i ate a bunch of spicy shrimps and tuna salad with jalapenos, chopped up inside it, as a replacement for celery. but now, my stomach hates me. its doing flip flops, and loop-dee-loops, and skip-to-my-lous inside of me, and i feel joyce's pain, before the days of activia.
the magazine is coming along, with a good amount of writing and pictures, but i feel that we need more visuals. i want it to be a visual masterpiece that compliments and affirms the writings. i have come to really respect editors and writers and magazine people all over the world, because they are doing what i am struggling to do. basically our aim is not produce the best 'zine in the planet, but just something, so that we can see and feel where we are going with it. it is our desperate attempt to create our own platform, our own sounding block and soap box. we are not simply shouting for our voices to be heard, but we truely believe that we have a story to tell that deserves to be heard and listen to be, and perhaps eventually understood. we have all lived too long without ever reading in history books, the real history of ourselves, the slices of life that get left out, because the creators of those histories have failed to see that its the people that make up the world, not merely the monumental events.