101 lines
5.5 KiB
Plaintext
101 lines
5.5 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #524
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "For Kelly 2"
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
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888 888 888 888 888 " by Isaac
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 3/21/99
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Dream segment:
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I am walking somewhere by the side of a road. It is night. I fall
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down because my bag is so heavy. I try to get up but I just flop around
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ineptly and I feel very stupid. Then I see Kelly walking past me. I
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wonder if she will help me or feel pity for me but she does not see me and
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she just keeps on walking very quickly.
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When you get as old as me you forget how to do things like how to
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relate to others. Not that I am old as in lived a long life but I feel
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old like a bitter, wrinkled face, tired, old man. I feel like I am
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wasting away. I feel like I am nearing death.
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I have been digging my own grave for such a very long time. I have
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dough a hole deep into not only the world of my unconscious, which some
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find so terrifying in themselves, but also into the realm of thought and
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answering questions which some find so futile. I don't know why I am so
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intrigued with my unconscious and the make up of my psyche or why my
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thoughts wander off into what some call "the mysteries of life" while
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other people go about there life looking straight forward and only rarely
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glancing at those very dark regions above them and below them and feeling
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too over whelmed to keep looking. They talk themselves into thinking such
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things would not be a 'worth-while' task to undertake.
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One day I stop digging that dirty, uncomfortable hole and I look
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up into the 'others' world. Someone yells down, "Why don't you get a
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life". Such an obviously stupid suggestion, but later the same message
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comes back to me from a deep layer with in:
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Why aren't you following this bright, clean, well know and
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frequently traveled path. It may still have a few bumps or rocks in the
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road that haven't been kicked aside yet but I am guessing it is more
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enjoyable then that dirty, dark hole you are digging. You will not find
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the end of it. If that is what you are looking for. To enjoy life one
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must enjoy the means and not the ends. For the means are always there and
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the ends rarely come. The only real end there can be is death. You will
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die in that dark hole you are digging. Death will be your only eternal
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golden "philosopher's stone". Your beloved shining giggling child of
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wonder is really a fierce demon and will strike you down and kill you.
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You will die alone. You will be seen as a fool.
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You are right. The female side of my being has finally made me see
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her ways after so long.
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I let the shovel fall from my hand. I feel wasted. Looking up out
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of my hole I see the beautiful white hands and the interesting, almost
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stoic, face of girl. I reach my hand up and she looks back confused. I
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laugh at myself as I see how foolish I was to think such a thing could
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save me from myself. It is obvious even if she understood my attempt to
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reach out with my letter and actually cared about me enough to want me out
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of my hole she would not know any method of saving me. With more
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observation the truth is even less encouraging. I see a girl who can not
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relate to me at all. All I get out of it is a few curious looks before
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she decides to continue on her way. Of course I hope that she hasn't. I
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hope that she knows something. I hope that perhaps she will somehow show
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me something that, in some way, enhances life or enlighten my view of it.
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In this way she becomes my Nova-Lucifer (the strange new bringer of light,
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and perhaps a new personification of the my age old Nova-Object projected
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on to a real person). I hope for things that are very improbable. But
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desperately, I don't want her to leave me here, no matter what the
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situation. For when one is in the dark places like I am, any attention is
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good attention.
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Now is a new time of such greatly complex and deeply rooted
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problems that only emotional, 'irrational' solutions exist.
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It is depressing that from my position she is seems inaccessible.
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To me she has becomes the figure head of a whole world that I feel I have
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left behind and I can't get back to.
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One time in class tears came from my eyes and I pressed my shirt
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sleeves against my eyes to dry them and hind the fact. I was successful.
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I laughed at myself a little. It took a great deal of ego-conscious
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energy to keep the tears back. Perhaps I was keeping them back, not only
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because it is embarrassing, but because I didn't feel like trying to
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explain. It is hard enough to explain to myself. It is very hard to give
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a letter to a girl you don't know in a world you have forgotten how to
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get back to.
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Aww wah so sad.
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Lately I am becoming fond of thoughts of my own death.
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Why does it feel so wrong to want to share my thoughts with
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someone. Perhaps because she makes me feel very stupid when she asks me
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why I would desire to share my thoughts with her. You might as well ask
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me why I desire to live, for both come from the same psychic level.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #524 - WRITTEN BY: ISAAC - 3/21/99 ]
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