Number Two, July/August 1993.

P: For my first issue as editor, I also chose to minimize the cover graphics. I put VHS stickers on paper, scribbled black Sharpie over them, then lifted them and made dots on it.

Back cover bits are from various tracts.

I brought this issue's pages to be printed up at a place in Briarcliffe Mall in North Myrtle Beach, and they fucked it all up. I started doing RTH on the copier at work after that, and corrected this issue at some point because it seemed important at the time.

M: Right away, we hit our style with #2. I continue to be disturbed by that bear, and not just because of its injuries.

Number three, September/October 1993.

P: I love the sign language cover for no. 3 ("now"), very clever. I also like that I, behind M. (in his baja), look like something out of Goya's Black Paintings.

M. I'm pretty happy with this front cover. I might have been trying too hard with the back. D.S.'s quote came from a round of Rhetorical Questions. Her uneasiness with the word "creamy" informed the centerfold of the issue.

P. It's called Rhetorical ANSWERS, you knob.

Number five, February/March 1994.

P: I should probably just let M. tell you about his covers, since I had no input whatsoever. I suspect J.O. and J.M. were involved.

M: Yeah, J.O. did this cover, front and back. J.M. probably gathered the art and may have helped with assemblage. Who can remember after 30 years? And that's Hunter Thompson, not Paul Shaffer, if anyone was wondering.

Number six, May/June 1994.

P: I found a William Blake illustration in some book, traced the outline of this figure who had been eternally damned and, understandably, seemed upset about it. I guess I added the contrast and shading.

I drew the simplistic back cover of Kurt Cobain (with a trite and obvious quote) shortly after his suicide. I drew it in quick slashes in the hope of getting a loose, spontaneous quality, which ironically required about a dozen or so tries to get it right--and then once it was printed, everyone told me it looked like me (which it doesn't, although the doomed cover guy kinda does).

M: Also, you did quit -- lotsa times! Anyway, I've always liked this cover.

Number seven, August/September 1994.

P: The back cover felt a bit too socially relevant for my taste. Personally, I strive for 100% irrelevance.

M: I can't remember who sketched the back cover. But the front is one of JM's great block prints.

Number eight, January/February 1995.

P: I was pleased with my ghostly profiles cover, with "RTH" scratched into the toner and "eight" written in Liquid Paper. Looks like M. contributed the back cover.

M: Front cover is strong. Back cover is mine and looks like a rush job (like I was so busy with things).

Number nine, March/April 1995 (arbitrarily assigned as beginning "Volume two").

P: I don't know if I did the cover, but I almost certainly found the stock image. Back cover is by JM.

M: The stark front cover is mine. The image came from some medical book, I think. Probably the same one from which I designed the cover for the The Throats third release, "The Independent Hand." I'd repeat the style for #11.

Number ten, July/August 1995.

P: Whatever "Melon Mischief" was, the internet doesn't seem to know about it. The back cover, to me, looks more like a M. concoction, but the handwritten bits in the photo are definitely mine so maybe not.

M: Front and back are both yours. Although the back doesn't really look like either of ours. And who gives a kid a half melon to chomp on?

Number eleven, September/October 1995.

P: Some of the back cover elements seem familiar, so I may have helped put that together. I remember cutting around the turtle's antenna, wondering if it would even show up.

M: The reference on the front cover is from George Harrison's "Run of the Mill," a song I've been listening to regularly since J.O. bought me the double CD at Richie G's for my birthday. Look at that dumb kid -- a phone on both ears! The back cover might have been all yours. Wonder where that turtle is now.

Number twelve, November/December 1995.

P: I remember being very pleased with how the cover came out, the letters fitting the 18 lab rat squares perfectly.

The back cover came together nicely as well. I always found it funny that believers point to the bible as proof that the bible is real: It says so! I figured RTH should do the same. (I substituted my name for Psalms.)

M: Strong covers for this issue. Thirty years later, we're still offending God (the church, as always, does a pretty good job wounding itself).

Number thirteen, January/February 1996 (now "Volume three"--again, for no reason).

P: I think I contributed that optical illusion to the cover, but I could be wrong. Some of the back cover elements seem familiar too, but this is almost three damn decades ago so hoodahell knows.

M: Almost certain front and back are mine. Unverifiable! The block print on the back was J.M's that I reproduced in diminishing sizes. Also unverifiable. Though we're both certifiable, some would say.

Number fourteen, April/May 1996.

P: My girlfriend made the cover, "rth man and geese," very clever.

I paired M.'s poem with the back cover photo. I just liked the idea that this seemingly lost kid is having these thoughts.

M: Terrific front cover -- occasionally we had contributions from skilled artists. The kid shoulda just picked up the phone and called his mutha or sumpin'.

Number fifteen, no month listed, 1997. Final issue (still Volume three).

P: The cover is bits of some old health-nut magazine. My poem on the back cover was probably written for my girlfriend, although we hadn't actually broken up yet, just in my head. It's a pre-break-up poem. What a jerk.

I started a new job in early '97, so I think that probably helped put the kibosh on RTH. Not that I was so insanely busy, but M. was moving back to LI, so he would no longer be helping with submissions, which had gotten out of hand. RTH was no longer an experimental writing project among friends, so we just kind of allowed it to flicker out.

M: A fitting final cover. I think fifteen was a respectable amount of issues for two mooks whose diets consisted of Dinty Moore stew and jugs of Carlo Rossi Burgundy. If I could go back in time, I'd rewrite -- no, replace -- my poems, and delete most of the submissions from those outside our like-minded circle. But I'm proud of it. At least we did SOMETHING with our time.