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FREE MAGIC BULLET troublemaker^ T-shirt and Badge!

i For T-Shirt, follow these simple instructions:

First, get a T-shirt Then, using either acan of spray paint, or some textile paint,

or even some indelible India ink, apply the folbwing approved Magic Bullet Troublernakerm message in bold, uncompromising lette

en the paint is dry, wear yo

ou c& also make up other clever ~roublernaker~ sayings your own imagination. Try: CHOOSE DEATH, JUST S GIVE ME MONEY!

n For your Magic Bullet Troublemakerm button:

Cut out this button. Glue it to a piece of cardboard. Affix a safety pin to the reverse (back) side of your button.

AUTHORITY! Wear it proudly!

More useful hints:

Use a plastic laminating film for that "professional" look Make up other slogans and treat your friends.

Darkest Hour

It was i n t h e d a r k e s t hour And upon t h e d a r k e s t eve That I heard a maiden weeping And I saw a maiden g r i e v e

For t h e l i f e of he r l o v e r Had l e f t him without warning And she l i n g e r e d t h e r e bes ide him S o f t l y s o b b ~ n g till t h e morning

And when a t l a s t t h e sun a rose And c a s t i t s golden hue I n s i l e n c e I drew near h e r And whispered, " M y l ove i s t r u e "

But t h e maiden n e i t h e r moved nor spoke As i f she had no t heard a t a l l Again I o f f e r e d my words of love And f o r he r answer I d i d c a l l

But no response d i d I rece ive J u s t her b rea th ing s o f t and low As i f not t o awaken a s l eep ing c h i l d It was then I tu rned to go

When a sudden f e a r swept o ' e r my mind No! This t h i n g could never be A s I gazed upon h e r l o v e r ' s corpse And t h e one ernbraced was me

suffering bexistence! i deny my visiblexistence

in selfpity, in fear of my own desirability.

mentalese overcomes me. resistides drown the courage.

zense betrays me. i am lost. lost.

but philosophations vibrastic and mean make the notseem seem divinowhere.

buttresistance leaves me nothy.

nothy nothy atall: but bexistence is not nothy!

dwatt

Burnell Yo w!

PROJECT:

N ROLL

part 7. by Gary L Sehrnon

While Major S'pence lay dreaming of Wanda Ases, the Earth was turning on its axis. Turning with it, was the tide of public opinion; turning u i t h the earth, and progress, turning agai n s t the kind of government that made Buena Salida such a miserable vlace to live. All over America. - - - - -

people were turning off their television sets, so as to further avoid coming to grips with their indignation about the place.

While deep within Salidan culture, deep within the music that is the only real essence of any people; the fundamental vibration that gives sense form, and makes organic matter to live.

The simple truth was that it did not matter. It was not important who the victims were. It only mattered that there were bombings. It only mattered that there would c o n t i n u e t o be bombings until all men learned to live as brothers.

Speck pondered on those and other words spoken to him by the gray American. Re still wasn't sure that he believed the logic described to him. Be still vondered how much of his own bile and spleen he brought to this unholy mission. Bow much his political zeal depended on his desperate quest for vengeance.

- there was another kind of Be was still wondering as he turning. turned into a streetside cafe and

Speck heard it through the transistors of his radio as he tied two striped wires to the terminals of a battery and compared a digital timer against his own G r u e n wristwatch. Whistling quietly, the decidedly tribal progression, Speck was reminded of Bach's Anthem, and he felt suddenly giddy. Be toyed for a moment with the idea of pushing the red button, actually fingered it. Then he armed the incendiary device and exited the embassy.

As he hurried down the street, carefully pretending to be a loyal supporter of El Vallejo, Speck wondered who the victims would be. Someone really r e s p o n s i b l e for the poverty and despair, or just a poor custodial worker?

still wondering two minutes later when the windowpanes blew in from the blast at the end of the block. Emergency sirens went off and the customers in the luncheonette all turned back to their brunches. Speck sat down at the counter and turned up the volume on his radio.

-- To Be Continued! --

1 'COIN FLIPPINGm I

Notes from Soviet Dissident Ivan de Tourmaline Kabral

At first there's a wrenching crack And they brlng you to with smelling salts. Your eyes refuse to focus so as not to see the horrors In that lnterrogatlon chamber. But you're aware of them all the same. And they pull at the wlres that they've Implanted under your skin and you tell them anything. But they don't want to know anythlng. Just hurt you.

That's why 1 left the MacDonald's company and Joined with Maglc Bullet Productions.

If I had to tell you of every case of mind control I run across, It would take years. You'd likely flee, screaming.

Look, just accept that you'll never know what I do or why. Or even whether It's Important or not. 'Cos I couldn't tell you In any case.

See I receive letters. I send them out. I don't open them. I don't want to see.

You know too much In this business, you're autornatlcally In trouble. From lnslde the company. Soon the wltch hunts will start. Soon the shelling. The constant screaming. I don't know If I'll ever get home again. I don't know If I could want to.

Does the flipping of my coin mean that I determine my fate, or that fate determines me? If I cheat by the way I throw -- Does it mean that so life cheats me -- or that I cheat life? Or does the flipping of a coin indicate the perversity of fate --

?gg@W Or does it really indicate the fate of a perverse life? :.:...: ......... :.y&$$<: .............. .,,. ....... ............ x&.>.<...z. .. ....., ............ .,. .... .... + .................... w. ::$$:;::::*:<:?*;:

mpz+%i ........... The answers to these questions ...............

[ do not know -- ;I . yet wherever fate leads me or I lead fate --

[ shall go.

M O U I N G - I R I G H T I

Y e s t e r d a y

f o l l o w s c l o s e l y

a t m y h e e l s

u n d e r m y f e e t

t r i p s m e

a s I t r y t o m o u e

f o r w a r d

t o w a r d s

t o m o r r o w

( S c a r l e t t F a i t h ) I

Thomas) I

Staring out at me from the darkness are tiger's eyes. Camouflaged from life's realities and pains.

He searches for me when the sun sets

One b l d vision One blurred dream One blurred love

The rey mane of morning dims our world of fantasy. %efore it fades tk Tiger's eyes ask a question

Whispering in the wind, I hear,

WOULD YOU KISS ME IN THE DAYLIGHT? WOULD YOU KISS ME NOW?

I look to the morning sky, then to him. There is no answer-just silence.

The silence engulfed our persons until we are but a shadow of a dream on the night of the silver moon

Across the waking world a Tiger's roar is heard, and another page is tom from the book of reality.

THE PIXIES(a breakfast story Several years ago I woke

up, put some bread i n the t o a s t e r and began reading t h e morning paper. I read about bombs i n Afghanistan, E l Salvador, Beirut and my home town of Los Angeles. I read about poisons i n the water, i n t h e a i r and in our bodies and I read about some guy who'd hung himself ins ide of h i s c lose t because he couldn ' t f i n d a job . . . .

My vision t o the paper became fogged by smoke. I turned my head and saw t h a t t h e t o a s t was on f i r e . I didn ' t jump immediately t o put it out because the gray clouds billowing s i l e n t l y , twi r ly and th ick from the rectangular t o a s t hole was indeed a beaut i fu l s i g h t . F lu t t e r ing about in the smoke l i k e sperm i n semen were the two inch dragonfly people. They had t i n y human faces, th in , green, c a t e r p i l l a r bodies and buzzing golden wings with blood red spots and s i l v e r f r inges around the edges. They smiled and hummed Beethoven's F i f t h which vibrated warm, perfumed wine-massage-vapors through my bones. I eased back i n t o

my chai r , took a long, easy s i p of coffee and watched the thousand p ix ies orgy around the l ightbulb . I smiled. Those buggies couldn't s t ay f r iendly and sexy, though. They began t o dive-bomb a t me from t h e c e i l i n g and t o scream," SILLY WILLY NILLY, CRAZY DAISY BOY, YOU'RE GONNA LOSE YOUR JOB ! ! ! " I f e l t t he p ins d ig i n a s they lashed a t my bare neck, hands and f e e t with t h e i r fangs and s t i n g e r s . I sprang up and got the broom. I pe l ted them pes t s t o the f loor i n waves but they were honest s o l d i e r s . They bounced off t h e f loor and came back f o r more. Realizing t h a t t h e broom wasn't going t o do the t r i c k , I ran and grabbed a can of Raid Bug Spray. I dodged the demons emmitting clouds of chemical death spray from my f i n g e r t i p . The buggies took i n the gas and dropped vanishing i n a thousand mini geysers of smoke across the f l o o r . The storm-invasion was f i n a l l y over . The t o a s t e r had f i l l e d the kitchen up with so much smoke t h a t 1-

c o u l d n ' t s e e from one s i d e of t h e room t o t h e o t h e r . My l u n g s a c h e d and my e y e s s t u n g . My nose c o u l d h a r d l y t o l e r a t e t h e s m e l l o f t h e c h e m i c a l s anymore. I, however, was t o o e x h a u s t e d t o go o u t s i d e . I s a t on t h e f l o o r g a s p i n g w i t h my back slumped a g a i n s t t h e w a l l . One d r a g o n f l y remained and it resumed humming t h e o symphony w h i l e h o v e r i n g above t h e t o a s t e r f rom which 0 l i c k e d and f l a s h e d s e v e r a l 0 orange t o n g u e s o f f l a m e . I c h u c k l e d t o myse l f , " Heh, - heh, heh . To t h i n k them p s y c h o l o g i s t s wanted t o pump

- -

m e - f u l l of l i t h i u m when a l l I needed was a c a n o f Ra id t o e x t e r m i n a t e my p s y c h o s i s ! " My l a u g h t e r t u r n e d t o howls and t e a r s came t o my e y e s when t h e ambulances and f i r e t r u c k s p u l l e d i n t o t h e dr iveway and I g u e s s t h a t e x p l a i n s t h e w h i t e r o b e t h a t - I have on a t t h i s v e r y moment, t o o . TRANSISTOR I

Jay Curkendall 535 Palm Street Santa Cruz, CA

95060 . (SEE DETAIL)

Just when you were finding out the chord changes to "Birdland". Just when the oran e meridian split the sky open like some great beetle spreading her wings to fly ~ O L J turn opalescent eyes up onto her glittering underplates and see there a cr/bson hourglass. Your life and others tumbles out of control in a formless void.

on:y thing now connectin me in my solitude and you there in yours is a 9, filamentous whisper of a thoug I like love. A blue-toned guitar note stretching oaken timbers ti1 they burst into splinters. metal disks beneath the skin, radiating. Open your eyes, dammit! These are no mere random images!

A SPOOR IS BORN

A light on yonder window breaks! What far-begotten tastycakes Have loomed within the minds of men To poison dreams with images Clucked up like rocks from gizzards red To stay the rest of sleepy heads Pureed with dust of dying fish That from this harrier's net did slip

So life is worn like tattered socks Held up by garters, leaving bare The unpruned toenail, bulbous heel And bunions Dr. Scholl won't dare To shave with savage emery boards As though defeat to muddle toward

When from this sleep the deacon steps No trace remains of the world he left No campus radio, t-shirt transfers, Cornflake drones, or body snatchers When from sleep this geek arises All he'll see are booby prizes Won by feet through yards of gauze Ad hesive-taped to athlete's claws The game is over, it's a draw.

A SPOOR IS CLONED

HOCUS, POCUS, mucous membrane How could anyone complain That when you drip from yonder brain, You tend to leave a mottled stain On pillowcases, floral-printed Brylcreem-soiled, and lemon-scented Although you leak, you cause no pain For this, a modest price we pay.

ECCE HOMO

I am man, I clean the bathroom of god I bathe in surly wonderlust In hallowed dungeons, swept by gnomelike underlings

I am man, I kave the driving to Us. Through piquant groves of olive trees I traipse and mince like anchovies Upon the vernal equinox of frozen pizza labyrinths

In valley deep or mountain high I scrawl my name on the dingy ru Of eternity. Does t h i

i

Magic Brillet Press 169 West Hzir7tirzgdorz Street Philadelphia, PA 19133

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. . - . .- - -- ~~ - ..- - -

The Bitch Trrp H

by Remington Murphy

Two smoke bombs, synchronized with his feat, explode to either side, belching pillars of thick mushroom smoke.

R i c . The bag you 're in, the fear you fear. You're a superhuman, subhuman freebase queer.

Have a look into the mirror, see the faces in your face. You're a subdeb hero. You're a see-through zero. You're an ax- whacking, dick- flashing mongoloid in space.

You're quadriplegic, baby. You've got no right to exist. Why don Y you pop your head into the oven? Why don? you go jump off a roof?

You light the fuse, and buckle your shoes,

B i c . The tongues I've tied..

peter 6 ~i OILens. Tied!

J X i c . The lots I've cried.

and pretty soon you're dusted and comatose. peter c Vi Ol~ens. Eyed! Three months later, you ain't come down. You up for life, stop fucking around. I ~ i c . The rivers I've frozen.

Ric treats the audience to a twenty-second peter 6 ~i OILens. internal frontal lobotomy replete with excruciating combustion engine!

Velvet Underground-decible feedback.

Music Sputters.

Now Soliciting Original Manuscripts

for The f i r s t O f f i c i a l

Magic Bullet Science Fiction

Anthology.

Parameters are still wide open with regard to theme, style, and lenath!

Get your submission ready and send it to:

Editor Remington Murphy 1358 Lindberg Ave. Roslyn, PA 19001

deadline for submissions, April 1, 1987.