131 lines
5.3 KiB
Plaintext
131 lines
5.3 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #778
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "Journal Spewings"
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
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888 888 888 888 888 " by GrlFrMars
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 8/2/99
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Um, so I found my journal unpacking today. It's always a journey
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down that bumpy, booby-trapped, wild-animal-laden dirt road we refer to as
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"memory lane" when one comes upon an old journal. Although mine is far from
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full, it contains some neato stuff I forgot I'd written. I don't keep a
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journal like teenage girls keep a diary, mind you. My journal acts as my
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replacement word processor, I fill it with random poems/stories I come up
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with on the go. It's black velvet, filled with not only my writing but an
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assortment of crap I've picked up in my travels, pictures of old lovers, old
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love letters, and the like. So here's a bit of what I found.
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[-----]
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"I ran over a skateboard today," she said as I braided her hair. "It
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really pissed me off. I mean, what kind of idiot would leave their
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skateboard in the middle of the street? Damn it, I wish the little punk who
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left it there was on it when I hit it, the bastard."
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I was still trying to formulate the image in my head. A sort of
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transportational survival of the fittest came to mind: I envisioned her
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black Volkswagen running over a skateboard, maybe a bus running over her
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car, an airplane swooping down and carrying the bus off to god knows where.
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I suggested that the piece de resistance of her accident would have been the
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car actually mounting the skateboard in a gesture of solidarity, but that
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story was far over in her mind.
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"OUCH! You're pulling too hard!" she yelled.
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I apologized, and she went on. I was still stuck on the implications
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of her first story. If it had been anyone else, the incident would have
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sparked a long philosophical debate, which would probably end with an empty
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pot of coffee and a full ashtray. However, I had a firm grip on her hair.
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She wasn't getting away from me too easily, so I started at her with my
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questions.
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"Don't you see the political implications and/or symbolism in your
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action today?"
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"Huh?" she replied.
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"Your car, a polluter of the environment, crushing a skateboard, an
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environment-friendly mode of transportation."
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"OK, you're scaring me now!" she said.
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"Maybe that skateboard was someone's only means by which to get
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around. Maybe that person couldn't afford a car, maybe you totally screwed
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up their day."
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"Good!"
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Right. That was my cue to give up. She obviously wasn't up to my
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inquisition, and frankly, I wanted to pursue it no further.
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"You think too much, that's your problem," she said. "When was the
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last time you, like, totally let yourself go? When was the last time you
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got totally wasted, for example?"
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"Dude, you know damn well what happened last time I got trashed. We
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were at that lame party playing drinking games, then we went back to that
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kid's dorm... I was so fucked up and you left me alone with that guy!"
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"Ahh, beer goggles guy!! I remember that! Hahahahahaha.... Christ,
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if I'd have known. I wouldn't have gone off like that. Sorry, man."
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"Yeah it's alright. Life experience, y'know? Anyway, I seem to
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remember someone hooking up with their man's best friend that night."
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"Oh shut up, you. Now I'm regretting asking you anything. I'm going
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to keep my mouth shut from now on."
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I gave her hair a good yank for spite.
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[-----]
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OK that's some unfinished business. Here's a neat little angry girl
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poem that I don't think I finished yet either:
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[-----]
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Rummaging through old letters, I came across yours
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That girlish handwriting neatly arranged
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Line after line of you telling me your story
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And providing the soundtrack to your life
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Ungrateful bastard you took it back,
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But you left me your letter
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With words neater than mine
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Typical one-up-manship
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Now my words fill the pages
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Words like love and hate and grudge
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You don't deserve to have the last word
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But whenever I confront you my wits leave me
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I know it's not love that draws me to you
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It could be the psychoanalyst in me
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Looking for the symptoms and developing a remedy
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I want to know why
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You treat me like a child
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When what we did was so adult
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I want to know why
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You ignore me time and again
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When you gave me your vow of eternal friendship
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In my heart I know all the answers
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But I'm not like you
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I don't give up so easily
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In fact I don't give up at all
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This is not the perfect revenge song
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It's just a warning
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Don't fuck with me
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You'll be sorry
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I swear.
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[-----]
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Hot damn. That was written two years ago or something. I don't
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remember. I wouldn't have liked to be around me at that point, sheesh.
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Well, that's all I have to share from my journal. I'll let you all know if
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I decide to finish any of these things, it's not bloody likely though.
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[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #778 - WRITTEN BY: GRLFRMARS - 8/2/99 ]
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