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Chaos, v. 1, issue 1, January 1945
Front cover
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Chaos JANUARY, 15 F S. FREE NUMBER 1 THIS IS A little magasine what is known as CHAOS, and it will be tossed your way monthly by the sundry members of the Bay Area Le Fouters, that sterling organization by the Golden Gate. If you don't want any more copies of the thing, don't write us--if you do, write. We won't be so bold as to ask for a letter an issure, but by god you had better drop us an occasional line, just to let us know you're still alive and kicking. Not that we give a damn one way or the other. The editors of this magasine come and go, but it goes on forever. The next issue will probably be guest-edited by Geo Ebey, and maybe the next one we'll turn it over to Lou Psmith, across ye bay--we don't know. That isn't for another month, anyway. We don't have a cover, you'll notice. Isn't it too bad? If you want to see a cover on the magasine, send us one. We don't care. Neither do you. The format is sloppy too. No even edges, no famous (oh nausea) color spreads...too much trouble. We haven't got the time. Besides, it's too much work. Labor. We aren't getting anything for it. Not a thing. Hah. We will of course trade with phantasy publications. If they want to work it that way and they usually do. Send them to Watson, 1299 California Street, San Francisco 9, California. Deah little Watson. He will, incidentally, continue to publish bleery, as ever, though most fans don't care to receive it anymore. They call bleery a publication for semi-sophisticates, and have labelled yours truly as the snot. T'hell withn'em. Inside you'll see some material by some good phans, by some bad phans, by some phans, and by some phools. We don't care to bother labelling them now--but we'll go it after this. Fun. Just think of all the rotten publicity we'll get that way. Whee. Also between these pages are fm reviews. We have treaded on a few toes, doubtless, but these comments are meant in the light of honest criticism, not a sorry attempt as humor. As Conway once said: --No matter what we say, here, now or later, we love you all. Satisfied? This issue is dedicated to Elmur Perdue. Don't ask us why, but the fact that we are going to ask him for an article on jazz and boogie might have something to do with it. We refuse to squeal. Oh, get off the stove, wifie dear, you're already hot enough. Hubba, Hu---b---ba. On the way to LA last summer, via train, we had a swell stateroom, only everytime we went to the diner we tripped on odd reason, they locked the door whenever we came to the station. And all morning strange men kept coming in to shave. One even availed himself of our private lavatory. We reported him to the conductor. 30
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Chaos JANUARY, 15 F S. FREE NUMBER 1 THIS IS A little magasine what is known as CHAOS, and it will be tossed your way monthly by the sundry members of the Bay Area Le Fouters, that sterling organization by the Golden Gate. If you don't want any more copies of the thing, don't write us--if you do, write. We won't be so bold as to ask for a letter an issure, but by god you had better drop us an occasional line, just to let us know you're still alive and kicking. Not that we give a damn one way or the other. The editors of this magasine come and go, but it goes on forever. The next issue will probably be guest-edited by Geo Ebey, and maybe the next one we'll turn it over to Lou Psmith, across ye bay--we don't know. That isn't for another month, anyway. We don't have a cover, you'll notice. Isn't it too bad? If you want to see a cover on the magasine, send us one. We don't care. Neither do you. The format is sloppy too. No even edges, no famous (oh nausea) color spreads...too much trouble. We haven't got the time. Besides, it's too much work. Labor. We aren't getting anything for it. Not a thing. Hah. We will of course trade with phantasy publications. If they want to work it that way and they usually do. Send them to Watson, 1299 California Street, San Francisco 9, California. Deah little Watson. He will, incidentally, continue to publish bleery, as ever, though most fans don't care to receive it anymore. They call bleery a publication for semi-sophisticates, and have labelled yours truly as the snot. T'hell withn'em. Inside you'll see some material by some good phans, by some bad phans, by some phans, and by some phools. We don't care to bother labelling them now--but we'll go it after this. Fun. Just think of all the rotten publicity we'll get that way. Whee. Also between these pages are fm reviews. We have treaded on a few toes, doubtless, but these comments are meant in the light of honest criticism, not a sorry attempt as humor. As Conway once said: --No matter what we say, here, now or later, we love you all. Satisfied? This issue is dedicated to Elmur Perdue. Don't ask us why, but the fact that we are going to ask him for an article on jazz and boogie might have something to do with it. We refuse to squeal. Oh, get off the stove, wifie dear, you're already hot enough. Hubba, Hu---b---ba. On the way to LA last summer, via train, we had a swell stateroom, only everytime we went to the diner we tripped on odd reason, they locked the door whenever we came to the station. And all morning strange men kept coming in to shave. One even availed himself of our private lavatory. We reported him to the conductor. 30
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