...The tiny spaceship screeched THROUGH space at unheard of speeds. When we say THROUGH space it is meant to be distinguished from through space. Everything is always traveling through space from point A to B, traveling past an infinite number of points and an oxymoron in between. When we say THROUGH space we really mean THROUGH itTrans-Hyperbolic-Rerouted-Omni-Utter-Graviton-Hopping. Another way to put it might be traveling between space or around space or folding space or instantaneous travelin other words traveling from A to B without even touching any Cs along the way. People of lower IQ call this hyperspace travel, but we know better than to copy such a phrase used in the works of cheap sci-fi and fantasy novels. Right? Right! So THROUGH space it is. Or was. As the ship switched off its gravity wave resonators it stopped traveling THROUGH space and appeared eighty-five million kilometers above the plane of a yellow sun solar system, traveling just below the speed of light. Full light speed travel is, of course, impossibleany dunce knows thatbut at speeds approaching that of light, time almost stops for the traveler (relative to the surrounding universe). This makes it possible to catch onto a gravity wave and travel THROUGH space, sort of like surfing. The ship slowed and its clock devices read that it was approaching real-time, relative to the solar system. All spectral measurements (IR, UV-vis, X-ray, etc.) indicated this small yellow sun would be ideal for the purpose to which the tiny automated ship was set. The ship neared the third planet and could see through its telescope eyes that this worlds environment would be perfect, with certain parts having just the right rainfall and atmosphere. The hatches on the ship opened and out poured several hundred spheroid objects about the size of your fist, scattering all over the landmass of the planet. Mission accomplished. The ship sped onwards, collecting all matter it touched through the black cone on its front, converting the matter to energy with perfect efficiency, traveling ever faster as the process continued. As it neared the speed of light it prepared to catch onto a gravity wave and travel THROUGH spaceand then it was destroyed. (Wipe out!) To be more exact, it ceased to exist in any form, energy or matter. Exactly what happened to it is beyond the thought capacity of any intelligent being limited by our four dimensional universe. (Time is the fourth.)
But this is not our concern. The only things with which we need concern ourselves are the pods dropped by the ship. They plunged through the outer atmosphere, their porous ceramic yttrium oxide shells glowing red, leaving short-lived bright streaks in the night sky, seen by roughly thirty-five billion pairs of reptilian eyes and only a few hundred million mammalian and avian pairs. As each pod was slowed by the lower atmosphere it reached terminal velocity and a small spring device popped off the yttrium oxide shells. (Sixty-seven million years later one was found by a primitive hunter, ground up, and made into a white war paint.) The pods sent out their parachutes behind them, slowing considerably. At an altitude of about two hundred fifty meters the parachutes detached and the metal orbs plummeted to Earth, landing with a dull thud. One of them struck a spinosaurus on the head, interrupting its tasty meal of leg of iguanodon. Lastly the pods each shot out several small glossy red projectiles. Over the millions of years thereafter the metal pods rusted and disintegrated. However, the glossy red berries that were shot out contained DNA (deoxyribonucleic acid), that wonderful stuff that allows life to regenerate... Or is it wonderful? The genus Coffea from the plant family Rubiaceae is quite remarkable. It is not remarkable because it contains DNA; all plants do. It is so because it is one of the few plants that produce caffeine in large amounts. And it was the first caffeine producing plant on Earth. The robusta species of coffee has four point five percent caffeine and is second only to ilex (a.k.a. yoppa), with leaves having seven point four percent. So a few plants have higher caffeine content. However, as all people of sophistication know, coffee has the advantage of having the best flavor for the amount of caffeine obtained. In large doses caffeine is quite toxic, especially to certain very large reptiles, but in moderate doses it can produce extreme states of simultaneous euphoria and mental alertness as well as increased energy and stamina. It not only enhances the higher brain functions but the animal instincts and metabolism as well. When one has had several cups of coffee the olfactory senses are roughly one-and-a-half times as perceptive and sexual drive is often increased threefold. The coffee plant (or tree, depending on to whom you talk) had dire consequences for Earth, as it does everywhere it grows. And grow it did. On the down side, its maturation requires about four years and reproduction (flowering and making fruit and beans) doesnt occur until then. However, the species Coffea arabica is autogamous (self-pollinating) and, although most of the plants died, a few lived and were soon on their way to glory. For brief times it flourished and covered zero point zero two percent of the landmass on the globe. At others it was driven to near-extinction by drought, flood, ice age, volcano, meteor explosions blocking out the sun, etc. Being extremely sensitive to frost and heat it even died out in the Americas and was only recently transplanted there by humans. But it bounced back and survived in Africa, unchanged for the most part over the tens of millions of years, right up to today. Once a small, brave monkey climbed down from the higher branches of a tall tree to the lower ones where he could reach out and pick the glossy red berries of a nearby young coffee tree. The smaller male monkeys were the experimenters and would occasionally eat a type of plant that was untried. Very dangerous activity, indeed, but it served a purpose in the survival of the monkeysnew food discoveries were highly welcome. After eating a small portion of several berries, it found the pulp to be quite sweet, but there was too much seed and not enough fruit. It spit out the slightly bitter seeds, deciding the red berries simply would not do as food. About five minutes later the monkey was swinging about, yelling like mad, and extremely irritating the others of its tribe. Our brave experimenter, not used to the diuretic effects of caffeine, found that he had to urinate quite badlyand did soonto the dominant males head. The food tester was then chased to the ground below, a stream of urine flying from him as he went. The monkeys rarely, if ever, touched the ground, but there the two monkeys stood. The dominant male was greatly disturbed by the fact that the little monkey now turned and faced him. Disturbed but not exactly frightened. The larger monkey charged. As it did so the smaller male picked up a jagged rock about half the size of its head and smashed it into the large males face, killing it instantly. The rock the monkey used had the great honor of being the first tool used by primates on planet Earth and, even today, its name is spoken with great reverence among tools of the world as Rock, the Great Grandfather Tool. The little fellow climbed back up into the trees, proceeding to mate with as many females as it possibly could. The noise was heard for miles throughout the jungle. Tools, as such, were not used again for fifty thousand years, and those were only twigs used to pull ants out of anthills for a high-protein snack. Coffee berries were seldom eaten again by the monkeys and not for another two million nine hundred ninety-three thousand five hundred years did the monkeys offspring eat the berries on a regular basis. And the roasted seeds were not used to make a drink until five thousand years after that. The answer to exactly why the ship dropped the seeds died with the ship and its builders, some two billion five hundred million light-years away. This is not about them. It is about you.
Outcast never conforming, forming
habits in the gutters of the soul-
scorching revelation of your deepest fears,
hears, feels, only the pain
and none of the joy
ends where life does.
Amidst all your science,
technology, wealth, and splendor,
did you ever imagine it
would give birth
to that such as
I
?
Coffee, far sweeter than a thousand kisses. Or so says J. S. Bach in his opera Kaffee Kantate. Perhaps he was just being sarcastic about the prohibition of coffee for women in Germany during his time. And perhaps it all just depends who the hell youre kissing. Though most of the time you think ol Johann Sebastian was probably right; coffee has always been your one true love. Whether it was the bitter, unsweetened, awful cowboy coffee your dad gave you when you were a young boy visiting his horse ranch or the flavored gourmet coffee your grandmother would let you have when your mother wasnt watching, coffee has always been your one true desire, the only thing that ever gave your life any real meaning whatsoever. There are eight different roasts of coffee, going from light to dark: cinnamon (color, not flavor), American, city, full city, Viennese, French, Italian, and espresso. Of course there are no well-defined lines. The lighter roasts are smooth with hints of grain, yet somewhat acidic (which gives coffee its flavor) while the darker ones are somewhat crisp and bittersweet. It would take more space than we have available to list all the different types of coffee. Lets see, theres Kona, Kenyan AA, Jamaican Blue Mountain, Sumatran, Colombian, and, of course, the ever-famous Costa Rica La Minita, etc., etc. The list could go on forever almost, and if we got into all the different blends on the market, then it would. The most common ways to brew coffee are slow drip, percolator (yuck!), French press (anything French is exotic), auto-drip, and espresso. According to the brewing method, one should grind the beans anywhere from coarse to fine, in the order the methods are previously listed. In addition there are innumerable flavored coffees and additives that one can experiment with: cinnamon (flavor, not color), chocolate, Irish cream, mint, amaretto, etc., etc., sugar, honey, diet sweetener, etc., etc., cream, milk, condensed milk, steamed milk (for cappuccino and latté), whipped cream, artificial creamer... and the list continues. How can the taste of coffee be described? How can any taste be described? What does chocolate taste like? Chocolate tastes like chocolate. Strawberries taste like strawberries. Dog shit tastes like dog shit. Cyanide tastes like almonds, though you only get to find out once. And coffee tastes like coffee. And thats that. Or is it?... No, not good enough. Coffee: primitive and tropical with an undeniable sophistication, bitter and sweet at the same time with an aroma of chestnuts roasting on an open fire. (Not that youve ever smelled chestnuts roasting on an open fire... or have you? Well, anyway, it sounds good.) The blood of the gods, the nectar of life, liquid inspiration, Satans perspiration. This is getting silly and sounding way too much like a cheesy coffee commercial. Good to the last drop. Celebrate the moments of your death... er... we mean life. But life is death. Death is life. Without one you cannot have the other. Youve always known that, but you dont know how youve known it. Anyway, best not waste our breath on telling some idiot what coffee tastes like, he or she will just have to go out, get some good coffee, and learn how to prepare it properly. One can, of course, buy ones own coffee already made, but be forewarned: Many of the so-called gourmet coffeehouses do not always serve good coffee. For you, however, the love of coffee goes far beyond simply drinking it; any fool can acquire a taste for and knowledge of good coffee. It takes a madman, genius, or both to go to the extent that you have for coffee. Not only do you experiment with the dozens of roasting and brewing methods, but also the planting, growing, and breeding of different species of coffee. North America isnt exactly the ideal place for growing coffee, to say the least, but as long as the crop is small, modern technology can easily circumvent these problems. Technology, that is to say, a greenhouse, and a bit of sneaky underhandedness. Blackmail has always been a risky business, but, as long as your demands arent too outrageous, youre usually safe. No, the president of the university wasnt happy at all when you showed him the videotapes of the graduate students illegally dumping old toxic waste from the chemistry department. Not a very ethical thing for the university to do, no siree, Bob. But the waste had to be disposed of due to the fact that the university was soon to have a thorough inspection by the EPA, which had been alerted to the illegal waste storing practices, especially by the chemistry and chemical engineering departments. If the university bigwigs werent careful, the school could wind up ¬getting fined up to eight hundred grand. There were thousands of bottles and cans of waste, most of it unlabelled and entirely unknown (the most dangerous type), some of it dating back to the forties, with rusty lids and leaky containers oozing slime that eats holes in tile floor. It was all hauled away and dumped. A pity, too; besides the one hundred fifty grams of a mixture containing dioxin (really nasty stuff), there was also a birth control without side effects, a cure for cancer, an efficient non-polluting fuel, the elixir of life (but who needs that when youve got coffee?), and a revolutionary underarm deodorant that only needs to be used once a month. All this was dumped into a large hole right next to a small river that leads into the Mississippi. As an undergraduate working in the chemistry departments stockroom (where the waste was stored in the back), you were privy to all sorts of informationsuch as when and where the dumping was to take place. The few people who worked there acted as if it was no big deal, but you knew that type of activity was highly illegaland took advantage of your position when the opportunity arose. Not that you gave a dead rats ass where this shit was going to be dumped, as long as it wasnt near you. You lucked across the entire dumping operation early one evening while staying late at work. The stockroom was locked up and your boss, Jim, had let you stay behind to studyit was a nice quiet place for it. At about seven oclock you heard a set of keys rattle outside the door and ducked down behind your desk. Although Jim allowed you to stay late, you werent supposed to be there, only being an undergraduate and all. Jim never was one for following rules anyway. In the stockroom he kept a secret cabinet where he hid his thirty-year-old Scotch, fine French wine, and cocaine that hed use to entice girls into dropping their drawersa different girl every week. With a black convertible Porsche, a muscular build, and a hundred-dollar haircut its amazing he didnt have a different girl every day. Is he using them or is it the other way around? Well, the only reason he held onto his shitty job after his grandparents left him two million bucks is for the proximity to the college girls.
Anyway, just who do you suppose it was coming in this late? None other than the chair of the chemistry department himself, Dr. Wetthertz with two of his graduate student assistants. He told them exactly what he wanted done with all the chemical waste stored there. Pardon the cliché, but to make a long story short lets just say you taped the entire conversation on your mini tape-recorder that you use so you can sleep during class lectures. God, it was too good to be real. Those idiots even talked about exactly where the dumpsite would be so you could drive out there and videotape the whole dumping process for the university president to see. What a beautiful day that was. So lets go there. Its only you and the fat president watching the videotape. Well, hes watching the tape; youre too busy looking around his fancy office, admiring all the expensive artwork, pottery, and carvings, each one probably costing not less than a thousand dollars. In the center of a glass cabinet filled with Japanese porcelain teacups stands a small sculpture of two samurai warriors locked in a death duel. It looks to be as old as time itself, though its in perfect condition and could be brand new. The artisan surely knew his craftthe sword looks to be real steel and the robes authentic silk. The WWII medals next to the cabinet indicate that the collection is an American soldiers spoils of war, probably belonged to the fat mans dad. When he realizes whats on the tape his face turns red, beads of sweat roll off his bald head, bounce off an eyebrow, careen down the side of his nose, off his lip, hang from the lower of his two chins for a precarious few seconds, and plummet down onto his belly behind the big oak desk; a big pinball machine with sweat beads for balls. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his face. Game over. Okay, okay, just turn off the tape and tell me what it is you want, the illustrious president says. He is obviously used to this sort of treatment and also probably prepared to hand over a big sack of money that he keeps in his desk for just such occasions.
Oh, not much, really, you tell him, just all the junk cleared out of the chemistry building attic so I can start a research greenhouse for coffee. The sweat now flies from the fat guys face as spasms of uncontrollable laughter rake his gelatinous body. He is even heard outside the building by a pervert in the process of masturbating under his trench coat while watching the young college girls walk by. The pervert, believing hes been found out and that this laughter is aimed at him, is deeply humiliated, and goes away to eventually become the founder of a new-age religious cult thats based on the belief that human beings are descended from extraterrestrials. Thats it?!?! the president roars in disbelief, making his chins jiggle around. You think of maybe demanding the Japanese figurines/sculpture... but no, that would be too tasteless a deed for even you. That, you smile hideously, and a three-page typed report on whatever episode of Beavis and Butthead plays tonight. What? the fat mans jaw drops to his lap, which sounds rather impressive, but his flabby chin almost touches his lap anyway. Are you crazy?! Yes. Can you meet these two demands? you ask. Long pause. Yes. Ill have the report for you tomorrow and the chemistry attic cleared out as soon as possible, the president concedes. Good, you grin like the Cheshire cat, stand up, reach into a fancy crystal candy bowl on his desk, and grab a handful of wrapped candy, I cant wait to get started. You take the videotape from the machine, explaining that there are several more copies in the hands of two lawyers who will make these copies public if any unnatural accident happens to you. The president suddenly becomes tense as he realizes you just might be crazy but are no idiot. He starts sweating and the pinball machine gives you a free game, but then he wipes away the liquid-instead-of-metal balls. On your way out you bow like a performer, look him square in the eyes, and simply say Tilt, then quietly shut the door behind you. Walking down the long hallway with your footsteps echoing on the marble floor, you unwrap a piece of the candy then exit through the pair of large beautiful redwood doors while tossing the wrapper over your shoulder. As the flavor hits you the irony is too much to bear and you bust out laughing... Coffee!
m 2 E
Big Phone ring, listening, not answering.
Politic Dissension, lunatic prevention, doctors recommend.
Borders invaded, raided, faded into nothing.
Must defend!
Cleansing fire, said the liar: the world will mend.
Preaching revelation, against masturbation, we're the only nation....
in god's eye.
Hand quake, finger shake, above red button shining.
Shafts fly to the sky; wont get to cry or get high before we die.
Won't get paid or laid before we're made......
nothing.
ICBM, Tomahawk, B-1: Lots of fun, son.
No one lost or won this one.
The high cost of unleashing the power of the sun.
Digitize, vaporize, atomize......
Earth's crust.
Blood lust must become just rust and dust.
m to E 10% efficient conversion, perversion.....
of science.
Cruise missile sly, radar eye, common household appliance.
Sky black, no going back.
Mountains leveled, disheveled, climbing into orbit, never climbed again.
Is there a hell for this sin?!!!
Hydrogen fusion, madman's delusion of immortality.
Cosmic brutality, totality, reality.
Eternity passes our fried asses.
Blackened cinders, melted blenders and car fenders.
Dust settle, glistening globs of metal,
no flower petal or stinging nettle....
Grows.
200 Kelvin at night, 500 at day, no wind blows,
No water flows, no one sees or knows
The flattened, blackened, blistering, freezing purity of the wasteland of sand and....
no atmosphere here on Earth's sphere.
Unseen:
All this order that comes out of the Chaos.
Or is it the other way around?
and when did we forget how to tell the difference?
Nuclear masturbation glow-in-the-dark penis throb. Pump hump jump the worlds bones spewing a toxic wasteland of radioactive sperm. Fertile mutant cities, girls with 3 titties. What the fuck am I on about now? 3 mile high, 3 Mile Island, 3 mile cloud pillar like staring up at a girls legs with neon panty hose that glows brighter than Rudolf/pHs nose. Rudolf? Is that with an f or a pH of 2 or 3 acid rain pain main frame of mind fart. Access code entered, password accepted via short wave radio. Standing by for launch initiation.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0.
All silos emptied.
Was it good for you 2.718281828459.......
Eeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!X
Nuclear disaster master baiter,
hater of all things with wings
like birds and turds.
Hey! Shit dont fly!
It does when it hits the fan, man.
So dont reach for the button
or Ill be cuttin off your finger;
Id like to linger a little longer.
Soldier
Corpses and bodies surround me as I march onward through the valley with them. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, I shall fear no Evil, for I am Evil and I am Death... as are all the soldiers who march with me. We are all dead and we know it. The radioactive fallout is on all sides. Protected between the mountains we will live longer than the lucky fools near the cities; maybe a week, maybe two. We will bleed from gums, eyes, fingernails, and genitals. With the new medicines they give us, we might even hover in that state for as long as a month to do their bidding. And then we will die. Slowly. Painfully.
Yet still we march onward to kill the enemies, whoever they might be. Like wind-up toys we plod onward; it is all we know, all we are. The monkey-rifle on my back calls out to me, repeating over and over, Take me up, cut through the lines of suffering men, spare them the agony and misery that lies ahead. And I cannot; it is not in my training, my programming. Who would have thought that a machined piece of steel could be more human than a man?
But this is not our concern. The only things with which we need concern ourselves are the pods dropped by the ship. They plunged through the outer atmosphere, their porous ceramic yttrium oxide shells glowing red, leaving short-lived bright streaks in the night sky, seen by roughly thirty-five billion pairs of reptilian eyes and only a few hundred million mammalian and avian pairs. As each pod was slowed by the lower atmosphere it reached terminal velocity and a small spring device popped off the yttrium oxide shells. (Sixty-seven million years later one was found by a primitive hunter, ground up, and made into a white war paint.) The pods sent out their parachutes behind them, slowing considerably. At an altitude of about two hundred fifty meters the parachutes detached and the metal orbs plummeted to Earth, landing with a dull thud. One of them struck a spinosaurus on the head, interrupting its tasty meal of leg of iguanodon. Lastly the pods each shot out several small glossy red projectiles. Over the millions of years thereafter the metal pods rusted and disintegrated. However, the glossy red berries that were shot out contained DNA (deoxyribonucleic acid), that wonderful stuff that allows life to regenerate... Or is it wonderful? The genus Coffea from the plant family Rubiaceae is quite remarkable. It is not remarkable because it contains DNA; all plants do. It is so because it is one of the few plants that produce caffeine in large amounts. And it was the first caffeine producing plant on Earth. The robusta species of coffee has four point five percent caffeine and is second only to ilex (a.k.a. yoppa), with leaves having seven point four percent. So a few plants have higher caffeine content. However, as all people of sophistication know, coffee has the advantage of having the best flavor for the amount of caffeine obtained. In large doses caffeine is quite toxic, especially to certain very large reptiles, but in moderate doses it can produce extreme states of simultaneous euphoria and mental alertness as well as increased energy and stamina. It not only enhances the higher brain functions but the animal instincts and metabolism as well. When one has had several cups of coffee the olfactory senses are roughly one-and-a-half times as perceptive and sexual drive is often increased threefold. The coffee plant (or tree, depending on to whom you talk) had dire consequences for Earth, as it does everywhere it grows. And grow it did. On the down side, its maturation requires about four years and reproduction (flowering and making fruit and beans) doesnt occur until then. However, the species Coffea arabica is autogamous (self-pollinating) and, although most of the plants died, a few lived and were soon on their way to glory. For brief times it flourished and covered zero point zero two percent of the landmass on the globe. At others it was driven to near-extinction by drought, flood, ice age, volcano, meteor explosions blocking out the sun, etc. Being extremely sensitive to frost and heat it even died out in the Americas and was only recently transplanted there by humans. But it bounced back and survived in Africa, unchanged for the most part over the tens of millions of years, right up to today. Once a small, brave monkey climbed down from the higher branches of a tall tree to the lower ones where he could reach out and pick the glossy red berries of a nearby young coffee tree. The smaller male monkeys were the experimenters and would occasionally eat a type of plant that was untried. Very dangerous activity, indeed, but it served a purpose in the survival of the monkeysnew food discoveries were highly welcome. After eating a small portion of several berries, it found the pulp to be quite sweet, but there was too much seed and not enough fruit. It spit out the slightly bitter seeds, deciding the red berries simply would not do as food. About five minutes later the monkey was swinging about, yelling like mad, and extremely irritating the others of its tribe. Our brave experimenter, not used to the diuretic effects of caffeine, found that he had to urinate quite badlyand did soonto the dominant males head. The food tester was then chased to the ground below, a stream of urine flying from him as he went. The monkeys rarely, if ever, touched the ground, but there the two monkeys stood. The dominant male was greatly disturbed by the fact that the little monkey now turned and faced him. Disturbed but not exactly frightened. The larger monkey charged. As it did so the smaller male picked up a jagged rock about half the size of its head and smashed it into the large males face, killing it instantly. The rock the monkey used had the great honor of being the first tool used by primates on planet Earth and, even today, its name is spoken with great reverence among tools of the world as Rock, the Great Grandfather Tool. The little fellow climbed back up into the trees, proceeding to mate with as many females as it possibly could. The noise was heard for miles throughout the jungle. Tools, as such, were not used again for fifty thousand years, and those were only twigs used to pull ants out of anthills for a high-protein snack. Coffee berries were seldom eaten again by the monkeys and not for another two million nine hundred ninety-three thousand five hundred years did the monkeys offspring eat the berries on a regular basis. And the roasted seeds were not used to make a drink until five thousand years after that. The answer to exactly why the ship dropped the seeds died with the ship and its builders, some two billion five hundred million light-years away. This is not about them. It is about you.
Outcast never conforming, forming
habits in the gutters of the soul-
scorching revelation of your deepest fears,
hears, feels, only the pain
and none of the joy
ends where life does.
Amidst all your science,
technology, wealth, and splendor,
did you ever imagine it
would give birth
to that such as
I
?
Coffee, far sweeter than a thousand kisses. Or so says J. S. Bach in his opera Kaffee Kantate. Perhaps he was just being sarcastic about the prohibition of coffee for women in Germany during his time. And perhaps it all just depends who the hell youre kissing. Though most of the time you think ol Johann Sebastian was probably right; coffee has always been your one true love. Whether it was the bitter, unsweetened, awful cowboy coffee your dad gave you when you were a young boy visiting his horse ranch or the flavored gourmet coffee your grandmother would let you have when your mother wasnt watching, coffee has always been your one true desire, the only thing that ever gave your life any real meaning whatsoever. There are eight different roasts of coffee, going from light to dark: cinnamon (color, not flavor), American, city, full city, Viennese, French, Italian, and espresso. Of course there are no well-defined lines. The lighter roasts are smooth with hints of grain, yet somewhat acidic (which gives coffee its flavor) while the darker ones are somewhat crisp and bittersweet. It would take more space than we have available to list all the different types of coffee. Lets see, theres Kona, Kenyan AA, Jamaican Blue Mountain, Sumatran, Colombian, and, of course, the ever-famous Costa Rica La Minita, etc., etc. The list could go on forever almost, and if we got into all the different blends on the market, then it would. The most common ways to brew coffee are slow drip, percolator (yuck!), French press (anything French is exotic), auto-drip, and espresso. According to the brewing method, one should grind the beans anywhere from coarse to fine, in the order the methods are previously listed. In addition there are innumerable flavored coffees and additives that one can experiment with: cinnamon (flavor, not color), chocolate, Irish cream, mint, amaretto, etc., etc., sugar, honey, diet sweetener, etc., etc., cream, milk, condensed milk, steamed milk (for cappuccino and latté), whipped cream, artificial creamer... and the list continues. How can the taste of coffee be described? How can any taste be described? What does chocolate taste like? Chocolate tastes like chocolate. Strawberries taste like strawberries. Dog shit tastes like dog shit. Cyanide tastes like almonds, though you only get to find out once. And coffee tastes like coffee. And thats that. Or is it?... No, not good enough. Coffee: primitive and tropical with an undeniable sophistication, bitter and sweet at the same time with an aroma of chestnuts roasting on an open fire. (Not that youve ever smelled chestnuts roasting on an open fire... or have you? Well, anyway, it sounds good.) The blood of the gods, the nectar of life, liquid inspiration, Satans perspiration. This is getting silly and sounding way too much like a cheesy coffee commercial. Good to the last drop. Celebrate the moments of your death... er... we mean life. But life is death. Death is life. Without one you cannot have the other. Youve always known that, but you dont know how youve known it. Anyway, best not waste our breath on telling some idiot what coffee tastes like, he or she will just have to go out, get some good coffee, and learn how to prepare it properly. One can, of course, buy ones own coffee already made, but be forewarned: Many of the so-called gourmet coffeehouses do not always serve good coffee. For you, however, the love of coffee goes far beyond simply drinking it; any fool can acquire a taste for and knowledge of good coffee. It takes a madman, genius, or both to go to the extent that you have for coffee. Not only do you experiment with the dozens of roasting and brewing methods, but also the planting, growing, and breeding of different species of coffee. North America isnt exactly the ideal place for growing coffee, to say the least, but as long as the crop is small, modern technology can easily circumvent these problems. Technology, that is to say, a greenhouse, and a bit of sneaky underhandedness. Blackmail has always been a risky business, but, as long as your demands arent too outrageous, youre usually safe. No, the president of the university wasnt happy at all when you showed him the videotapes of the graduate students illegally dumping old toxic waste from the chemistry department. Not a very ethical thing for the university to do, no siree, Bob. But the waste had to be disposed of due to the fact that the university was soon to have a thorough inspection by the EPA, which had been alerted to the illegal waste storing practices, especially by the chemistry and chemical engineering departments. If the university bigwigs werent careful, the school could wind up ¬getting fined up to eight hundred grand. There were thousands of bottles and cans of waste, most of it unlabelled and entirely unknown (the most dangerous type), some of it dating back to the forties, with rusty lids and leaky containers oozing slime that eats holes in tile floor. It was all hauled away and dumped. A pity, too; besides the one hundred fifty grams of a mixture containing dioxin (really nasty stuff), there was also a birth control without side effects, a cure for cancer, an efficient non-polluting fuel, the elixir of life (but who needs that when youve got coffee?), and a revolutionary underarm deodorant that only needs to be used once a month. All this was dumped into a large hole right next to a small river that leads into the Mississippi. As an undergraduate working in the chemistry departments stockroom (where the waste was stored in the back), you were privy to all sorts of informationsuch as when and where the dumping was to take place. The few people who worked there acted as if it was no big deal, but you knew that type of activity was highly illegaland took advantage of your position when the opportunity arose. Not that you gave a dead rats ass where this shit was going to be dumped, as long as it wasnt near you. You lucked across the entire dumping operation early one evening while staying late at work. The stockroom was locked up and your boss, Jim, had let you stay behind to studyit was a nice quiet place for it. At about seven oclock you heard a set of keys rattle outside the door and ducked down behind your desk. Although Jim allowed you to stay late, you werent supposed to be there, only being an undergraduate and all. Jim never was one for following rules anyway. In the stockroom he kept a secret cabinet where he hid his thirty-year-old Scotch, fine French wine, and cocaine that hed use to entice girls into dropping their drawersa different girl every week. With a black convertible Porsche, a muscular build, and a hundred-dollar haircut its amazing he didnt have a different girl every day. Is he using them or is it the other way around? Well, the only reason he held onto his shitty job after his grandparents left him two million bucks is for the proximity to the college girls.
Anyway, just who do you suppose it was coming in this late? None other than the chair of the chemistry department himself, Dr. Wetthertz with two of his graduate student assistants. He told them exactly what he wanted done with all the chemical waste stored there. Pardon the cliché, but to make a long story short lets just say you taped the entire conversation on your mini tape-recorder that you use so you can sleep during class lectures. God, it was too good to be real. Those idiots even talked about exactly where the dumpsite would be so you could drive out there and videotape the whole dumping process for the university president to see. What a beautiful day that was. So lets go there. Its only you and the fat president watching the videotape. Well, hes watching the tape; youre too busy looking around his fancy office, admiring all the expensive artwork, pottery, and carvings, each one probably costing not less than a thousand dollars. In the center of a glass cabinet filled with Japanese porcelain teacups stands a small sculpture of two samurai warriors locked in a death duel. It looks to be as old as time itself, though its in perfect condition and could be brand new. The artisan surely knew his craftthe sword looks to be real steel and the robes authentic silk. The WWII medals next to the cabinet indicate that the collection is an American soldiers spoils of war, probably belonged to the fat mans dad. When he realizes whats on the tape his face turns red, beads of sweat roll off his bald head, bounce off an eyebrow, careen down the side of his nose, off his lip, hang from the lower of his two chins for a precarious few seconds, and plummet down onto his belly behind the big oak desk; a big pinball machine with sweat beads for balls. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his face. Game over. Okay, okay, just turn off the tape and tell me what it is you want, the illustrious president says. He is obviously used to this sort of treatment and also probably prepared to hand over a big sack of money that he keeps in his desk for just such occasions.
Oh, not much, really, you tell him, just all the junk cleared out of the chemistry building attic so I can start a research greenhouse for coffee. The sweat now flies from the fat guys face as spasms of uncontrollable laughter rake his gelatinous body. He is even heard outside the building by a pervert in the process of masturbating under his trench coat while watching the young college girls walk by. The pervert, believing hes been found out and that this laughter is aimed at him, is deeply humiliated, and goes away to eventually become the founder of a new-age religious cult thats based on the belief that human beings are descended from extraterrestrials. Thats it?!?! the president roars in disbelief, making his chins jiggle around. You think of maybe demanding the Japanese figurines/sculpture... but no, that would be too tasteless a deed for even you. That, you smile hideously, and a three-page typed report on whatever episode of Beavis and Butthead plays tonight. What? the fat mans jaw drops to his lap, which sounds rather impressive, but his flabby chin almost touches his lap anyway. Are you crazy?! Yes. Can you meet these two demands? you ask. Long pause. Yes. Ill have the report for you tomorrow and the chemistry attic cleared out as soon as possible, the president concedes. Good, you grin like the Cheshire cat, stand up, reach into a fancy crystal candy bowl on his desk, and grab a handful of wrapped candy, I cant wait to get started. You take the videotape from the machine, explaining that there are several more copies in the hands of two lawyers who will make these copies public if any unnatural accident happens to you. The president suddenly becomes tense as he realizes you just might be crazy but are no idiot. He starts sweating and the pinball machine gives you a free game, but then he wipes away the liquid-instead-of-metal balls. On your way out you bow like a performer, look him square in the eyes, and simply say Tilt, then quietly shut the door behind you. Walking down the long hallway with your footsteps echoing on the marble floor, you unwrap a piece of the candy then exit through the pair of large beautiful redwood doors while tossing the wrapper over your shoulder. As the flavor hits you the irony is too much to bear and you bust out laughing... Coffee!
m 2 E
Big Phone ring, listening, not answering.
Politic Dissension, lunatic prevention, doctors recommend.
Borders invaded, raided, faded into nothing.
Must defend!
Cleansing fire, said the liar: the world will mend.
Preaching revelation, against masturbation, we're the only nation....
in god's eye.
Hand quake, finger shake, above red button shining.
Shafts fly to the sky; wont get to cry or get high before we die.
Won't get paid or laid before we're made......
nothing.
ICBM, Tomahawk, B-1: Lots of fun, son.
No one lost or won this one.
The high cost of unleashing the power of the sun.
Digitize, vaporize, atomize......
Earth's crust.
Blood lust must become just rust and dust.
m to E 10% efficient conversion, perversion.....
of science.
Cruise missile sly, radar eye, common household appliance.
Sky black, no going back.
Mountains leveled, disheveled, climbing into orbit, never climbed again.
Is there a hell for this sin?!!!
Hydrogen fusion, madman's delusion of immortality.
Cosmic brutality, totality, reality.
Eternity passes our fried asses.
Blackened cinders, melted blenders and car fenders.
Dust settle, glistening globs of metal,
no flower petal or stinging nettle....
Grows.
200 Kelvin at night, 500 at day, no wind blows,
No water flows, no one sees or knows
The flattened, blackened, blistering, freezing purity of the wasteland of sand and....
no atmosphere here on Earth's sphere.
Unseen:
All this order that comes out of the Chaos.
Or is it the other way around?
and when did we forget how to tell the difference?
Nuclear masturbation glow-in-the-dark penis throb. Pump hump jump the worlds bones spewing a toxic wasteland of radioactive sperm. Fertile mutant cities, girls with 3 titties. What the fuck am I on about now? 3 mile high, 3 Mile Island, 3 mile cloud pillar like staring up at a girls legs with neon panty hose that glows brighter than Rudolf/pHs nose. Rudolf? Is that with an f or a pH of 2 or 3 acid rain pain main frame of mind fart. Access code entered, password accepted via short wave radio. Standing by for launch initiation.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0.
All silos emptied.
Was it good for you 2.718281828459.......
Eeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!X
Nuclear disaster master baiter,
hater of all things with wings
like birds and turds.
Hey! Shit dont fly!
It does when it hits the fan, man.
So dont reach for the button
or Ill be cuttin off your finger;
Id like to linger a little longer.
Soldier
Corpses and bodies surround me as I march onward through the valley with them. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, I shall fear no Evil, for I am Evil and I am Death... as are all the soldiers who march with me. We are all dead and we know it. The radioactive fallout is on all sides. Protected between the mountains we will live longer than the lucky fools near the cities; maybe a week, maybe two. We will bleed from gums, eyes, fingernails, and genitals. With the new medicines they give us, we might even hover in that state for as long as a month to do their bidding. And then we will die. Slowly. Painfully.
Yet still we march onward to kill the enemies, whoever they might be. Like wind-up toys we plod onward; it is all we know, all we are. The monkey-rifle on my back calls out to me, repeating over and over, Take me up, cut through the lines of suffering men, spare them the agony and misery that lies ahead. And I cannot; it is not in my training, my programming. Who would have thought that a machined piece of steel could be more human than a man?
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