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The Hogs of Entropy 0854
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #854
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "Blush"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by Rhea
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 9/28/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Listen, listen, listen. Listen! Because I want you to! To what?
To listen!
But how do you do that?
I don't know.
I would like to see the gray color of the sky that glows, glows,
glows right before a violent storm. I would like to listen to way the air
feels thick with anticipation, I would like to see the warm smell of the
breeze before the storm. I would like to be the storm. Or just hear it.
But then I'd have to listen.
They said, "Prince Charming doesn't exist", but then I met him, and I
knew I shouldn't have listened to them. A few hours later he wasn't so
charming anymore, but still the animals outside my window look like the ones
in Snow White almost. Those cute little bunnies are hopping next to my car
on the gravel driveway. Then they ran away. Prince Charming faded away,
but for those few glorious moments I was in a fairy tale and even the smell
of his strong, cheap cologne made me blush. It was nice. We played
hangman. He existed. For a little while. So they were wrong. Even though
he doesn't exist anymore, he did then, and so in my memory he still exists.
Funny how you can say the word "exist" so many times until finally it
starts losing its meaning. I'm glad I'm not an existentialist, because then
I'd have to go around and say, "I'm an existentialist" and besides from
having people give me looks like, "Aren't you a cute little pseudo-
intellectual!" I might lose all the meaning to the word "exist" and be
afraid I didn't exist anymore. I don't know what I'd do then.
Sometimes I think a phrase in my mind, and then it echoes and echoes
in my mind until I say to myself, "Stop thinking that same phrase over and
over again!" I bought some nice books at the used book store today, they
smell nice. I like the smell of old books. I wish I were an old book.
One of the books I got was "Crime and Punishment" because the way the
Russian names roll around in my thoughts pleases me very much, and if I say
the names out loud their sounds please me even more. I love the way the
accents are placed, I love the way the names sound, with their thick vowels
and consonants. The sound is so similar to Lithuanian names, I guess,
that's why I like them. My name is Lithuanian. It's pronounced "Ahhh-zhoh-
lahss" and the "zh" sound is the same sound in "Dr. Zhivago." Kind of like
a "sh" sound, (as in "shit"!) but different - the sound is heavier, courser.
I think there might be some vocal sound in it. I don't know. I haven't
listened enough. I'm saying it over and over again my lips as I write this,
"Zh, zh, zh, zh." "Ahhh-zhoh-lahss." Listen!
It's a great book -- I didn't just buy it for the names -- though I
don't really trust translations. I guess I've read other translated things,
and Madame Bovary's brilliance managed to shine through the hazy vague mist
of a translated text, but still I felt unsatisfied. I felt like I was so
close to poetry, like I was reaching my hand out eagerly to grasp it, but at
the last moment my hand would stretch no farther and the translation
wouldn't move any closer to me and the small gap of emptiness was impassable
and I wished I knew French fluently so I could devour it in its true form.
The storm is brewing -- or will it be one of those storms so common in the
drought, the ones that are about to burst in a rain storm yet wimp out at
the last minute and disperse into blue skies again? -- and I'm being
entirely too melodramatic. But I thought with this melodrama that maybe you
would listen. Did you? Are you? Excellent!
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #854 - WRITTEN BY: RHEA - 9/28/99 ]
