The Hogs of Entropy 0907

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The Hogs of Entropy

 · 5 years ago

  

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 ggg                "Meditations On a Schoolgirl Crush"               ggg 
 $$$                             by -> Rhea                           $$$ 
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 $$$             (* HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #907 -- 11/29/99 *)          .,$$$ 
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	There is a thing called genius, and sometimes I think about 
 cabbages and kings and wonder just what exactly it is that I see when I 
 look through the tiny holes in my Ritz cracker.  My salty, buttery, rich 
 Ritz cracker. Well. Who knows. I just had an urge to spew out a 
 pointless, meaningless paragraph.  I get those sometimes, you know? 

	For a tiny second, his eyelid was completely and utterly reserved 
 for me.  Down, then up, then a smile.  No, the smile was there all along 
 -- that blissfully patronizing smile.  If only he knew that I would turn 
 that little wink into something "poetically abstract" -- or absurd... 
 yes... absurd -- and think about it with a sigh or two. Or three.   
 Really, I realize that me, myself, I, and the world are entirely too 
 large to tackle on this silly fancy of mine.  But at least when I walk by 
 his classroom and steal a glance at his unkempt hair and tight -- nicely 
 tight, not nauseatingly tight -- jeans, I feel somewhat passionate. Will 
 he see me?  Does he know? He must. It must be the most obvious thing in 
 the world.  I'm sure he thinks it's cute. It is cute. 

	No, I can't use the word passionate.  I'm not worthy of it. Is he? 
 I hope so. I hope so. 

	I decided that taking the time to write in a sensical, efficient 
 manner is completely unnecessary. It's much more interesting this way -- 
 if it were clear and concise, we might discover that there's nothing 
 behind the words after all, and wouldn't that be traumatizing? And then 
 we'd all fall down and break our crowns.  And Jill?  She'd come tumbling 
 after, of course.  I was thinking; they should have reversed that nursery 
 rhyme and have made Jill tumble first.  Then it would become a marvelous 
 allegory for that dreadful bite into that dreadful apple.  A girl at 
 lunch the other day found a worm in her apple, the poor thing.  That was 
 the same day as the good morning day, wasn't it?  Yes, the day when he 
 said, "Good morning!" and the morning suddenly became good. Yes, it was 
 that same day. I ate an apple that day, too. 

	The only problem is that Lolita is so young... And he is so old... 
 is this corruption?  What is wrong with me?  I think it's just so I have 
 something to think about amidst the revoltingly apathetic high school boys 
 and girls who will never change -- the waters around them haven't grown, 
 no, they're shallow shallow shallow! -- because I feel so out of place.   
 "Dorothy Parker must have worn glasses," said one of them. I laughed - it 
 was funny! Wasn't it? 

	I don't wear glasses. Instead, I pollute my eyes with cruel, cruel 
 bits of plastic, tinted lightly blue. Lightly, lightly blue, but my 
 plastic-less eyes are already lightly, lightly blue, so are they now, 
 with my strange pollution, a heavier blue?  I don't feel them in my eyes 
 at all when I wear them, isn't that nice? I think it's nice.  Has he ever 
 noticed that my eyes are blue?  Actually, I've never noticed if his are. 
 Yes! That's good!  That's good that I haven't noticed! Maybe there is 
 hope for me!  Maybe I've just been exaggerating this infatuation!  But 
 now I can't help wondering... are they? 

	I would be much more pleased with myself if these paragraphs 
 weren't just another vain attempt of a schoolgirl to find her "place in 
 the world," but, you know, it gives me something to do.  And there's only 
 so many times a girl can listen to the Police's "Don't Stand So Close To 
 Me."  It was inevitable that I would write about it. It was inevitable 
 that I would seek out and be thrilled by Nabokov's fascinating prose. And 
 here I am now.  Yes, here I am, thinking about his sunglasses and his 
 exciting world travel and his wink.  Here I am. 

	So teacher teacher, here's an apple for you.  A shiny, wormless, 
 beautiful apple. But don't take it, please, no matter how much I want 
 you to bite into it. Don't take it, and maybe this sweet corruption will 
 slowly fade away... 

	Or will it stay? 

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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS!     HOE #907 - WRITTEN BY: RHEA - 11/29/99 ]