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The Hogs of Entropy 0577
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #577
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "Waiter, There's a Fly in
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 My Primordial Soup"
888 888 888 888 888 "
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o by Miasma [4/14/99]
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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The words just keep coming like some amazingly talented nymphomaniac
corn flakes don't smell so good in my room this fine fine afternoon. The
crunching sound of my roomate just adds to the non-chalantness and good
heartness of his soul. Encaged. Engaged. In battle slight mirror images
relflecting on my screen I can see him crunching now as the milk slowly
mocks at me from the sides of his mouth. Damn it, if he grins one more
time, I think I'll have to hurt him. He's slurping now like pigs by a
trough making noises my god this person needs to stop. The guitars to the
left of me keep spinning screen savers never looked cool they just add to
the confusion of this already confused room that's stationed in this
already confused world. Damn cigarette wrappers and chewing gum foil
strewn across together like seaweed like bubble fish Let's pickle.
Mario's such a damned fool but ignorance is bliss they say and video
games just work that way. I'm rhyming now and I don't choose to. isn't
that a sign of insanity? keeping up in rhythm and beat and rhyme like some
nonsensical genius. Please I don't want any. it's enough for me, I'm full
of shit, thanks. No no, you can have some more if you'd like.. you seem to
slop it up just fine. Thank you for abusing at&t. Staring eyes of pickle
juice that green that envious poisonous dried up mucus green hocked up just
knocking into each other while the metal balls surround it in a cage of
lightning wonderment. Standing room only, bitch.
The status quo believes in this and so should you will someone stop
that friggen noise it keeps repeating to itself trying to believe its own
bullshit. It's like terror only better. Fellowship and honor and all that
good stuff. Don't you know it makes a good meal. It's popping fresh
dough. Should I be knocked up or something pregnancy never seems right to
me in a country defined on rape and cheese. Don't squeeze the charmin,
that's sexual assault. It might come back at you with a lawsuit or bathing
suit or some kind of outerwear. Lightbulbs going off and on like breaking
glass and chimney stacks blowing coal smoke all over my new wedding dress.
Don't throw rice at me, bitch. Seems there's some frustration here I don't
know where it stems from but would I be glad to find out? Just wait on
line please, we'll be with you in a moment.
My stomach aches I don't know if it's the dining hall food or the
fact that 've been sick for a week. Sick of what tho, that's the question.
Shiver me timbers but don't blow me down. I'm too high, I can see my house
from here. Deserted in the desert with some magic sand and daffy duck.
Boy do I miss those days of cartoon reasoning. Taking breaths and short
ones at that, Sucks to yer asthmar! This pointy shell doesn't mean shit.
Break in half, break it all down, come tumbling tumbling down that hill
Jack fucked Jill and all that's left is some naked sperm on the edge of the
bed. C'mere little doggie. I think best in the shower and late at night
before the twlight and the evening infect me I do a little dance before I
make love tonight. Slipping down the ladder rungs I don't recall the last
time that I had a power pellet. I guess it's a paradise lost at a
childhood's end. Raking in the benefits, that's all there's time to do.
Just raking it in like some bastardized landscaper. Atop the highest
mountain of a molehill. Fuck expressions, I want reality.
Mutters, rambling, and other positive feedback of words that just
come thru the top of my brain and end up at the points of my fingers like
dogs sleeping awoken by nightmasters waiting for a whipping benfore they
get back to their nightmares of abuse. How envious we can all become of
others true and small. Their lips grow bigger by the minute and I'm left
staring at large mouths with small voices. I think this is too
metaphorical for me it needs to be brought down to such a superficial
level. Understanding is just too tough for some people isn't it? I should
be psychic, you know. I think giraffes would prefer it best.
Listening to chaotic tunes over red balloons, purple horseshoes, and
could it be? Green fucking clovers spreading themselves thin. Lucky, my
ass. Thumping beats stumbling like clumsy penguins just chatting away like
ignorance in a bottle, kept and placed on a shelf for the others to enjoy.
Fanatically obsessed? I do so declare! A fortitude of numbers of time
clauses and phantom rocks that keep pelting on the newly fallen dirt.
Clumsy me, clumsy me. Next time I'll leave the shade up. Too much light
never gets in here. Am I confusing me yet? I doubt it. Maybe I'll just
keep on pressing just squeezing, wringing out the towels of garbage onto
ants. Simple creatures squashed under nike shoes and keds. I used to own
British Knights when I was a kid. BK baby! I could really go for a
Whopper right about now. I need to feel my arteries clog. Need that
tightening, constricting feeling of pins and needles and heat, oh that
piercing heat. Like flaming earings with tainted stubs. Handcuffed and
wrapped up tight in a reclosable package. Like mozarella cheese. 'cept
less clumped together at the bottom. Stretching through the crawl space to
reach for something I kept in the back of my closet long, long ago.
Childhood memories are never good enough nightmares. You need more
boogiemen, that's what I always say. At least, that's what I always try to
say. Words never seem to act the way you want them to. They come out and
they're there, unspoken words, too. Just plastered against the canvas for
the art critic to see and say "What the fuck is this mess?" I don't care
to put myself on display, you see. Talented as always. Burger King crowns
with their little puzzles that were always too easy to solve but always
enjoyable nonetheless. I miss those days of childhood, lost against the
corkboard of time. Let me tack up another push-pin and put a nice little
label there. All neat and organized. Like dogshit on a sidewalk. And
just as wanted.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #577 - WRITTEN BY: MIASMA - 4/14/99 ]
