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Flodis Issue 20
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flowers of disruption #20 -- 31.08.99 -- by trilobyte
== the zine for tasha & anjee ==
welcome to what will be the thing where i'm almost going to be twenty years
old sometime in the future, like around january of the next year that has
january, which matches up with this #20 of flowers of disruption, which
will be released before the next january which is when my birthday occurs,
and i didn't give you any flowers to pin on your dress because it's _my_
birthday and even though you're beautiful and that blouse fits you very
well i refuse to stare at your chest but i can still afford to buy our
dinner because i've got my mom's plastic. she gave me permission to put
the whole bill on her card so let's just go at it and eat the most
expensive stuff this joint has got to offer. you know, they look like
they're trying to be french, but yet they still have some sort of cheesy
restaurant-in-a-hotel kind of ambience going on. i mean, what's with the
reflective gold pillars? that's pure cheese. as are the specials for
today, the waitress assures us, and then she walks away and man we're the
only people in this place and that mexican guy keeps coming up and
refilling my water. i think he can speak english, or at least a little
bit, because he accentuates his intelligence by nodding to me every time he
gives me water. he just stands in the corner and thinks about guadalajara
until i've taken a sip of my water. then he jumps over to the table and
gives me more water. i know this is america buddy, and water is basically
free, but i obviously don't find it to be quite as much of a delicacy as
you. i'd much rather have my lobster food stuff on the plate in front of
me, and have a coke to wash it down with, and then i will take my date home
and she will ask me to kiss her, even though it's MY birthday and she
should just kiss me out of principle, but that's not what those high school
girls are about these days, they just want instant gratification and if you
do anything to confuse their malformed consciences then they jump out of
car windows and slam their heads into doors and things get very messy very
quickly but that didn't happen to me tonight thank god and i didn't have to
deal with her father either who is a very nice moustached man with a
pinball machine, so nice that i feel i don't even want to grope his
daughter's breasts. that's not what she's all about anyway. she knows
she's got 'em but she doesn't even talk about 'em and once it comes up in
conversation she will never talk to you ever again. why show 'em off if
you can't talk about 'em? you can be visually stimulating but not
emotionally or intellectually worthwhile? what's up with that shit? are
you a goat living on the side of a mountain in india? i mean, really. big
boobs don't make you sacred property. each one is a miniature deity but
they can still be separated from the rest of you. they are their own
little churches of holy saintlihood which just happened to have been cast
upon your body. don't take them for granted. god can take them away at
any time!
+----
| NOTICE
| TO ALL WOMEN
| RUMOR HAS IT
| GOD WILL RECLAIM
| THE BREASTS HE
| GAVE TO YOU
| SOMETIME NEXT
| WEEK - BE
| PREPARED
| . lazarus
+-----------
"look out! watch out for the -- yikes! there goes one! ick! it's on my
shoe! god!"
the breasts run everywhere. free from their state of physical bondage, they
have finally expressed that they are separate beings worthy of their own
admiration and responsibility. i missed out on a job at a music store the
other day because a breast got there 5 minutes before me. the damn things
are taking over, and they're hard to see sometimes because they just
skedaddle along the ground and you might step on one, but at least the
government hasn't set any laws about going to jail because you've killed a
breast.
my friend James took a breast and glued it to his wall, and eventually it
grew a mouth and two little holes for eyes. i guess the nipple was the
nose, i don't know if it could smell anything, and the breast started
talking to him and asking him to take it down off the wall and stuff. i
don't know how the breast learned english.
it might have learned similar to how i learned. i think i heard a lot of
people making noises and i learned the pattern. then once i learned i had
control over the noise coming out of my throat, i could try to form it into
those patterns.
that's why i called tracy "T C" and grandpa "BUMPA", i suppose. i called
grandma "MOM", but my cousin called her "BILL". they have different speech
patterns in the south, which is where my cousin grew up.
today i could have gone on safari in the wild jungles of illinois forest
preserves, but instead my MOM (not Grandma) decided to not give me the
phone call from my Safari Master. my mom is dumb like that sometimes, i
think she belongs in a dump with a bunch of piles of garbage, because then
she could eat things and walk around and talk to the guys who drive the
bulldozers. i think at the garbage dump they have bulldozers to bring in
new garbage, and they have other bulldozers to just move garbage around. i
think guys work there who just pick up a pile of trash and put it somewhere
else. it would be really funny if they picked up a pile of trash, drove
around, and then set it down back in the same place. it would be even
funnier if they picked up my mom and threw her at another bulldozer and
then the bulldozers would start to play catch until one of them missed and
my mom went rolling down the hill of garbage. or one of the bulldozers
could run over my mom or throw garbage at her too, and that would be pretty
neat to get on film, especially color film because then you could see all
the different colors of the garbage whereas with black and white film you
could just see that there were a bunch of different shapes of junk and not
that all the different shapes were different colors too. and different
colors of people would hang out at the funk disco joints of the seventies,
where bands like Kool & The Gang would play to drugged up nazis and
elaborate schemes of sexual messaging not unlike the mating calls of wild
squirrels on a glowing, flashing funky dance floor. i don't like silver
leather, though, because it's painted and artificial and who's scratching
on my back? that would be the snake who hangs from my ceiling and pretends
like he's doing something all the time but he's just a snake inside a house
who really has nothing to do and it's kinda sad because there are all sorts
of spiders but the snake never eats them and someday he will die because he
really doesn't do anything. i mean, he breathes. that's his downfall. if
he would stop breathing, he REALLY wouldn't be doing anything, and then he
wouldn't need FOOD because he wouldn't be expending any energy. it doesn't
take much work for a snake to hang from the ceiling, especially when the
tip of his tail has been nailed there. i guess he really hasn't got much
choice, because i never gave him any. haha and i bashed his head in with a
baseball bat too one time and i saved his teeth.
they look like this: ' '
ÕÕª .-.
»ÕÕÕº ª »ÕÕÕÕº Õª ÕÕÕÕÕÕÕª | | this was an
Õª ÕÕ | | honestly bad
»ÕÕÕº ÕÕÕÕÕ | | time-waster
»ÕÕÕÕÕÕÕº | | email-box
ÕÕÕÕÕª ÕÕª »»» | | filler
»º »ÕÕÕÕÕº »»ÕÕºÕº »ÕÕÕÕ»Õº »ÕÕº »»ÕÕÕÕÕÕÕº | | from
.----------------------------------------------------------| | trilobyte
`----------------------------------------------------------`-'
flodis / flowers of disruption #20 / 31.08.99 / trilobyte@hoe.nu
tell your friends to dance in time with flodis
