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     |  ___________     _/_/       | |  \ \       _/_/       ___________  |
     | |              _/_/_____    | |   > >    _/_/_____               | |
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     | |      c   o   m   m   u   n   i   c   a   t   i   o   n   s     | |
     | |________________________________________________________________| |
     |____________________________________________________________________|

  ...presents...           'Thrown into the Mix'
                                                            ...by ld

                      >>> a cDc publication.......1994 <<<
                        -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
______________________________________________________________________________
  
      "Hey...Dorris?  Were we supposed to get off at exit 125, or exit 152?"

  A flash of yellow-orange lights...Moving slowly to the right.  Steel grey
  boundaries...Sweeping grooves of air, pulled behind massive hunks of metal,
  particles vibrating in unison, pouring forth from the clear sheet of plastic
  that provides perspective.  Rails...cars...music...windows.

      "I think it was 125, hon."

 George, a methodical middle-aged man.  Dorris, the typical, if slightly more
 feministic, wife.  A drive through the country.

      "Shit.  All right, babe...lets get going.  Sorry."

 George sits thinking; 125, or 152?  Those damn Seven Eleven managers.

  125...152...He thinks...Particles held bound, straining against their thin,
  doubly-layered captors, silent in their bondage.  A distant premonition...
  a far-off thunder...a rolling.  The captive particles press roughly against
  the solid resistance of their cell.  The rumbling grows in vibration...The
  very particles of George's being anticipate their long-awaited freedom.  In
  a sudden sweep of ecstacy, they are free...roughly catapulted into the free
  motion of the Matrix...only a fraction of a thought later to be cruelly 
  drawn inward once again.

 Turn...turn...turn...right.

  A distant alarm.  Triggers are switched...a soft, dead blinking in an ocean
  of living activity.  The swell takes them again...their winking lights dim
  once again.

 Hey...they're coming pretty damn fast.

  The entangled threads are jerked taught...All is drowned in a sea of light.
  The captives are continually freed and recaptured...an endless cycle drawing
  to a close.  The ions roil in and out...in and out...

 Get in...on the inside!  Inside lane...oh...SHIT!

  The Matrix, the threads, the soundless noise...all are thrown into the 
  Flood.  The complexity of it all is so mind-numbingly simple that it has
  grown into the basis of the Thoughts that release and capture the hungry
  ions.  The basic unit...the captive Cell...grown so complex in its function
  that it no longer understands itself.  In his final look to the sky...the
  intergalactic Wash...he stares into distance infinite...so infinitely far
  that it is just within grasp.  He reaches out...the ions scream in antici-
  pation...

 A loud crash...scraping metal, shattering glass...

  The sky glares down with sightless eyes...staring into the chaos that makes
  up its own being...A chaotic randomness so infinite that it has fallen into
  a pattern...a disturbing mixture of random action that is no longer random.
  The Wash is bent backwards with the speed of thought...its carefully 
  protected Chaos thrown violently into order...Its own matrix of infinity
  made finite...enclosed and encapsulated forever.

 George stares upward at the Wash...unseeing.  The hungry ions are no longer
 captive...they are no longer anything.  Their Chaotic fury has been brought
 harshly into order...forever robbed of their captivity, forever gone their
 hunger to escape...forever gone their life.

George...George?  Oh my god, no...George!

_   _   ____________________________________________________________________
/((___))\|The Starving Artist..910/722-0514|Demon Roach Undrgrnd..806/794-4362|
 [ x x ] |The Starving Artist..214/522-5321|The People Farm.......916/673-8412|
  \   /  |Tequila Willy's GSC..209/526-3194|The Bombay............714/897-0412|
  (' ')  |Lunatic Labs.........213/655-0691|Body Electric.........916/673-8412|
   (U)   |====================================================================|
  .ooM   |(c)1994 cDc communications by Matt Kutcher             o5/3o/94-#xxx|
\_______/|All Rights Gargled and Spewed into a Heap on the Sidewalk.          |

