Difference between revisions of "The Young and The Fall"
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| − | '''The Young and The Fall''' is a zine writen by [[TrollE]] and released in the spring of 2006. It is | + | '''The Young and The Fall''' is a zine writen by [[TrollE]] and released in the spring of 2006. It is an epic account of an apocalyptic event, and a generational civil war. The zine has traces of post apocalyptic "science fiction", new mythologies, fantasy, and a near biblical tone. |
| − | The zine has traces of post apocalyptic "science fiction", new mythologies, fantasy, and | ||
The zine was released intially with only 10 copies, and than began to be reproduced by readers. Eventually more were released, but never as much as a normal print run for any of TrollE's other zines. | The zine was released intially with only 10 copies, and than began to be reproduced by readers. Eventually more were released, but never as much as a normal print run for any of TrollE's other zines. | ||
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[[Category:Ontario Zines]] | [[Category:Ontario Zines]] | ||
[[category:Zines from Canada]] | [[category:Zines from Canada]] | ||
| + | [[Category:2000's publications]] | ||
Latest revision as of 20:57, 29 March 2009
The Young and The Fall is a zine writen by TrollE and released in the spring of 2006. It is an epic account of an apocalyptic event, and a generational civil war. The zine has traces of post apocalyptic "science fiction", new mythologies, fantasy, and a near biblical tone.
The zine was released intially with only 10 copies, and than began to be reproduced by readers. Eventually more were released, but never as much as a normal print run for any of TrollE's other zines.
Excerpt from The Young and The Fall
wild movements, like stray cats in heat, fighting over territory - though many have learned to share, these lives are still led by flesh and lust.. they have a million hiding spots, and a thousand more secrets. treetowers, derelict farms, underground flood drains running under old abandoned suburbs. living of off scavenged scraps, foraged foods, with sleeping bags, tarps, backpacks, lunchboxes outfitted with live weaponry hammered from the crude utensils found on the sides of crumbling highways. body armour crafted out of hubcaps, sports equipment, and rescued bits of machinery pirated from scrapyards, cars and abandoned construction sites scattered across the ever expansive landmass.
a primordial martial art has developed, full of kicking, biting and screaming insults, fluid innocent movement yet tight, firm - savage psychological warfare, especially coming from the dirty mouth of a fifteen year old runaway - and she means it when she says she'll bite it off....
we had dreams on the mountainside. dreams of harmonies, grace and guns, leaving us trembling from the power and beauty, and the sanctity of life. now it can be seen in the coming winter night. the end is fucking nigh... this truly is the Fall. we slept in blown out holes in the side of granite stone, in bed of dry fallen leaves and twigs, shivering and grinding our teeth and waiting for the moon to rise above distant lakes, begging strangers in the morning for water, tobacco and a solid sense of hope. we only got excuses so cynical they made us sick. we gave up on the west coast with its inane esoteric answers and came east full of prayers and wishes - wishes of empty wintry lots for play and sleep (but we found no sleep, and no one to live with). we decided we were the only lights of the universe, shining like them missing stars, to the same lonely friends on the far side of the world, but we were here, and they there, and nothing could bridge the gap between us, nothing but safety and sharp muscles to climb every building and call every name and propel us all to a coming victory (can you imagine?).
