110 lines
5.1 KiB
Plaintext
110 lines
5.1 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #722
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "A Love Letter To GrlFrMars"
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
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888 888 888 888 888 " by AIDS
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 7/6/99
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Dear Miriam, who is become death, destroyer of worlds,
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Where should I start? They wished you'd taken the blame for the farm.
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We all know that. I don't understand how they could ever have misjudged
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you. Oh baby, where should I start? There was the coca-cola incident, but
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we never told anyone about that.
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In life there are certain absolutes and certain truths which many
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will try to deny by claiming the time-honored defense of subjectivity.
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Through the subjective world all moments of clarity and beauty can be
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removed and reduced to just another experience in this Greek and Roman
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antiquity. This ancient world, king of the mundane.
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Occasionally we will encounter circumstances which will awaken us to
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the absolute reality of objective truth. I was going to share two examples
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from my own rather uninteresting life to illustrate this point, but on
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further recollection have decided it would be unwise. There's a lot of
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Christmas songs out there, and not too many Chanukah songs. Someone told me
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you were a Jew, Miriam.
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My cat is destroying the box my banjo was mailed in. He's been
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slowly attacking it for nearly a month. It's covered in claw marks and
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tooth prints.
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But I was browsing the ftp.dto.net picture archive sometime ago, and
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I was the victim of yet another one of these moments. Yet another one,
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there have been perhaps three or four, maybe even five in my life, but there
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it was and I had the sudden head rush and orange miasma that comes with the
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epiphany.
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Paul Newman's half JEWISH, Goldie Hawn's half too. Put them
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together, WHAT A FINE LOOKING JEW.
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Months now. It's been months.
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So what the hell am I supposed to do? I don't know you. I probably
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never will. It's l'amour fou. It's the mad love. I could drug you and
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pretend you were the Queen of Spain, but that can't be. I could write
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essays about the MAP core courses at NYU's college of arts and sciences, and
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name them after slightly garble Led Zeppelin songs, but I won't do that
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either. You'd hate me.
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I don't mean you'd hate because of the essays, no, but you'd hate me
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as a person. Lots of intelligent people do: Styx, Mogel, Jamesy, Swisspope,
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Tasha, Darwin, Ingy, Hawk, Agthorr, Caitlyn(!), Phairgirl, Pezmonkey,
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Unrelated, this non-modem girl named Lyndsy, this polish girl named Agnes,
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this gothic fattie named Daria, some dumb mulatto named Lauren, an Axl Rose
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looking girl named Meg, my old roommate Teo. There's a huge list. It
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doesn't end there, but my memory does.
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Did I ever tell you about the time Darwin taught his asshole to talk?
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It would rasp out the words, and I asked it for advice all the time. It was
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my shit centered oracle. I don't have that direction anymore. That's gone
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now. Or as Rimbaud said, "I took Beauty in my lap, and I slapped that ho."
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It's all over.
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Why am I doing this?
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I imagine a good many people reading this are asking that very
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question right now, probably including you, Miriam, amongst others.
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My cat just used his litter box. He scratched the cedar wood sawdust
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litter for a while, and now he's eating. Read the clock that slowly ticks
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the time.
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And your prayers like rhymes, and your silver cross, and your voice
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like chimes.
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There's got to be a reason and I think we both know what it is, and I
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don't really feel like being so gratuitous as to say it in a public forum,
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but if anyone else reading has half a brain, they can decode my intent. I'm
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sure you can.
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It's not just the corporal realm, either, oh no, if we were playing
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Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, I'd be a Mage or Cleric or even a Thief, but
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I'd never be so horrible as to be a fighter. I can see the things behind
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the veil and I can see your purpose. I can see you for who you truly are.
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There's a gigantic jigsaw puzzle and you're the missing piece.
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Even if we could get past all the awkwardness and how-do-you-do,
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we've still got a bit of problem, in that this here droog looks like he got
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hit with a bit of the old ultraviolence. Except it was God doing the
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tolchocking. It looks like I got hit upside the head with the ugly stick.
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I'm half Irish and half Turk, I'm the misbegotten son of two barbarian
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races. I'm not the Aryan, but then again, neither are you, so maybe things
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can work out.
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I'm in New York. You can find me. I am,
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Sincerely Yours,
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Jarett Kobek
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[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #722 - WRITTEN BY: AIDS - 7/6/99 ]
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