan on the Occasion of Good News :: Friday, September 22nd, 2000

Dark’s Corner :: Fuck Vegas, There’s Work To Do - September 19th, 2000 :: Tuesday, September 19th, 2000

Dark’s Corner :: Under The Gun - August 31st - September 14th, 2000 :: Monday, September 18th, 2000

Returning from the limbo that has mysteriously claimed many of our columnists, Special Ed is back and he’s ready to SHILL for one of his favorite bands, Self! Can there be a higher calling in life? Wednesday Again.

Transparancy :: You’re Coming With Me :: Wednesday, September 13th, 2000

Flash Fictions :: The Theory of Relativity :: Monday, September 11th, 2000

Flash Fictions :: The Life and Times of Tanzee… part one :: Monday, September 11th, 2000

“Hey you fucks,” he yelled at the incessantly crying children. “Can’t you shut up for a minute?”

Precipitate8 samples the nightlife in the city that Mickey built, Orlando, for a blur of goth clubs, drugs, bad silver shirts, and stand-offs with vampires.

“At the reading he groped all the women and danced like a fool and talked loudly, and blew up the motherfucking spot, brightened the room, like a rock star should. He was a character, drunk and lecherous, charming and disarming, insecure and bullishly brave, fun and worth all the attention he was asking for.”

Matthew Damascus returns to devote Bladejob entirely to the most fearsome woman in wrestling EVER– spiked blue hair, capes, bound feet, Duran Duran makeup, and a brutal guillotine legdrop– it has to be Bull Nakano.

Precipitate8 remembers his college years - confused recollections of chemicals, cruelty, seizures and the corruption of academic endeavor.

“He formed a band with some schoolmates called The Ripcords, and they rehearsed in the local church on Fridays. While they enjoyed playing music by the Smiths, Gary Numan, and David Bowie, it was punk that provided them with energy. Z played the guitar with such fury that he had to wear special braces because of a severe case of tendinitis. L would come sometimes to the band rehearsals, and occasionally, she would play guitar, but the other band members were not very fond of her.”

“I am a whore. You are a whore. We are all whores. Now the reader may be wondering if we are whores, then whom are we providing our services to? Post-punk millionaires. Punk was the last greatest movement of mankind. It was the last zeitgeist that made our lives worth living, and it challenged the mundane, everyday life that the corporate world was throwing at people.”