ACTRON v5, #5 (2018/11/05)

ACTRON v5, #5 - front cover

ACTRON v5, #5

by stanley lieber

12 pgs. original text and illustrations. 4.25" x 5.5". photocopied mini-zine.

available at etsy.com

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everything’s gone green #4 (2018/10/31)

everything’s gone green

#4

by stanley lieber

It was a live birth. Bear descended to the world on tired paws. It was his way out. He assumed this new world would be better.

His parents quickly disabused him of that notion. Not that it was strictly their fault. The construct prevented them deviating to any significant extent. It was a setup.

Bear was hungry.

Here, someone fed him. They taught him what they knew. Maybe that was the problem. Bear always felt there was something missing. He couldn’t quite put it into words. His memory of the field was fading.

On bear’s ninth birthday he awoke from a dream. The locals had been trying to tell him something. He had to give it all back. But he didn’t know what it was. They wouldn’t say. On and on the dream went. It was frustrating.

As a young man bear learned many of the things his parents never knew. Some of them he had forgotten. Some of them were unknown even to the locals. He felt that he could almost remember the breeze in the grass...

Before he knew it it was time for him to return to the field.

Everything went green.

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everything’s gone green #3 (2018/10/30)

everything’s gone green

#3

by stanley lieber

The green of the field had worn a line around bear’s waist, cresting just below his navel where h leaned into the field as he ran. The sensation was not altogether unpleasant but bear didn’t allow himself the distraction. The grass flowed smoothly around him, drawing tight in his wake, a soft curtain of green closing on an empty stage.

He’d missed the transition.

Failure in his own field would not go unnoticed. Was there any point in explaining? Bear would continue to make mistakes. Anyway, he knew what he had found even if the locals didn’t. He folded his discovery in half and tucked it under his arm. The firmament was still cooling, its pages might still singe. Bear gripped the fabric with intent as he retreated into the woods. Now he would wait, and listen.

Beyond today’s failure loomed certain possibilities. Bear could feel it in his fur. Intrinsic to the locals’ tolerance of his presence was the assumption of a shared frame of reference, or at least, a unified conception of the ground rules. Bear was now prepared to discard such trappings as delusional. His discovery transcended the treachery of images.

The field beckoned.

Bear was hungry.

From one side to the other, cycling mechanically, alternating endlessly, bear ran, and he knew that he ran.

It was enough.

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everything’s gone green #2 (2018/10/19)

everything’s gone green

#2

by stanley lieber

Bear was concerned there was no way he would hear his chime when it was time to wake up. He lit a candle and at the bottom he placed a favor that would be set off by the flame. It was the best he could do.

Out in the field he could hear the nightly cacophony. They weren’t bugs, really, depending on how you understood the word. Anyway, they weren’t paying him to listen.

Bear could remember liking this time of year. It was something he held onto, especially on these nights when he wasn’t feeling well. Down in his back, like most other nights on most other worlds. Bear wondered if it was normal.

It was cold.

Bear kept the blanket over his face. He went over the story in his head but he could never quite remember the order of things as he wanted to remember them. It was a real challenge to stay awake, when he set his mind to it.

Bear slept.

In his dream he saw the things he had tried to explain, with all of it seeming to make sense to the others who were present, ever listening. It never quite worked out this way when he was awake. Everyone was always so confused. This was not to say bear preferred being asleep. He only wanted to translate aspects of his experience into waking life. A way to communicate what he had seen and felt.

There was no one for bear to tell this to.

What would he think of next?

Abandoning such questions he would get out of bed and walk in the field.

The locals had learned to leave him alone. They knew by now that he was broke. You can’t bleed a turnip, his mother would have said. Bear was no turnip, but he thought he understood what she meant.

He heard his chime. Bear wasn’t sure which day it was. In practice it probably didn’t matter as much as he would have thought. It was time to get up.

He set out across the field and quickly found the spot where he had left off the day before. He continued.

The prospect of reaching the other side of the field, without being interrupted, without being stopped for the toll, for small talk, or for some other form of tribute, was something he felt he still believed in, however remote the possibility might seem to more reasonable minds. Bear allowed his own mind to wander where it might, sometimes venturing to unlikely places. It was how he stayed awake. It was how he stayed sane.

His neighbor wanted to know how long he’d be gone.

Stay out of my room, said bear. He was serious, and he growled to prove it. His neighbor laughed.

Bear would remember to take an inventory of his room when got back from the field.

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ACTRON v5, #4 (2018/10/15)

ACTRON v5, #4 - front cover

ACTRON v5, #4

by stanley lieber

12 pgs. original text and illustrations. 4.25" x 5.5". photocopied mini-zine.

available at etsy.com

index
patreon






everything’s gone green #1 (2018/10/11)

everything’s gone green

#1

by stanley lieber

Evident along the path were the occasional clearings, open spaces relatively lacking in tree cover (and thus, near-field surveillance). The lag could be exploited in various ways. Bear decided to test the limits of exploitation.

Crossing the pasture would draw the attention of locals bent on collecting the finder’s fee. Of course he would never tell his parents. He paid and left.

He could still feel the breeze on his neck. He could hear the trees whispering behind his back even as he decided to remain silent about his role in tonight’s events. There would be no accounting of his efforts, which he hoped would remain forever obscured.

He walked home and slipped quietly into his room. No messages, which was fine. Half asleep, bear lay down on his bed and covered his face with a blanket.

Stupid bear.

Get out of bed.

It was always the same field he had to cross in order to get back home. Bear would leave and come back. One thing he could count on was the sinking feeling he’d get whenever he was stopped for conversation. Locals.

Bear never chatted for long. He would nod, grunt, and then make his excuses. Some of them would get the message. Others he would have to eat.

He hoarded all the best bits in his den. A collector’s collector. He was aware that the extent of his massive collection would vex his contemporaries. Of course, he didn’t broadcast his good fortune. It was nearly winter.

He was once again trying to record. The tape machine was being finicky. It was true he had slacked off on maintenance, but the damned thing was hard to work with even on a good day. No more degaussing. He tried one last take and then he put his equipment away. Another time for this.

The field and his den sometimes seemed like the whole world. These two miserable tracts.

Bear’s mind wandered.

The binary world of field and den shuddered under the intense weight of bear’s concentration. His interests had become global. As he searched the firmament for the borderlands he knew must exist, he encountered diverse locals, new locales. Some he knew and remembered, some vexed him with unfamiliar language and customs.

Bear knew all the citizens of the binary world were capable of more, so much more.

It was simply a matter of uncovering the boundaries, then expanding slowly to move beyond them. Bear felt instinctively that he was ready. The others he wasn’t so sure about.

Carefully, he began to sketch a map.

It was coming out at the wrong speed. Bear across the meadow, bear just as he was. He could feel the pressure building behind his gleaming black eyes. He used his words. It was how it worked. But after a while words were no longer enough.

"Tell me," said bear, "What will I think of next?"

Pinpricks in his spine.

Time to go home.

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(2018/10/10)




other






redaction day (2018/10/01)

redaction day 2018






(2018/10/01)



other






thrice great hermes available now in print and digital formats (2018/08/29)

thrice great hermes - front cover

thrice great hermes

a novel by stanley lieber

184 pgs

5.25" x 8"

print | pdf

ISBN-10: 1724684744
ISBN-13: 978-1724684745

thrice great hermes - back cover

massivefictions.com/hermes
patreon






ACTRON v5, #3 (2018/08/28)

ACTRON v5, #3 - front cover

ACTRON v5, #3

by stanley lieber

12 pgs. original text and illustrations. 4.25" x 5.5". photocopied mini-zine.

available at etsy.com

index
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SOLOMON’S WISDOM (2018/08/22)

SOLOMON'S WISDOM

3:27, 3.3mb

recorded: summer, 1999

public domain
patreon






f print edition (2018/08/16)

f - front cover

f

by stanley lieber

8 pgs. original text and illustrations. 5.5" x 8.5". photocopied mini-zine.

available at etsy.com

f - interior

index
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ACTRON v4, #14 print edition (2018/08/16)

ACTRON v4, #14 - front cover

ACTRON v4, #14

by stanley lieber

8 pgs. original text and illustrations. 5.5" x 8.5". photocopied mini-zine.

available at etsy.com

ACTRON v4, #2 - interior

index
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ACTRON v5, #2 (2018/07/24)

ACTRON v5, #2 - front cover

ACTRON v5, #2

by stanley lieber

12 pgs. original text and illustrations. 4.25" x 5.5". photocopied mini-zine.

signed and numbered in an edition of 23 by the author.

available at etsy.com

ACTRON v5, #2 - folding photocopies

index
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1OCT1993 (3rd edition) available now in print and digital formats (2018/07/09)

1OCT1993 - front cover

1OCT1993 (3rd edition)

a novel by stanley lieber

updated with corrections, december 2017

332 pgs

5.25" x 8"

print | pdf | txt

ISBN-10: 1722186666
ISBN-13: 978-172218666

1OCT1993 - back cover

1oct1993.com
patreon






Track_16.mp3 (2018/06/29)

Track_16.mp3

recorded: summer, 1999

keyboards: sl

bass guitar: eric pierce

patreon






🌀 available now in print and digital formats (2018/06/29)

🌀 - front cover

🌀

a novel by stanley lieber

184 pgs

5.25" x 8"

print | pdf | txt

ISBN-10: 197842034X
ISBN-13: 978-1978420342

BOOK ONE: MARS2

  1. BASEMENT LIFE
  2. FLAT EYES
  3. FAIRE LA PERRUQUE, WHATEVS
  4. JERK VIZIER
  5. DEFINE COLOR
  6. I DOUBT IT
  7. HEY, WEIRD SHOES
  8. GRID
  9. DEEP CAPTURE
  10. INFINITE SUBBASEMENT
  11. THE INTERFACE TO SECURITY
  12. LATCHKEY PIRATE
  13. ATLAS SHIT
  14. DIVORCEE CANYON
  15. TIGHT IMPRESSIONS
  16. DASH 1
  17. BAJA PIOTR
  18. TODAY WAS CRAP
  19. THE SCARLET WOMAN
  20. YOU HAD TWO SONS, MY GHOST HAS NO HEAD

BOOK TWO: • • •

  1. HELLO, CRUEL WORLD
  2. IT'S A DIFFERENT WORLD
  3. OUR ENEMIES ARE FLAT
  4. TIMES OF ENJOYMENT
  5. FUCK NO, SCHLUMPFE
  6. GOAT LAB
  7. THE GOLDEN ASS
  8. DARK WALLET
  9. SPIRALS
  10. SPIRALS, PT. 2
  11. SPIRALS, PT. 3
  12. SUBPLOT
  13. BLACK ACURA
  14. FRANK THE GOAT
  15. ICHABOD CRIME
  16. THE SHIP'S CAT
  17. APPLIQUE
  18. YOUR DENSITY
  19. THE FABLIAUX

BOOK THREE: THE SEPTEMBER THAT ENDED

  1. THINK OF THIS
  2. GRAY GLOVES
  3. THE FOURTH MAN
  4. LOYALTY DAY
  5. MORALE CHECK
  6. DECK 25
  7. BLUEBIRD
  8. BRASS CEILING
  9. UNDERCUT
  10. THIS WAY TO EGRESS
  11. LATERAL DISCONNECT
  12. THANKS, BRANDON!
  13. MING THE CLAM
  14. LITTLE GREEN MEN
  15. SAM'S CLUB™
  16. THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE
  17. אוּרִיאֵל
  18. THE HALF IS BETTER THAN THE WHOLE
  19. THE GREEN ALWAYS GROWS
  20. THE SEPTEMBER THAT ENDED

🌀 - back cover

1f300.com
patreon






A NICE SURPRISE (2018/06/28)





A NICE SURPRISE

3:31, 8.3mb


images by richard scarry and dieter roth, used without permission


public domain
archive
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ACTRON v5, #1 (2018/06/26)

ACTRON v5, #1 - front cover

ACTRON v5, #1

by stanley lieber

12 pgs. original text and illustrations. 4.25" x 5.5". photocopied mini-zine.

signed and numbered in an edition of 23 by the author.

available at etsy.com

HAUS MOLD

ACTRON v5, #1 - front cover, WIP

ACTRON v5, #1 - folding photocopies

index
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3gh (2018/06/20)





3gh

3:00, 7mb



public domain
archive
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& (2018/06/15)





&

2:06, 5.3mb



public domain
archive
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→ WC Internet (2018/06/13)





→ WC Internet

3:46, 8.9mb

photos by hiro



public domain
archive
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CE (2018/06/07)

http://ia802707.us.archive.org/22/items/SlGoodbye/GO-Track_03-CE.mp3






(2018/05/27)

comic






_ #45 (2018/05/07)

_

#45

by stanley lieber

He wasn’t Cameron, or Andrew, or Shinji, or Carmine, or Stan, or Daisuke, or Daisuke’s boss. He wasn’t even himself. He knew that now. It had all been built up, on top of him, to provide him with a framework in which to answer the questions they wanted to ask.

The interrogation never ended. The interrogator never left. The questions were always still being asked.

He tried to remember each phase, the details, but already it was all slipping away. How was he supposed to tell the interrogator what he wanted to hear when he couldn’t even keep track of the construct used to pry it out of him? It was all he could do to respond, at all. He simply didn’t know the answers.

Let’s try again: Cameron and Andrew, dead. Shinji (sorry, Carmine), dead. Shinji... he didn’t know. Stan, back at the Post Office (unless he was at home, or out on his route). Daisuke, doing some job for his boss. Daisuke’s boss remained a mystery.

He was pretty sure that he had gotten all of that right, but there was never any indication of how the interrogator was taking what he was saying. Just more questions. The cell door would creak and he would be alone again. The cell door would creak and he would have company. After a while he stopped trying to distinguish the two states. To him, it was all the same.

Geo sat on the floor.

The frame dissolved.

Plot concludes.

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new stripes by mitch trale, used without permission.






_ #44 (2018/05/07)

_

#44

by stanley lieber

He was given full run of the half-pipe for one hour a week. Privileges could be, and were, revoked over the slightest infractions, perceived or otherwise. He was never explicitly told the rules, but he was able to piece together a working definition through a process of trial and error.

Back to his cell.

They were trying to convince him he was someone else. They would ask the second person questions about the real him, get him talking about himself in the third person. Cute. He wondered what they really wanted to know. At some point he decided that he was not going to give it to them. Immediately, his life took a turn for the worse.

No more skating for Geo. They’d broken him down, built him back up again without the desire to skate. His new focus would be the mission. Because of this new configuration he wouldn’t even miss it. Besides, with his pending workload about to explode, there just wouldn’t be time for hobbies.

His thriving business likewise fell away. All that remained, all that he could see his way clear to think about, was the mission.

Details of which arrived presently.

And it was all too much. The data dump overwhelmed his ability to file the incoming bits. He couldn’t perceive, couldn’t interpret. How was he supposed to secure the objective?

He attacked it like a skating problem: plan the approach, gauge his time in the air, figure out where the wheels would touch the ground.

Skate the gap.

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_ #43 (2018/05/03)

_

#43

by stanley lieber

Geo wasn’t certain when the interrogation had begun. Searching his memory it seemed that the interrogator had always been there. He strained upwards, craning his neck toward the aperture centered far above his head. Save for this solitary shaft of light, the tall narrow cell was completely devoid of illumination.

Geo felt around on the floor, his hands trailing through damp puddles. He realized now that he had wet himself, maybe several times.

How long had he been down here?

Always?

The interrogator was apparently taking a break. Geo used this opportunity to get his story straight. Whatever this was about, Geo had had nothing to do with it. It would be easy for him to sell this explanation because Geo honestly had no idea what he had done.

Had he in fact done anything?

The cell door creaked.

Day after day he kept track. He gave up trying to count after he noticed that he’d filled every available surface with marks. It seemed to him now that the only life he could remember was his life in the cell. His only friend was the interrogator. Was this how they’d planned it? With him able to recall only his captivity? The interrogator asked questions that pertained only to his previous life. At this point Geo just didn’t know.

What if the interrogator was himself? Geo had approached this most prickly proposition several times, but the environment always colluded to distract him. What could it be they wanted him to tell himself that he didn’t already know?

The cell door creaked.

Geo was led outside, into an implausibly bright, sunlit half-pipe, seemingly constructed to competition standards. The guard issued him a blue plastic skateboard with chunky yellow wheels. Geo just didn’t get it. What was he supposed to do? He rubbed his eyes.

The guard withdrew, locking the exterior door behind him.

Geo was alone.

"Skate," his little voice said.

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_ #42 (2018/05/02)

_

#42

by stanley lieber

    PERSONAL INVENTORY

    - I don’t fall down.  Others shatter against me and fall down.

    - I am not hurt.  I feel nothing at all.

    - I don’t know what any of this means.

Geo felt that there must have been a reason why he was chosen as the custodian of these remarkable powers, but he had no idea why someone like himself should have been chosen.

It didn’t matter. His schedule was full of meetings and he didn’t have time to think about it. He’d shoulder the burden and sort out the philosophical questions when he had a moment of spare time. Which would be never.

It was funny, he realized that this was the decision he was making, even as he made it. Call it a rare moment of honesty with himself. He terminated the inventory.

He’d think back to that original costume sewn while watching TV. Had some random show or commercial influenced him? He supposed that this was a general question rather than something specific to the context of his career as a super-hero. To be honest he couldn’t remember most of the shows he had watched back them. Busy with his work, he had only occasionally glanced up at the screen.

The modern version of his logo had, of course, been modified from that original design. Let’s say streamlined. It served well enough.

One of his minor annoyances was constantly being asked to explain the symbolism. Why had he chosen the American flag motif? As if it should need to be explained. He guessed that it did. And so he would suggest that it had all been a joke. This usually worked. His interrogator would laugh, wink at him, and then move on to something else.

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_ #41 (2018/05/01)

_

#41

by stanley lieber

When he tried again he took along the boombox. It was already falling apart, having been dropped several times on previous excursions. This time he clamped it tight to his shoulder and tried to keep his balance.

The cassette door was long gone, victim of a prior fall. Even though he remained upright, somehow the cassette itself was falling apart. One of the reels rolled across the sidewalk, unwinding a long trail of brown tape. "Type one," Geo said, reflexively.

He bent down to scoop up the loose tape and the boombox tipped, ejecting the other reel from the now fully disintegrated cassette. Both halves of its plastic shell clattered noisily to the ground. He set down the boombox and without prompting its battery compartment popped open, dislodging two D batteries, which likewise rolled away form him in opposite directions.

Geo still wore his old green Vans everywhere he went, even though he never skated. They seemed to be the only shoes that really fit his odd-shaped feet. People in the board room always said they clashed with his suit, but what did they know?

He would sit at the head of the big conference table, the one painted with his logo, and preside over the day-to-day operations of his company. Now he was regional. Now he was national. Now he was global.

Now he didn’t care.

"We’ve the money," the man who was always dressed in brown, like a UPS driver, said. "You’ve the goods?"

"Of course," Geo said, smiling again. He found he didn’t even want to stop.

Business.

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larry (2018/05/01)

larry

5:38, 13.3mb

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utopia






_ #40 (2018/04/30)

_

#40

by stanley lieber

Geo’s handwriting was terrible. His mother helped letter the catalogs. It was never quite clear why he didn’t just use a computer.

"I don’t really care about any of this," his mother would say whenever he brought up skateboarding. She didn’t want to talk about comic books, either. It was not long before she refused to do any more lettering. "Well, thanks for the work you have done," Geo said, and that was that.

Being a super-hero was less fun than he’d hoped. Basically, there was nothing for him to do. Now, with his back, he wasn’t sure there was much he could do. Even without being needed he felt like he wasn’t doing enough. At least he was making money.

Rolly told him about a mark who had shown up at The Cellar asking after him. An older man with long hair, dressed entirely in brown, like a UPS driver. Geo took his card and said he would get back to him.

A lot of his regulars came through this way. Word of mouth seemed to snag the big spenders. They’d just show up in person, having done all the legwork themselves. He often wondered if they’d even seen his ads. Why did he bother?

His inventory was light, so if this guy wanted to place a large order it would mean he would have to do some scrambling. Fortunately he kept some reliable sources on standby. And at least a couple of them owed him favors.

In his mind he was already spending the money.

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