87 lines
4.0 KiB
Plaintext
87 lines
4.0 KiB
Plaintext
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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MaxDaemonChildren
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My lips are dry for want of kissing. You see, he lives far
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away. He has a girlfriend. His life is one of content, all is orderly
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and rearranged for maximum psychological stability. He has a stable job.
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He cut his hair. He is cleanshaven now.
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Not like when we met.
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I will never forget it. I was 16, fucked up, scarred. I didn't
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eat enough. I was in a psych ward, on the levels system, President of
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the freaks. I was IQ tested and put in the same track as him. So we
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met 'in school'.
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"Why?"
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That was it. One question. One word that spoke a thousand.
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His eyes were haunted perfection. He stood, too thin, with hands
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shoved into pockets, shoulders slumped, large loose sweater over
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tye dye. His eyes burned into mine, and I knew that if I lied, he
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would know.
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One second.
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That was all it took, and I knew that we were kindred.
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He hummed Jane's Addiction as he typed furiously at a computer with
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the monitor switched off. His dark hair covered one eye and touched
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his shoulders rebelliously. His arms were scar covered from razors
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and bowls. His skin was pale, his face unshaven. I loved him.
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"I thought you were lying through your teeth."
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We were in group, a tough one with a scary leader. This
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is what he told me his first impression of me was. He was right.
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He was honest. And he just didn't fucking care how angry he made
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me.
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I have been searching for him in the shadows of other men
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ever since.
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We're friends now. He tells me about work and his
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girlfriend. He takes anti-depressants. We write hurried e-mail on
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lunch breaks. There will always be a part of me, a tiny part of my
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soul, that will be devoted to him. And somehow, I know, that I will
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never find his equal, that he was my one chance, and that it will
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be impossible to find another soul whose poetry is the same as my
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own.
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We met at the wrong time.
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You want the truth? Fine. Here it is. Don't let go. When
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someone can speak to your soul, reach you in the dark places,
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smile at you when the flames are rushing over you, and laugh when
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the sun is on your face, don't let go. It's all in the eyes.
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When you know what I mean, then it is right, and you shouldn't
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give up on it.
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Ever.
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Palpable Obscure
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"no one, not even the rain, has such small hands."
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions =
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= Mail: jericho@dimensional.com (Mail is welcomed) =
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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= To receive new issues through mail, mail jericho@dimensional.com with =
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= "subscribe fuck". If you do not have FTP access and would like back =
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= issues, send a list of any missing issues and they will be mailed. =
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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= Files through AnonFTP FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK =
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= FTP.SEKURITY.ORG/pub/zines/fucked.up.college.kids =
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= FTP.PRISM.NET/pub/users/mercuri/zines/fuck =
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= FTP.WINTERNET.COM/users/craigb/fuck =
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= FTP.GIGA.OR.AT/pub/hackers/zines/FUCK =
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= FTP.ETEXT.ORG/pub/Zines/FUCK =
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= Files through WWW: http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho =
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= http://www.prism.net/zineworld/fuck/ =
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= (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. =
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