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The Hogs of Entropy 0365
'##::::'##:::'#####:::'########: VIVA LA REVOLUCION! CERDO DEL CAPITALISTA!!
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##:::: ##:'##:::: ##: ##::::::: THE HELOTS OF ECSTASY PRESS RELEASE #365 !!
#########: ##:::: ##: ######::: ZIEGO VUANTAR SHALL BE MUCH VICTORIOUS! !!
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##:::: ##:. ##:: ##:: ##::::::: "I'm Complicated, Part 2" [Re: HOE #180] !!
##:::: ##::. #####::: ########: by -> LilNilHil !!
..:::::..::::.....::::........:: 12/19/98 !!
!!========================================================================!!
One day gregory sat up in his little room and looked at the wall.
He thought about the wall, and the wall's place in the universe. He
thought about himself and where he was, and he thought about life. He
sat there for what must've been days, just examining the wall, and the
walls in his head, And then, it happened. Bang! Like lightning hit
his brain stem and snapped it right in half, gregory discovered... the
big huge secret.
Oh how wonderful and complete his life would now be. Finally he
would find peace with himself. All the people of the world would
rejoice and praise the god that is gregory. Disease and hunger and pain
would be wiped out from the earth, world peace was imminent!
Immediately gregory jumped to his feet and started running
around the room, there was no time to waste. Armies had to be
nullified, world leaders had to be notified, gregory had to hurry up
and tell someone the big huge secret while the world still had a
chance. So, thrashing and tearing, gregory's white garments fell to
the floor. Gregory started to panic, what if he didn't tell someone
the big huge secret in time and it was too late. What if gregory
completely lost and forgot the big huge secret, and spent the rest of
his life trying to remember what he realized? An so gregory screamed.
Just once. But he knew it would do.
Immediatly he heard footsteps, running footsteps. Gregory
couldn't wait to tell the person what he now knew. The footsteps grew
closer, and finally gregory saw the door knob slowly turn. The door
began to open, and the figure stepped in and showed it's face. Gregory
looked at the figure. The figure looked at gregory. Then gregory
composed himself, took a deep breath, and told the person the entire
big huge secret.
"ut!" proclaimed gregory.
"..ut?" asked the person.
"ut." said gregory.
"oh, ...ut." said the person.
Then the person gave gregory his dose of thorazine, refastened
gregory's white straight jacket back on, and put gregory back in his
bed.
Gregory looked over at the wall, a blank stare in his eyes,
mumbled one last "ut" and went to sleep.
- how can a person simply refuse to understand someone who is
supposed to be their own child? lock me up. who cares if it doesn't
help me. that isn't the point. the point is our insurance will only
cover mental hospital stays for a few more months, and we can't let
17 years of monthly premiums go to waste now can we dad? hospital
stays.
i would imagine in a family that it meant breaking your arm
while playing football.
i would imagine that my mother when faced with her own lunacy
would at least try to see how it got there.
i would imagine i'm supposed to do more than just sit here and
wait for the next outburst... that i should do more than simply eat my
pills and make GOD-DAMNED FUCKING SURE that i get where i'm supposed to.
they're all coming up the stairs now.
i would imagine that somebody, somewhere, would seek me out, for
something, anything.
any little thing would do.
because i don't know if i can wait any longer. they're knocking
on the door. apparently i've got one hell of an imagination.
but it's either this. which i now vow to refuse.
or just throw some money in your pockets danny and leave forever.
search out that somebody.
just..go.
maybe that's it.
- fairwinds
It's not bad once your settled in there, you hardly notice it
anymore. There's none of that calling your friends and telling them
"You'll never guess where I am." It's just a complete numbness that
overcomes you. You get seriously bored though, just lying in there
with your head, the thing that got you locked up in the first place,
it's all you're left to keep you company. You crack your neck, your
back, your knuckles. You count to a thousand. You inhale through your
mouth, exhale through your nose, inhale through your mouth, exhale
through your mouth, inhale through your nose, exhale through your
mouth, inhale through your nose, exhale through your nose, and on and
on to fucking oblivion.
You count the seconds between when they open the door to check
if your dead or not. (Somewhere around 900.) You don't think, you
don't change at all, you don't realize anything sleep wouldn't show
you, you don't write, and if you do it's always got this bland tone to
it, like writing a post-card. Your basically forced to live. A nice
place to live mind you, but who would wanna visit?
There are many aspects to being locked up. Boredom for example,
counting to 1000 simple because you've never done it before.
Discipline, being punished for the first time, or punished without
reason. Imprisoned without reason is the main injustice. Any 'help'
is deemed unessessary and litteraly is. The subject will begin to get
angry with his captors, acting out and not being at all rational about
his trivial consequences. The subject will be labeled and drugged
sedated and bedridden for a period meant to calm him down. However,
This period will pass. The subject again wakes up, views his
surroundings, and then begins to go quite berserk. and then begins to
go quite berserk. And then begins to go quite berserk And then begins
to go quite berserk And then begiins to go quite berserkl;odfiqf
- Adolescent rehabilitation is a far cry from the adult side.
For one thing there's not a teenaged junkie anywhere that literally
wants to get off his smack. And to make it worse, these same teenaged
junkies are always locked up involuntarily, shown every drug known to
man and the effects it'll have on you, and then released. After which
nobody is clean.
The staff, the only other humans you encounter during this
process, turn out to be completely winging the whole thing anyway.
Ask to make a phone call and you'll be told "Hell no." But ask the
right person and you'll be on somebody's cellular. And there's always
an undefined, ignored attitude displayed by psychoanalysts. The idea
that they're there to actually help you with your problems quickly
fades away. And you find yourself often arguing your stand-point on
reality with them. No matter, your always wrong, your the loony and
they get paid to be there, so you couldn't possibly be right. And it's
this same general approach to psychoanalysis that i think fucks our
mental health system straight up the eye. Each patient appears to have
some belief... some theory on how the world works, and the first thing
they're told is that they've got it ass-backwards. Thus they're entire
moral system crumbles, and with the help of some fancy chemicals...
plastic surgery for the brain.. they finally arrive at a "theraputic
level."
But what about that belief? That mindset that didn't come from
John Hopkins but from surviving, from experiance. What does a person do
without it?
- For Jeremiah.
they say that they can help, that they can provide coping skills
that will help me throughout my life. i told them no, i didn't need any
help. they disagreed, they locked me up. and i went to work on them,
and they went to work on me (providing coping skills and such) one day
they told me that the color blue did not exist, that it had never
existed, and that every time i saw the color blue i was only kidding
myself. i disagreed. but i wasn't quite sure how to take on this new
blue-nonexistence coping skill. so one day i was let to go outside
because i happened to be such a good coping skill student. i looked up
and in the sky i spotted a patch of what i believed to be blue, i then
told the nearest one of them that this is what blues looks like. but
they still maintained that blue did not exist, so i got a mad and began
to get quite violent. i said yes it does exist dammit, look at this it's
blue! but they disagreed, them, those with the pills, and papers, and
money. they disagreed, they don't believe in blue
and i,
am still,
locked up.
- I'm only glad i wasn't in for drugs this time... thank christ
i was just "depressed", right? I'd be out in two weeks, right? I
signed in voluntarily so you guys'll just adjust my medication and plop
me back into the world after my very very brief stay, correct? Well
I've been in here for 2 months now, everyone else has come and gone.
Either vaporacted up the street to a more locked-down facility, or
their parents finally decided to take them home. There were 15 of us
when i first got here, now three. Luke, the millionaires son who
devolped a nice little drug habit that began to interfere with his
performance on the foot-ball team. And Jen, coke addict, and probably
the kindest person i've ever met.
And then there was me. The cynically depressed kid who wanted
to be a writer when he grew up, who was the oldest at seventeen, and
because of this fact had to run every group. Holy christ, i was the
veteran. All i kept wondering was how i got to this point. Why did
everybody think i was going to kill myself if they left me alone for
more than 5 minutes.
- The gun flashed up a blinking 76 on the read-out. So he put
the car in gear and turned the lights on.
Pulling over the small four door, he noticed it was inhabited
by four boys, all in thier teens. He walked up to the window of the
car and asked for the drivers' lisence and registration. The kid
obliged. His name was mike. And he had been concentrating on
breathing and keeping his eyes open, not on the sign that said 35mph.
It's a good thing he was driving his car tonight though, a rare event
actually. And only good in that if it was anyone else driving they'd
all be fucked. The four people in the car shot each other quick looks
of "oh shit we're goin' ta jail" while the cop glanced at the lisence.
CJ, riding shotgun, played it cool as humanly possible though. Like a
god-damn presidential candidate.
The cop; "None of you boys have been doin' any drinking tonight
have you?"
"No sir." replied Cj and mike simultaneously.
The cop; "...you sure?"
The shit-faced tall kid in the back nudges his beer bottle under
the front seat. That was Jay. My best friend.
"Yes sir." by the same two.
"k...and this is your car?"
Mike; "Yeah it's my car."
CJ; "...He's my room-mate, and we're just taking this guy
home." and he points to the other drunk in the back seat. That was
me. The author. The writer of this drivel.
The cop opens up his army issue space-aged fucking spotlight
outta hell and flashes it directly at my eyes.
And, like an idiot, i smile and give 'im the peace symbol.
The cop to mike; "..alright..so where's the fire?"
Mike glances at his cigarette and holds it up to the cop. Then
he says with a laugh so tainted with liquor you'd hafta be underwater
not to smell it; "Right here."
He let us off with a warning.
- Yes... I'm fine.
Somebody need a murder victim? I'll fully volunteer right about
now. Got a little orange sheet of paper last period, it told me to go
wait half an hour for Mrs. Novak, outside her door. She's finally
ready, and wants too know why I missed Saturday school, and why I'm
late all the time. So i give her my story, about the circadian rythm
disturbance, the doctors, the pills, The Pills, THE PILLS! She hands
me a piece of paper to sign. I comply. "What's this anyway?"
"It's a suspension form Danny."
"Right. Perfect."
"Do you need a pass back to class?"
I left. Passed Mr. Wirth in the hallway. He hates me, with
a passion.
"How's it going?"
"yes... I'm fine."
Quickly decide that i need a cigarette right-the-fucking-hell
now, and contemplate ditching the rest of the day so as to retain my
now tattered sanity. In other words, "Where's Dara?"
Pass Ilene in the hall, Ilene wants to sell me some dots, too
bad I'm broke.
"How are you doing?"
"yes... I'm fine."
Funny, those little times when all hell brakes loose. The fire
alarm screams out, your girlfriend wants to know what you 'think', your
supposed to choose between two people, your supposed to graduate, to get
it together, you should be working, and married, and have kids. WRITE
A BOOK! SUCCEED-PAY TAXES-QUIT SMOKING-DON'T DRINK-GO TO AA-USE A
CONDOM-JOIN THE ARMY-LIVE-VOTE REPUBLICAN-DONATE YOUR ORGANS-BE FOR OR
AGAINST Abortion, Gays, Drugs, The President, God, Yourself. Maybe
I'll steal a gun, load it up with shotgun shells and take out an entire
police squad, maybe I'll drop out of school today, get a job and kill
myself in three years, maybe i'll leave right now...
right now. right now.
And get a pack of cigarettes.
Or maybe I'll sit here. Do what I'm supposed to do. Say what
I'm supposed to say. Hear what I'm supposed to hear. Think what I'm
supposed to think, and when you see me in the hallway you can ask me
"how are you doing?" and I'll say, "yes... I'm fine."
- There was nothing we could generally say about anything in
here. We had no philosophies. No Beliefs. Just this conglomorative
mind-fuck that we all wanted to escape. They'll tell you over and over
again that it isn't punishment, thet they were there to help you. So
we'd go along with it, we'd hand in our brains in a sad attempt to
gain privilages. We'd watch the movies and participate in the groups.
And for a few, this actually worked. But at night that all changed.
At night you could hear the heroin addicts screaming through the
sweat of thier beds. It was night time when Mike tried to hang
himself. It was night when the new snap-case decided to get in the
shower and not come out. They pulled him from the bathroom soaking
wet, naked and berserk. The rest of us still with a hope to be free
would have our ways with dealing with the madness. You could ask for a
sleeping pill from the nurse, which was always a placebo. You could
let your doctor know you couldn't sleep at night, and then he'd knock
you out with his new cure. Or you could do what i did, pretend your
some kind of outside force looking in on all of this, be a completely
pretentious fuck, pretend your sane, and write it all down.
All I need, all that I want out of this whole fucking thing
anymore, is to stay out of everyone's way. I don't want your help, I
don't want you to pin me to the floor and tell me i exist, I don't want
your idea's, your love, your guilt, your life, I just don't want to
affect any of you anymore at all.
!!========================================================================!!
!! (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #365 - WRITTEN BY: LILNILHIL - 12/19/98 !!
