96 lines
5.0 KiB
Plaintext
96 lines
5.0 KiB
Plaintext
s$
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$$ .d""b. .d""b. HOE E'ZINE #1025
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[-- $$""b. $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ss$$ "We'll Always Have Paris"
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ by Rhea
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ 2/11/00
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[-- $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
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$$ $$ "TssT" "TssT"
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And then there was me, standing on the same fucking planet as the man who
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decided this was a planet, and breathing the same air as the man (or
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woman, maybe, but somehow I doubt it) who decided the correct procedure
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for rescue breathing. Two slow breaths -- dirty with your life and with
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all your dirty cell's excretions and with every stale lingering odor of
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everyone you've ever kissed -- into the sealed mouth of your unconscious
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suffocating victim, and then another breath every five seconds. Every
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five seconds. Yes, there was me, I think.
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(and can't you just picture him, my love? can't you just picture
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him sitting at his desk in a little room, dark with sunlight or a
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little candle light at best -- because Edison hadn't cursed the
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world yet with the blissful artificiality that we look at each
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other in - with his hands on his head and his pen in his hand
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trying desperately, oh so desperately, to prove with logic and
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science and with whatever little else he thought he knew that God
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exists! Can't you just picture him? Oh, it makes me so sad.
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Whenever I see the Cartesian plane now I think of the screwed up
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logic in his final attempt and it makes me so sad. and then I
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laugh.)
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There is a strict definition for the words "comedy" and "tragedy," isn't
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there? There must be - all logic and science and whatever else we think
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we know demands it -- but you know it all blurs together for me. It's a
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fuzzy fuzzy world, this world, and I don't know what to see! You see?
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Long Live the King!
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The King is Dead!
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Long Live the King!
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Long live me, the king of my winter of discontent of my spring of love
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and laughter of my queen of my prince - love I love you love love you I -
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of my star, the one who always laughs at me, and
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I hate commas. I hate them all, and I hate dashes --------------------------
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------------- and s p a c e s and periods (god, I hate
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periods) and letters and words (but not conjunctions) and god help us
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both if this is summer.
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Did God help Descartes? Or did the Evil Genius just laugh and laugh and
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laugh all day long? Or did you forget to hold the nose when you breathed
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those rescue breaths?
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And did you remember to tilt the head back?
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And will you remember for me, my sweet? A light bulb exploded on me
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once. I was underneath its heat and glare and bam! pop! scream! I was
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stung before I even knew what had happened with the hot hot light bulb
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shrapnel. It left a mark on me - a red welt that I glanced at for days
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after every once in a while, still surprised at the comedy of it all.
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Or tragedy. It burned, my sweet, it burned.
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Now I'm thinking plaster. No, cement! I'm thinking, "Man, Lover, and
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Father of Modern Philosophy" etched in the logic which killed him which
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kills me which kills you - what's more logical than a tombstone laughing
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down on you? -- unless you're a church-going person of course.
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God Save the Queen!
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And then there was me, trying to find some meaning in this text but it
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was all a joke because like the Wise Men say, "Those who know how to
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laugh at themselves shall never cease to be amused" and hahahahahahahaha
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I tried to write about religion and hahahahahaha I tried to write about
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death and hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha I tried to write about love but I
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can't I can't damn you I can't I'm stuck instead in this run-on sentence.
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I'm laughing too hard; I'm living too hard; I'm loving you too hard
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because it makes me sad and it makes me laugh and after all, this is the
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great American romance! Baby baby baby let's make babies. Let's move
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into Inverness together. Just you and me and our stained hands and when
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the forest starts creeping up we'll grab the fire extinguisher plainly
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sitting there beneath that light bulb and spray and spray and spray its
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foul chemicals all over those fucking trees. Don't worry, we know just
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where the extinguisher is. Yes, we know. We could even fi! nd it in the
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dark!
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(fumbling around in the black is bad enough without this burning desire
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to be more than just some silly etching in your screen your screen your
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screen your screen)
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"I remember it perfectly. The Germans wore gray. You wore blue."
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Yes, yes, hahahaha, yes! It all blurs together in me in you in love in
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we in you in me in hahahaha! Yes! It all blurs together in me.
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[-------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) HOE E'ZINE -- http://www.hoe.nu HOE #1025, BY RHEA - 02/11/00 ]
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