inter\face 9
                        Winter 1994

inter\face is:

     Its saying continually / in process...a _call_ -ing,
     or ping, perhaps...a wonder (-ing, out loud) . a node
     (a nest (in this language niche...[anew] conversation
     mode (abode

     a dreaming awake (of a familiar place




Ellen White
David Joseph Dowker
Stacy Tartar
Justin T McHale
Lenore Weiss
Ayli Lapkoff
Benjamin H. Henry


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Ellen White

Voicegrade Lines

                         Do you know that sometimes I am masturbating
                         when we're talking on the phone?

'Sometimes, when we talk, he said, on the phone'
(I try out the lines)
'I am masturbating. ' (No)
'I'm masturbating.' (No)
'I masturbate.  Did you know?'

They say that hate it when I use the phone
They say that hate it when I'm saying 'things'

'Testicles'            Like 'testicles'

Considerings in the car        Mall mutterings
       'Sometimes when we're on the phone'
He said                         He didn't ask

       /: Whisper /: Open up your lips
       (to continue click text area)

                       'On the phone'

He said 'Is anybody listening?'

       /: Whisper whisper /: Thing /: Whose thing

'Did you know I masturbate'
       he said
'Sometimes when we're talking on the phone?'

You have such clean and soapy hair
Tomato soupy soapy hair

We'll kissed and made up you'll be glad to know
Someone was deleted
                       Acknowledging your call
This is your calling
Channel whisper
Chatting whisper
                       /: You're on
/: On you

He said 'Is anybody reading'
       (N)onstop Q(uit)
                       'Not at work'
Your hair Your lips
                       'Not when I'm sick'

When I pick up
The loudest dial
       'Sometimes I masturbate when I talk on the phone'

I'm right here honey
I'm right here

'Sometimes' /:pick it up  'goes where?'


David Joseph Dowker


main (frame
        shift / intension _trans-humanize_ . nexus: functional
        identity . define ALTERNATE EGO POSITION ((the image
        is organism; global, intercranial . the Giant
        Aperiodic Crystal))
                origin: outside
                the system, the Signature
                encoded in the double
                helix, the twist is
                36 degrees, the covalent
                backbone is a chain of
                beads (10 nucleotide pairs per
                revolution) the message
                to be translated by way of
                the 3 into 4 x 4 x 4 = 64,
                the number of
                the penetralium, hidden
        procedure NO-THING . the id-entity
                ((our simulacrum, androgyne
                monogene . "He do the machine
                in different voices"))
                        terminus: the river
                                map, of the blood
                                and environs, parts
                                as yet unknown, mundane
                                terrain, operant neural
                                pattern, the screen is
                                made out of words,
                                the machine is
                        the projection



as such,
a dissonance
in the valence of

from the heart of a statue

g o l d e n
        sun hung low
        (wing caught
        's rising
        ) glow
s e c t i o n

the colour of that


                o converter, her
                        shoulder, refrigerator
sounds like crickets, catalytic
making noise upon


what signs exchanged in darkness, crossed
and uncrossed, folded and furrowed, flashed
back and forth with mirrors or magnetic
tape: sparks across the gap, a handful of
that radical moisture drowned as so many
voices, from Olduvai to the water's edge


"To the Lady of the Labyrinth,
   a jar of honey."

in Her hive-shaped
ghosthouse, hewn
from a hollow, huddled
in the heat of
the sweet dark heart
of Her, a humming
in neural circuits,
harmonics cluster
around a single flower,
hung-up on Her
absence, lack
of a thread to
the argument. She
pours honey in my ear,
combs sparks from Her
amber hair and says,
"The double axe is
   a butterfly."


        in thrall to

the cult of Her
virtual chlorophyll
immersion program,
in fever blossoms,
through the leaves,
machine_ these
c e l l s
rejoice in
Her cunning
as the azure
will attest



Plant life or subliminal cocoon.

Refuge in dissolution. Pools
of empty musing, space between spaces, lace
of the infinite.

spins in the infra-sun. Insect motor
ticks sentient rhythm.

Dream pulse domain...light-force within
leaf-green veins...suggestive of butterfly
wing gradient.

The tree frog barks
and the fractals bloom.

Imagine: A-space...the n-cube . a room in what would be
a perfect blue chunk of sky. Birds fly through this
hypothetical absence. Fuzzy logic clouds to sleep upon
as if solid air.

Now here. Node to node. Cathode rays embrace.
Explicit lyricism. Beryl in the golden Loom
...coded calls to the O-zone.



Command _illumination_
from a handful of chattering

on the dragon

        Enter inter/linear.

Computer-generated Satori patterns. Cellular automata swarm
through auricular corridors. Retinal windows dilate.

Geodesic blue hydrangea . opulent globular clusters . amassed
efflorescence . (space burgeons forth) . enormous amaryllis
 . crimson hibiscus with ornate proboscis

Survival essentials
_green eyes
        of Gaia_.

Totem program run
from the arboreal dawn in Gondwana
to the stars.


Stacy Tartar
232 N. Kingshighway #616
St. Louis Mo 63108-1248


I fried.  Literally fried.  Son of a bitch!
10 seconds made everything tight, crisp.
Youth and age in the same blazing sizzle--Wow!
I am here, said my skin to the sun.
You have travelled 9,000,000,000 miles
And reached the outer edges of me.



"Dead baby boomers," said he.
"That's funny!" said she.
"But not so funny it isn't subtle," she slipped in carefully.

"Nothing subtle here!" he cried--
"Dead! Dead! Dead! Pennies stuffed inside their eyes!"
"Potato Eyes fried," she replied,
"Denied the prize."

And they sighed.  Then put on their boxing gloves.

"Dead baby boomers," he recried--
"Road kill, fecal matter freeze dried--"
"Softly," she complied, "we must not put them to the test."

Now lay that shit to rest.  Don't fuck with generation X.



Stupid girl, posing--
Melon-headed pony--
Bursting your sides.
Flexing, reflexing torso
Man-killing back muscle bicep tri-curl

Who built you to be so imposing?
Some guy--
Some capitalist--
Some guilder from the dust age
In his mother-rage.



Local news, cop-plots invade daydreams,
Gun down stiffs at Dairy Queens.
Every day my mind composes scenes,
Mayhem, murder, piercing screams.

     Everywhere stiffs.

Midday park, the
Yellow sky not dark,
Singing larks--then--
Saber-toothed slice
And dead 'neath bark!

     Everywhere stiffs.

Rush hour highway driving back,
Sudden hit, snipe atttack!
Veering, skidding, head-on smack,
Exploding mushroom, metal flack,
And fourteen killed, right on track.

     Everywhere stiffs.

Market, waiting there on line,
Shiver shoots up-down your spine!
Man in front reveals the sign for
Stick-up, panic, terror-blind.

     Everywhere stiffs.

Paranoia, maybe true.
Maybe you're a victim, too.
Or it may be that you will see
A victim
Of me.

     Everywhere stiffs.


(Rites of Spring)

Green launched--
Jet feet--
Pumping arms--
Flowing hair--
And yellow breeze--
Young--freed--this is no tease--
And she keeps on leaving her.


She needn't answer--the answer is no--


Herself--new person among people.


Justin T McHale

ice lulls

time has slowed

a car cracks ice as it passes along the road



a car cracks ice as it passes along the road

icicle drips

a car passes (sound: a mighty maw pounded to silence)

the diverse logic of the moon embedded here

a car passes (sound: rationality shredded)

body of ice twitches

a car passes (sound: void ravages lip of air)

the rate of slush

here: the concealment the congestion the gratuity the longing to
loneliness the irrelevancy the rectitude the passing the castration the
concoction the notion the narrative the individual the connotation the
insolence the caution the conscience the circuity the circumference the
additional the longitudinal the careful the dishes the diary the drowning
the parchment the control the catering the coke the dice the dowager
the double-bind

a car passes (a singularity goes down in blue flames)

a crystallized tree

a car passes


trapped between the dream of sara and the moment you felt the rain

a car passes

a car passes

a car passes


Lenore Weiss

Lenore Weiss is a poet and novelist lusting after a Power Macintosh.
She works in her other life as the editor of the employee newsletter
for the City of Oakland.


Plant blossoms outside your house
To tame the wild children of broken noses
Who come like hamsters nibbling at your doubt
In gigglebytes up the porch step wearing jumburritos
And cellophane candy wrappers, crinkling them;
French fry spears and play blood splatter,
There's the horn honk, who's a venture success
On the street where it's money and cars that matter.
Give them sweet bouquets as a childhoos reminder
Not to grow up so quickly they forget
How a daisy is a love finger,
Or the honeysuckle a hummingbird's golden trumpet,
Or how, in encapsulated format, they are the seedlings
Of worldwide peace.


Ayli Lapkoff


I am left fragile as eggshells
When my paint has gone sour, like milk
Drunk before my nightly jailbird escape
A jailbreak back into prison
I am bald in this tower with no doors
Only a window nestled high between clouds
Or pillow, or illusions made of glass
-Enough of gold and feathers
I speak of punishable uncomitted crimes
And stars that turn around themselves
And circles that embrace each other
So close that they merge and spiral
Cannot end, cannot start
Dream not of each other
Dream only of each other.



Silence creeps into my body
And I'm bleeding poetry once again
All over the cherry blossoms
Light as snow
White as snow
Crushed beneath my feet
And this is sugar-quiet.


Benjamin H. Henry

Dreamwork Notes
(two poems of Pierre Joris and Poetics)

DREAMS	not representation
	(but) in magic realms
	speaking language not yours
	(in)corporate [...] into what you write
	as poetry as a discourse
	Knowing weather it is a human

		through displacements and oddities
		looking for that unique thing of the true I

NO POINT IN TIME:	[adaption to/thru knowledge]
			when you're dead, they tell you so
			and you live an ordinary life


I dreampt the news today
	spent my arms alongside
	contained within, encased
	but drawn away

Supple mitent/latent?
		in a vault
		the computer

disturbance in the form of disruptance, literal
to purcha(n)ce
		talk about you
		through "the true eye" 		[focault]


                        Call for Work
                    Women on the Net(work)	
           inter\face Electronic Literary Magazine


Voices to the left
to the right
and far
rise up and be numbered.

Resurrect the voices past and present,
those lost from constant screaming,
those buried in layers of silence.
Summon them to rise as phoenixes
and proclaim
"I am woman."  I, am woman.

			--Tanya Manning

	"Women on the Net(work)" is the focus for inter\face's tenth
issue (coming Spring 1995).  This issue is especially dedicated to
providing women writers an electronic forum for the multiplicity of
their voices.  Metaphorically the title "Women on the Net(work) stands
for the magazine operating as a net to catch the multiplicity of writings
by women that may typically go unknown.
	The search for subjects and forms of discourse are unrestricted.
Whether you write in a "technological/mechanical" voice or
"renaissance/romantic" style, we're interested.  Whether your poems or
stories are of topical relevance to politics or race relations, women's
rights or women's magic, sexual orientation or erotica, or anything
unmentioned, we want you to contribute your work.
	The criteria for this issue is simple. To preserve the writer's
integrity and promote the writer as publisher, editing of content is
minimal. In the spirit of accepting "contributions" as opposed to
"submissions," we believe in your right as a writer to say whatever
you want to say in the way you want to say it.  However, we do ask of
you to limit for publishing fairness your contributions to three separate
pieces.  Please send your entries no later than February 14, 1995 to  For more information, please contact
Tanya Manning at


                              inter\face 9
                             Winter 1994/95

"The `censor' protects our central system of values, as it does our
physical nervous system by simply cooling off the onset of experience
a great deal. For many people, this cooling system brings on a lifelong
state of psychic *rigor mortis,* or of somnambulism, particularly
observable in periods of new technology." [Marshall McLuhan,
_Understanding Media_]


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