71 lines
3.8 KiB
Plaintext
71 lines
3.8 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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dead man living
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i looked around me and noticed that everything had slowed. the cars had
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slowed, as had the people within them. the radio seemed quiet, the breeze
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subdued. i looked across my right shoulder at the woman in the car next to
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mine. her face was staring forward, frightened, as though the sights to her
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left would scar her eyes forever. my car advanced forward in the queue.
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i looked across my left shoulder, out the open window. i saw a hand, an
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arm, and a white sheet.
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the scene around this display was obscured by my focus. i heard no sound
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from the sirens, nor from the screaming bodies milling about. this empty
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shell on the ground was aside from the noise, the movement. peaceful, and
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at rest amongst the chaos behind it.
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i had seen an empty shell before that night, but it had never triggered
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such a response. i wasn't sad, really. i felt no more connected to this
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shell than any of the others i had seen lying vacant before. i guess that
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this was the first time i had the consciousness to recognize it. i was
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alone, sitting in my car, hands cold on the wheel. i saw across my left
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shoulder the contours of a body underneath a white cover. i saw stillness.
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i saw a discarded vehicle.
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does the soul cast off the mind and the body, discarding them when it's had
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enough? or can the body survive without the soul, the mind without the body?
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i want to know death well, even become friends. some people stop talking to
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god, but who ever starts talking to death? death must be an entity like any
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other, and must possess the same spite and jealousy. i want death to know
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me. i want death to be my companion, not my shadow.
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people talk to god to find out what they are, and why. i don't need to know
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what i am. i am, and that is enough. i want to know what i will be.
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with my right hand, i silenced the radio. with my right foot, i depressed
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the gas pedal. i looked up at the sky, then to my left again. from that
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point on, i looked forward.
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and i still do.
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sarikei
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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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= 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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= 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.DTO.NET /pub/zines/fuck =
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= FTP.ETEXT.ORG/pub/Zines/FUCK =
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= WWW *** http://www.sekurity.org/~fuck *** =
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= http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho =
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= http://www.reps.net/~krypt/fuck.html =
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= http://www.simunye.com/fuck =
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= http://www.dis.org/se7en/fuck =
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= (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. =
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