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The Hogs of Entropy 0911
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ggg "October Rust and Why My Life Sux" ggg
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$$$ (* HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #911 -- 11/30/99 *) .,$$$
`"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'
After high school, the summer of '96, is when the whole thing
finally started to go downhill. Sure, we had our problems before that,
living the gothic-meets-sid-and-nancy life, with abnormal consumption of
drugs, the cheating, lying, self-absorption, and manipulation, but that
was how it was supposed to be.
But it kept getting worse. Late at night, drunk on wine we had
stolen from her house, struggling to stay away from the drugs, always
calling me, convinced that my twisted love for her would set me free of
those chains.
It never worked.
But thru it all, I can remember the good times, listening to
Stabbing Westward on top of my beat-up 85 Chevy at 1:00am after I got out
of work, drinking and screwing like the world would end any moment.
Having to scale the fence and climb to the second floor window to see her
for those few minutes. That made it all worthwhile, right then all our
hatred for each other would melt away leaving no evidence it ever
existed.
More than anything, our love of sex kept us together. The same
thing that tore us apart. It was only a matter of time before a
relationship like this exploded, but somehow we managed to keep making it
work, amazing myself how I could so deeply love someone that I hated so
dearly.
When it exploded, so did I. That me died years ago, left in a
corner writhing in agony as I swore to myself that I would never allow
myself to be that way again. I couldn't handle another relationship as
intense and lustful as this was, I knew it would kill me.
So I buried it all. I left the real me behind, and pretended it
didn't exist.
When I look in the mirror, I find it hard to believe the person
staring back is me.
Sure, every now and again, I'd find myself thinking the same way I
used to, but I never really took notice of it. But now, once again, on
this cold October afternoon, I listen to those same sweet agonizing
songs, the ones that defined my life, my attitudes, my hatred to all, but
mostly to me.
And people say I'm not gothic enough. I think the biggest
requirement of the gothic movement is the self-hatred you feel, the
attitude that you must have been some sort of mistake, you aren't meant
to be here.
But I digress.
After all this time, sitting here, typing this on my cubicle, part
of the machine I loathed so dearly, I notice how little I've really
changed. Damn her for coming back into my life. Damn me for making the
first step.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #911 - WRITTEN BY: MISFIT - 11/30/99 ]
