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ANOTHER ARTICLE THAT NOBODY EVER READS
(WHAT A SHAME)
by Richard Karsmakers
Yes. I know I am not the editor. It is even likely that the true
editor, Stefan that is, has written an editorial himself. If he
has, then you probably found it before this part, or you will
find it after it.
I just felt like writing a bit to make you aware of the biggest
problem we have ever had with regard to ST NEWS. The problem: Our
compression routine is too good, and we're double sided.
This may not sound as a problem to you. Indeed, it does not seem
to be a problem to anyone but us. We should be happy to have the
problem in the first place. Well, we are. But not entirely.
If you have not yet lost track of what I am trying to say, then
you might very well be the kind of person that can help us to
solve the problem.
But first let me tell you how the problem got to be one in the
Ever since Volume 4 Issue 4 (the one covering the LateST NEWS
Quest in England in 1989), we have published our issues on
double-sided disks. This was all great and excellent for it
enabled us to offer twice as much interesting things. More
articles. More source code. More interesting little programs.
Maybe even the odd somewhat bigger program.
Having become double sided we decided never to get back to being
single-sided. We don't like regression, so we felt it simply
wasn't done - so we didn't.
In the previous issue, we started using a packer that just about
halves the article size. This was all great and excellent for it
enabled us to offer you even more than before.
Unfortunately, it also meant that we would have to write quite a
lot more to fill every future issue. As you know, we don't like
regression. So we didn't.
So basically we produce four ST NEWS issues with each issue we
bring out. It takes longer to fill. It takes more articles. It
takes more source code, more programs.
And that's where we need you.
Yes, YOU: The one that is now almost on the verge of quitting
this article in search for something better to read.
We are relatively happy with just publishing 2 issues of ST NEWS
per year (which are actually eight issues), but we know we can do
better than that - if only some more enthusiastic people would
We will publish more than you think!
Were you feeling depressed one Sunday? Well, you could write
something like this:
"Let's not beat around the bush: I hate Sundays. I have always
hated them and I always will. The week is behind you and another
one is waiting to start, but Sunday is neither a beginning nor an
end. Rather, Sunday is something entirely of its own that has no
reason to exist - yet does. It does not deserve to exist.
Sunday, bad as it is, gets even worse when you're alone. You can
try to shatter the silence with some good music, but it will not
succeed in actually making you feel better. Even some of the best
and most beautiful Joe Satriani ballads get warped into songs
that merely make you spiral downwards emotionally.
Sunday, you bastard!
It doesn't matter if the weather outside is brilliant; it
doesn't matter if it's one of the last nicely sunny days of early
autumn, it doesn't matter if the snow is piled high, ready to be
formed into balls to be thrown at people. Nothing matters. You
cannot simply go for a walk outside to breathe the fresh autumn
air, you cannot go outside to throw snowballs. You cannot do
When you're inside, you spiral downwards. Whatever you do, you
do it without vigour. When you're outside, your minds wanders off
to other days, increasing the feeling that Sunday is a day quite
unlike any others - in the negative meaning of the phrase.
I hate Sundays. I have always hated them and I always will.
Nothing is the same. The shops are closed. The streets are
occupied by elderly couples walking their dogs. There's nothing
on television except for black'n'white films in the afternoon.
The sky is not blue but off-blue. Beautiful music sounds sad. In
winter time, the snow remains inviting, thick, soft, untouched -
for all kids seem to be off to the obligatory visits to
grandparents, especially if you are not.
On Sundays, time does not obey the same laws as on weekdays -
probably to compensate for Saturday, when time seems to pass much
too fast. Seconds take two a piece, and when you pay attention
sometimes even three. Whatever you want to do to quicken the
time, nothing is of avail; you can try to think of something nice
but you will automatically find something quite sad to think
about instead - compelling, resolute, unshakable.
God, I hate Sundays. I will probably die on one."
If you would want to write a poem you could do that as well:
"Oh dreadeth Sunday I loathe thee
With all the powers that be in me
Why cannot one feel good on you?
Why doth each second turn to two?
Thou provoketh loneliness
Reasons beyond me be to guess
Thou provoketh darkness and dread
As if thee hath the darkness wed
Oh dreadeth Sunday I loathe thee
Yet in a week again be ye"
You could send it to us and we would surely find a way of using
it in ST NEWS (didn't I just find a way to use my bit you just
If you are fascinated by dying and dreams, you could write
something like the following, and submit that:
"Now we're on the subject of dying and dreams (well, 'we' may
not be but 'I' am), I would like to philosophise a bit about
this. I have once seen a film in which there was a theory that
once you die in your dreams you will die in reality. The whole
thing was about someone terribly important whose dreams had to be
infiltrated by a terrorist who would then kill him in his dreams
(and, thus, according to the film, in reality).
I can tell you from personal experience that this entire concept
is, to put it harshly and bluntly, crap. If you die in a dream,
you do not die in reality. Either that, at least, or the
difference between living and dying is remarkably superficial
(indeed, impossible to notice).
You see, I sometimes know that I am dreaming, and then I can
control my dreams up to a certain degree. I can for example have
a go at flirting (or, indeed, f.cking) any girl, or indeed I can
have myself killed. I have once been eaten by a bunch of tigers,
as far as I can recall. In my dream everything went white (not
black, but white) and after what seemed like a couple of seconds
of whiteness I found myself awake.
So as far as I can tell, you only wake up if you die in your
dream. Principally, this could also mean that if you die in
reality you will simply wake up from the dream man miscalls life.
But I have never had the courage to kill myself in a dream.
Maybe, if you do that, you will truly die? Who knows. Have you
experimented with suicide in your dreams? It would surely be
interesting to read about your experiences there if you have.
Then, of course, there is the possibility of life and death
being not altogether as dissimilar as we normally regard them -
which would mean that, if all these dream/die theories are true,
I would already have died once as far as I can remember. I use
'as far as I can remember' here as I know that I cannot remember
all my dreams when I wake up, and dreams are often dreamt within
a matter of seconds. In theory, I am then 'undead', for I still
roam the earth even though I have died. I still eat, sleep, love,
write for ST NEWS...are the dead in a position for these
I guess there is yet to be much more writing about this to be
done, but it surely ain't going to be by me. I just noticed that
all this talking about death and heavy philosophy is not
altogether improving my inspiration - and thus indirectly
afflicting some serious damage on the contents of this bit of
Well, just think what your inspiration would do if you suddenly
found out you've been dead for quite a while?"
Are you involved with your environment? Are you afraid of the
greenhouse effect or the hole in the ozone layer?
Then what about this:
"I went outside. The air was cold on my skin, like steel being
folded around my hands and face. I could feel the strange
radiation - the radiation that one should not be exposed to for
more than several seconds per day. If I would stay outside I
could look at the pure light of the pale sun - brilliant but
lethal. The light would pierce my skin. Hotness would grow.
Cancer would grow.
I went inside.
The walls moved in on me but there was nothing I could do about
it. It had to remain inside or else I might just as well put a
bullet in my head right now. Maybe that would be a good idea. A
bullet is likely to be a lot quicker than to be eaten away by
Switching on the television didn't improve my mood. The
president had declared fire illegal. Fire only used up oxygen and
gave back carbon dioxide, increasing the greenhouse effect.
Evacuation to another planet would not be possible because there
wasn't enough oxygen left in the entire earth's atmosphere for
rockets to be ignited whilst still maintaining other life on it.
The earth's population had decimated to several millions.
Billions had died due to malnutrition or lack of oxygen. Their
corpses decayed everywhere, adding yet more carbon dioxide to the
I thought about life. About the earth. About the future.
I went outside and undressed. Stark naked I walked around like a
tourist would have done on a nudist beach. I felt myself shrivel,
grow hot. My skin dried out. Pieces fell off like dead leaves -
or like dandruff on arms and legs.
I felt the pain of the ultraviolet radiation. I ignored it,
looked straight up into the sun.
I was instantly blinded. I spun around my axis a couple of
times. Now there was no telling where I was heading. I would not
find my house again. Never. Nobody could help me because
everybody stayed indoors these days.
But there was noise everywhere around me.
Uncertain steps around me, probing hands. More blind people.
That afternoon, we all died."
Have you seen "Terminator II" and do you think it is the best
film ever made, a film without the seeing of which you will not
live (don't expect an example here - read the 'editorial' of ST
NEWS Volume 6 Issue 2)?
I think you get my drift.
I would like you to think of something to write. Think deep.
Once you've finished writing, send it off to the correspondence
address and we'll may very well use it. Software reviews,
programming tricks, short novels, the works. You name it. We like
it. We need it.
You can help.
We hope you will.
For now, the best thing to do is just read ST NEWS. As usual,
we've spent lots of time working on it and we trust that some
part of it will appeal to you.
The text of the articles is identical to the originals like they appeared in old ST NEWS issues. Please take into consideration that the author(s) was (were) a lot younger and less responsible back then. So bad jokes, bad English, youthful arrogance, insults, bravura, over-crediting and tastelessness should be taken with at least a grain of salt. Any contact and/or payment information, as well as deadlines/release dates of any kind should be regarded as outdated. Due to the fact that these pages are not actually contained in an Atari executable here, references to scroll texts, featured demo screens and hidden articles may also be irrelevant.