September 1998
Volume 1, Issue 3
"We brew it.
We drink it."
We sell the rest."
— Revelwood Brewers
Guild Motto
Tripod of Power
The General
Lady Cynthia
The General
Peace Declared?
Vikland and Revelwood Come to Terms

Historic Summit Meeting Better fetch your mittens Satan, looks like a cold front is moving in.

In what is being declared the most unexpected event since Stonewall found a real job, it appears that the stage is being set for a reconciliation of the two Known World Super Powers, Vykland and Revelwood.

For those who aren't aware that there was a problem, crawl out from under that rock and I'll try to objectively fill you in. Two years ago, this War, words were exchanged that resulted in the separation of two groups of friends. The stimulus for this was simple.

It was a perceptual matter. Each party saw an action. And each party saw the same action differently. However, the result was unmistakable, a cold war broke out. There was passionate upheaval, elicit angst, and some of the best drama available without buttered popcorn. The core issues seemed, from this writer's perspective, to be about loyalty and freedom. One perspective of loyalty clashed with another perspective of freedom. It is not the first time this has happened, and you can be sure it won't be the last. There are other theories that were presented to explain the separation including betrayal, conspiracy, power, control, and the subsequent lack thereof. However, whatever the cause, the effect was the same. The music was gone, and the long tent a little less crowded.

Typical of any cold war, commerce and tourism continued between the super powers. Diplomats from both parties continued to exchange ideas, present goodwill and wake-up face-down in the morning. And, typical of most cold wars, both sides awaited a reconciliation from the other. That time may be here. No matter what the outcome of the discussions at this year's Pennsic War, it will make for great drama. Do me a favor. Pass the butter.

Globe Globe Revelwood Around the Globe

One of the most frequently asked questions about Revelwood, beside "Are you guys for real" is "Where is Revelwood?" There is an easy and well rehearsed answer. "Revelwood is in the mind and spirit. There are no formal borders to Revelwood, as there are no formal borders to creativity." However, this type of answer usually gets a sigh of exasperation and an occasional palm strike to the forehead from the requestor. So, please allow me to suggest an answer that may result in a less distressed inquisitor and fewer blows to the head. Revelwood is not a geographic or political entity. It is not defined by Kingdoms, Principalities or Zip Codes. However, that does not mean that our influence is not far reaching. According to the Green Pages (the official Citizens and Friends of Revelwood Directory), there are members of the Artisan's Colony around the planet. Pirosh and Monica, Dr. Feelgood and Babette in Ireland, Seamus in England, Kit in Colorado, Andrew in Ohio, Trevor in Georgia, Nikolai in Arizona, Malik and Max in Maryland. The list is quite extensive. One would expect this is a result of the various journeys made by colonists over the many years. This is partially true. Revelwooders do seem to get out a lot and we more often than not make new friends wherever we go. One would also expect that this is because Revelwood has been around for over 10 years and in that time, people do tend to relocate. This is also partially true. However, one important reason is that the concept behind Revelwood is not that complicated. And unbeknownst to most people, they already have the outlook. Briefly stated, the concept behind Revelwood is to make people happy, using their art. An artistic explanation of our purpose is described in "The Proclamation". The concept is simple enough and is within everyone's abilities. Therefore, no matter where we go, people of like spirit reveal themselves and our numbers increase. In Revelwood, it is accepted that everyone has some artistic ability, and some way of expressing it. It is also accepted that given the opportunity, most people are good to each other. Sure, this sometimes backfires and we have been hurt. However, the successes far outnumber the failures so we remain convinced of it's merit. It is on this tendency that Revelwood flourishes. All over the world.

JUNK MAIL • Volume 1, Issue 3 • September 1998

The Eleventh Annual Revelwood Art Show Awards

The Eleventh Annual Revelwood Art Show was held on Saturday, July 11th. As anticipated, the weather was beautiful, the attendance record-breaking, and the Forests of Revelwood echoed with the music and verse from our new Performance Stage. This year's theme was the "Seven Wonders of the World." Without question, this one was a smash hit. All three incumbent Guild Mistresses were re-elected. They are Mary Ruadh, Silva the Swiss Army Chick and Tarani.

Through the sale of archive memorabilia, a chance to demolish the "Concrete Harp" and various fund-raising efforts, The Guilds raised over $150 for future art projects and art promotion in Revelwood.

The Artisan's Colony of Revelwood is proud to announce this year's "Art Show" winners:

Category Artist Title/Item
Best In Show The Vicar Keg o' "Vicar Brew"
Best In Theme Falcon "Seven Wonders of Ken's World" Comedy Routine"
Best New Artist Tripoth "Meeting of the Legend"
Most Improved Artist Just Ken Vocals
People's Choice Award Calidor
Guiseppi Bartolomew Vanaducci
St. Nick
"Performance" Stage
Performance Art
First Place Q "Colletta" Flute Solo
Second Place Andrew McRobb "Seven Wonders of Song" Vocals & Lyrics
Third Place Connor "Maine, Maine, Maine" Guitar & Vocals
Three Dimensional Art
First Place Calidor
Guiseppi Bartolomew Vanaducci
St. Nick
"Performance" Stage
Second Place Goody "Pan Galactic Gargle Bitters" Brew
Third Place Tripoth & Lady Torela "Seven Wonders of Revelwood" Sculptures
Two Dimensional Art
First Place Brother Rodney
The General
Revelwood Web Page
Second Place Liz "Untitled" Reverse Photo
Third Place Delvoria "Weep for the Night" Poem

Honorable Mentions
Brewing Art Vicar "Vicar Brew" Stout
Culinary Art Judy Dean "Untitled" Stuffed Mushrooms
Fully Functional Art Jenny Stevens "Eighth Wonder of the World-Guinness Tree"
Kidz Guild
(5-7 years) Katelyn Barr (1st Place) "Seven Birds"
Emma Wagner (2nd Place) "Butterfly"
(8-10 years) Amanda Able (1st Place) "Trio of Wonders"
Brittany Barr (2nd Place) "Seven Wonder Cats"
Sarah Wagner (3rd Place) "Tree"
(11-14 years) Mikey McCusker (1st Place) "Pyramid Cutaway"
Literary Art The General
(Author & Publisher)
"Junk Mail" Newsletter Volume I, No. 2
The Lady Cheron of Wolffe
The Iron Baron
(Editing & Art Design)
Brother Rodney
Kit Fitzgerald
Musical Art Taq & Connor "Rough Ride" (Lyrics-Taq & Performance-Connor)
Painted Art Lady Cynthia "Untitled" Watercolor
Pen & Ink Austin Barr "The Modern Ape Man"
Photographic Art Liz "Untitled" 3-D Cathedral Photograph
Poetry Lara "A Child's Face"
Q-mungus Q Carvings on Performance Stage

JUNK MAIL • Volume 1, Issue 3 • September 1998

Citizen Spotlight

Have you seen this woman? Larissa

We seem to have misplaced her. We're always putting things down and then forgetting where they are. Then they get covered up with other stuff and we can never find them. It appears that is what happened to Larissa. One of the original Colonists, Larissa hung around back in the days when legends were born. She is witty, compassionate, intelligent, sensitive, supportive, and missing. Sure, we always mail her party invitations, we beam out cosmic messages, we even sent a search party once. Of course, they just partied and nothing got accomplished. Nonetheless, we miss her. We miss her smile. We miss her eyes. We miss her laugh. We miss her beautiful face and stunning black hair. But most importantly, we think she owes us money. If found, contact The General.

Lady Cynthia's Brain Teasers

Alright everyone, put down that bottle, lick your number two pencils and begin.

I went to the woods and got it.
After I had it, I looked for it.
The more I looked the less I liked it.
I took it home in my hand because I couldn't find it.
What did I have?
Pronounced as one letter and written with three.
Two letters are there and two only in me.
I'm double, I'm single, I'm black, blue and gray.
I'm read from both ends and the same either way.
What runs but never walks?
What has a mouth but never talks?
What has a bed but never sleeps?
What has a head but never weeps?
What can fly, but not stand still?
Devouring all, while eating nil.
What is wasted, but never lent?
Never earned, but always spent.

Answers to these riddles will appear in the next issue of Junk Mail.

Wanted: Justice and resolution of conflict within the perimeters set by the law. Also needed, competency within the family court system; ability to maintain a schedule without "ad-libbing" the process; Judicial recognition of impact on parents & children and potential for disaster. Compassion sought for frightened family. Elimination of frustration and heartache caused by endless bureaucracy and procedures desired. Must have peace. No questions asked. [editor's note: This is real. Any Revelwood lawyers out there who can help a fellow citizen, contact The General for information on how to speak with the injured party]

Wanted: Old Issues of the Ironmonger (Shire of Iron Bog newsletter) and or Junk Mail. Looking for issues from 1985 through 1993. Will be used for retrospective issue later this year. Please contact The General or the Iron Baron.
Found: Box of used personas. Most in reasonable shape. Some good only for parts. See list below:
  1. Lars Ratchettebreath
  2. Ange
  3. Cassiopia
  4. Ferrous Metals
  5. Levi Skull
  6. Pattttt
  7. Willooowww (AHHHHHH)

JUNK MAIL • Volume 1, Issue 3 • September 1998

Ask the Archivist
By Spiney Norman — Revelwood Historian

(Reprinted from the Revelwood Web Page)

Dear Spiney,

I’ve been through the Gnome Forest, I’ve gazed over the Sea of Grass, but I’ve never heard of "The Field of The Last Supper." So what exactly is this "Field of The Last Supper" thing anyway? How did it get its name?


Befuddled in the North Pole


Dear Befuddled,

The Field of The Last Supper is an important place in Revelwood lore, and is located just North of the trail that runs between The Gnome Forest and Piney’s Cabin. It got its name because of the ducks. Sit down, fix your hat and spit out that elf. I’ll tell you the story.

Did you ever notice that you never see any ducks in Revelwood? You must admit, this is rather curious. Revelwood is conveniently located in the wetlands, between three major bodies of water.

Well, it wasn’t always that way. Why, not to long ago, you could hardly drive down Malone Road without hitting one or two of the little quackers, feathers flying everywhere, quite a sight. So you could imagine our shock when suddenly one afternoon, we discovered a note nailed to the Barn doors explaining that the Alliance of North American Weird Obnoxious Waterfowl (ANAWOW) Local #4428 was blacklisting Revelwood. They said we were unsafe. Although we were used to this kind of claim, this was the first time it had been leveled by birds. The note went on to say that it was unsafe for ducks because of hunters, pick up trucks, wandering drunks and Stonewall’s hat. The ANAWOW explained that from then on, they would fly the extra 45 miles around Revelwood and bring their business elsewhere. The note was signed by the ANAWOW president, Jimmy Hoffaduck. Jimmy was famous for his speech, "Give Me Cracked Corn, Or Give Me Death," and for inventing a rather tangy but pleasing Orange Béarnaise sauce.

Well, it was decided right then and there that Revelwood wasn’t going to take that kind of attitude from a bunch of ducks. After all, we were an Artisan’s Colony. Pompous was our middle name (or at least the IB’s middle name). Nobody was going to reject us unless we rejected them first. That’s just the way we are. Plus we kind of liked the ducks, feathers and all. They gave the place a sort of tranquil, artistic look. Rather like a cheap drug store calendar. So the decision was made to act.

We asked the Gnomes to arrange a meeting with the ANAWOW leadership and several key Revelwooders, and to serve as mediators in the negotiations. The location agreed upon was a field just North of the trail between The Gnome Forest and Piney’s Cabin. The three Revelwooders selected to represent the Artisan’s Colony were Stonewall, Ropus and Q. Now this occurred a very long time ago, when much of Revelwood was still unexplored. But the three were undaunted in their efforts, and when the day of the meeting arrived, they arrived in true Revelwood fashion. They were late.

As the three strode into the field, the full assembly of Gnomes and ducks met them. A rather unusual sight as you can imagine. The Gnome’s Grand Poobah (pronounced GRUNTBUGGLY in Gnomic), Theodore Gnome, opened the meeting. He made a rather long speech about how wonderful it was that two great groups could get together and resolve their differences in a civilized fashion and how supremely enthusiastic he was about our chances for success and blah, blah, blah. Then, after three cigarettes worth, he handed the floor (dirt?) over to Jimmy Hoffaduck, who, in a rather short speech, merely restated the ANAWOW’s concerns and subsequent blacklisting of Revelwood.

A hush fell over the crowd as Stonewall, Ropus and Q stepped forward. They explained that Revelwood felt it was being unduly blamed. Revelwood had nothing to do with the hunters. "Look around." Ropus explained. "You’re in a forest. Hunters traditionally lurk about in forests. It’s where the animals are. Rarely do you see hunters hunting in a bowling alley." Ropus continued. "Plus, if you didn’t insist on flying about in broad daylight, in neatly packed chevron formations, maniacally flapping, quacking about and generally making a grand hullabaloo, maybe you wouldn’t get shot at quite so much. Stonewall jumped in with something about hats and Orange Béarnaise sauce, but Q cut him off. "You see," said Q, "as much as we’d like to share in the blame, we really don’t think we can."

Jimmy Hoffaduck rose from his squatting position and waddled to the podium. "We …," (he paused for emphasis) "are ducks. And that is what ducks do!" The various flocks that make up Local 4428 went wild with agreement, flapping their applause and quacking a cacophony of cheers. There were feathers floating about everywhere. Stonewall stood there drooling, frantically grasping into mid air, trying to gather as many feathers as possible. Ropus was stunned by the response, unconsciously raising a fin in defense. Q quietly whistled to himself as a plan formed in his mind. Theodore Gnome raised his hands to try and calm the crowd of ducks. Eventually they quieted enough for Jimmy to continue. "Whether you accept the blame or not, you are still blacklisted." Again, the crowd erupted. Again, Theodore tried to quiet them down.

Finally, Q asked the Chair (stump) for a few moments to caucus. Together, the Revelwooders spoke quietly behind some nearby Cedar trees. After ten or so minutes, they emerged and asked to address the crowd. Theodore Gnome stepped away from the podium and Q took his place.

"As the president of the ANAWOW so clearly explained, ducks do… what ducks do. And it would be futile to try and change that." A murmur of consensus rolled through the flocks. "However," Q continued, "why not use that to your advantage? Since you instinctively fly in such tight formations, I propose you each carry a placard, so that when you are flying in formation, it creates a work of art." Several hundred inquisitive quacks shot out from the crowd. "You see," Q explained, "the hunters will be so astounded by the spectacle of flying art, that they’ll forget to shoot. Hell, even if they’re not astounded, the moment or two of delay it causes while the hunter watches the Mona Lisa heading South for the Winter will give you ample time to get out of range. Besides, this type of artistic expression is sure to win some sort of award at the next Revelwood Art Show.

The crowd went wild for a third time. Only this time it was in consent. Everyone knows that ducks consider themselves great artisans. They are always striking a pose in National Audubon Society calendars, greeting cards and appearing on various Saturday morning cartoons. Now here was a chance for them to put their artistic talents to work. Maybe even win an award or two. Until that time, no duck had ever won a major artistic award, with the exception of Donald Duck. And everyone knows he slept with the judges.

The ducks immediately began to discuss the merits of such a plan and agreed to try it. However, the question soon became, what art should they choose? There were the impressionist ducks that insisted that the proper use of pastels would set off their feathers in a most striking manner. There were the modern art ducks that claimed that by the time the hunters figured out what they were looking at, the ducks could be long gone. There was even a Picasso splinter group whom all the other ducks considered fatalists, because their art always looked like a duck after it had been already shot. However, the largest group of ducks comprised the classical art ducks, who themselves were split into the pre-Raphael and the post-Raphael factions.

The debate as to what art to use raged on all day and well into the night. Finally, an accord was reached, and the selection was made. The first art to be carried would be "The Last Supper." The classical ducks had won out, but in order to do so, they had to make huge concessions to all the other ducks. It was decided that the next day, the art would "take off" from that very field, and resolve the issue once and for all. That evening, a great celebration was held. The Gnomes catered the event and the Union paid for it. Somehow, the invoice was misplaced and the Gnomes have yet to get paid. That is why they will steal you blind if you’re not careful when you enter Gnome Forest.

At the quack of noon, the ducks assembled. Each held a placard with a small portion of the famous painting on it. Orders were quacked out and the majestic formation slowly rose from what is now known as The Field of the Last Supper, into the clear blue sky. However, as fate would have it, disaster struck a moment later. You see, nobody had taken into account the presence of Vern.

Vern McGimmley was a beer swilling, middle aged, overweight, balding, backhoe operating, alcoholic with bad skin, who never finished eighth grade. His only pleasure in life was to get the biggest, most powerful, nastiest looking shotgun he could find and obliterate small defenseless animals. He always gave the meat (whatever he could find of it) to selected people he called friends. The people of course, didn’t consider Vern as their friend. He was just this guy who showed up with freshly killed game. But Vern was oblivious to that.

As fate would have it, just that morning, Vern’s wife had left him for what Vern referred to as "one of them sonofabitch artsy fartsy poet types." Actually, the fellow was a Yellow Pages deliveryman, but even that was beyond Vern’s comprehension. Vern thought the strong use of yellow on the cover meant art. When Vern looked up and saw The Last Supper go flying by, all the hate and anger that he felt for an awfully cold and unfair world came boiling out, and Vern shot his waterfowl limit for the next three years.

Ironically, out of 137 ducks, only three survived. They were the two that were Judas Iscariot, and the one that was the bowl of olives (coincidence?).

Needless to say, the ANAWOW was seriously pissed. They immediately voted to permanently blacklist Revelwood anyway. As for Jimmy Hoffaduck, an unseen shooter somewhere on a nearby grassy knoll assassinated him, at the same moment Vern was shooting into the sky. The subsequent investigation by the ducks centered on Vern as the lone gunman. This, of course, lead to the magic bullet theory. But that is another story.

As it turns out, the ducks did in fact get the last laugh. When Vern shot all of those ducks, he figured he would have more friends than he had ever had before. So he threw a big party and invited them all. At the party, he met an exotic dancer named Orville. However, while eating duck with Orange Béarnaise sauce, Vern started to choke on a bone. Nobody would help him because, in truth, they really weren’t his friends. Just the people he gave dead animals to. As he lay there gasping for air, they robbed him. Not that there was much left to take, for his ex-wife had hired a vicious lawyer who had already taken most everything, except for the shotgun. Orville took that.

But that too, is another story.

JUNK MAIL • Volume 1, Issue 3 • September 1998

Little Junk Mail Logo

P.O. Box 1
Stratford, NJ 08084

Modern Apeman

"The Modern Ape Man"
by Austin Barr
Winner of the Pen & Ink category
Revelwood Art Show XI

The Last Word

I'd like to offer a new section for those of you who feel you have something to say. You know who you are. You're the person who had a real good idea about how the last party could be made even better (like that's even possible). You're the person who wants to express your unhappiness about something in the real world, and doesn't have anywhere to make it public. You're the person who sees something we all don't, and wants to enlighten us. You've got some great lyrics and need a composer. You're a fiction writer and need a publication. You're a malcontent or visionary and need a soapbox. Well here it is folks. Climb up and speak out. Send your copy to "The General" at the post office box listed on the mailer.

I'll print it as you write it. No content changes. I'll only correct spelling and grammar, and only of it doesn't effect the content. Few times in life are you able to get the last word. Get yours today.

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