Before you do anything else, please go and send all your money to this friend of NTK's Danny O'Brien who wants to put computers on bicycles in Laos. Very good cause. Done that? Good. Now, where were we?
Ah yes. Skint. Anyway, so lately we've mainly been spending our time looking up instances of the word 'fuck' in Linux kernel code, pretending not to read Usenet, and writing software to produce cheese directly from your computer, using only Perl and Csound. This has been a poor strategy for life, one which has in fact led directly to that state of mind where the Bad Editor within takes over, and it is time, yet again, for another issue of Swallow, *right now*. Otherwise it'll be another year until we get around to it.
This month, or year, or whatever, we have two excellent poems by Rebecca Lu Kiernan, which are also able to accompany with a small gallery of photographs of Rebecca Lu Kiernan, which she sent us after we told her we liked the poetry.
Rebecca Lu Kiernan's self-written blurb reminded us a lot of Zippy, with all the capital letters, but we don't care, we still like the poems, and given that the second poem came accompanied with a threat to curse us if we repeated anything personal, we fear, frankly, that we may have already said too much, and we live in hope that the small gallery of photos will not be taken in the wrong way.
Then again, Swallow, as anyone reading it prior to submitting work would know, has never ever had any photographic images of human beings in it before, not once in the fourteen issues since February 1997.
That just changed, of course.
From now on, of course, photographs will be compulsory for all contributors - details are given on the AQ page.
D. Bruno Starrs, on the other hand, is a playwright who believes that the '\221' and '\222' characters are apostrophes. We agree with TomG, who has compiled a useful list of things which are not apostrophes, since there are clearly numerous people having difficulty with this kind of thing.
As we write this, we have yet to read D. Bruno Starrs' actual play, since we need to reformat it and remove all the strange characters in it in order to do so. While we're about it, you may as well read it too. Here's hoping...
Now wasn't that a cheery enough way to spend fifteen minutes, in these times of permanent imminent worldwide collapse of everything. We're so glad. Thanks, D. Bruno. To cheer you up a bit after that, here's some more cheery riffing on depression and suicide from Llamacentral, a rather fine site, if low - indeed, entirely lacking - in Jeff Minter material despite the 'llama' reference.
In addition to D. Bruno Starr and Rebecca Lu Kiernan, we had been hoping very much to bring you a poem by a man with no middle name, Graeme Stewart, which we found on everypoet.com, but we can no longer find it, and we failed to take a local copy, because we are stupid. It has now been some hours since we sent our email, and we fear we will have to wait until next issue to bring you the poem.
We also have two poems by Carla Klein-Smith, who we met randomly on the internet somewhere, and who abruptly ceased answering our emails after she agreed - apropos nothing to do with Swallow - to meet up for a drink one night, cancelled at the last minute, then ceased all communication with an abrupt thud. An encounter much like that with my last ex, only without the messy, awkward, relationship bit in the middle - indeed, by actually sending me poetry, Carla already communicated with me more than my ex ever did, though I'm still not expecting to hear from either of them again any time soon. I don't care. I still quite like the poems.
Finally, there's some random links to stuff we found on the internet, as usual, plus a technical innovation on the increasingly tired links page, which has now descended into nothing more than one of those crappy old random url whirligigs, only with a pointless front-end that not only doesn't work but tells you so.
Better to go and read the rest of the stories in the RICHH archive. Some of them are even better than the one about Carl Sagan's pizza.
Life, as all readers of Swallow know already, is just fabulous. We're dancing here. No, really.
How's by you?
fuck said the kernel