81 lines
4.9 KiB
Plaintext
81 lines
4.9 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #572
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "<darwin_> 'Can anybody tell
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 me what's wrong?'"
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888 888 888 888 888 "
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o by Tasha [4/14/99]
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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I was busy being the passenger in a champagne-colored car. I wasn't
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in the passenger seat, I was in the back seat, I always am. We were
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driving down Michigan Avenue. You have to take Michigan Avenue to get
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anywhere useful around here. I think we were headed home, though, and that
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place really isn't useful. It's quite useless, we're always there. I
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think I'm using this "we" thing as just me, because I was sort of
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unattached from all reality at that moment. I was staring blanky out a
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window, it was dusty. No one had written, "WASH ME!" on it, though, which
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is sad. Sad that the champagne-colored car isn't good enough to have "WASH
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ME!" written on it, or maybe it's too good for that. I haven't decided
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which is the greater evil of the two. Too good or too bad. Either way,
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you're not getting something or not being grateful for it, in which case
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you shouldn't have gotten it in the first place.
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There was a car place. One of those places that sells cars. It was
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across from a Ford plant, so it was selling Ford cars. There were about 50
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places selling the same cars in one block. There must have been real
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competition for business there. I couldn't decipher between the cars.
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They were all shiny and colored, like most cars, if they've been washed.
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They all had price tags. I'm sure the price tags were all different, but I
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didn't have my contacts in so that didn't matter. it was quite a peaceful
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scene, me in that car surrounded by all the lonely cars which've yet to be
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bought. I think there was music playing. It probably wasn't too good, I
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don't remember what it was. Someone might have been singing along, I don't
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remember that either, they probably had a good singing voice. Most people
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who sing along sing well. Most.
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I can't find the proper words to describe this car place and this
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car and me in the backseat with the person singing along to some kind of
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music that was playing. I just can't do it. I don't even know if they
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exist, and even if they do, I don't know about their existence. If I don't
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know about something's existence, then it doesn't matter, right? If no one
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reads this, it doesn't matter that I couldn't find the words. It might not
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even matter if people do read it. I wish I was a painter, or a singer, or
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something. I would gladly grab a paintbrush and paint you a picture of
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this car place and this car and me in the backseat with the person singing
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along to some kind of music. I can't, though. I often try to draw, hoping
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for some semblance of artistic ability. It never shows up.
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Singers are much more useful than my voice, which is usually
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somewhat monotone. Singers can sing octaves, you know? Good ones, at
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least, like the ones who sing along. They can convey emotion in their
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voice, and everyone listens, because it sounds nice. The existence is
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known always, by someone.
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I'm not a singer. I'm not a painter. I'm not anything special. I
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have text and I have english and a little french, but everyone could if
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they wanted it. Not everyone can sing, and being a real good painter
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usually requires something a tad inherited or born with. One of those
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phrases or words or whatever. It requires _talent_. My words and text and
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english and french can be taught. Taught by an old teacher with a bald
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spot in K-mart jeans that were 3 sizes too small 3 years ago. I've never
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had a teacher like that, but I'm sure one exists.
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I don't know where this is going. Probably nowhere. Nowhere is a
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good place to go, mainly because it's no specific place, and it can be
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anything. It's one of those few things that don't require a specific
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definition. "Somewhere" doesn't require a specific definition, either.
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That takes a little glory off of "nowhere." Too much glory is a bad thing
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anyway. That's not a jackoff of a cliche though, because there are certain
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things one cannot simply have enough of. There's always that one song that
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you can listen to on repeat, because it completely changes your out look on
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life for about 3 minutes. Go somewhere.
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Did you know I cry? I do. Not an absurd amount, but enough to
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substantially qualify me as someone who does, indeed, cry. That's as far
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as I'm going tonight. I cry. The end.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #572 - WRITTEN BY: TASHA - 4/14/99 ]
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