                                                  ==ACiD PLUM==
A local 'zine of epic proportions. This file is a simple assembly of all the text portions of the first issue of the plum. If u would like a full copy of the 'zine <complete with artwork and fontwork> leave e-mail for the editor-in-chief <me "MUFFIN"> ACiD PLUM is  monthly collection of literary works by local authors and art by local artists. The 'zine is still new but quickly growing. Please support it by telling a freind about the PLUM and sending me new work. To submit any work, e-mail ACiD PLuM for details. A special thanx to Discconnections <Hulmville and Park Ave in Bensalem> for circulating the PLUM in their stores. For all your music needs call 639-ROCK. Call for $3.00 tix to CROME's  Aug. 20 show there, it'll RULE!!!!!!! THANX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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INHALING DOOM
By:Matt Lydon

    One day as I shared my Cheez Whiz with a small dog, a demon seeped out of the sidewalk and spoke in our collective direction. "You shall swallow the laundry of the currents...blah blah boogedy death boogedy SHAZAM!!" And then the demon was gone in a rather impotent puff of sulfur smoke. "Neat-o, eh dog?" Said I to the rug with a tongue at my feet. The dog merely looked at me and barked for more Cheez Whiz. "Here you go, Sparky or whatever your name is," I muttered to the beast as I dropped the bottle to his snout so he could finish the Crayola orange goodness that was the Whiz.      
    I walked on down the street not really caring about the $1.39 that I'd just wasted on a mutt that I still didn't believe had eyes.  As I walked, the wind got increasingly stronger. "Jeez, this ain't Kansas anymore, huh Toto," said I, forgetting that I'd left the dog behind with my Cheez Whiz about four blocks ago.  Small pieces of  litter began to skitter past me up the street in a wind that my granddad would have called the bastard son of a twister.  I was really fighting Mama Nature just to walk the remaining five blocks to my house where I could finally get a rest from this wind. It took more and more of my ebbing strength to walk in the battering gale forces as I continued my quest for my front step.  I braved a sideways glance and as my head snapped to the left, I noticed with ludicrous horror that metal trash cans were flying down the street like shells from a Howitzer.  I let out a scream as a `57 Studebaker rolled backward past me in the vortex of wind I'd entered not ten minutes ago.
     As I turned back around to finish my endless journey, I saw, through wind-lashed eyes, a snake-like object streaking up the street towards me. I stood, rooted to the spot, too perplexed to think and too scared to move.  My jaw fell open, increasing in size ever so slightly until my mouthpiece was a capital "O" of surprise.  It grew in size as it sped nearer and I realized, with fatal clarity, that it was a windsock. As I screamed, my throat was suddenly filled with a horrible wispy material.
     At that moment, the wind ceased. Things returned to normal (kind of). I ran as fast as I could, screaming all the way, but the only audible sound to be heard was a muted hum coming from my throat.  Upon bursting through the door, my mother looked up from her crocheting and fainted.  I let out what should have been a grand bellow but what came out as the mating call of a Grand Kazoo.
     Since then, I've come to rue the day I ignored the demon in the sidewalk and I curse myself for giving away what was my only defense that day:  the Crayola orange goodness that was the Whiz.     

DARK
Anonymous

            As our planet Earth becomes polluted,
          By the ever growing hatred of humankind,
                      So do our minds.
                              
             Our thought processes change to put
   Us on a plateau with other selfish and venomous people.
     Our outlook on God's gift of life grows bleaker and
                         Weaker.....
                              
               It seems as if there is no hope
          For that long anticipated sign of mercy:
                    That glowing sunbeam,
                     To open our hearts.

USED
Anonymous
                              
               It lies there, on the sidewalk,
                  Vulnerable and helpless.
                      All of a sudden,
    Like the unexpectedness of a tornado whirling at you,
            It gets picked up and jumbled around.
                    It tosses and turns,
                      Then, ultimately,
                        It gets.....
                          Crushed.
               It will no longer be the same.
                              
                 You might not recognize it,
       Because it is only a fragment of it's old self.
       Some call it garbage,  some call it leftovers.
         Others may call it used or even worthless.
               How can they have the audacity
                    To view that "stuff"
                 In such a degrading manor?




CONTEMPLATION
Josh Anderson

	Up and Down.
	Left to Right.
	Back and Forth.
	Black to White.

	Autonomy and Bedlam.
	Justice to Hate.
	Contrast and Compare
	Your life to God.
	Are you a child?

ROCK GODS
An editorial 

   During the April 7 - 9 weekend, the UN radio station aired a silent tribute to singer Kurt Cobain who took his own life one year ago this month. For the entire three days, the station was absent of DJ's and continuous amounts of Nirvana music were played. I have one question, Why? Why is it that we celebrate the suicide of a famed role model? Unfortunately, thousands of suicides occur daily amongst all age and ethnic groups. Is one person more important than another? Is suicide the thing to do? Sadly, that is the way it is in our culture.
  As an avid Nirvana fan, I love the music but I don't have to love the people. Kurt Cobain is no more important to the world than the mailman, Joe, from around the corner that killed himself. Next weekend we should have a silent mailman tribute to poor old Joe. I sympathize with Courtney and Kurt and the world but I never met the singer, I didn't know him, and I probably never would have.  Why then should I worship him and glorify his mistake?  If anything is to be learned from this, it's to better yourself, improve your life, and avoid killing yourself. 
  Of course, Joe the mailman weekend wouldn't make any profits so it'll never happen. As teenagers, corporate-America sees impressionable cash-cows, and we're playing right into that stereotype. We all need to stand up and make our own minds up. We must embrace the ideas and values we hold, fashionable or not.  Unless we individualize and destroy our collective bandwagons, our future is a fading one. 

MID-SUMMER NIGHT
Josh Anderson

The rhythm of the rain, rapping the roof;
The hostile humid air, assaulting the house; both here to say,
"Extending your limbs would be to die " --
For the oppressed majority will sting.

The darkness envelopes your thoughts, 
The rays of candlelight cast them away.
The flora of past loves are once again killed
In an ever-so hated pummeling.

You predict how it will move,
You assume that it will function.
But all too late after the beast itself decides,
Your Joeys will leave their pouch, off to live in the world.

MELVIN'S REVIEW
Gurn Lanley

   After nine albums, you think a band would lose its edge.  Look what happened to Metallica after five and Aerosmith after eleven.  Not the Melvins.  Their new album, Stoner Witch., is perhaps the best offering of the Melvins to date.  It has all the bone crushing, dropped D monsters of old taken to an even heavier level.  King Buzzo and the boys charge through, fist-waving, mosh-inspiring and thrash with a Black Sabbath sensibility on songs like "Sweet Willy Rollbar" and "Revolve".
   Mark Deutrom takes over with some almost jazzy bass lines on "Goose Freight Train", one of Stoner Witch's more mellow trax.  The Melvins even get a little patriotic with "Roadbull".  Makes me wanna march.
   Even the wierder items on Stoner Witch are cool.  Three minutes of train-rolling-over-you distortion begin a thrashing song called "Magic Pig Detective".  "June Bug", although instrumental, is the best of both worlds.  It starts out clean with a nice heavy bass groove, a clean guitar, and then <*WHACK*> a nice crunchy butt-kickin thrash.  'Lividity" may be a tad too long but its worth listening to just to hear an almost cancer ridden Buzzo hack, "EEEE...Whaddaya mean my lungs are fine... EEEE!"

RAIN
Jim McCullough

Pours down 
Great transportor dying more with the loss of each drop
Always moving on
Where shall you go O savior of the farmer
		      O terror of the outfielder
Who shall you comfort next?
Wash away the tears,
Cool the anger.
Make the world clean.

Raindrop lost 
Separated from the  others of his race.
All alone and lonely,
	         Yet content,
	         With individualism.
He wields so much power
To make the beautiful strong and healthy.

Finds the Rose.
The perfect onion
As a  paintbrush to a painter.
They create beauty,
		      Together.
Until they  wither and die,
		      as one.

FALSE PAIN
Dave Konopka <aka*MUFFIN*>

Unruly winds knock uninvitedly upon the pane.
Through random gazes, I notice charcoal wisps gathering on the sketch pad horizon.
The unruly winds grow wilder, still insisting upon entry. Still I refuse.
The pane separates.
The charcoal wisps conspire their plans of dread and evil.
The unruly winds fall silent, in awe of the approaching unknown.
A false peace shocks my senses more than the loudest rift.
In less than an instant, the sky is night. Sunlight, a distant dream.
An eerie green coats the dark, noon sky.  The charcoal wisps collect into one ominous  	body.
From this embodiment of verdant evil outstretches a single finger, slender and anything 	but random.
The solitary digit points to those who shall not and avoids those who will be.
Careful method, vengeful means, the winds press again for entrance, only more 	intensely so.
Again I refuse, but their way must be...the finger points towards me.
My safe glass pane explodes, inwardly so.
I am hit by immeasurable force, drained and devoid of any and all life.
The congested sky begins to break down, the finger withdraws, satisfied. Destruction 	abounds.
Order is again, light is a returning old friend.
Peace is restored. In vain, I fret, since, you see,
Due to my closed pane, I am no more. 
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