326 lines
15 KiB
Plaintext
326 lines
15 KiB
Plaintext
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'##::::'##:::'#####:::'########: VIVA LA REVOLUCION! CERDO DEL CAPITALISTA!!
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##:::: ##::'##.. ##:: ##.....:: ===========================================
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##:::: ##:'##:::: ##: ##::::::: THE HELOTS OF ECSTASY PRESS RELEASE #365 !!
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#########: ##:::: ##: ######::: ZIEGO VUANTAR SHALL BE MUCH VICTORIOUS! !!
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##.... ##: ##:::: ##: ##...:::: ===========================================
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##:::: ##:. ##:: ##:: ##::::::: "I'm Complicated, Part 2" [Re: HOE #180] !!
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##:::: ##::. #####::: ########: by -> LilNilHil !!
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..:::::..::::.....::::........:: 12/19/98 !!
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!!========================================================================!!
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One day gregory sat up in his little room and looked at the wall.
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He thought about the wall, and the wall's place in the universe. He
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thought about himself and where he was, and he thought about life. He
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sat there for what must've been days, just examining the wall, and the
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walls in his head, And then, it happened. Bang! Like lightning hit
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his brain stem and snapped it right in half, gregory discovered... the
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big huge secret.
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Oh how wonderful and complete his life would now be. Finally he
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would find peace with himself. All the people of the world would
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rejoice and praise the god that is gregory. Disease and hunger and pain
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would be wiped out from the earth, world peace was imminent!
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Immediately gregory jumped to his feet and started running
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around the room, there was no time to waste. Armies had to be
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nullified, world leaders had to be notified, gregory had to hurry up
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and tell someone the big huge secret while the world still had a
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chance. So, thrashing and tearing, gregory's white garments fell to
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the floor. Gregory started to panic, what if he didn't tell someone
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the big huge secret in time and it was too late. What if gregory
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completely lost and forgot the big huge secret, and spent the rest of
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his life trying to remember what he realized? An so gregory screamed.
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Just once. But he knew it would do.
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Immediatly he heard footsteps, running footsteps. Gregory
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couldn't wait to tell the person what he now knew. The footsteps grew
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closer, and finally gregory saw the door knob slowly turn. The door
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began to open, and the figure stepped in and showed it's face. Gregory
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looked at the figure. The figure looked at gregory. Then gregory
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composed himself, took a deep breath, and told the person the entire
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big huge secret.
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"ut!" proclaimed gregory.
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"..ut?" asked the person.
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"ut." said gregory.
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"oh, ...ut." said the person.
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Then the person gave gregory his dose of thorazine, refastened
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gregory's white straight jacket back on, and put gregory back in his
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bed.
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Gregory looked over at the wall, a blank stare in his eyes,
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mumbled one last "ut" and went to sleep.
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- how can a person simply refuse to understand someone who is
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supposed to be their own child? lock me up. who cares if it doesn't
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help me. that isn't the point. the point is our insurance will only
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cover mental hospital stays for a few more months, and we can't let
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17 years of monthly premiums go to waste now can we dad? hospital
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stays.
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i would imagine in a family that it meant breaking your arm
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while playing football.
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i would imagine that my mother when faced with her own lunacy
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would at least try to see how it got there.
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i would imagine i'm supposed to do more than just sit here and
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wait for the next outburst... that i should do more than simply eat my
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pills and make GOD-DAMNED FUCKING SURE that i get where i'm supposed to.
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they're all coming up the stairs now.
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i would imagine that somebody, somewhere, would seek me out, for
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something, anything.
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any little thing would do.
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because i don't know if i can wait any longer. they're knocking
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on the door. apparently i've got one hell of an imagination.
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but it's either this. which i now vow to refuse.
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or just throw some money in your pockets danny and leave forever.
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search out that somebody.
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just..go.
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maybe that's it.
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- fairwinds
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It's not bad once your settled in there, you hardly notice it
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anymore. There's none of that calling your friends and telling them
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"You'll never guess where I am." It's just a complete numbness that
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overcomes you. You get seriously bored though, just lying in there
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with your head, the thing that got you locked up in the first place,
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it's all you're left to keep you company. You crack your neck, your
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back, your knuckles. You count to a thousand. You inhale through your
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mouth, exhale through your nose, inhale through your mouth, exhale
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through your mouth, inhale through your nose, exhale through your
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mouth, inhale through your nose, exhale through your nose, and on and
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on to fucking oblivion.
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You count the seconds between when they open the door to check
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if your dead or not. (Somewhere around 900.) You don't think, you
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don't change at all, you don't realize anything sleep wouldn't show
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you, you don't write, and if you do it's always got this bland tone to
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it, like writing a post-card. Your basically forced to live. A nice
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place to live mind you, but who would wanna visit?
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There are many aspects to being locked up. Boredom for example,
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counting to 1000 simple because you've never done it before.
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Discipline, being punished for the first time, or punished without
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reason. Imprisoned without reason is the main injustice. Any 'help'
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is deemed unessessary and litteraly is. The subject will begin to get
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angry with his captors, acting out and not being at all rational about
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his trivial consequences. The subject will be labeled and drugged
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sedated and bedridden for a period meant to calm him down. However,
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This period will pass. The subject again wakes up, views his
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surroundings, and then begins to go quite berserk. and then begins to
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go quite berserk. And then begins to go quite berserk And then begins
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to go quite berserk And then begiins to go quite berserkl;odfiqf
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- Adolescent rehabilitation is a far cry from the adult side.
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For one thing there's not a teenaged junkie anywhere that literally
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wants to get off his smack. And to make it worse, these same teenaged
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junkies are always locked up involuntarily, shown every drug known to
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man and the effects it'll have on you, and then released. After which
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nobody is clean.
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The staff, the only other humans you encounter during this
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process, turn out to be completely winging the whole thing anyway.
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Ask to make a phone call and you'll be told "Hell no." But ask the
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right person and you'll be on somebody's cellular. And there's always
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an undefined, ignored attitude displayed by psychoanalysts. The idea
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that they're there to actually help you with your problems quickly
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fades away. And you find yourself often arguing your stand-point on
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reality with them. No matter, your always wrong, your the loony and
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they get paid to be there, so you couldn't possibly be right. And it's
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this same general approach to psychoanalysis that i think fucks our
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mental health system straight up the eye. Each patient appears to have
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some belief... some theory on how the world works, and the first thing
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they're told is that they've got it ass-backwards. Thus they're entire
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moral system crumbles, and with the help of some fancy chemicals...
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plastic surgery for the brain.. they finally arrive at a "theraputic
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level."
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But what about that belief? That mindset that didn't come from
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John Hopkins but from surviving, from experiance. What does a person do
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without it?
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- For Jeremiah.
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they say that they can help, that they can provide coping skills
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that will help me throughout my life. i told them no, i didn't need any
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help. they disagreed, they locked me up. and i went to work on them,
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and they went to work on me (providing coping skills and such) one day
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they told me that the color blue did not exist, that it had never
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existed, and that every time i saw the color blue i was only kidding
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myself. i disagreed. but i wasn't quite sure how to take on this new
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blue-nonexistence coping skill. so one day i was let to go outside
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because i happened to be such a good coping skill student. i looked up
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and in the sky i spotted a patch of what i believed to be blue, i then
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told the nearest one of them that this is what blues looks like. but
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they still maintained that blue did not exist, so i got a mad and began
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to get quite violent. i said yes it does exist dammit, look at this it's
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blue! but they disagreed, them, those with the pills, and papers, and
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money. they disagreed, they don't believe in blue
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and i,
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am still,
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locked up.
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- I'm only glad i wasn't in for drugs this time... thank christ
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i was just "depressed", right? I'd be out in two weeks, right? I
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signed in voluntarily so you guys'll just adjust my medication and plop
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me back into the world after my very very brief stay, correct? Well
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I've been in here for 2 months now, everyone else has come and gone.
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Either vaporacted up the street to a more locked-down facility, or
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their parents finally decided to take them home. There were 15 of us
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when i first got here, now three. Luke, the millionaires son who
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devolped a nice little drug habit that began to interfere with his
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performance on the foot-ball team. And Jen, coke addict, and probably
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the kindest person i've ever met.
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And then there was me. The cynically depressed kid who wanted
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to be a writer when he grew up, who was the oldest at seventeen, and
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because of this fact had to run every group. Holy christ, i was the
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veteran. All i kept wondering was how i got to this point. Why did
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everybody think i was going to kill myself if they left me alone for
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more than 5 minutes.
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- The gun flashed up a blinking 76 on the read-out. So he put
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the car in gear and turned the lights on.
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Pulling over the small four door, he noticed it was inhabited
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by four boys, all in thier teens. He walked up to the window of the
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car and asked for the drivers' lisence and registration. The kid
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obliged. His name was mike. And he had been concentrating on
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breathing and keeping his eyes open, not on the sign that said 35mph.
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It's a good thing he was driving his car tonight though, a rare event
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actually. And only good in that if it was anyone else driving they'd
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all be fucked. The four people in the car shot each other quick looks
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of "oh shit we're goin' ta jail" while the cop glanced at the lisence.
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CJ, riding shotgun, played it cool as humanly possible though. Like a
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god-damn presidential candidate.
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The cop; "None of you boys have been doin' any drinking tonight
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have you?"
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"No sir." replied Cj and mike simultaneously.
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The cop; "...you sure?"
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The shit-faced tall kid in the back nudges his beer bottle under
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the front seat. That was Jay. My best friend.
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"Yes sir." by the same two.
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"k...and this is your car?"
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Mike; "Yeah it's my car."
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CJ; "...He's my room-mate, and we're just taking this guy
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home." and he points to the other drunk in the back seat. That was
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me. The author. The writer of this drivel.
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The cop opens up his army issue space-aged fucking spotlight
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outta hell and flashes it directly at my eyes.
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And, like an idiot, i smile and give 'im the peace symbol.
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The cop to mike; "..alright..so where's the fire?"
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Mike glances at his cigarette and holds it up to the cop. Then
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he says with a laugh so tainted with liquor you'd hafta be underwater
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not to smell it; "Right here."
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He let us off with a warning.
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- Yes... I'm fine.
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Somebody need a murder victim? I'll fully volunteer right about
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now. Got a little orange sheet of paper last period, it told me to go
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wait half an hour for Mrs. Novak, outside her door. She's finally
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ready, and wants too know why I missed Saturday school, and why I'm
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late all the time. So i give her my story, about the circadian rythm
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disturbance, the doctors, the pills, The Pills, THE PILLS! She hands
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me a piece of paper to sign. I comply. "What's this anyway?"
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"It's a suspension form Danny."
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"Right. Perfect."
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"Do you need a pass back to class?"
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I left. Passed Mr. Wirth in the hallway. He hates me, with
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a passion.
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"How's it going?"
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"yes... I'm fine."
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Quickly decide that i need a cigarette right-the-fucking-hell
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now, and contemplate ditching the rest of the day so as to retain my
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now tattered sanity. In other words, "Where's Dara?"
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Pass Ilene in the hall, Ilene wants to sell me some dots, too
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bad I'm broke.
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"How are you doing?"
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"yes... I'm fine."
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Funny, those little times when all hell brakes loose. The fire
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alarm screams out, your girlfriend wants to know what you 'think', your
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supposed to choose between two people, your supposed to graduate, to get
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it together, you should be working, and married, and have kids. WRITE
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A BOOK! SUCCEED-PAY TAXES-QUIT SMOKING-DON'T DRINK-GO TO AA-USE A
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CONDOM-JOIN THE ARMY-LIVE-VOTE REPUBLICAN-DONATE YOUR ORGANS-BE FOR OR
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AGAINST Abortion, Gays, Drugs, The President, God, Yourself. Maybe
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I'll steal a gun, load it up with shotgun shells and take out an entire
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police squad, maybe I'll drop out of school today, get a job and kill
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myself in three years, maybe i'll leave right now...
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right now. right now.
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And get a pack of cigarettes.
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Or maybe I'll sit here. Do what I'm supposed to do. Say what
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I'm supposed to say. Hear what I'm supposed to hear. Think what I'm
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supposed to think, and when you see me in the hallway you can ask me
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"how are you doing?" and I'll say, "yes... I'm fine."
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- There was nothing we could generally say about anything in
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here. We had no philosophies. No Beliefs. Just this conglomorative
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mind-fuck that we all wanted to escape. They'll tell you over and over
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again that it isn't punishment, thet they were there to help you. So
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we'd go along with it, we'd hand in our brains in a sad attempt to
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gain privilages. We'd watch the movies and participate in the groups.
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And for a few, this actually worked. But at night that all changed.
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At night you could hear the heroin addicts screaming through the
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sweat of thier beds. It was night time when Mike tried to hang
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himself. It was night when the new snap-case decided to get in the
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shower and not come out. They pulled him from the bathroom soaking
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wet, naked and berserk. The rest of us still with a hope to be free
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would have our ways with dealing with the madness. You could ask for a
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sleeping pill from the nurse, which was always a placebo. You could
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let your doctor know you couldn't sleep at night, and then he'd knock
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you out with his new cure. Or you could do what i did, pretend your
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some kind of outside force looking in on all of this, be a completely
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pretentious fuck, pretend your sane, and write it all down.
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All I need, all that I want out of this whole fucking thing
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anymore, is to stay out of everyone's way. I don't want your help, I
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don't want you to pin me to the floor and tell me i exist, I don't want
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your idea's, your love, your guilt, your life, I just don't want to
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affect any of you anymore at all.
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!!========================================================================!!
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!! (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #365 - WRITTEN BY: LILNILHIL - 12/19/98 !!
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