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Excerpts
from willzine #3… Letters Dear Sirs: So I think they should tax condoms or something, cuz then the people who're having sex would like pay for the social problems. But the real problem is animals--and they should tax the animals. Look at bestiality--sex is O.K., but as soon as you have an animal there there's a problem and the police. But with this tax you could control the animals better and stop their viscousness--then like if a dog bites someone, there could be like special forces, like troopers who could stop it and help. This does not by any means that we would have a standard of living. It's just that the taxes and all could implement the social problems. This depends on if the people are ready for it, I am hopeful. Daniel P.
Dear Sirs: It was with a trembling hand that I opened the last issue of WZ. I sat on the couch and started to read, and in an instant began weeping like a child, or like a woman; like a woman/child regressing to some innocent state, deep within myself. I laughed and cried and laughed and cried. The joy flowed through me like warm water, and I felt I was the pink newborn baby being squeezed out of the virginal vagina of the Great Earth Mother Beast. I had infinite powers and was not bound by time or the laws of nature. With the slightest movement of a hand I could create vast fields of color, geometric impossibilities, and iven life itself. I was at one with everything, floating in a calm peace that I cannot even begin to describe. My family unfortunately did not share my passion for the zine. They didn't like it. And I suspected they did not like me either. I'm glad to say WZ gave me the strength and clarity of mind to do the right thing to correct this situation--to hack my entire family into smaller pieces with an ax. My wife, two boys and our dog "Peppy" now share a common resting place in the cement of our basement floor. This arrangement has brought a profound bliss into the home as now my family, willzine, and myself share a harmonious coexistence. Thank you. Orville Q.
Creativity, integrity, murder, cannibalism and manners: Why I like Farmer Vincent of Motel Hell. …Farmer Vincent is a multifaceted person. He's a businessman but also altruistic, a farmer, a man of the land whose speech gives him away as being no hick, a religious, moralistic man who can be philosophic and prone to reflective moments. Embodying an integrity that few others can claim, Vincent lives his life according to strict morals and values rather than changing his beliefs to conveniently fit situations as they arise. He values creativity and is a practical person unimpressed with the trappings of the material world; he uses an 8-track tape player in his truck. And like all tragic heroes he possesses a fatal flaw, humanizing him, bringing his downfall by the movie's end. The more I watched Motel Hell, the more my affinity toward Farmer Vincent grew…
from willzine #3… The Boyertown Opera House Fire: Door Handles. Germs. Hicks. …the varieties of doors and their different physical operations cause, I think, much "door handle ambiguity." Enough to cause people something akin to Door Operation Anxiety Disorder, the main symptom of which is the nervousness and resultant stress or even panic one begins to feel when approaching a door and realizing he or she is unsure, even if just momentarily, of exactly how the door works, or if he/she will be able to open it at all. |
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This is often exacerbated if one sees signs that this is an automatic door, tripped by sensors that detect you approaching. Will the doors open up, or won't they? Many times I've barely avoided smacking my face on automatic doors that didn't start to budge until I was within a few inches of them. Of course your first reaction here is to raise an arm to physically open the thing, and when the door immediately jerks open before you touch it your arm hangs there awkwardly in space in a kind of semi-defensive mini-flail. It can't be attractive to have this happen in public, to jerk around spastically as if someone just tossed a rubber tarantula at you…
willzine Predicts! In the future television newscasters will only report stories dealing with their own lives, and the lives of celebrities and other famous people. Viewers will sit through video footage of weddings, Christmas's and other religious celebrations, vacations, births, children's first steps, medical procedures and barbecues, all taken from the day to day experiences of newspeople and others prominent in the media. Coincidentally, by this time the suicide rate will have skyrocketed to record highs.
From willzine #4… Barber Tales #3 …It's probably the best testament to Oscar's personality, the fact that several other barbers hated his guts. He was unusual in that he wasn't a drunk, and did not seem at all screwed in the head. Oscar had dark curly hair and looked a lot like Richard Simmons but without the effeminate voice and mannerisms. He took the barber business seriously, rarely bad mouthing either it or the customers. This alone was enough to make him disliked by the barbers, but his reserved manner, good treatment of customers, and attempts to be professional about his work ensured certain barbers would despise him…
Letter from the Editor The offices of willzine rise from rolling hills and surrounding woods like some kind of scary, menacing phallic monster. Walls of pristine black glass, enclosed steel walkways, surrounded by neatly trimmed grounds: harsh angles of brick, cement and matte gray steel fused into five imposing stories of Teutonic perfection. Like a cross between a typical corporate office and a nuclear reactor, it has an austere, silent, coiled-power look about it that says "Don't 'F' with us." Intimidating. Aside from an eighteen foot tall fiberglass clown standing inexplicably on the lawn in front (I think it's from a car dealership that existed in the 50s. Not sure--it was "given" to me) and the occasional baseball or horseshoe that have come bursting through upper floor windows falling to the lawn with a thud, there is no outer indication of the nature of activities being conducted inside. And that's the way I plan on keeping it…
The willzine Novel …Joe was a guy. A real guy, the kind o guy you could find anywhere you went. He 2was the kind of guy you might find pumping your gas, managing a grocery store, leading your local Boy Scout troop, or as the military dictator of some African country--ruling with an iron fist, orchestrating the most heinous atrocities on any dissenters and depriving the populace of basic needs while siphoning millions out of the country for his own uses. Joe lived in an apartment…
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