The links stop here-- BeaconWay Press

2. THE NEW LITERATURE: Prose by Becket Knottingham & Poetry by Drake Raft.

3. READERS RESPOND: Thank you, thank you-- you're all too kind!

If you're interested in joining a free-for-all discussion centered about contemporary issues concerning the modern-day thinker, join the crew in Blackbeard's Cabin by sending the message, "subscribe blackbeard your name," to listserv@unc.edu.

The WWW is allowing us to liberate literature from the liberals' vise-like death grip by fostering a free marketplace of ideas where only words that mean things will survive. Only by entertaining and exalting the peoples' spirits, echoing their beliefs and ideals, does literature exist. When it is used as a political prop, "literature" withers into bureaucracy, which is of course the way the liberals want it. The citizens' role in the liberal literary arena is not to be entertained and exalted by the literature, but it is to fork over the taxes and tuition that subsidize it. And for all those who harbor a fondness for words depicting the truth in an artistic manner, written in the context of the Western Canon, the liberal politicization of literature has created a void. We're here to fill it.

Our primary mission as the new guards of literature is not to review the inferior products being produced by liberal writers like Douglas Coupland, Russel Banks, Toni Morrison, and Joyce Carol Oates-- that's the job of THE NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW. We're here to write Great Books, but this does not expempt us from our duty to comment upon the liberal forces that prevent our Great Literature from being published. For as W.H. Auden once said, and as we ourselves contend, "reviewing bad books is bad for the character." Contrast this to the liberals' mantra, which is, "reading the Great Books is bad for one's academic career." The Great Books demonstrate how to put the truth in words, and thus there is always the danger that a young scholar might read Twain outside of a deconstruction course and be inspired to expound upon the contemporary travesty of liberal literature. It happened to me.

The thing is, though, Joyce, Russel, Toni, and Doug are not writers, in the same way Bill Clinton is not a leader. What you have to realize is that they came of age in an era where words do not mean things-- all that is of consequence is one's gender, race, liberal brown-nosing skills, and superficial sound-bite appeal. In other words, all is politics. They came of age in an era where the critic is held in higher esteem than the creator, and the collectivist sentiments of the liberal bureaucracy are deemd superior to the truth. Thus Russel was hired as the "safe" token white male at Princeton, while Douglas Coupland was hired because of the title he ripped off of a Billy Idol Album-- "GENERATION-X," and to round things out, Joyce Carol Oates was hired to represent the feminazi contigent, while Toni was granted the obligatory multi-cultural-Nobel-Prize winner-make-liberal-university-presidents -look&feel-good postion. But never fear-- we're not going to review their books here. We considered it once, but it's simply impossible to subject ourselves to such boredom when we could be reading or re-reading something cool, like the last three chapters of MOBY DICK. We cannot make it through one of Joyce Carol Oates' porno/child-molestor/girl-gang books, and then even if we did, criticizing the nihilism would be but to exalt it to undeserved heights. We choose to say nothing about nothing, as that is how it is best represented.

But we will contine to keep our attention attuned to all their political maneuverings, as politics, not literature, is the means by which they earn their sustenance. We believe that there exist higher eternal truths that Great Literature is meant to express, but the liberals disagree with this definition, as they theorize that everything is but political. And for them, thinking so has made it so. They said it, and now for them it is true. Their literature is a decoy-- their politics is the essence. And being that the political is ephemeral, while the truth is eternal, their work is of no consequence. For this reason you will never witness a liberal deconstructing another liberal's work, for it is not possible. All that they pen in the morbid political/collectivist/socialist context they have created dissipates on its own. We'd like to thank 'em for making it all so political-- by razing their own field, they have readied it for the New Conservative Literature.

Our central objective here, which we hold above all else, is the authoring of Great Literature. Check out Elliot's The Drake Raft Field Trip as well as Drake's The After Dark Field Book. Drake's sonnets have been rejected from about twenty corporate conglomerate publishers, almost all of which have been bought out by Random House, Simon and Schuster, or Warner Brothers, most of which are owned by Viacom-- the folks who continually hit our generation over the head with MTV values.

Drake's sonnets were rejected at all these major publishing houses inspite of the fact that the esteemed literary agency of H.N. Swanson was representing his work, right up until they got bought out by some firm named Renaissance. The former H.N. Swanson agency was an L.A.-based firm which had represented F. Scott Fitzgerald and Hemmingway, away back in its heyday, before the liberals siezed coplete control of culture and the agency took to representing Judith Krantz, and well, the rest is history. Our agent was cool-- he loved literature, and we felt bad for him, as he'd often lament that nobody in the business read anymore. From numerous conversations with him, it by and by became apparent that these days a literary agency has about as much to do with literature as do the Ivy League English departments. And when Renaissance moved in and took over, our agent took off 'cause he didn't enjoy the atmosphere. It smelled like reefer. Instead of coffee each morning, the Renaissance agents would kick off another Hollywood day of selling their Hollywood screenplays to the Hollywood producers with a Hollywood joint.

The ironic thing about Drake's complete and thorough rejection from the publishing world was that time and again the editors wrote back pleasant letters stating that they, "admired the work," and thought that he possessed, "great talent and ambition," but alas, our work would be very difficult to market. We hadn't killed anyone, we partook in no drugs, and we weren't transvestites, and thus it followed that we would be of no interest to the American people. Thus we learned the modern-day editor doesn't believe that the people of this country were capable of great literature. What a depressing job.

After about a year of the manuscripts accumulating frequent-flyer miles on their round-trips to and from New York and Hollywood we started getting discouraged. Not with our ability to write Great Literature, but with today's publishing industries to print it. There appeared to be little reason to continue beating one's head against the impenetrable wall of pessimistic nihilism that the liberals in the publishing/entertainment industry have surrounded themselves with, so after our one year contract expired with our agent, rather than trying to obtain the services of a new agent, we decided we'd do something a little more constructive and enjoyable. There hadn't been anything like it for a number of years, and with the end of the millenium and all, we figured the time was about right. We decided we'd instigate The Conservative Literary Revolution.

The concept occured to me just before Christmas '94, when I was looking up some physics papers on the WWW, and it dawned on me that the new electronic medium was utterly free from liberal control. Publishing one's thoughts on the WWW did not entail engratiating any liberal literary agents or editors, or taking heroin, or being a feminist, and the fact that virtually anyone could publish meant that content would be essential in gaining and retaining an audience. The WWW had created a free marketplace of ideas, where only literature reflecting the Truth and marked by the fundamental Amercian attribute of rugged individualism would survive. Content would be welcome-- especially in the wake of the liberal boomer assault on the sensibilities of my generation, where they were doing things like inviting Douglas Coupland to speak at conferences to bestow upon the audience of ad execs and marketing experts the most efficient way to market one's neon/grunge crap to my peers. Words that meant things, although unmarketable and rude in the liberal editor's opinion, would be appreciated by the people. So I asked Santa for a book on the WWW, and of course, as I had maintained my ultra-high standards of behavior throughout the year, and had not attempted to deconstruct Greatness in any manner or form, my request was realized.

For awhile The BeaconWay Crew mulled over instigating a Literary Rebellion, but that only seemed to get us halfway towards where we needed to be, as in addition to rebelling against all the liberal stuff, we also wanted to institute The New Conservative Literature. We pondered a Literary Coupe, but this was too French, and it also sounded a bit too personal for our tatses. I mean it's fine with us if Joyce Carol Oates keeps her job and keeps on kicking people out of her class, for we feel she single-handedly provides an invaluable service in teaching young scholars how much socialism, fascism, seventies knee-socks and feminism can suck. And a Literary Insurrection seemed too temporary, as an insurrection is what revolutions are referred to just as soon as they are quelled. We're not interested in taking prisoners.

Thus the only title which captures the entire sentiment is, "Literary Revolution." It has all the rebellion stuff in it, only it runs the gamut, and promises to endow us with complete control over the literary world when it has completed its course. And unlike the liberals, who think that Shakespeare lifed his pen to give them something to deconstruct, we're looking forward to utilizing the literary throne to serve the people, rather than keep them in the moral and spiritual darkness that liberals like subjecting the general population to in order to sell their vulgar products.

There's no single best way to start a literary revolution, but some ways are better than others, and to help you out with your own, if you decide that a literary revolution is the career for you, we've come up with a list of the Top Ten simple supplies you'll need. All of these items can easily be found on most college campuses these days, if one only knows where to look.

Top Ten Necessary Items for Instigating a Literary Revolution:

10. The Truth.

9. An aging group of pedagogues and pedants who have a complete tyranny over everything that has anything to do with literature. The bigger and more complete the tyranny, the better.

8. A new medium which the aging group of pedagogues and pedants are too busy writing grant proposals, while their disciples are too busy brown-nosing them, to learn about. The glorious WWW should suffice. Thank you Western Science!

7. Fellow men and women who are coming of age in a cultural vacuum where we have been denied the deeper sentiments of the rational soul that are found only upon the printed page, and given Courtney Love & Multiculturalism in their place.

6. A group of brown-nosing publishing/academic disciples fresh out of colleges and grad schools who think they know what's up because they graduated with honors from their multi-gender-feminist-literature studies programs. They're going to be upset with us when the Conservative Literary Revolution renders their political degrees obsolete, even though they should be angry at their Professors for telling them words don't mean things. Actually they should be upset with themselves for believing it.

5. The Slacker/Generation-X/Grunge industries like MTV, Viacom, and Warner Brothers holding "Douglas Coupland Think-tank meetings" on how best to stealth-market products and stealth-liberal ideologies to generation-x, without looking like they're doing it.

4. Douglas Coupland & Friend's "Grunge" novels which start nowhere, go nowhwere, and leave you there when you're done, and thus by liberal standards are worthy of being touted as the literature of a generation who they want complete spiritual control over.

3. Pirate attire, and a couple of Jolly Roger flags to hang around your campus, just to let them know you're coming. We've found that a red bandanna, worn properly about one's head, greatly aides the writing process.

2. The fear of death. (Number 10 will suffice for this, in the presence of liberals.)

1. Great Literature. See BeaconWay Press at, "http://sunsite.unc.edu/owl/"

Now we must warn you against trying this at home, for you must realize that a Literary Revolution is a beast with a heart and mind of its own. Once started, it will ravage the establsihment, show no mercy towards the ideologically stratified literary community, and it will be perceived as a malicious threat by esteemed academics who will do everything within their power to ensure that you do not work in the world of academia. They will kick you out of their creative writing courses and off their electronic discussion-therapy lists, even though the literary revolution no longer has anything to do with you, any more than does the objective truth of reality which the liberals long ago evicted from their bankrupt ideology.

Unlike liberal administrators, a Literary Revolution is a color-blind beast. It will make no concessions based on race or gender, and thus it will be perceived as racist from the liberal perspective. Nor will a Literary Revolution kow-tow to all the high ranking academic officials who made a career out of expressing absolutely no feelings nor passions for Great Thoughts nor for Great Literature. Politics was enough for them, and a Literary Revolution, which is rooted in words that mean things, and thus has character, is a true terror for such shallow souls. The Conservative Literary Revolution will laugh at the ideologues of gender and of various sexual persuasions, it will laugh at the professors of hip-hop, it will laugh at the intellectualy indifferent economist turned university president, it will laugh at the multiculturalist who snubs Shakespeare, and thus it will be utterly shunned by the dominant liberal forces in today's institutions of higher learning. But as they bury their heads in the sand, they shall be grounded, while we rig our sails to the Truth's raging wind, and leave their failed literature in our wake.

The Red Avengers of All That is Right & True, United Aboard The Jolly Roger.

Elliot "Ahab" McGucken
Drake "Red Avenger" Raft
Becket "Bluebeard" Knottingham

Like I thought that everything would've made a pretty cool video, but Cliff said that the whole video industry thing sucks, and by the time they got anything of ours out on the air over MTV, our story will have evaporated, even if we laid down some cool riffs with it all. It'd have to have a bunch of those swimsuit super models on fire-- like the chick who graduated early from my high school, and scored herself a Porsche. You probably caught her in Sports Illustrated-- they put her in even though she has red hair. Or else it'd end up on VH1, and even MTV'd throw a flock of dolphins and environmental stuff in for balance to offset the sex and fire and death, all of which sounded pretty cool to me. I pointed out that one proverb thing, that a picture's worth a thousand words, and Cliff said yeah sure, if the picture's of a face or a barn or something, but when it comes down to pictures of the ungraspable phantom of life, words are priceless. So Cliff figured we'd write a book. Plus that way no one could ruin it, Cliff said, unless they read it wrong, and then it'd only be ruined in a private sort of way. But there's not much danger of that-- nobody I know reads.

Now I won't be able to say everything exactly as it happened, but Cliff said that that's no big deal, and I shouldn't worry about it; just as long as we get it all down before it escapes our heads, and then if there're any holes we can fill them in with whatever we feel. My verbal handling skills are about as good as Cliff's Rhandy Rhodes guitar solos, so you know Cliff should be the one recording all this in ink and stuff, knowin' all the bigger words that he's always learning out of those thick banned books he's always reading. But he's been shipped off to some camp in California, where he's supposed to get himself some religion. You know how the whole book thing was his idea, but soon as he got out West, he wigged out on me. He sent me a post-card of the Rainbow saying how he's got no time for words, 'cause he's on to some combination unification thing of quantum mechanics and relativity and stuff, which he says came out of either side of Einstein's brain and have hated each other ever since. He's putting all that stuff in our physics appendix thing, if you're in to science fiction. Plus he says he's too much afflicted, and stuff, by Drake's poems to write straight, except for to write out all the speech things we heard-- he keeps rhyming by mistake. He said he trusted my talents and abilities-- but that's mostly 'cause he doesn't wanna do it himself-- usually when Cliff trusts your abilities it's 'cause he doesn't feel like doin' it himself. But I have to admit that this time he might really be pretty tied up, 'cause on top of everything else, his dad's forcing him to take some classes that're gonna make him ace his SAT test things, so he can get into the college of his dadUs choice, for real; even though we already just got into Priceton, this past April, as like these phony people. We sent away for application things, and we made up some fake names like River and Cloudy Meadows, and we filled 'em out saying how we were two orphaned brothers whoUd been adopted by some charitable Black Sabbath roadies. We wrote it down in the spaces provided for events which changed our lives about how weUd traveled the world and been cultured by our roady family, having seen the Mardis Gras in the French Quarter, up in France, and Liverpool too, where Ozzy was born. We said we'd watched Bloody Stonehard sell out the Tokyo Dome four nights down in South Europe as a cultural diversity exchange program, and we'd even seen like the historical sights where Pink F loyd rocked down the Wall in Berlin and kicked face-ism's ass for good, and cured AIDS too, for Kurt Cobain's benefit, 'cause he's like dead. They'd changed rules on the SAT things, and let you take calculators in, 'cause they don't teach math in high school anymore, so Cliff got his soldering iron out and souped up these two old calculators he had lyin' around and made 'em so they could cruise the information super highway. That way I could look up all the words and things while he worked on the math parts. Then we like interacted some on the internet, and faxed each-other the information we'd found. I even had some time left over to look up the lyrics to Nevermind, 'cause I never could figure out what was gettin' said, but seein' em didn't help much. I guess it was cheating, as we were both working on the same test, and it could've been a federal bust, 'cause we were violating the FCC rules, but hey, we were taking them as a joke, OK? And besides, Cliff said it wasn't anymore cheating than memorizing the words before the test was. If anything, our way was more honest, and on the level, 'cause we just went in knowing what we knew, and didn't spend months preparing some eminent front to fool people that we knew more than we really did. But I did learn something: I'll never get into college, as the only word I knew on the test on my own was "estranged," 'cause Guns and Roses throw up the definition in that old video-- you know, the cool one where Axl jumps off an Oil Tanker and like Slash floats in front of the Rainbow and walks on water and stuff each time his solo comes up, like he's God or somebody. Plus our way was more efficient, too, 'cause we weren't filling up our heads with words that referred to nothing in reality, and wasting good space that could be used to know real stuff, like how to play the new Blood y Stonehard riffs. Cliff put some serious time in on our recommendations from our teachers, which was the toughest part, he said, because he had to climb inside the mind of Mrs. Jackson, this one English teacher we both had, though he had her for honors, and I had her for challenged; and to authentisize them he spiced them up with a few words borrowed from the coolest contemporary literature, like Beloved and The Way Things Ought to Be and from that huge brick-like book he kept getting detentions for having in the school-- the one which'd been banned for promoting violence against whales, Moby Dick. He said it would help us if we like lied and checked the minority box, which I thought we were already, being only two of us, but he explained the meaning of the word, so I thought some about it and concluded to him that it would be a good thing to say we were like Chinese, as Greg Shimaku was the smartest in our grade, and always showing up on the honor rolls; but Cliff told me I was a dumb-ass, and it was no wonder I never showed up on the honor rolls, or anything, and that anyone in our position needed to stick with a sure-fire minority; so he put down that we were rich. For our essay questions, Cliff borrowed some old poems from that dead dude Shake-a-spear, and set them down as our own, and told the admissions people we were two expiring poets, or something. I thought it was a dumb-assed thing to do, so sure I was that we'd be busted for copy-writing, and they'd trash our application, as that's like playin' a gig and introducing Knockin' on Heaven's Door as a song you wrote for some friend who died from a heroin overdose-- like Axl would beat the crap out of you. But Cliff said not to worry, because he'd been talking with his brother Drake who'd been going to Priceton, and before he'd wigged out up there and took to li vin' in the woods, and killed himself, sort of, Drake'd told him that they don't read Shake-a-spear there anymore.

READ SOME MORE @ http://sunsite.unc.edu/owl

xcvii.
Salinger's verve she does not understand,
By law then, he cannot be a writer,
As by Plato, all the poets were banned,
'Cause he couldn't explain their light brighter.
So often a great man lies behind his words,
Lies are safer than truths think animals,
He bans rhyme, rules with logic's double edged sword,
Icy order's instilled by the devil.
Republics can't be ruled by philosopher kings,
Philosopher kings will never exist,
Love of knowledge and power are different things,
Knowledge is used for power, when they're mixed.
It's tyrant's instinct that all should be banned,
That one fears that one does not understand.
xcviii.
Who would have ever thought that the oppressed,
Bleeding hearts would have risen to power
, Yesterday's outcasts become today's best,
Old ideals by present actions do sour.
For what man can resist the temptation,
To follow the call of natural law,
To set aside words of contemplation,
To find perfection in what he called flaw.
Blessed are those who know it's all a game,
They discern the truth from what is spoken,
Blessed are the heartless, who feel no shame,
When rules they made by themselves are broken.
Blessed 'til I rise to say what I see,
Paradox in to be or not to be.

Date: Sat, 15 Jul 1995 18:35:21 EDT
From: MR HAROLD K FIORINI
To: mcgucken@physics.unc.edu
Subject: AHOY!

A bloody good CybMag by thunder!