265 lines
13 KiB
Plaintext
265 lines
13 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #796
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "THE DEAD" or "CAITLIN DARFLER
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 FOOTBALL RULES"
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888 888 888 888 888 " by AIDS
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 8/22/99
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Horrible thoughts on this long michigan night... ALl I can think of
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is ol' teletype, who might be dead, but probably isn't, oh, teletype of my
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dreams, a thousand inferior christs are not even remotely close to your own
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blissful love... Teletype teletype teletype
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Shall I tell them of when you and meenk killed the green dragon? Way
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back in nineteen hundred and ninety-ninitey-nine-nine-nine, August I think,
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and oh, the world was august with concern...
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TELETYPE: ZOOT HORN ROLLO? How shall I ever find my way home? Where
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is Meenk? This burning emotional wound is still evident...
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It is still existent... Her, emily, to whom I owe so much,
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such as the loss of virginity, that greatest treasure which
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is only valuable when lost... When lost to the ages... I
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must find her, I must reclaim her, here she is... here she
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is now... on IRC... I message her... I reinitiate contact
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with her she is mine again again again... I make amends...
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Amends amends amenting amends...
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Yes, indeed, teletype and MISS EMILY who was now calling herself
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meenk did reinitiate the contact, and they did become sort of friends
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again... Friends, maybe, but lovers, no, sadly, for meenk was bound for the
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coastal bipolar palace of San Francisco, where she would sleep in the
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apartment of gweeds and DETH VEGGIE, a.k.a. LUCAS, a.k.a. The Finger
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Taker... Yes, strange thoughts indeed.
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Vlaad messaged me, talking about teletype's efforts to reclaim
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meenk's vagina as his own... As his own, but vlaad had been recently under
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the influence of break cleaner, so I can't really verify anything... MAybe
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he did... maybe he didn't... maybe he just wanted closure and peace,
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something akin to the last couple of plays by SHAKESPEARE. I can remember
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hating them all until I saw a live version of Cymbeline in Stratford-upon-
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Avon, and then I finally understood their greatness, and why in some ways
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they may exceed the GREAT 12 that fills the dreams of all men.
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I hid in her serpentine eyes. It was the only place left for me.
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Meenk said, "HEy, teletype, why not come visit me before I venture forth
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into that land of raging homosexuality, Nob Hill, Telegraph Hill, the
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SCARIEST FUCKIGN MASON TEMPLE IN THE WORLD, and gweeds, who has recently
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dumped me for www.badkittycam.com?" Teletype, of course, was only too happy
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to oblige... Could he do any less?
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Teletype's heart flicked on and off with joy. Inbetween the bursts
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of happiness, he felt that ol' wound starting to clench and unclench like a
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screaming asshole, rasping out the words. Grlfrmars was singing some songs
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about how she lost her baby, but it wasn't her biological baby, only her
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metaphorical one, and there was must laughter about. With my head hung
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down, I felt really bad...
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Serpentine serpentine eyes eyes... Yes, yes, Here he mounted her like
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a dog.
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A million words crafted into one world, and you were there when I
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shot JFK. IT was the triangulation of fire that caught the motherfucker
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dead cold. OSwald by himself only had a small chance with a single-bolt
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manual action mail order rifle, but me, hell, I upped the chances by 50%
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when I went down the street, and when we convinced Zoot Horn Rollo to
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provide the third, that fucker was as good as dead. AS GOOD AS DEAD.
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Meenk didn't know what to expect now. HEr eyes were filled
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alternately with visions of Wayne, Michigan, and Galadriel, elven QUEEN.
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Yes, yes, she was here, but why was Captain Beefheart singing a sweet song
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of lvoe and tribulation? I don't know@! How can I answer such things? I
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only report them. It's the job of a journalist to stay totally detached
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from the emotional reaction. The eleven queen, she said to meenk, "Yes,
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that is a song of Gandalf they sing. It was our name for him. I'm sorry
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the balrog got him, meenk."
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Meenk said, "Ah, yes, well, I dated the balrog, you see, and I rully
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am not too frightened for Gandalf, so much I am sad that his previous
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incarnation as the grey will be seen no more. You see, the balrog's real
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name is TELETYPE. AH, yes, he could fuck ass like a champ." I killed the
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thing the slime goes into. AND IT DOESN'T SMELL THAT MUCH LIKE BODY ODOR.
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So, yes, where was I? Oh yes, Teletype was on his sojourn into the
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COnnecticut Heartland... HE was going to make us all proud... He's the
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sunshine bright killing boy... A fucking murderer of unknown proportions...
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Six million jews go into the oven... SIZZLE AND BURN... into teletype's
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gluttonous abandon... He follows that yellow brick road down the path to
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recapturing meenk... Down the path...
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SHIT ASS DROOLERS! RALLY TO MY WHITE CANES!
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Teletype was the balrog. It was his fleshly limbs that pulled
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Gandalf to his death. TO HIS DEATH, OR HIS INEVITABLE REBIRTH? ON THE
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THIRD DAY LIKE A THOUSAND INFERIOR CHRISTS OF OBSCURE HOPES? I don't know,
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I can't tell you, all I can tell you about is where I am, and I'm in Wayne,
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and there are things coming for me... my just deserts, perhaps, but most
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likely seasoned fries...
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How long before Stephen and Tasha fuck?
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I will time it.
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I have timed it.
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I know.
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But I will not divulge it.
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All I know is Teletype was coming down that interstate 95, going to
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mEENk, and she waiting for him. What anticipation went through both their
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heads? PErhaps teletype was like, "Do I love her? Did I ever love her?
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Can I ever love her? I wonder if I ever loved her. I probably didn't, but
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it hurts so bad, and that ain't good. It ain't good, son, it ain't good."
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MEENK: (Inner dialogue) sad sad sad eyes yes yes yes here he mounted
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her like a dog sad sad sad eyes touch me soft here I am see me
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feel me here i am yes yes his penis was smooth and white and
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creamy I might even suck it I might even let a little of his
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stuff get into my mouth yes yes sad creamy white eyes not like
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that ruffian gweeds bloom who dissed me for
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www.badkittycam.com not like that at all love is inside my
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heart but not for teletype who do I love I may be incapable of
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love I am without love and still love obsesses me how can this
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be how can something that I have only known in abused and
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mutated forms and which has never lead me to anything worth
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having still obsess me so
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Teletype pushed one long, gentle finger into the doorbell, and it was
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not long before meenk answered the door with that ol' blue-eyed smile. It
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was peaceful and gentle and teletype sighed, because he knew now that things
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would, at the very least, be /decent/. He might not reclaim her heart for
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his own, he might not repenetrate her, but at least things would be
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/decent/. At least the screams had ebbed into the past and the horrible
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nights were memories.
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She looked over his body, which had changed in shape since she last
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fucked him, but was still, in essence, the same. His face was haggard with
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years of use, and she had heard the rumors, letting her eyes drift down
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towards his arms, and there she saw the pinpoint mural of drug frenzy. The
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track marks looked back at her, and one or two blinked their wrinkled eyes.
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It was hard to see it. But she let it hurt all the same.
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A random observation about Wayne, Michigan: I am more visible during
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the nighttime. In some ways, my existence in daylight is almost negligible.
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I can't explain why or how, but it's true all the same. I'm hombre
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invisible. The grey man. Something pretentious. who knows?
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She invited him, and he did go inside, and she sat him down and they
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started to talk, but they weren't really saying anything very much. No,
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nothing much at all. He had planned this out a thousand times before in his
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mind, this conversation and dialogue, he would talk to her about the truest
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things in the world, about the very essence of life itself, and she would
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finally, after so many years, understand him. The barrier of life would be
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ripped open. Something, anything, GOD, anything.
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But it wasn't like that. Their conversation was banal and ordinary,
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and rather than acknowledge any of the things that had occurred between
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them, they spoke about the weather and everything urbane. It killed him to
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go nn like that, but he did, because it would be even worse if she stopped
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speaking. HEr eyes kept him assured. IT was still all OK.
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Never more aware of his own weight as in her person. He felt her
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looking at him, and worried that she found him disgusting. He was huge.
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HUGE. A more concentrated arena of fat had not been constructed since the
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Golden Age of Rome. Nero played hte fiddle while Rome Burned, and he played
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"THE SACK OF ILIUM".
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Was meenk's face the face that launched a thousand ships?
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It didn't matter now, not to teletype, because he wasn't concerned
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with the most beautiful girl, or the best girl, but just /this girl/, this
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girl before him. She was flawed and she had done evil, and there could be
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no question of that, but even these things, which in others would drive him
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insane, they mattered little. They mattered nothing. They were nothing.
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ONE
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TWO
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THREE
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FOUR
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You don't come round my Wayne, Michigan no more. why not?
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Meenk thought of Galadriel's parting words of advice, "Take the ring
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to Mordor, and then reconcile things with teletype. This age of Middle
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Earth must end, but wouldn't it be nice to end on an up-tempo note?"
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They went to a movie. They saw STAR WARS: BLAIR WITCH PROJECT PART
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14: WILL SMITH DOES DALLAS: EYES WIDE ARLINGTTON ROAD IS THE ROAD DOWN THE
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STREET FROM THE HOUSE ON THE HILL WHICH IS RIGHT NEXT TO THE HAUNTING.
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Nothing happened there.
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The day teletype was to leave, I slept and slept and slept, trying to
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get certain visions out of my head. Trying desperately to drive them out,
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so that I did not have to spend my entire life consummed. I forced the
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pillow over my head. IT was there there there it was no where, but here it
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was.
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Terrible thoughts on this wayne, michigan night... They got home and
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they started talking.
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TELETYPE: I'm sorry about how things ended.
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MEENK: You're not the only one.
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TELETYPE: Why do you think they went like that?
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MEENK: What's the chance of a total abuser like yourself and total
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victim like myself actually have a working relationship?
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TELETYPE: Little, I guess.
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MEENK: It's too bad, really, rob, because you were a decent guy.
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TELETYPE: I always wanted to be more than a decent guy to you.
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MEENK: I know, and that's what made you decent.
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TELETYPE: It's a sad thing, really!
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---LATER---
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MEENK: Did you love me?
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TELETYPE: I might have. IT's hard to tell. WHat criteria did I have
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to compare it against? My pseudo-relationship to the
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sysadmin at BU?
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MEENK: Well, did you?
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TELETYPE: Did you?
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MEENK: Love you?
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TELETYPE: Yes.
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MEENK: No.
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TELETYPE: Oh....
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MEENK: WEll, to be honest, I don't know.
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TELETYPE: Oh.
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MEENK: The thing is, Rob, I'm fucked up. I'm royally fucked up.
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TELETYPE: So you tell me.
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MEENK: How could I ever love you?
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TELETYPE: How couldn't you?
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MEENK: I don't know what love is.
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TELETYPE: DOn't you? How could anyone not?
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MEENK: You don't know.
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TELETYPE: Point taken. I don't.
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MEENK: I think love's an outdated concept.
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TELETYPE: Why?
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MEENK: It just is.
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---LATER---
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TELETYPE: all i really want, honestly, is to die in my footsteps
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before I go under the ground. What I mean to say is, I
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wish I could be in something worthwhile and passionate and
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respectful and then just die immediately after it reached
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its apogee. Life isn't segmented enough. I want to flame
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out in a burst of passion rather than go into grey ash.
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He went home, after she told him about the Lass of Aughrihim, and he
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saw the snow started to fall, her scarf kept her mouth well hid. On all the
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living and all the dead.
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[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #796 - WRITTEN BY: AIDS - 8/22/99 ]
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