150 lines
9.3 KiB
Plaintext
150 lines
9.3 KiB
Plaintext
,...
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$$$$
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$$$$T""P$$$ba, ,gd&P""T&bg. ,gd&P""T&bg.
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ggggggggggg $$$$ $$$$$b d$$$$ $$$$b d$$$$ $$$$$b ggggggggggg
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""""""""""" $$$$ $$$$$$ $$$$$ $$$$$ $$$$$bxxP&$$&P """""""""""
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$$$$ $$$$$$ T$$$$ $$$$P T$$$$
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$$$"""""" " """" $$$$$$ "T&$bxxd$&P" "T&$bxx$$$$$' " """"""$$$
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""" """""" """
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ggg "An Open Letter To Anyone I've Ever Known" ggg
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$$$ by -> Phairgirl $$$
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$$$ $$$
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$$$ [ HOE E-Zine #969 -- 12/16/99 -- http://www.hoe.nu ] .,$$$
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`"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'
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i'm not quite sure why i'm sending you this other than the fact
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that you amuse me or make my day a little more interesting or simply give
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me someone to look up to. any way around it, the matter remains only
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this: that i would probably be dead right now if there wasn't a cat
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sitting on my lap.
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i believe i've finally fucked up my life once again and this time
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for the worst. i have great dreams, great plans, and they're all once
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again wasted and irrelevant and gone. i killed them. i buried them and
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patted the last of the soil on top.
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my life has gone completely to shit. my creativity level is at a
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new low, and all i can seem to do is babble incoherently and remain as
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far from entertaining as any human could possibly stray. my fifteen
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minutes are long since over, in fact, i owe some back, as i squandered my
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minutes and stole those of others.
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there seems to be something inherently wrong with me, as i can't
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seem to complete the most rudimentary of tasks but excel at the difficult
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ones. it reminds me of the story my mom told me about this genius kid
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that graduated with her class who killed himself shortly afterward. there
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was nothing in his life but busy-work and bullshit, and he couldn't take
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it anymore.
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and so i find myself failing a basic computer class for the second
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time... not because it is too hard, but because it's so easy that it's
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stupid. i want my degree but i don't want to do busy work. i can't
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comprehend why i have to spend 3 hours reading the most horrid text ever
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written simply to discover that my project was to cut and paste a
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paragraph and save it to a floppy disk. i can't take it. it makes me want
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to put my head through the first plate glass window i find.
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i've been told many times, "just get the busy work over with, just
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sit down and DO IT and be done with it, and then you can move on." but i
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can't move on. i can't just sit down and do it. i stare at the book, i
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stare at the screen, i find everything so goddamn worthless that i can't
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find any effort inside of me that would make me want to do any of it.
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ahhh well, it was nice thinking i was going to finish a degree. it
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was nice thinking that i might actually be doing something with my life.
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maybe next time.
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in the meantime, i always have my wonderful wendy's job to
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continue. ahhh yes, this wonderful job that it is that i spend 48 hours a
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week doing, 48 hours a week wishing i was dead. 48 hours a week with the
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exact kind of people that i wish the earth would open up and swallow. 48
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hours a week of everything i could possibly not want for my life.
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and so, due to fuckheads, egos, and people i'd rather die than
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associate with any longer, i am searching for a new job. i haven't done
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this in four years. it's traumatic. i have this constant feeling that i'm
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worthless because i've worked at wendy's for four fucking long horrible
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years. i have this constant feeling that i'm worthless because i don't
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have a degree and have to find some way to get a job that will pay my
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bills as well as that fucking AWFUL wendy's job i currently maintain.
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but it's not just the job that makes me feel worthless... it's the
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people. i hate my job. i love so many of my co-workers. i hate so many of
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my co-workers. i don't understand why i'm such a horrible employee that i
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deserve to be watched under lock and key, yet another employee with a
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much worse track record than mine is revered and worshiped... i have no
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idea why.
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i feel bad because i'm in this position where i can do so much for
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the people i care about at work, and i feel i owe it to them, because
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they're suffering from a bad rep. however, i also suffer from a bad rep,
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so i can only do so much. but either way, i'm getting shit on, they're
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getting shit on, and our best option would be to leave, but we're not all
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strong enough.
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strength... what a funny word that is. everyone quickly glances to
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me as if i'm the end-all definition of the word, but i'm anything but. i
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keep up appearances, and with good reason. you can only be taken
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advantage of so many times before an iron wall goes up, that illusion of
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strength that everyone seeks as if it were the pinnacle of greatness.
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just ask houdini... it's all an illusion.
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what nobody knows is that i'm dying inside. i feel myself becoming
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more and more dead, so utterly repulsed with myself that i can't bear to
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show my face. i think about it a lot, dying... it's almost become second
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nature through the years, through my cyclical depression and elation.
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there's just nothing to live for these days. and the only reason i'm not
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dead is because there's a cat on my lap.
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i have almost nothing to live for. i have years ahead of me to
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complete anything remotely resembling what i would like to do with my
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life. i am distracted by stupid things and consumed by apathy. and if i
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had a gun, i would definitely be swallowing it now, as long as there
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wasn't a cat in the room, because they're the only ones keeping me
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afloat.
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there are no people worth living for. i don't remember having
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anyone whose shoulder was open for crying or anyone who would listen or
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could understand. i refuse to go near professionals. i refuse to go near
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chemicals. if all that assistance was what made me feel better, than who
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am i to live for myself? if i'm just living out of someone else's
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creation, am i really worth space? would i really care about myself?
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i have this horrendous pride problem and bitterness with
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everything in this world. i love to sing, i love to act, but i can't do
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anything in front of a crowd. all i can look at is the sea of faces
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seeing exactly what i don't want them to see, and that's me. the
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horrible, ugly me that doesn't do anything noteworthy... just tries and
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fails.
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i have had so many dreams in this lifetime... i've wanted nothing
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more than to immerse myself in music and life it and breathe it and swim
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in it, to maybe taste fame and possibly what it would be like to have
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money and not have to worry about it. i want to create wonderful things,
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to be silly and sad, to be myself completely and not worry about who is
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fucking me over.
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i want friends. i want relationships. i want to do something i
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like every day. i want to not have to worry about people and their
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motives. i want to be open, i want to share, i want to be understood. i
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want to want to live.
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sometimes, i just sit and stare into space and let myself become
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existential and debate my state of being. am i really here? can i be
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somewhere else? will all of this horrible nightmare end and i will wake
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up? none of this feels real anymore. i'm turning numb, and there's
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nothing worse than the numbness. numbness drowns out the pain, but it
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also drowns out life. it drowns out death. everything is the same when
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i'm numb, and changing among those states only feels natural.
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i think i've lost my ability to care about anything. i want badly
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to care about people, because i think i should, but i can't get past
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myself. my fucking self, as if i'm worth being a hurdle. i'm pissed as
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hell about this world and the way people are treated, but i'm not doing a
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damn thing about it. i'm too wrapped up in my own problems. i'm a
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self-centered, hypocritical bitch.
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i fucking hate self pity. i don't pity myself. i only despise
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myself. i despise others who are full of self pity. i despise
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manipulators. i despise people who use their problems as a means to an
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end. here i am, dispensing my feelings, but not looking for anything in
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return. i don't fucking want anyone's pity.
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so what am i looking for... i'm looking to not feel this way, this
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whole grand way. there's not much it would take for me to be even a
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little happy, and that's the hardest part of all. i'm not asking for the
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world, i'm just asking for a little bit of happiness, a little reason to
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live, some kind of hope that i might someday be able to really accomplish
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something and make my own life better.
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i think i am asking too much.
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if i had the guts to kill myself... which i don't, and that's only
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because of this cat sitting on my lap... i guess this would be my suicide
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note. this pathetic attempt at explaining who i am and what is going on
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is all in vain. it's all a bunch of excuses, all a bunch of wistful
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bullshit, all a bunch of tired eyes. it means nothing.
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and to think this cat on my lap is the only thing that is keeping
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me here... i can only wonder how long it will be until it gets up and
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walks away.
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[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #969, BY PHAIRGIRL - 12/16/99 ]
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