89 lines
5.8 KiB
Plaintext
89 lines
5.8 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #610
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 My Second Hoe Article by RottenZ
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
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888 888 888 888 888 " by RottenZ
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 5/6/99
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Despite being repeatedly told that there were no signs of an
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impending apocalypse contained within in my menstrual blood, Geoffrey
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insisted, upon the beginning of each of my cycles, to analyze it none the
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less. This frustrating and, quite frankly, puzzling event had been going
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on for the last eight years, ever since the month that Geoffrey and I had
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begun dating, back in the spring of 96. He was then as he remained until
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the end: polite, eloquent, devilishly handsome, with that bizarre twinkle
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in his eye that makes you wonder if he really is a genius or just
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completely crazy. He had always seemed to be perfect in every way. So
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when this one peculiar singularity, this one act so strange popped up, I
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could hardly break up with him for it. I mean, for God's sake, it's hard
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enough in this life to find someone you can stand to be around for more
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than a couple of hours, much less a lifetime. And I'd always possessed
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that feeling about Geoffrey, that he and I were meant to be together.
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Right from the start. So when he began to request small portions of the
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"monthly discharge", I obliged with only a bit of trepidation.
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It was two long years of doing this before I got to the motive
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behind this exchange, and it was, in itself, almost as off-putting as the
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event itself. Before, when I'd dared to ask him about it, he would become
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agitated and refuse to talk to me about it. Finally, however, once I found
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the good sense to stop allowing him his samples until he "spilled the
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beans". After a long bout of heated exchanges, where I even at one point
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believed he might strike me, he finally calmed down and came forth with the
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answer. He claimed to believe that, contained within the complex chemical
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structure of this specific blood sample, there was some sort of code. If
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broken, this code would help him determine when the end of the world would
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come, and how it would begin. This is all he would tell me. No matter how
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I begged and pleaded, he wouldn't let me in on how he came to this
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conclusion, or why my menstrual blood, in particular, was so key in this
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process. He did assure me, repeatedly, that he loved me a great deal, and
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was not with me solely for the purpose of obtaining the samples. He also
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admitted that he had not broken the code, as of yet.
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Of course, I thought the whole concept was madness. At first I
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laughed. For a long time I laughed. Weeks and weeks I couldn't stop
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laughing about it, at the most unpredictable times. And then the crying
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came; that lasted even longer. Finally, after about a year of fretting
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over my fianc<6E>e's apparent insanity, I finally was able to get over, or at
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least, push aside, this lingering concern. Life was going well; Geoffrey
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and I were married, he had accepted a well-paying job at a chemical company
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in southern New Hampshire, and our first child was on the way. Geoffrey
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hadn't wanted a child, at least not so early in our marriage, and although
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he never admitted to it, I think that the absence of my cycle during
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pregnancy had a strong influence on his feelings. Well, unfortunately for
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him, I became pregnant, and I was sure as hell not going to give up my
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child so that he could continue his experiments. After little Samson was
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born, those experiments continued, as did life in general. And life was good.
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Things went very quickly from good to bad, when Samson died. He had
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been a bright, engaging child, with his father's strong curiosity. This
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led him, at the tender age of three, to places he ought not go, and while
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we did our best to always keep an eye on him, Samson was quite good at
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weaseling out of our sights and protection. On the last day of his life
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I'd left him in the care of Geoffrey while I went out to the store. All I
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needed was a gallon of milk and some shortening so I could complete a
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recipe I was working on for dinner. I was only gone for fifteen minutes.
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When I got back, Geoffrey was in the basement, working out of that
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make-shift home lab of his, and Sam had found a way to escape from his play
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pen upstairs. I don't like having to recount that day. Suffice to say
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that his body was found, downstream of the creek that runs by our house,
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several days later. It had been running high due to a bout of severe
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rainstorms, and Samson, who must have gone down to explore the raging gush of water, more than likely did not have a chance against the undertow. A
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grown man would have had difficulty remaining standing in the creek. And
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Samson was only three.
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The sense of betrayal I felt after this event was crippling to me;
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we each had, on many occasions, gone elsewhere in the house when Sam was
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playing in his little pen in the upstairs living room, so it wasn't as if
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Geoffrey had done something unusual on that day. Still, that didn't stop
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me from laying the blame directly onto him. The next sample he took after
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that event seemed to shake him up, although he would not give me the
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details as to why. A week later he left our home completely, taking
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everything that he owned, while I was out at my therapy session. I haven't
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seen him since.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #610 - WRITTEN BY: ROTTENZ - 5/6/99 ]
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