Chapter One

"They did it. They really did it. Deep in my mind I never believed they would; oh boy, was I wrong. So very very wrong."

"My legs. I can't feel them. I can hardly move. I must be wedged between something, but what? It's so quiet. I should have left when the sirens went off. The music, the women, the laughter, the dancing. We just didn't want to believe it. Where is she? She was right beside me. I remember, I turned to her to say something, I forget what, and then nothing. Nothing until now that is. It's so quiet. I have to find her. I have to get out of here. Where am I?"

The night was dark, darker than it had ever been before. You could say it was the "darkest night". There are a few dazed people wandering through the town, what's left of it. Someone yelling, off in the distance. Another digging through debris looking for a loved one. A man sitting in the middle of nowhere overwhelmed by the devastation. An old woman sits outside what remains of her home, the home she was born in. There are children without parents, parents without children, husbands without wives, lovers lost amongst the ruins. An almost peaceful, but unsettling stillness permeates the air. A foreign stench lingers while mist and smoke continue to rise above the rubble.

Only a few hours after time stood still the world was beginning to awaken once again. Like a fighter who takes a hit and gets back up before the count. Dawn was approaching and more people began to surface. Some in shock, some on a mission, some helping, some needing help, but all awoke to the same new world whether they were aware of it or not.

"I must have fallen asleep. Where is she? Why isn't she beside me? I want to scream, but something won't let me! Why isn't she here with my coffee? She knows I can't get up in the morning without my coffee. It's morning, I think. It must be. I hear voices. Is Abby out there? Is she alive? Oh, god, please let her be OK."

***

"Have you seen Shane? Has anyone seen Shane?! Please, someone, tell me where is she?" Abby stood motionless; the bright sun shining hotly on her already tanned, but towering frame. Abby is a debonairre looking woman in her 40s; attractive, her hair is short, brown with silver streaks. A body like a greek goddess from the days of Sappho. A tall athletic woman with a strong build and a chiseled face that suits her passionate, yet reserve personality.

Shane on the other hand, was small but mighty. Equally as beautiful, passionate and strong, but more like an Irish Amazon as opposed to the goddesses of Greece. She has a right hook like a man and uses it as freely. When the words won't come to her, a power from within does and she will haul off on the first person to disagree with her. She's a warrior, an Amazon, a woman who would have done well had she been born 3 thousand years earlier. A woman who will not waste her words on a fool, but would rather place her fist through his face than waste her time. She does not strike indescriminately. Quite on the contrary. She knows well ahead of time who is and is not a fool and will do her best to avoid their company. She reasoned that they should have know better than to ruffle her feathers. Her reputation having always travelled ahead of her.

***

Abby found her way back to the area where the club once stood. A broken marquee half standing against the debris that fell behind it as the building came down on itself. She could not remember the immediate events surrounding the initial impact of the blasts. She struggled hard to remember whether they were last at the club or had they already left when the sirens blew? Everything past that point seems to be a blur, a blank even. The frustration was overwhelming and she didn't know where to begin to look for Shane.

"Abby! Abby!" came a voice from behind her. She quickly spun around thinking it was Shane, but it wasn't. "Abby! You're ok. Thank the Goddess! Where is Shane? I can't find Beth!"

"I can't find Shane either. I don't remember where we were."

"Abby, you were in the club honey, you were still there when we left. We no sooner got into our car and drove off when the bombs hit. Abby you were inside the club."

"Help me! We have to find her."

"I have to find Beth!"

"We will, we will find her, I promise, but I know Shane is here somewhere and she needs our help. Help me find her and then we will look for Beth. I promise Jen. Please?"

***

Shane had been trapped for several hours now, the end of the day was growing near and there wasn't much chance for her to survive the night yet again. Abby and Jen began searching through the remnants of "Jazz" the club that was once the meeting place for women miles around.

It was nearly dark when Abby, Jen and a few others who had joined in to help, finally found Shane. She was weak, barely conscious and badly hurt. Abby grew hysterical as they pulled her out, expecting the worst, but equally as relieved to find that she was still alive. Meanwhile Jen was losing hope of ever finding Beth again.

Someone had set up a make-shift hospital in a broken building at the end of town. Having gathered what supplies they could find, several survivors began gathering victims and bringing them to this central point. There was one doctor and a few others who did what they could to clean and bandage wounds. An overwhelming task. It was there that Abby and the others decided they would take Shane.

To be continued in next month's issue. This story shall unfold month after month, chapter by chapter. There is no telling where this story may go. Neither the editor nor the writer knows what will come next. But you have to agree, this is certainly a first in publication history as this story is written before our very eyes. This could turn out to be the hoakiest story ever written or a future classic! If you would like to be the next brave writer to give this idea a shot, please let us know. And, yes, you may submit your works to be published anonymously. However, the editor must know your true identity for copywrite purposes.

From the early Pennsylvania Dutch Settlers came some of the most wonderful recipes which have been handed down generation after generation. Here is a sampling of just some of the foods I, myself, have grown up on. They are simple, yet delicious. Give them a try the next time you are in a "cooking" mood.

APPLE FRITTERS (Ob'l Puffers)

1 cup flour
1-1/2 tsp baking powder
3 tbsp powdered sugar
1/4 tsp salt
1/3 cup milk
1 egg, well beaten
2 med. sized sour apples sliced thin
Sift dry ingredients together. Beat egg and add milk and then stir into the dry ingredients. Mix well. Add sliced apples. Drop batter by spoonsfuls into hot fat (oil/grease) and fry. These are great! Use the right oil and it might even be healthy.

KRAUT UN CHOPS

1 qt. sauerkraut
8 pork chops
Cover sauerkraut with water and allow to simmer 45 minutes. Fry chops until tender and golden brown. Add sauerkraut and continue cooking until the kraut has absorbed the pork drippings and is brown. Serve with mashed potatoes.

SAUERBRATEN (Pot Roast)

4 lbs beef (chuck, round or rump)
1 pint vinegar
water
4 bay leaves
12 peppercorns
4 cloves
1 bunch carrots cut in strips
6 onions sliced
1 tbsp sugar
12 ginergersnaps
salt and pepper

Wipe meat with damp cloth and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place meat in earthenware dish and add vinegar and enough water to cover. Add bay leaves, perppercorns and cloves and let stand tightly covered for 5 days in a cool place (I'm not sure if this will kill you or not). Put meat in a dutch oven and brown well on all sides. Add carrots and onions and 1 cup of spiced vinegar. Cover tightly and cook over low flame about 3 hours or until meat is tender. (Personally, I'd burn the sucker, might be safer). When meat is cooked, add sugar and crumbled ginger snaps and cook for 10 minutes. This makes a delicious gravy. If necessary, more of the spiced vinegar may be added. Once eaten, call 911, I think.

CINNAMON CRISPS

1/3 cup butter
2/3 cup sugar
1/3 cup milk
1/2 cup flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp cinnamon (I use a lot more)

Cream the butter and sugar together. Sift dry ingredients and add alternately with the milk, using more flour if necessary to make a stiff dough. Roll on a floured board and cut into 2" squares. Bake on greased cookie sheets at 350 degrees F. 10 minutes.

SCRAPPLE (Warning: Not for the weak at heart/stomach)

Separate one hog's head into halves. (I warned you.) Take out the eyes and brains. Scrape and thoroughly clean the head. Put head into a large kettle and cover with 5 quarts of water. Simmer gently for 2-1/2 hours or until the meat falls off the bones. Skim off grease carefully from the surface; remove meat, chop fine and return to the liquor. Season with S&P to taste and 1 tsp. of powdered sage. Sift in granulated yellow corn meal, stirring constantly, until the mixture is thickened to a soft mush. Cook slowly for 1 hour. Do not let it scorch. When cooked, pour into greased oblong tins and store in a cool place until ready to use. Cut into thin slices and fry in hot fat/oil until crisp brown. Sorry... I couldn't resist, but we eat this stuff all the time here and I love it! Just be glad I didn't include the recipe for rabbit pie!


THE HEX by W.J. Meter

Her face was always schmutzig;
She had old pins
And badges pinned across her shawl.

She looked so sad-like that we thought
It must be in her head once
That she feels
So funny, with her children dead and all.

But she could hex the hens
And make the cow-milk bitter,
And she could pow-wow so,
Nobody in her neighborhood was sick for long.

The children used to run
When she doppled down the road
And she'd turn after them and almost smile.

But when the older ones was ugly,
She stand upon her stoop and grex
With words like devils once.

Nobody knowed her; but one night
Adam Scheidt came through the dark
And said he saw a cat's eyes shine
And when he went ahead, he saw
That she was standing by a tree.

It gave him such a shiver
That when she died
He stayed at home and read the Bible all day long.

I think she was so strubbly just because
Her heart was like a dendelion
After the wind blows all the fuzz away.

Summer Gay & Lesbian Film Festivals

Philadelphia International Gay & Lesbian Film Festival (July 13-24 '01)

North Carolina Gay & Lesbian Film Festival (August 10-13 '00)

Vancouver Queer Film & Video Festival (August 9-19 '01)

Chicago Underground Film Festival (August 17-23 '01)

Austin Gay & Lesbian International Film Festival (August 24-September 6 '01)

Women's Words Of Wisdom

Alice Koller:
I've arrived at this outermost edge of my life by my own actions. Where I am is thoroughly unacceptable. Therefore, I must stop doing what I've been doing.

Carolyn Wells:
Actions lie louder than words.

Charlotte Bronte:
It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it.

Dorothy Day:
I have long since come to believe that people never mean half of what they say, and that is best to disregard their talk and judge only their actions. Elizabeth Bowen:
To leap is not only to leap, it is to hit the ground somewhere.

Frances E. Willard:
It is better to wear out than to rust out.

Joan Baez:
Action is the antidote to despair.

Marie Currie:
One never notices what has been done; one can only see what remains to be done.

Pearl S. Buck:
"Men of action," whose minds are too busy with the day's work to see beyond it…are essential men, we cannot do without them, and yet we must not allow all our vision to be bound by the limitations of "men of action."

Eleanor Roosevelt:
To appear to be on the inside and know more than others about what is going on is a great temptation for most people. It is a rare person who is willing to seem to know less than he does.

Mae West:
She's the kind of girl who climbed the ladder of success, wrong by wrong.

Pain Is Pure

Pain is pure,
Fear the purest.
To ache and yearn
For an ending rest.
To no longer cry
And to feel no sorrow.
I hear the message
In my head I listen
But, who am I
To go and pull the trigger.
To give up effortlessly.

I am a woman of high spirit.
Pain is my best friend
But, joy is her sister.
And we have met around the bend.
So I laugh when they call me mister.
And I cry when I hear nothing at all.
I breathe of my own free will
And I am stuck against my own brick wall.
So this misery that has called me home,
For so many years passed,
Is the home I made for me to roam.
And I am not sorry and I feel no shame at last.

So moan about this cruel world
And all its injustice.
But, remember...
Reality is mere perception.
So I can dance with my fairy friends
And swing in a purple willow tree.
I can swim in fire
And fly when I feel the need be.
But, this is my world
And I am not leaving yet.
I am waiting for the grand encore,
It will blow my mind I bet!!!

tell me what you think. Kay?

Copyright ©2000 Krystalyn Bair


Armed in silence

Laughter once filled the shadows,
Of her wise and dark charm.
Sleeping deep awaiting morrows light.
Armed in silence,
This woman's ghostly memories,
Found recognition through
Promises of healing.
Each day was nothing new.
For she was used to her pattern,
This, a pattern of loneliness.
My heart battered and bruised.
I walked for years,
In need of something.
I found true love in you.
I am no longer in need,
In need of my armor made of silence.
For I am now armed in love.

Reflection

     If only I was wiser
       Prettier
       Funnier
       More clever
Maybe you would have stayed

If I was more emotional
       Less cynical
       More raunchy
       Less passe
     More fashionable
       More...
       Or less...

       Maybe...

If I had touched you here
     Or touched you there
       Been more exciting
       Been something else
     Been someone else...
       Run my fingers...
       Dared to...

       Perhaps...

       Maybe...

I wouldn't be missing you now...

Copyright Diana Fischer 2001


Being In Love

It's the insanity of our words
          That get between us
     The need for revelation and discovery and
        Various understandings of a world
          That cannot accept us

     It's the madness of our questions
     The pointless pursuit of knowledge
          That always gets in the way

     It's politics, fear, religion and normal
      Your mother, my parents and everyone else
      And trying to fit into all of that
        Sometimes its easy to forget
          That we're in love

Copyright Diana Fischer 2001

Penelope

Penelope, hoping

Was walking along Newland Avenue with a poem in her hand,

A dream in mind,

Set out for the last Odyssey,

Didn't want copper wires to come between

The poet and her muse

The moment she would

Find

Or lose

It all,

Disavowing a dream within a dream,

She needed to see the expression on her face,

Hear her breath, hoping for revelation through its pace.

Every step a challenge for

Legs, trembling

As she remembered

Circumstances, resembling,

And many poems burnt,

Lessons learned.

Penelope, approaching

Felt a jaded heart palpitating wildly in her crystal chest,

Reciting

In her mind,

Fighting

Fears and

Tears

For what she anticipated to find,

Her retina moistened salty

At a prophetic black and white

Of the mnemonic capture.

Every thought a memory,

Painful revery

Of hearts, broken

In silence, truth spoken.

Hush,

Speaking for itself, innocent blush,

Into the ground,

Hidden from the eyes of the world,

Nowhere else to be found

But in Love's most wanton tears.

Penelope, ringing

With trembling fingertips reaching out for the brazen bell,

Praying,

Her pale complexion

Conveying

Genuine affection

In vows of silence.

The appartment was empty,

Except for Telemachus brushing against the door

Before poet and muse, poem and memory.

"I need to tell you..."

But she already knew.

Penelope, hesitating

"I love you", then waiting,

Anticipating.

"Me, too"

Replicating?

Teasing the suitor?

Reciprocating!

Life, waiting for another,

A reflection,

In the eyes of a lover,

Mutual affection,

O life!

Penelope, reciting

The poem she had composed for the forebearer of amorous devotion

And heliconist inspiration

"Those who love will live eternally,

My love, this poem in return for immortality,

The best I could do

To thank you

For loving me, too."

Penelope, crying

Thanking the muses of Fine Arts

And the Fates for the gift of loving hearts

They were born to love and immortalise each other,

The poet and her lover.

Copyright Jessica Feiereisen 2001