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      THE EXPERIODDI(CYBER)CIST #1
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This is the first electronic version of The Experioddicist. It is different
from the print version in that it consists of many contributors and the print
only one contributor per issue for the time being. To obtain a sample copy of
the print version send $1, or for 12 issue subscription send $10 (American
currency please) to:
      9th St. Laboratories
       P.O.Box 3112
       Florence, AL 35630

PLEASE MAKE ALL CHECKS OR MONEY ORDERS OUT TO JAKE BERRY!

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An Experioddicist is a participant in Experioddica, coined by Bob Grumman in
the late 1990s and defined by him as - term originally used for experimental
odd periodicals devoted to exotica, but whose meaning seems to have spread to
cover all forms of underground art, science & other forms of culture
(including, obviously, cyberculture).

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JACK FOLEY - from EXILE

as he looked out
as he looked

death is -

not to believe again

speech of water

oh, to be

stranger, who

all pieces move

danger

.

you confuse
presence with absence
substance with void
and will suffer accordingly

O
what
intellect--love--

stained by white radiance

fragments of exile
move toward us, asking
this question only--
purposes
range among--

We stare at the entire 19th century which flashes before
us like a movie or perhaps is  a movie. Memory is
notoriously unreliable-we fictionalize -- but we 
fictionalize in writing too, creating orders which were 
not --Writing is exile --Whoa, not so fast there-- Author-
ity - Objectivity -- all that topples as if it were not and
in a way it is  not --The present shifts so quickly we
cannot get hold of it --The past is "present" only as a
construct --The future shoots its unknowable shaft,
piercing our barely cognizant consciousness -- And in all
this our mouths agape -- We act and acts have 
consequences -- Murder will out-- But at the expense of
order, at the expense of but at the expense of at the
expense of but at the expense of-- reality-- Writing is
exile--

mouths agape

whose orders are these? who gave these orders?
she  did, lord, she  did!--

all systems of reality (including this one) fail


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GREG EVASON - ONTOLOGICAL OOZE

pride was her weapon against the warm weather
and the need to work till her face fell off
and splattered like paint onto the sidewalk
where several bugs were conversing on the
subject of the nature and characteristics of
reality within a framework of boiled monkeys
picking their arses behind shaved bushes
where slender legs stretched out from in
dark rooms which have just enough light to
see what can be seen if one is so inclined 
and so lucky like riding a bicycle to the
store with hope as a knapsack and cherries
for eyes

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BOB HARRISON - COUNT YOUR LIP LOCKS

cold developers on skin
island              granular
wade succumb tic very
angled out over fishes Neptune spark
door Tamarind
tail nailer news roll
search out of corners deem
jockey oval lay pontoon
percent

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BENNY - AN UNTITLED PIECE

     I saw him carry her body with him everywhere
he went. Limp, lifeless, form. Soon it was to be
rotting flesh. But the war had a grip on him. And
it was tightening. Soon blood was to appear. I
slept with him and her. No space between us. She
was three maybe four years old. A teddybear. Her
perfume, a rancid stench. He didn't seem to mind.
I saw him carry her bodyx

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MIKE KESSEL - FLUIDIC DOUBLES

    'The phrase is me.'
     - Miles Davis

the oyster straws soundproofly ridden
with least right italics  dissemination and precludes
the cloister poorly  laws partial of parcel motion
and decidedly nosferatu clits to bits
removedly smooth sue of the shunt

aggregate leopolds cave attacking promise
prone to francing distented science  my water
my wager till breaks  five tellwells of fire
my windlass breaks how appellate laughs
have disrobed and close outdooredly

fled noosphere flee no-par funk
we're wear friendly spears triad to handles dossed awe
outspread plaintive  reae vend remystery pretend
sad  prefer anklet call

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BILL PAULAUSKAS - AN UNTITLED PIECE

The fog lay beside the still pool, along its reflection. Triangle
of pumpkin colored glaze is the sun. She pushes her small pink
fingers into the black muck silver. Webs hidden there are too
small for the light to catch. Live there cool in dark.

One small point against clear blue falls. Wedges into shape calling down the
steps with silent beats. Faster, it trembles
into a feathered wedge of blurrs. Faster, it stretches out to 
hold the blue stillness of the bowl. Dives into the boiling 
sunlit arc like ripening fruit holds the great knob of light.
Faster.

Mud is grey now. Like a melted mouse in damps, it stradles finger webs and
digs in along the nails. She wiped it into a
gathered strand of grass. Pulls it clear and the wet clings in
scaled sheen on nails. Faster. The fruit ripening in the eye of
a feather bouquet, falling toward the open mouth. Down faster. 
Pumpkins. Broth of skin where mud frazzles into feather mouth
and pins of dirt open the miniature canyons, where the fog fastens
its blue mouth to sleeping barkx

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BOB HARRISON - LAG KNOT PORE

pike tone con roe Cree shed
seem par lad hick moan loose
car hand high FAX dot LAM
add mess numb on crew list
tic mare low spine fence loop
store lathe tee goad fleck den
plane tad hex pear noon pad

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MALOK - NOW I'VE GOTTA GET OBJECTIVE & I FEEL LIKE A MOVIE (AYN)
        My cat (PC) is telling. Me! My feet are on flame mode. And somehow
the percepts are runnin' down the burning streets (on TV) screams. A period
here nor there and socks(burrs) are clouds in the waste, a distance and
x@c&#$ @@*xagain a distance and rakes and stealing shoes and mistakes in the
morons!? Some basketballs violent in the chase(the speed & danger). Can't sit
on this guy? Only 12(twelve) of us(with guns glued to our moralsx only a few
knocks (56 thereabouts)xtech walks with an accident practicex81 neurons of
America lockin' (he was my bunkmate in Navy basic training, under and aho!
Shores)xRODNEY IS IN CONTROL! Only three million opportunities to clap the
cuffs(gotta be able to pass the spasms!)xRACE WARS OF THE 90----sxchildhood
so unpredictable. Bees! I can't see the faroff mellowness of mine
titties(TAHROSNAUSNIS) of my mindx absolute inverse gazing the fire! Fucjk
the looters. I don't want to be human anymore. The bottoms mindfuckx two
humanoids target non-scan shots on Waukau Creek & I'm the fool the aliens
come to meet (or contain, eh?)x my perceptual delusion-flits continue to
codify the universe or so!? Vectors(the "v" was initiated by my left teat
container, eep-really!)and Mrs. VEEx am i too worldly in my script? Whatever.
i am godx prove it. Shetay-blau! Till the future negates itself, as is!
Quassa Nova!

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JOHN M. BENNETT - JAR

JAR

Clots of confiscation chill the shirt like frozen
arm in a plastic sack x ah's bugs-jokes curling him,
though she who kept the floor's hole, days of breath-
dendrition, (er, talk//piano stacked with bricks for hiking
up that hill//oh scale of nest ambition tossing the highest 
rail, mint in my cluttered coat!  (Lack of biting tricks,
sleeping off the table, normatic lice control: these were
clocks of leaving, never, cleft behind.  So//I//her ended
here, felt her stubble, eggshell, precipitation-callx
(in that shuttered boat we slept, cuddled pencils, feathers













                                                                        SOCKS