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The Hogs of Entropy 0269
'##::::'##:::'#####:::'########: VIVA LA REVOLUCION! CERDO DEL CAPITALISTA!!
##:::: ##::'##.. ##:: ##.....:: ===========================================
##:::: ##:'##:::: ##: ##::::::: THE HELOTS OF ECSTACY PRESS RELEASE #269 !!
#########: ##:::: ##: ######::: ZIEGO VUANTAR SHALL BE MUCH VICTORIOUS! !!
##.... ##: ##:::: ##: ##...:::: ===========================================
##:::: ##:. ##:: ##:: ##::::::: "Undulating Mr. Lizard" !!
##:::: ##::. #####::: ########: by -> Trilobyte !!
..:::::..::::.....::::........:: 11/4/98 !!
!!========================================================================!!
for years i have gone through periods of extreme contentedness
followed by time in which i undulated in a pool of rancid despair. for a
while, the one-legged lizard that is my life would be successfully
capturing its prey and devouring it, but then for another set of extended
moments it would lay helplessly stranded on the sandy wasteland of a
sprawling rural urban communette.
and it would seem that the varying levels of success for my lizard
were rising and falling as audial waves could represent a picturesque,
convoluted scene of humanity in droves. as fluctuations permutated
through all the blob, my lizard, a member, would be shaken and stirred.
its one-leggedness is only abstracted by a pre-evoluted fin attached to
the rear of the head.
and the movement -- the vibrations and tremors in the crowd
surrounding my lizard -- are not perpetuated by the group itself. an
outside power, a useless collective of freaks, intellects, one-eyed men
and antiquated airplane manufacturers is pushing. they stand outside our
gelatinous mass and push and push and push. the airplane men have big,
stumpy, fat fingers that they use to poke at us with; the freaks hit
their heads very hard; the intellects lick and lick at our mass; the
one-eyed men push their bulging shoulders into us.
these men are not part of our blob, like my lizard and your
pulpit. these men come from a nearby cave and they get warm under the
sun. beads of sweat drip from their brow when they travel from their home
to the resting place of our massive convolution.
they come to us and they push and they knead and they soothe and
they yank and press and things change. there are trees overhead, above
us, and they keep the men cool as they work at changing our state.
and my lizard may find that a piece of interest has been pushed
his way. this is how things shift. what /your/ pulpit or /his/ latchkey
or /her/ hybrid flower do not receive will make its way to /my/ one-legged
lizard, someday, if not first allowed to someone else.
and he may be very hungry. his leg removed while he was in the
desolate area of our blob. there was a possibly future of productive time
and living well. and his leg became removed, and no more chance of that.
[his brain does not recall that his leg removed. i, though, i
know it did. obvious signs lead to the notion of previous removal of his
leg.]
and as things shift, a morsel enters my lizard's realm, and with
the quickness of a hungry reptile my lizard will possess an item of
interest to him. devour it, he may -- he may hold it or set it near him.
he will hope that it does not shift to another place. and he remains.
somehow maybe my one-legged lizard will be removed from the wasted
land in which he remains. perhaps one's latchkey will entice /your/
pulpit to shift /my/ lizard. my lizard can be in new place, new place and
/her/ hybrid flower -- a lily and rose? a hyacinth and tulip? -- can meet
him. mr. lizard, meet ms. hybrid flower, together in new place, you can
/get/ things together. find what is placed near you, hope you will still
receive, i can't say more to you because you wouldn't understand, mr.
lizard. you can't have vision of the external. that's not /for/ you.
and so lizard doesn't know about the erroneous group that often
stands out, pushing and tweaking and licking and caressing. my lizard may
theorize on a particularly good or bad shift of item. perhaps there is a
reason for the shift, mr. lizard. yes, perhaps, but i don't see it, he
would say.
if to remain alone, that is, my one-legged lizard stays for it all
in his big empty hubbub, it will not be survival. and sometime the group
of outmoded airplane designers and freaks and company will stop. no more
pushing fortunate shifts for my lizard. any momentum of pulse left in our
cell of existence will slowly grow old as it becomes so young and
certainly my one-legged lizard will have no more lucky things pass to him.
my old one-legged lizard will have no /interest/ and will pass.
delicate, frail, strong, and stuck together with tears and smiles,
our pliable mass will fail and links will be gone and all will fall. and
the big men and freaks and one-eyed hulks will have already left. and
i'll be gone. bye, i say now, as i might not have motion to pass on to
you then.
!!========================================================================!!
!! (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #264 -- WRITTEN BY: TRILOBYTE -- 11/4/98 !!
