50 lines
2.9 KiB
Plaintext
50 lines
2.9 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #602
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "Words That Rhyme With Shed"
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 (for the corpses I've yet to know)
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888 888 888 888 888 "
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o by Asthray Heart [5/6/99]
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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When you die -- and you will die, not now, perhaps, but soon -- you
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will find yourself in a tunnel. Not a train tunnel with a bright holy
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light at the end the way some people claim -- that is dukkha; illusion.
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No, it will be a dark moist tunnel with no beginning and no end. It will
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have no color, but you will see it as pink, and it will ooze around you and
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close in around your head and hands. It will be as though you are crawling
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inside a giant hermaphroditic worm. You might find this odd. Odder still,
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though, is that you somehow managed to escape or forget this abode in the
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first place. It is not, as the Catholics wish to believe, dust from which
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we come. We do not rise from dry filth. It is moisture that feeds us; we
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are bags of wetness sealed in dead wrappers. After life, when we no
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longer partake of ourselves, we see ourselves peeled, bereft of all the
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coverings and ruses we concealed ourselves behind. Life returns to life as
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life absorbs life.
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When you are dead, you will hear a sound, the sound of a million
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bats flying out of your ears. And perhaps you will feel frightened, and
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think to yourself "Surely this is the sound of death." But you will be
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mistaken, for it will be the sound of life that you hear, the drone that
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rumbles beneath everything under the sky, even now, but which you do not
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hear, because you are part of it, because your body and soul screams with
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the bats at every fire of a synapse.
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But as you are in the tunnel, moist globs will come up to you and
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attach themselves to you, spread themselves across your belly. They will
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dry out, leaving brittle whisper-thin husks that nonetheless feel as though
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they were a warm caring head nestled against your chest. And the globs
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shall come up to you; by the millions they shall arrive. And as they
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arrive they shall drain the fear from your limbs and the sound of bats from
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your ears, and they shall form a soft white crust around you.
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After a time, this crust shall take itself apart, inch by inch. It
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will re-liquefy, float and seep back into the heaving tunnel walls. And,
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like a magic box, it shall leave behind nothing in its wake.
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You will have returned.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #602 - WRITTEN BY: ASHTRAY HEART - 5/6/99 ]
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