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The Hogs of Entropy 0778
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #778
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "Journal Spewings"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by GrlFrMars
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 8/2/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Um, so I found my journal unpacking today. It's always a journey
down that bumpy, booby-trapped, wild-animal-laden dirt road we refer to as
"memory lane" when one comes upon an old journal. Although mine is far from
full, it contains some neato stuff I forgot I'd written. I don't keep a
journal like teenage girls keep a diary, mind you. My journal acts as my
replacement word processor, I fill it with random poems/stories I come up
with on the go. It's black velvet, filled with not only my writing but an
assortment of crap I've picked up in my travels, pictures of old lovers, old
love letters, and the like. So here's a bit of what I found.
[-----]
"I ran over a skateboard today," she said as I braided her hair. "It
really pissed me off. I mean, what kind of idiot would leave their
skateboard in the middle of the street? Damn it, I wish the little punk who
left it there was on it when I hit it, the bastard."
I was still trying to formulate the image in my head. A sort of
transportational survival of the fittest came to mind: I envisioned her
black Volkswagen running over a skateboard, maybe a bus running over her
car, an airplane swooping down and carrying the bus off to god knows where.
I suggested that the piece de resistance of her accident would have been the
car actually mounting the skateboard in a gesture of solidarity, but that
story was far over in her mind.
"OUCH! You're pulling too hard!" she yelled.
I apologized, and she went on. I was still stuck on the implications
of her first story. If it had been anyone else, the incident would have
sparked a long philosophical debate, which would probably end with an empty
pot of coffee and a full ashtray. However, I had a firm grip on her hair.
She wasn't getting away from me too easily, so I started at her with my
questions.
"Don't you see the political implications and/or symbolism in your
action today?"
"Huh?" she replied.
"Your car, a polluter of the environment, crushing a skateboard, an
environment-friendly mode of transportation."
"OK, you're scaring me now!" she said.
"Maybe that skateboard was someone's only means by which to get
around. Maybe that person couldn't afford a car, maybe you totally screwed
up their day."
"Good!"
Right. That was my cue to give up. She obviously wasn't up to my
inquisition, and frankly, I wanted to pursue it no further.
"You think too much, that's your problem," she said. "When was the
last time you, like, totally let yourself go? When was the last time you
got totally wasted, for example?"
"Dude, you know damn well what happened last time I got trashed. We
were at that lame party playing drinking games, then we went back to that
kid's dorm... I was so fucked up and you left me alone with that guy!"
"Ahh, beer goggles guy!! I remember that! Hahahahahaha.... Christ,
if I'd have known. I wouldn't have gone off like that. Sorry, man."
"Yeah it's alright. Life experience, y'know? Anyway, I seem to
remember someone hooking up with their man's best friend that night."
"Oh shut up, you. Now I'm regretting asking you anything. I'm going
to keep my mouth shut from now on."
I gave her hair a good yank for spite.
[-----]
OK that's some unfinished business. Here's a neat little angry girl
poem that I don't think I finished yet either:
[-----]
Rummaging through old letters, I came across yours
That girlish handwriting neatly arranged
Line after line of you telling me your story
And providing the soundtrack to your life
Ungrateful bastard you took it back,
But you left me your letter
With words neater than mine
Typical one-up-manship
Now my words fill the pages
Words like love and hate and grudge
You don't deserve to have the last word
But whenever I confront you my wits leave me
I know it's not love that draws me to you
It could be the psychoanalyst in me
Looking for the symptoms and developing a remedy
I want to know why
You treat me like a child
When what we did was so adult
I want to know why
You ignore me time and again
When you gave me your vow of eternal friendship
In my heart I know all the answers
But I'm not like you
I don't give up so easily
In fact I don't give up at all
This is not the perfect revenge song
It's just a warning
Don't fuck with me
You'll be sorry
I swear.
[-----]
Hot damn. That was written two years ago or something. I don't
remember. I wouldn't have liked to be around me at that point, sheesh.
Well, that's all I have to share from my journal. I'll let you all know if
I decide to finish any of these things, it's not bloody likely though.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #778 - WRITTEN BY: GRLFRMARS - 8/2/99 ]
