			    (- Trina Magna -) 
              	       (- Volume One; Issue One -)
	  	  (- Trina Magna: More Hip than AOL -)	

(- Slipstream of the Starlings (The Introduction) -) -------------------------

	Owen can no longer speak english, so I am going to translate what he is
saying for all of you.

	(Owen speaking in Russian)

	"Hi! Welcome to Trina Magna, the zine about life, knowledge, and change.
I would like to thank Pablo for translating this for me. I am very, very
sorry for I can no longer speak English."


(- Contents of Trina Magna; Volume One, Issue One -) -------------------------

1) Introduction: Slipstream of the Starlings
2) Contents of Trina Magna
3) A Letter to Eylasis
4) Oregon
5) Peacefulness
6) Everything and Nothing Else
7) Everything Else
8) Four
7) Bye!

( - A Letter to Eylasis -) ---------------------------------------------------

	3 April 1987

	Eylasis -

	I've come to the moment that you've waited for. Yup, I've seriously gone
to the end of the road with this one. Last night I went and I talked to her.
You never liked her very much but I wanted to talk to her anyway. She was
always the most interesting person. She'll bring up the weirdest things, and
she plays that damn Tori over and over. She really sounds like she's always
having an orgasm when she's singing doesn't she? Scott was right. Oh, well.
Anyway, like I was saying she brings up the weirdest things. Oh, this is a
another Tori thing -- she always brings the weird things up when Tori is
hitting the low notes on the piano making it seem like she's coordinating
her words with the notes Tori plays to give her extra emphasis. I wouldn't
doubt it actually, it seems like something she would do.

	I was never sure why you didn't like me talking to her, but sometimes I
just gotta do things. So, anyway, as you can imagine -- it was really late.
Like 3 or 4 in the morning and I was reading and eating some seafood and I
began to think about the book I was reading (Time Must Have a Stop by
Huxley, if you really must know) and I just got this feeling of a need for a
deep, deep, deep conversation. Well, those are kind of hard to find at 3 or
4 in the morning, but then I remembered seeing Saby a few hours earlier and
her saying that she had been feeling kind of bad and probably would be up
pretty late, kind of like I get sometimes. You know? Anyhow, I got up, left
my seafood out (which turned out to not be the best thing in the world,
because my place really smelled pretty bad when I back later), and took off.
For some reason my car wouldn't start right away, and it was pretty cold
that night, so that's probably why. After like 5 minutes I got it to start,
but realizing that the car most have just been really cold I let it sit for
another minute or two while I popped my new GSW tape in that I had just
dubbed. When I was sitting there, I was thinking about that time we had when
we were a little younger and had these kinds of talks. I'm not exactly sure
why we don't anymore. Anyway, I finally took off. My car began to smell like
seafood thanks to my late night snack. I love the food, but I hate the smell
it can leave. The only thing that smells any worse is when someone doesn't
do their dishes and leaves 2 week old food in the sink.

	Having to drive out on some of the country roads, it was quite dark and
I had to use my brights. It must have rained earlier that night because the
usual bumpy dirt roads were quite muddy and slippery. About 20 minutes later
I got to Saby's place. I was right, she was still up. Her apartment was the
brightest one there and was easily spotted. I have never actually been to
her apartment before, but I knew where it was for some odd reason. I quietly
rapped on the thin, wooden door to her place. I could hear her playing music
in the back room, but I wasn't so sure she would still be awake. I tapped
once and after about a minute she didn't answer. I figured she had fallen
asleep watching TV or something, so I just left. Right when I got to my car,
she opened the door to her place. Luckily she saw me before I drove off. She
yelled at me and asked me what the hell I was doing so late at her place. I
told her I just wanted to talk about nothing in particular and knew she
would be awake. She smiled, laughed, and let me in. We ended up talking for
a little while, enough to satisfy my need for a deep, deep discussion.

	Right when I was about to leave, I just sat there and began humming.
Man, if you want to see one freaked out chick, you should have seen Saby.
During all of this I was totally conscious. She just started yelling,
"Pablo! Pablo! Would you please stop humming. I have to go to the dentist
tomorrow."

	So, after about an hour and a half I stopped, coincidentally after she
stopped playing Tori and I got up and without saying a word to her, I left.

	Hope all is well in Vancouver.

	-- Pablo

(- Oregon -) -----------------------------------------------------------------

	He's been meditating for almost three hours now. I've been able to hear
his steady breathing for the past two. It usually takes him an hour or so to
get to this point where he can concentrate on the Divine, our Lord Christ.
The sound of his breathing brings tears to my eyes. Sometimes more.

	We left for Oregon four days ago. He insisted that he could do this only
here, no where else he told me. We took the train he told me so we could
observe the beauty of it all. Michael loves the train. I love him so.

	It's dusk now and I can tell that he is losing his concentration. His
breathing isn't so steady anymore. He seems to be dozing off every few
seconds. He seems to be fighting it, though. I look at his body and see
muscles that have gone through so much in a lifetime. Quite a lifetime it's
been, too. For a man that's 46, he's done a lot. And I'm not talking about
your usually American Dream type story. Yes, Michael had a job, and yes he
knew he had to earn money to live and support his family, but he knew that
that wasn't what he really loved. He loved everything in the world. Michael
gives me everything he can, no matter how tired he is.

	He danced with me earlier telling me why we were here in Oregon. We
swayed and swayed for hours. It was so relaxing to hold Michael close to me
and listen to the quietness.

	"There is so much calm here. I can think clearly." he whispered in my
ear as we swayed to the nonexistent music that was only in our minds. "You
know these journeys mean a lot to me, don't you?"

	"Yes," I told him as I rested my head against his shoulder, holding him
as tight as I could, feeling the sweat on his back that was left from
sitting in the setting sun for so long. "But why? I mean, I know why you are
here. I just don't completely understand. I look into your eyes and all I
see is pain."

	"I'm not an idle man. I was once. You've seen what it left behind in me.
I'm fighting it. I'm fighting the idleness that has been left behind in me."

	Michael let go of me and began to walk towards the shore, I heard a
faint, "I love you, Noel," as he walked. "We'll continue our dance later."

	"Yes, Michael," I told him as I rested myself on the beach, pushing my
skirt under me to protect myself from the pieces of liter that had been left
behind. I began to pray silently to myself. His words were enough. I now
understood.

(- Peacefulness -) -----------------------------------------------------------
	
	Peacefulness within yourself is a most difficult idea to understand,
to grasp, and to even believe exists. Peace, though -- when attained, is
something that will never be lost because that feeling of peacefulness is
such bliss that without it would be like living in hell itself.

( - Everything and Nothing Else -) -------------------------------------------
	
	Just like the previous 2 nights, Pat had fallen asleep on his couch with
nothing on his mind and his mind on nothing except the night and what he was
going to do next. It was late, of course, and it was unreasonably warm for a
February night in Chicago. The TV continued to play on, alive as could be.
Speaking, but with its only audience member, Pat, dead asleep. Pat had spent
the night alone, with only himself and his computer. His computer had seemed
to become his only real friend as of late, mainly because of the anti-social
behavior that he could not understand, but also because he really had no
interest in meeting another person, that in his mind, he would have another
worthless, meaningless conversation with and would later just say goodbye to
and never think about again.

	Pat awoke yelling like he had never been asleep and as he fell off the
couch and onto the hardest floor known to man. "Crap! I've got to get out of
this place." Hopping over the leftover chinese food he had left out from
last night's dinner he went into his room and grab a pair of dirty pants,
clean blue shirt, and a his last pair of clean socks. "I really gotta clean
up my room." After a few minutes, Pat finally got dressed amidst the
horrible mess that was his room.

	"This is horribly quite odd. I really have no idea what I'm doing. It's
like what? 4 am? Where the heck am I going to go at 4 am in Chicago? Now, if
this was New York there would be plenty to do. Hmm. Cereal. I want cereal.
Wait, I don't have any milk. Hmm. White Hen Pantry. They're always open.
Hmm. I can get milk there. Hmm."

	Passing the security guard of his apartment, Pat checked his watch and
waved bye to the guard that had always been quite friendly.

	"See ya later, Pat."

	Not really paying attention, but still hearing her Pat, remembering his
manners that his mom had taught him years ago, Pat said a quick goodbye.
"Yeah, later Claudia."

	"Where you going this late?"

	"Out to get some milk. I want to eat some cereal."

	"Kind of late for cereal, don't you think?"

	"Nah. It's just the right time. Cereal is good whenever, you know?"

	"I suppose. It's warm out, might not need your coat. It's like 68."

	"Odd," Pat quickly retorted as he finally got out the door. It rained
earlier, or later (depending on how you look at it), that morning. As Pat
hop-scotched over the puddles as he walked he thought about what really was
important to him. "I just don't like what goes on around here, he thought
aloud. I just don't like what I'm doing with stuff. I just don't do much
anymore.

	"Streetwise? Help the poor! Streetwise? Streeeeeeeeetwise?"

	"Uh, no thanks man. I already got the new edition."

	"God bless ya," the streetwise vendor praised. "The Lord has blessed
another one!"

	Pat looked ahead and could finally see the apartment complex that the
White Hen was a part of. A block or so away from the White Hen, Pat heard a
crash behind the apartment next to him. He stopped and looked behind the
cold, industrial looking apartment that had the design of about 50 other
apartment complexes in the city. There was another loud crash, but this time
Pat realized it was some guy throwing bottles of hard liquor out of his
apartment window. "Cut it out, man. You'll hurt someone."

	"Ah, shut up ya droog. I got me my beer and that's all I need."

	"But please be careful, you'll hurt someone," Pat told the man, ignoring
any comment that funny man had for him.

	As Pat walked to White Hen he walked passed a little park he used to
visit quite a bit. "That was quite a nice park, it was. The trees. The trees
were so beautiful, they were. Every tree imaginable is in that park." And
every tree imaginable was in that park. Every tree, every fruit, every
vegetable. It was quite the park and Pat loved it so. "Why, I've got to get
my milk. It's getting quite early. I must have my cereal before 6."

	Pat finally arrived at the White Hen Pantry approximately 15 minutes
after he left he worn down apartment.

	"89 cents? Wow, that's an amazing price!" Pat grabbed the on-sale milk
walked passed the also on-sale salsa. After getting the large
african-american females attention away from the sandwiches she was making
he slammed down his 95 cents.

	"That all you want?" the woman asked Pat starring deep into his soul.

	"Yea, I got what I need. All I need is my cereal anyways."

	"Alright. Have a nice day."

	And with that Pat had his milk and was set to eat his cereal. Now, you
may ask, why is eating cereal so important to Pat at this time of day? Well,
because cereal is in a way, something more than cereal to Pat. Pat has no
one except himself and anything can become special when you have nothing
else. This cereal now becomes everything else that Pat could not have.


(- Everything Else -) --------------------------------------------------------

	
	A boy sits next to his mother, thinking of what his future could be. So
much to choose from, so much to do. He is himself, and nothing else. The
boy's mother asks him what he wants to be when he grows up. He says he wants
to be everything in the world. He is himself, and nothing else.

	The boy sits next to his friends, thinking of what he is doing. What
should he be doing? What will they think of him? He is not himself, and
everything else. No longer did he care for them, no longer did he care for
himself. He is not himself, and everything else

	The boy sits next to his grave. Thinking of what his past could have
been. What should he have done? There was nothing he could do, he swears! It
was just him, and nothing else. They ask him what was wrong, but there
really wasn't a problem. it was just him, and nothing else.

	[History of _Everything Else_]

	This was originally written about two years ago (2/15/95) in a math
class. The poem went on, in a revised form, to be the words behind "a
disturbing, moody piece about the turmoil and struggle of being oneself (The
Pantagraph, Saturday, July 29, 1995."  "Everything Else," the performing
arts piece was done by myself and a friend, Jason Huls, was critically
acclaimed by many.

	Hopefully this summer I'll be returning to the Illinois Summer School
for the arts as a counceler. WeeE!

(- Four -) ----------------------------------------------------------------
	
	There's something strange about all of this. The people. The movement.
The scene. Definitely the scene. The scene is very strange. All the
rush-rush, no one looking back. Sometimes i don't even look back. I mean, I
want to, I really do, but I just don't for some reason. I just want my world
back. Everything I am is there.

	Rush-rush. That's what it's like. Everyone's in a hurry. The problem is,
the more I see people hurry, the slower I want to go. Everything here would
be so much better if everyone just realized that if they went slower they
would enjoy everything so much more. It just goes too fast for me, that's
all.

	When I moved to the city seven months ago I figured everything would be
cool, and from an outsider's point of view, it is. I mean, to an outsider,
what isn't here? You've got access to about anything that you could possibly
want or need. That's just it. That's the thing. That's the problem. There's
just too much in the city to grab on to.

	It was on a really slow day that I realized this and a lot of other
things. I had class at 9:30 in the TORCO building and my class got out at
around 10:50, five minutes late, like always. My teacher, Mr. Van Marter,
always gets himself all riled up at about 10:40 and he just has to finish
what he's saying or sometimes it's this Islamic guy who rambles on about the
founders of the united states being hypocrites. Whatever the reason is, we
just always get out five minutes late.

	I left my class and walked back to my place, passing by the usual -- El
Taco Loco, parking lot, Harold's's Chicken Shack #42, parking garage, and
the rumored to be owned by the maffia South Loop Club. I fumbled around in
my torn up jacket for my key. My next class wasn't until late into the
evening and usually I just go back to my apartment and sleep for a few
hours, but this time i actually did something. This time I decided to be a
bit adventurous and take the El down to the north side of town to go wonder
around and just think about things and why things hadn't seemed to be going
right since i had moved to the city.

	I got off the el at one of the more trendy parts of Chicago -- Belmont.
That's not always bad, but it also isn't always very appealing. There's your
usually trendy second hand clothing, book, alternamusic, and coffee places
and then there's this one place i like to go to. It's a little corner
restaurant off of Belmont on Armitage called Chili Mac's Five Way. That
place serves some of the best chili i have ever eaten in my entire life. The
chili is so good, in fact, that it will make all that is too fast in life
seem to slow down a bit. The place is called Chili Mac's Five Way because
they serve chili, of course, five different ways.

	Anyway, with only five bucks in hand, i went for the chili four-way and
a water. I got my chili, sat down, and started reading from Huxley's _Time
Must Have a Stop_. After about ten minutes later a large man walked in. He
must have been 300 plus pounds. He wore an old grandpa hat, a fishing vest
with all sorts of buttons, and had these humongous chops. He walked up to
the counter, bought some coffee, looked around for a minute, saw me and came
and sat down next to me. It was the strangest thing. He just sat there for a
minute and then he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from one of the many
pockets he had in his vest.

	"You like the chili here don't you?"

	"Yeah. It's pretty good I guess."

	"Want a cigarette?"

	"No. Don't smoke. Never have, never will."

	There was a weird pause. He just sat there and looked around and after a
few minutes he just stared at me.

	"Like the book?"

	"This? Oh, yeah. It's pretty good."

	"I read it once. I've read a lot of books in my time. So many that i
just stopped reading all together. Now i just wonder around these parts of
town. Not just this town really, but a lot of towns. Oregon's my favorite
part of the country actually."

	"And you just walk around and talk to people like me?"

	"No, you're the first one."

	"Oh. Okay. So, how's it going?"

	"Pretty good I guess. Mind if I have a bite of your chili?"

	"Hmm. That's some good chili."

	"It is, isn't it? You know -- this chili, it kind of reminds me of
life."

	"How so?"

	"See, you got your one-way chili with just chili, which is kind of like
when you are a young kid and you've got nothing on your mind except just
being a kid. There's nothing there complicating your life, kind of like one
way chili, cause there's just the chili there. No cheese or beans getting in
the way of the taste of the chili."

	"Sounds kind of far fetched to me. How about you just eat the chili."

	"No, no. Check this out. See, then you got chili two-way. Chili two-way
is like when you start second grade. Chili two-way adds the spaghetti which
makes the chili a bit more complex, like in first or second grade when the
kids that once didn't care about anything else in the world except just
being kids have been exposed to the complex world long enough that they have
begun to be like that world, becoming more complex within themselves. No
longer does everyone like everyone else, but they realize that people are
different."

	"I guess that the makes sense a little. Personally, I see life like this
coffee I got. It's endless. Whenever I run out, there's always a waitress to
refill it."

	"Hold on a sec. This is even better. Next you got the three-way chili.
Not only do you just have the chili and spaghetti but you have a huge load
of cheese on that chili. Imagine that huge load of cheese as all the peer
pressure and other pre-teen crap that you're bombarded with when you hit 12
and enter the 7th grade. Now not only do people not like each other, they
hate each other for even worse reasons than when you were in elementary
school and in junior high the kids get even more vocal and even more violent
making your already low junior-high self esteem even lower. Heh. Too much
cheese is bad, i guess."

	"But not enough cheese is bad, as well. Those initial experiences at
that age are important. That's the age where you begin to develope a
personality apart from your parents."

	"Then there's the chili four-way. It's the chili with an option. You can
either get onions or beans, kind of like high school or college. You get to
choose to either continue being dumb and ignorant like you were in junior
high or you can realize that you have the brain capacity to realize that you
were being stupid in junior high school and that you are going to stop being
that way. At first I went for the beans, which are a little easier on the
stomach, and continued being dumb, but after awhile I ended up eating the
onions because of the more complex taste. The fifth-way, though, is the
chili with everything. Like with the five-way chili, you have to have a full
grown stomach to eat this. You have grown as much as you can and everything
is there. Your life is complete, just like the chili. You can still make
some decisions to do this or that, but everything is pretty much set."

	"Whatever. Like I said, just eat the chili. Say, what's your name
anyway?"

	"Mark."

	"Mark, I came here for a reason. I came to tell you something that you
need to know and you better understand. I'm only going to explain this once
and there will be no questions so you better listen."

	"Okay. Shoot."

	"You think things are too fast, don't you? Well, they aren't. You make
things too fast. You can make them slow again. You think things suck. Well,
they don't. It's you. You made this all up. You made things as bad as they
are. So stop. Since you made it bad, make it good again. The good is there,
you know it is. Everything you love is there, so love it to death. Don't
lose it, don't ever lose it because you know you love it. All this angst
inside of you, that's all it is, inside of you. If you wanted it gone, it
could be, just like that. That's it. That's all I wanted to say."

	And just like that he extinguished his cigarette and left. A few minutes
after he left I decided that I should go, too. For such a short message, he
made me think about a lot. He's right, you know. All of this, inside of me,
it's just in my head.  Anyway, i think i'll stop now. It's about time, too.

(- Bye! -) -----------------------------------------------------------------

	Check for the rad html version of Trina Magna One in the next
couple of days (http://pages.ripco.com:8080/~owilliam).

	Trina Magna One was completed on 04.16.97	
	
	Everything here is (c)1997, the owen williams experience. If you have
any questions or comments, contact me at owilliam@ripco.com.

(- eof -)
