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The Hogs of Entropy 0722
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #722
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "A Love Letter To GrlFrMars"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by AIDS
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 7/6/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Dear Miriam, who is become death, destroyer of worlds,
Where should I start? They wished you'd taken the blame for the farm.
We all know that. I don't understand how they could ever have misjudged
you. Oh baby, where should I start? There was the coca-cola incident, but
we never told anyone about that.
In life there are certain absolutes and certain truths which many
will try to deny by claiming the time-honored defense of subjectivity.
Through the subjective world all moments of clarity and beauty can be
removed and reduced to just another experience in this Greek and Roman
antiquity. This ancient world, king of the mundane.
Occasionally we will encounter circumstances which will awaken us to
the absolute reality of objective truth. I was going to share two examples
from my own rather uninteresting life to illustrate this point, but on
further recollection have decided it would be unwise. There's a lot of
Christmas songs out there, and not too many Chanukah songs. Someone told me
you were a Jew, Miriam.
My cat is destroying the box my banjo was mailed in. He's been
slowly attacking it for nearly a month. It's covered in claw marks and
tooth prints.
But I was browsing the ftp.dto.net picture archive sometime ago, and
I was the victim of yet another one of these moments. Yet another one,
there have been perhaps three or four, maybe even five in my life, but there
it was and I had the sudden head rush and orange miasma that comes with the
epiphany.
Paul Newman's half JEWISH, Goldie Hawn's half too. Put them
together, WHAT A FINE LOOKING JEW.
Months now. It's been months.
So what the hell am I supposed to do? I don't know you. I probably
never will. It's l'amour fou. It's the mad love. I could drug you and
pretend you were the Queen of Spain, but that can't be. I could write
essays about the MAP core courses at NYU's college of arts and sciences, and
name them after slightly garble Led Zeppelin songs, but I won't do that
either. You'd hate me.
I don't mean you'd hate because of the essays, no, but you'd hate me
as a person. Lots of intelligent people do: Styx, Mogel, Jamesy, Swisspope,
Tasha, Darwin, Ingy, Hawk, Agthorr, Caitlyn(!), Phairgirl, Pezmonkey,
Unrelated, this non-modem girl named Lyndsy, this polish girl named Agnes,
this gothic fattie named Daria, some dumb mulatto named Lauren, an Axl Rose
looking girl named Meg, my old roommate Teo. There's a huge list. It
doesn't end there, but my memory does.
Did I ever tell you about the time Darwin taught his asshole to talk?
It would rasp out the words, and I asked it for advice all the time. It was
my shit centered oracle. I don't have that direction anymore. That's gone
now. Or as Rimbaud said, "I took Beauty in my lap, and I slapped that ho."
It's all over.
Why am I doing this?
I imagine a good many people reading this are asking that very
question right now, probably including you, Miriam, amongst others.
My cat just used his litter box. He scratched the cedar wood sawdust
litter for a while, and now he's eating. Read the clock that slowly ticks
the time.
And your prayers like rhymes, and your silver cross, and your voice
like chimes.
There's got to be a reason and I think we both know what it is, and I
don't really feel like being so gratuitous as to say it in a public forum,
but if anyone else reading has half a brain, they can decode my intent. I'm
sure you can.
It's not just the corporal realm, either, oh no, if we were playing
Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, I'd be a Mage or Cleric or even a Thief, but
I'd never be so horrible as to be a fighter. I can see the things behind
the veil and I can see your purpose. I can see you for who you truly are.
There's a gigantic jigsaw puzzle and you're the missing piece.
Even if we could get past all the awkwardness and how-do-you-do,
we've still got a bit of problem, in that this here droog looks like he got
hit with a bit of the old ultraviolence. Except it was God doing the
tolchocking. It looks like I got hit upside the head with the ugly stick.
I'm half Irish and half Turk, I'm the misbegotten son of two barbarian
races. I'm not the Aryan, but then again, neither are you, so maybe things
can work out.
I'm in New York. You can find me. I am,
Sincerely Yours,
Jarett Kobek
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #722 - WRITTEN BY: AIDS - 7/6/99 ]
