August 2008
VOL XVI, Issue 8, Number 184
Editor: Klaus J. Gerken
Production Editor: Heather Ferguson
European Editor: Mois Benarroch
Contributing Editors: Michael Collings; Jack R. Wesdorp; Oswald Le Winter
Previous Associate Editors: Igal Koshevoy; Evan Light; Pedro Sena
ISSN 1480-6401
INTRODUCTION
The Swing Set Poems
by
Lynn Strongin
Prelude
The next song will be called Anniversary Ashes
CONTENTS
Blessings on your kepi (Yiddish: blessings on your head)
Hope
Coming Home Alone after Dark
It's the 3 a.m. of the year
Silk (or Keeping our love alive)
Counters
Day has bent, burnt margins
When
Part Two
Honoraria
Photographs for a summer Day
"H"
Brimful of Story
Silent
We speak in sign language.
Lilac Festival
In October
"Having way too much fun"
Poetry on Poles
Candy wrapper
Not the soul of buttery July
Nothing lulls you into sleep, insomniac since diagnosis
Who slept like a baby.
you thought they knew your name
A woman flings a body her body on her grave
A ghost comes from a boy in the mail
Part III
Outed for Wearing Black
Coda
This puny ghost, midsummer, shrinks in white sheet two hole-eyes doesn't care me:
I rise to my Goliath, summer
Aunt Glo & Nikki
Polio scratched a lot beneath the surface
Outed for Wearing Black?
Leave the young thing alone
Slow Dance
POST SCRIPTUM
Silker, it's a slippery slope to slide
All Poems copyright (c) 2008 Lynn Strongin
THE SWING SET POEMS
by
Lynn Strongin
Prelude
~~~~~~~
The next song will be called Anniversary Ashes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I did not rob the cradle. She found me
With dark eyes
Skating over jewellery:
Earlier
Over cake glaze.
The next tune will be. . .quartet-played
Dancing on the deck of the Titanic
Swirling in satin kimono
Combination of gray & mulberry-coloured silk.
I just remembered you leave tomorrow for Japan
Robbie is healing?
Dreaming of her two anti-gravity chairs
A mind space of silver
Being pulled down
The razor
Sheet lightning, freaked out:
Theatrically launched into selling jewels
But being weighted
She was a scary child
Never bought the idea of doll as girl child
Scotch-Irish
Like beloved Ben
No porcelain ancestors:
Confident, a bookworm
Like most of her friends she is a black star of memory
She never took a break for tea, finger sandwiches, a show
By gravity
By love
By the grave the tug of
Buxom, drawn down by
Burden.
I am the bread of life
Blessings on your kepi (Yiddish: blessings on your head)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You wore a backpack when you took me out to dinner
& Black. Always black.
You are a caution.
(The water from the faucet has curvature of the spine.)
"Hi there, baby doll," aunt will say tomorrow
Her husband says today "Blessings on your kepi."
Blessings on yours & mine.
Blessings on my kepi.
What if childhood abuse has spread, a raspberry strain
What if you cannot tell your family certain things?
There is a darker side to whimsy:
Finding the good part is hard
With this sombre underpinning.
But you carry brightness into everything:
a sense of well being, pizzazz and an ability to carry out daily tasks without exhaustion or pain _ such effects can be hard to document.
Apple chancery
I can make you mine
With a bang on a window
You're outside, regal. Decorum
Even for a mermaid your hair would be a cascade
Above the crowed, I dream streamers in your hair for the fourth of July
You'd dumb rainbows down.
Hope
~~~~
Aunt Glory Be was delayed at Bob Hope airport. Summer is viral, a contagion.
She has high fever, is eighty. Spikes like her hiked shoulder in fur fifty years ago. 103 degrees.
The last relative in the world dear to me in silk mulberry bloodlines.
Nor is Anne terribly well: she has gouged her head again, over 70 still
Suffering multiply personalities.
Layers of heat sheathe a tree.
And what of Robbie?
At her sleekest raven best
At her buttery best, "You look radiant."
"That's the clue I'm ill. My mother told me I always did when I was ill as a child."
Lustrous curls. Leaves turn, a fly buzzes in the bath, and I wear a cape of blue tweed.
Older woman. I cannot calm down. This is not blood this is longing:
Summer proceeds like a dead army
Troops, infantry still on boo- feet but sleepwalking beaten by a white whip
Into "Obey!". I lift the hopper of the phone, seize the day
Against summers fire in the groin, heat in the sky, greifs & flickering contagions.
Coming Home Alone after Dark
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To chocolate bible, committed to memory. This is not mock joy. This is joy despite
Cancer appointments eating up your day off
The whale
Gulping Jonah's life
To the lees of the lungs.
Shrug into black coat
enter with pure heart
Is it time to start saying the long goodbyes?
Je vous embrace tendrement.
When the Tiburons no longer like the folk on the lane
They consider a move South
Where the light bill will drop down like fever in a plumb line.
Bought the book "My Sister, My Love."
As rings circle Saturn
So fears
The innocent up against freak cells.
The slaughter of the Innocents.
I put "Chocolaterie" on the wall.
I am pale. Antipodal: Antiphonal this is
The new sweet Bible.
It's the 3 a.m. of the year
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The two little Chinese boys play with dad while mum works at Pharmasave. Wei.
The five year old does homework: adding numbers she wrote on paper
The younger
She gave colouring book and crayons.
His crown.
You hum St James Infirmary swinging home past cancer cafes in your mind
Chiming time
Wearing London Fog, you stride home, collar upturned, Irish complexion.
Your hymn.
You walk past jewellers
The purple ring "pure confection" our birthstone amethyst
I gave you, the ring
The shard of amethyst round your neck
The fear bird in your heart stretching, testing its soot-coloured wings.
Silk (or Keeping our love alive)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
God forbid our evenings drift into monotony, like waves, or soldiers
Keep us two happy campers, yelling `I prefer summer! I prefer winter!"
We bust out a game:
Counters are glass buttons.
Meanwhile, another log t=on the fire
Robbie
"I'm a hedgehog" she says, broad shoulders shaking with laughter
coal hair rippling
passing the mannequins in the hat shop
the dummies at one a .m.
home from Nevada where she went as rep "It's quite the place."
Home is some sort of candy box town
Unwrapped
Silver foil: each Victoria cream
A different ward.
Her mother's bipolar. Her sister thin-skinned.
I'm a hedgehog. I haven't told them:"
Counters
~~~~~~~~
Small glass discs. Rose & teal. I run them thru my hand like water. Robbie would love
If they had cheer leaders and prom queens
when she was in high school, I can't imagine her wanting to be among them
though she is them.
My girl, a flipflop on each yellow tee shirt breast
Comes along the street, head bent, unwhistling.
Catholic
Spider bit her
Her taste buds died.
We pull out games: pieces fall.
"These counters are contrary. See, they can roll under chairs, people lose them.
Dogs swallow them."
Who wants money? Dogs won't eat it.
She struggles to make adhere four small rubber feet.
"Maybe they swell in the heat
Like feet."
"I will write the game people a letter," she says.
They say love gives wings.
I fly over the valley
Thru the alley
Into the heat wave
Warmed by caffeine fuel
Over boostores
The city's monorail roar
Beyond the mudflats to Robbie.
Any good thing sings.
Day has bent, burnt margins
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Glass can curve.
I read my letters under the glass.
Keep me in loop, love, my secret love.
I drive my engine
& caboose
I spend my life trying to keep you happy
Disconsolate.
Here comes icicle Creek
With the softest plush rose down cheek
A real plus
But rare humor:
A true minus.
Deep voice
A homerun
& then silken.
The moustache of an adolescent boy
Huge heartache
& heartthrob:
woman gardener
up to no good
What God created her?
My best wish
My heart's dish
Mother said "Tears before a goy"
Yet she is to me
Purity
Itself
In deep disguise
A voice that comes up from the grave
O my love.
I bend myself out of shape driving to encourage her gay
Streak.
Freak thunderheads
peak.
A tall woman.
I am small, peppery, gung-ho yet know with her
In a lifelong song swap
Even joy:
The hidden magical life of Toy
Beyond destroy.
When
~~~~
When I have fallen like a ton of bricks
Like a house on fire
Like a shower of sparks.
If you should really be six steps from death
the crown of life now would tarnish:
I would have a meltdown.
Part Two
Honoraria
Photographs for a summer Day
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(The Wonder of it All
The Tudor of it all)
"H"
~~~
Green blue, and ward white emulsions lift.
Home from hospital, photographs of a milky summer day when I am twelve years old
A girl
Dancing on her own grave: I shift frames.
I save the jackets
But remove the flawed
Emulsions. So many ruined colours I cover mouth with child hand.
In the footlights
0Behind amplified silence, my ears burn:
The stethoscopes turned up. I am paralyzed, a new situation.
Far from Flushing, Queens
We brownstone winter
In a castle in Manhattan. Bashful, my sister brushes a lock from her eye.
Brimful of story
Silent
~~~~~~
I. We speak in sign language.
My own true love, ma mariee
Tie her hands and she could not speak.
Even with them, there is a shy grouse-in-bush difficulty. Every footstep.
Oui, Fifty years later, my lover of thirty-three years, Honoraria
Here you come home.
Homilies, honest, haunting
The wonder of it all. One-door, the two-door:
The Tudor village.
Angels are asexual our marriage virginal as vestal virgin oil:
So we move elbows for wings thru summer air.
There is a Yankee Candle sale.
A frosty D‚tente. Her comes Honoraria
Nun
None of this
None of that
Green plastic milk basket is a statement
Rolled up blueprints
Flowcharts
Robbie, I'd given you the blueprints
To a chocolate factory
Your jet hair belies the firework vase a few inches inside detonate.
Lilac Festival
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Glistens butter bumblebees
Sun blond boys
Ice cream lips
Girls in jerseys:
After the2nd cat scan you rise
Add to boiling water coffee
The scent spreading
Like news of release, remission
Across a lake where a tree falls suddenly
And a bird takes off at gun:
Habit of loving, Ben's hand pouring, light on blond knuckle-hairs. Ecstasy is come.
In October
~~~~~~~~~~
You will fully awake to dark overtures, the wild card
Star-nosed moles
Destiny. I'd give a king's ransom not to have this happen.
Printed out in Apple Chancery.
Nothing ad-libbed now
A red maple
Solitary
Like that marble headstone the night guard watched over
Even when sleep threatens
Like spider webs a cracked windshield
Scattered with asterisk prints of almonds & acorns fallen cold so soon only yesterday agleam.
"Having way too much fun"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After managing a chocolate shop, now a jewellery.
Now the bush is filled with wasps
Not
Bees. A sombre array.
Now the whole window full of sails
Is nearly
Nest-empty.
In your night garden
You carry
A tray of popsicles. After the surgery, you planned one colour
A day.
No Theresa melting in ecstasy
You look at the goldfinch strung out with heat
Trees: serviceberries.
The popsicles are bleached. And you are running toward god on empty.
Poetry on Poles
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lover do you wear white because you've been raped & want to become invisible?
Robbie, do you wear bights because you are a tart
At heart
But a swept
Applecart
Tart?
Poetry on poles.
You don't want to end wrapped around one
So you come undone
Quietly in night
As Ben unpins your long black hair
Now in bleakness
Now striding out
Pioneer woman without bonnet going against into full sun.
In summer living is not easy. Hoarfrost ignites in sun.
The light is precise like crust of frost on ice:
If love comes.
Bandbox,
Fatalist, I come.
Candy wrapper
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i.
Particularly noticeable during romantic scenes on screen.
A river of stars flows above you
But death below?
The siege
Is slow
To swing into motion like an ancient pair of playground swings, chains rusting
All these years unnoticed.
Now, an abandoned theme park like in a Japanese animee film:
Disease re-activated.
An Arctic midsummer.
The angelic beauty of the prepubescent male voice in Nordic August.
A typesetter's divorce drags on
An assistant's computer gets sick
The pipe fitter of heaven
Is in the thick
Of change.
Who would be a child-counter?
Bean counters are another thing
Like crucified rabbit in a kids' book.
ii.
My niece must make her curtain call to cutting:
One final swish of the blade
Filmed.
A grad project.
I have loved the darks & brights. Now blight.
Robbie rises to birdsong of brand new day, old, dark already, gnarled as clay.
Basically, no one wants to do much
But dream of snow
The Polar Bear Robbie installed at the jeweler's
Wears diamond tiara
Her next fantasy trip will be up to Churchill, Manitoba.
We have come to this now: no row
But loud birds. Summer the epicenter of sorrow.
On the lip of winter, autumn
On the lip of autumn
Summer
Dusty magnolia:
& a wife dreaming she is St Francis
delighting the cedar wax wing
who lights up.
Cupped hands, Francis of Assisi had a theory:
Take from the full, fill the empty,
Peonies are your grandmother's favorite. She is gone.
Present are Egon & John, new trees unfruited last year
Fruitng:
Wooden pears. Sweetheart tells me you can make the beverage "Peary" from them.
A fairly alights
On my desk.
Who studies to polish a gun?
Gladiolas bronze.
You drive to Langford. There are no new messages on the server
The West Shore community of Langford on the southern tip of Vancouver Island is named after Edward Langford, a respected regional farm operator in the mid 1800s.
Unlike you, buxom, Bloxom:
Late spring is stretched out in her glass lilac coffin, her lips still warm
You picture Arctic Fox, footsteps in snow
In the cancer clinic
Reducing blue diamonds into one silver crystal gem, blue with glow, now exploding in a mine.
Not the soul of buttery July
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You rise in November's carob satin destiny
Its glories.
Tall to the sky-high ceiling with Ben.
What now?
What then?
Managerial, you tick off appointments like flicking ladybugs off your black caftan.
In love, there is invariably ambivalence
Some sort of betrayal or other is always going on.
It fertilizes the garden.
Tailored on the mantel of my mind
A hymn
Outside the nursing home
Is a pond, a poem on the bus is what you have always wanted to be?
A bus
No a train
A freight rain? A boxcar?
No, the Freedom train
A Cake-train
Carrying a multitude of passengers red-cheeked, some bottle in hand, waving:
Bursting like the old woman who lived in a shoe
*& had so many children she didn't know what to do:
Clamoring like gospel babies wriggling out of church
Searching for quince jam. The Great I am.
Take your waves back water, your boxful of ashes, gravestone. Asters rise thru brick. It is spring.
Nothing lulls you into sleep, insomniac since diagnosis
Who slept like a baby.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You are a pinwheel on a birthday cake you can't stop.
Wind milling
Both arms to me on the street from the window of the goldsmith shop.
Watches are upstairs in the hot garret
Down the staircase you frequently descend like princess making an entrance
There is much excitement about the new European watchmaker:
Keeping time like sun above ocean, at the heated top.
Settled, you cannot stay silent:
Life is no chapel.
You drink Snapple
You think of Chancery Apple
Print
Outrunning your grief, the crap, of cancer-trip-after trip
From midsummer afternoon the hammock, holding you who have never been secure, a child, in late nap noon.
you thought they knew your name
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
But this is not your name.
It's syllables & consonants are not the same.
Chiffon would be your fabric, not the asexual white hospital gown they sleep you into
Under a summer sky you cannot remember the like or number of gingersnaps
under a perfect buttered hoop of July full moon.
A woman flings a body her body on her grave
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That is melodrama.
This afternoon the sky is dun
The sky has
Melanoma.
Now
Alive. "They all came up," the flowers on a dress.
This is midsummer
The game cannot be suddenly over
A frost-paper memory
A kiss & its consequent bliss.
A ghost comes from a boy in the mail
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
An advertisement for "Photography Today.'
You prefer a whistle
In a thunderstorm the hay hears music
Loud train rattling
Tracks following miles & miles switching circuit like an indicted name.
Part III
OUTED FOR WEARING BLACK
Summer has come to my door
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once more wreathed in bees & lilac colours:
I will not fight, nor will I invite it back once more.
June brought ovarian cancer for Chase
July cervical cancer for Robbie. Heat, take back your bouquet
Doorway.
Summer late childhood was sombre burnt glass:
I do not come home to a prison concrete house, but a brick cottage covered with roses like a rash that stabs.
Thirst coast-to-coast
Carbon in the air
I wear a willow-weave black shirt, partially bamboo. What gives?
From my stepmother
Who knows a thing or two:
Unwinding like a winding sheet
To reveal
The lover's passionate body
Denied, detailed, like a photograph of a child at the end of the nineteenth century
When sickbeds were held like candles to the sun
One knelt before them.
Coda
~~~~
The tail has a tail
The tale curves round.
Small, humorous looking birds call attention to themselves
Shafted, precise as under glass.
Like scenery viewed from a too-slowly moving freight train
Across Nebraska, Kansas.
Iowa corn elephant=eye high::
The wheats
Alfalfa grass blowing
A chaff cloud
Like mushrooms
That thick
Never-ending
Wonder: one-door, two door homes of brick.
The Tudor buildings fall off into oblivion.
This puny ghost, midsummer, shrinks in white sheet two hole-eyes doesn't care me:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shrikes strike
Vacations are not always what they might be:
I've tied my yellow ribbon
Will Robbie lose her glossy
Chestnut curls? Chemo can do this. Radiation burns.
Writes she:
Black, always black. I hide me large body
in the forbidden colour
(non-colour technically).
All of my colour I wear in my eyes and face.
As a little person I was told that my sister could get by on her looks and I would get
with my personality
My grandfather (Grandgeorge) said that some day the boys would grow up and really see my beauty I covered myself up in black so people would be forced to see
my personality which lives in my face. And now I have been found out. Outed as a black wearer.
The bike gloves fit me perfectly:
The bee fits the glass.
But anger will not pass: coal is in the night: boxcars carry clay:
Does buzz: this is what the burn does: then slips silence.
The saw is what the lover saw, then locked both lips.
I rise to my Goliath, summer
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i.
You glide away, woman I live with, all flags furled, having
Hacked bamboo & shrub.
I struggle with July, knowing August will lead
final infantry into triumph,
autumn is a given: not the grave.
ii.
The lede
Are the opening words in a new story:
Once upon a time printed in lead.
David, now, small
Davide
I try coax colour back into cheeks
Pure-hearted, the boy
Shot stone
Colourful as a hatbox
Lady
In black caftan
Soul in eyes
Wedding cake
Blues
Body diaphanous as Rembrandt's Saskia, Hedgehog drawn in.
Sleeve
Like chiffon above the tomb, the wood coffin:
Flows over & beyond sorrows, engulfing snows:
The cake train leaves the station on time under frost moon. Boxcars heave
In Russian night the way we love: Marl is night outed for wearing black?
Smoke wreathes curl back, mortality leaving us a window:
About us all, fur-muffs, the svelte of Robbie. Night's the natural pull-shade to day.
Aunt Glo & Nikki
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Came up, a fountain of colours from the south. Up North. To the Empress.
He was fourteen. Aunt was taking him on the cruise she took his brother on
To celebrate graduation from midschool, androgynous youth.
A head of Irish Jewish curls.
She was questioned at the border for possible
Abducting him.
And you, tall woman: Outed for wearing black? You've struck a home run in an inning.
One doesn't need a light on when you're in the room.
Glow sticks raspberry confections become glowworms
But Honey has the blues:
She threatens to put up police lines
Around her room. Computer's on the fritz again. Needs new glasses.
In your eyes which contain your colour
Your smile
Your caftan copious as Rembrandt's Saskia your arm commands the goldsmith shop
In a sweep
Like a sea captain's
A conductor's baton the penguins in black.
Sweetheart has the glums.
Doe-skin. When ill, your eyes glow?
They do now & you are in the peak of summer
Like Aunti Glow, a babe at 80, who has gone & come
Glasses shoved back on top of head
A blonde Amelia Earhart crossing her ocean.
You cross the room. Polar bear shines. Whitecaps peak like children in church making steeples
with knuckles, folding & unfolding pale hands.
Polio scratched a lot beneath the surface
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Glass townships arch spires. Storks nest. Redistribute hay.
An icepack on the spine cools small villages on fire, gleam.
At home, arms akimbo: a worship of gadgets.
Summer
Friction. Chewing children's vitamins.
Burgundy Lace.
Samuel Johnson is quoted saying
"portrait painting is a natural consequence of affection."
Rob has offered to take mine
To show how she sees me: I am in fear
Of quarantined houses, bronze-green copper rooves, Slavic Steppes
But somewhere a phone booth outside Stalingrad to slip a coin in
Swap romantic words, dream. What if she photo shoots me, Moscow woman with a past, half
smile cigarette on lip, hands in pocket
catching a Northern European oblique rain?
Outed for Wearing Black?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For thinking bleak
For taking life back
In two firm hands
Like torquing a piece of paper. Like being tucked into satin quilts with silver moons.
Except, those are bales of silver chain
You untwist
Like bandages unwound
& set in the tall glass A[apothecary jar in the goldsmith shop with its brandy shadows:
liquor flickers.
You move forward to a client & you fear dying.
Leave the young thing alone
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She's not that young
Her smile takes the circus crowd for a ride.
When I'm sad she comes to me with a thousand grins
Red balloons.
Dancing on the tomb
Are we? She has her list of suppliers on hand. How tall exactly is she?
The ward will not let go: Agon aglow:
Pain was my cubicles mate not my reflection: the mirror's waters lap but I'm not that thick in.
White as a bearded snow goat
Death entered the room.
Slow Dance
~~~~~~~~~~
Be well & goodnight. Do we
Slow dance over the coals of death
Here up north?
Held breath
Sore
Rib.
A pen's nib
Gets it down.
Tears fall down on burning glass, won't cool it down.
Cannot hose the fire. Chill out
Dream shout.
Grab the rails
The liner tilts
Ocean will leap, salt, in colour of my eyes green, stormcloud your eyes brown:
Summer frictions flare up like a pile of matchbooks in our home
Volatile arguments
Volcanic time
While this slow dance goes on, lady
Knee bent
In courteous curtsey, you, genuflect leave blaze marks on trees.
Silker, it's a slippery slope to slide
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Don't give me the gears, the business:
Goodbye, silver cloud, goodbye, silver lining.
Slang's a saviour.
Mother was morbid but had her gay streak:
Could dance with hatboxes in her arms at eleven p.m.
You park your trees under the blaze of cars, slip into the jeweller's, six foot:
"Me, selling jewels, driving this old beat-up Toyota"
Whites that leap high as ponies, unicorns rear
Seahorse waves in there in the dark Old Boys Club atmosphere.
The miniature high heels fastened round my wrist by Robbie
Nearly came undone. I felt a slide of silver under my arm
It remains secure, unlike her whose lover will not marry her:
Big Ben: a silver chain she cut to shorten it from ankle bracelet to wrist
White cold underside of black & red shoe. I walked at age 9 in Autie Go's high heels
But what to do?
Silker, it's a slippery slope to slide down into depression
There the trees are darkest bronze green
There the palominos can browse
At the watering hole
Till their tongues are not parched felt in their mouths:
There, their sweetness goes down
*
All Poems copyright (c) 2008 Lynn Strongin
All poems copyrighted by their respective authors. Any reproduction of
these poems, without the express written permission of the authors, is
prohibited.
YGDRASIL: A Journal of the Poetic Arts - Copyright (c) 1993 - 2008 by
Klaus J. Gerken.
The official version of this magazine is available on Ygdrasil's
World-Wide Web site http://www.synapse.net/~kgerken. No other
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Distribution is allowed and encouraged as long as the issue is unchanged.
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