69 lines
3.9 KiB
Plaintext
69 lines
3.9 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #605
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "Driving to The Pacific
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 and Jumping In"
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888 888 888 888 888 "
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o by Tasha [5/6/99]
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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the bitter friction of a plastic-sole mall store sandal against 3rd
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world cement, and it's setting the stage for whatever a stage can be set
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for. my legs are growing cold and stiff as i slowly become one with the
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rocks and pebble beneath my feet. granite replaces skin, tar replaces
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blood. screaming, fighting and pushing...into me, because i'm a statue
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now. statues don't deserve an "excuse me" or "sorry," and to avoid them
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would be unthinkable. there're all these kids screaming about something,
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something i don't understand, so i go inside.
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i conventiently place myself near the wall, on an olive colored
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chair from the 80s. i think i used to sit on these during elementary
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school assemblies. head in hands, i'm staring at this orange floor and
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nothing's interesting me. then i notice this piece of paper. plane white
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and glowing under the swirl swirl swirl of florescent and black purple
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night. dejected and crumpled, braving feet and soles. and the paper is
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everything, existing into eternity in its unwanted stage. my whole world
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on something to be thrown away, and i secretly guard it with my puils
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against the feet of kids not watching what is most important. i watch and
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watch, praying each time one foot gets near, and letting my air escape
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after minutes of holding it whilst my world was faced with plastic and
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leather. and suddenly a pair of jeans and a tank top destroy everything i
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held valuable for that moment in time.
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the green shirt sitting next to me has vodka in his coffee. i can
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smell it in his breath as he stares somewhere off into the distance of four
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walls. i can feel the alcohol burning through my pale skin as he sweats
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onto my wrist, and i'm too something to care or move. and it just gets
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worse as his green skin cotton brushes against my skinless shoulder and i
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want to scream in pain because it's a borderline loving, gentle carress.
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pound pound pound pound pound pound pound high school band taking
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stage and everyone screaming louder, playing louder, stomping louder,
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waving louder, fucking louder. the bass is booming somewhere in the lobes
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of my brain. boom boom boom.
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he skipped his graduation and got in his car instead. somewhere
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from grand rapids michigan to the west coast in a beat up truck with a
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watermelon in back. he didn't know where he was going, but he drove
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anyway. drove and drove, halfway across the country, finally stopping in
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front of the brooding pacific. sanity losing all control, he ripped his
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clothes off and jumped in the freezing water, splashing and screaming in
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his freedom and fight against nature as he created waves himself. fight
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against everything. law. gravity.
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and that's life. driving to the pacific and jumping in. or maybe
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just being some piece of paper on a floor, but never a statue in the
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parking lot.
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i feel naked beneath this green shirt as the boy in front of me
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stares daggers into my breasts. i want to turn and walk away, but all i
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can do is stare equally as sharp daggers back at him and wonder if his dark
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skin and my light skin were to mingle and mesh, what would i disgrace?
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family? society? whatever.
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but the green shirt still has vodka in his coffee.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #605 - WRITTEN BY: TASHA - 5/6/99 ]
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