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There Aint No Justice 008
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*-* There Ain't No Justice *-*
*-* #08 *-*
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*-* Phoenix Modernz Inc. 908/830-8265 *-*
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-I couldn't think of a name. So there.-
by Hairy Leech
---
a few quick notes before i get underway:
..i refuse to capitalize anything.
..i refuse to abide by the rules of modern english. in other words, i am
not known to use paragraphs correctly, and i don't always state a complete
thought. (well, i don't always have a complete thought to state, damn it.)
..spelling is my enemy, and you will notice how sometimes it overcomes me.
..a plot is a useless thing in my mind. i just say things.
---
ok. with that out of the way, i will begin my babble-fest.
i was churning about on cyber chat when tal meta dribbled something about me
writing a text file. well, here i am. i don't know what the hell he plans to
do with this thing, and i don't know what i'm writing about. i suppose we'll
see when this is all over and done with.
so here i sit, my white rump sitting atop my spiffy plastic molded chair. as
i glance around i see this piece of bubble yum bubble gum. (what a name!)
nice wrapper. sort of like a plastic-coated paper. i think i'll ingest it.
the gum, that is. did you know i am notorious for swallowing gum? i bet you
didn't. if i didn't swallow it, i'd probably die of starvation. i thrive on
swallowed gum. anyhow, this gum has far too much sugar in it. just another
sign of our gloomy modern america. always trying to make everything nice and
sweet and easy to swallow for us poor dumb patriotic lackys. the lies go down
oh, so much better when you coat them with sugar, don't you think?
"i can't get this box off my head!"
i never finished reading this long and droopy book called "friendly fascism."
what a clod i am. i paid like good, worth-a-lot money for it. i mean like
something approaching $15-20. it's amazing the amount they charge for books
nowadays. it's like, they can't burn them like the nazis did, that's too
obvious. instead, they just charge these ludicris amounts of money for them,
so only the rich and upperclass get ahold of them. now, the rich being rich
as they are, they read these books about how america is corrupt to the core
and all, and they don't care. they're rich and nice and happy, see? why would
they care about america being corrupt, just so long as they have some pretty
polly in their pocket. (for those who aren't clockwork orange fanatics,
pretty polly translates out to be money.)
lately i'm coming to the conclusion that it's not the society, it's not the
government, it's the people. we're just all drawn, natural-like, into being
complete and utter assholes. we just deveop that way, i figure. but then
there's the odd ones, the queer ducks, so to speak. it's like the way there
are long haired-cats and short-haired cats. all cats, just alike. only the
hair is different. nice and natural, see? well, i suppose there are those of
us who form and we are just set off in life destined to be cattle. and then
there's the other ones, they being set to be motivated towards change and
improving things.
people suck. period. i don't know why i'm beating my head over this. it's so
simple i just can't accept it.
well it's no simple thing to find yourself in contact with a genuine
short-haired cat, that being an awake and lively human being, one who is in
tune with what's going on and the course of things. music used to be a really
good register as to who was what kind of person. people like to surround
themselves with similar things, right right right. religious prestoopnicks
(that being people) like to hear all preachy talking and "praise jesus!" and
"god bless you, my brudder." and then the psychopathical personages like to
hear like vacuum cleaners and people going "ooh! oooh! stop it you beast!"
well, this is all fine and dandy. but, see, the long-haired cats, those being
the human cattle and money grubbing piggys, they make everything into a
product. music is music, plain and simple. music used to be something you
just did because you felt good doing it or listening to it or being around
it. now society has warped and music has become like a perverted register of
morals. now it dosen't distinguish between long-hairs and short-hairs, now it
goes all a spinning off, telling who's cool and who's not, who's in and who's
ot, who's a guido and who's a metalhead. well, "paaaah!" i say. yes, damn
right, "paaaah!" they stick these little messages into our tv sets, and they
flash all day long saying "buy! buy! buy! consume, ya bastards!" commercials,
you understand. we see them all day long. they don't see me, the rats, they
see income. they see a possible customer. they see more money in their
pockets if they can hook me and make me buy this rot i don't even bloody well
need. if i am nothing, am i not atleast a person? crickey.
so anyhow, where was i before i got all skewed off? oh. ok. anyhow. when you
find yourself knowing a real awakened sort of person, you'll know it well
enough. he or she (or it, for that matter) may be hard to spot, what with
rapidly changing social trends (there, there's that cursed word..), but if'n
you ever actually do find such a person, you'll be quite happy you did. this
being of course if you're a similar and like individual. (now there's a
concept. "similar and like individual." imagine that. being the same in some
ways, and yet still a totally new and amazing beast. may wonders never
cease.) if you're a sleepy dreamy cow-like human, you will more than likely
end up cursing whoever this person is who you've met, for he/she/it
represents change and like hard work.
- flash! -
in case you didn't realize this, cattle-humans are generally very
narrow-minded. they see only one little thing, with no other options. they
think either "sex" or "money" or "social acceptance" or something such as
that. they don't care for it much when something comes along and foggys up
their narrow little mind. no no no, don't like that at all. that requires
work to fix. and cattle-like humans are also generally a lazy lot, too.
- now back to our normal babble -
i hear a motorbike outside my window.
anyhow, i know all about this cursing and damnation thing, because i
experianced that firsthand. see, i met up with this guy who was on the fringe
of fashion and social acceptance and all, and over the course of a couple
years or so, he has really swayed away from the trendy side of life. now his
parents don't like this rot one bit, and their favorite hobby is yammering
how i am the son of satan and all evil is generally my fault. how if i was
never to have met their dear sweet charming little sun that things would be
nice and chipper and peachy-keen. sorry to rain on their parade and festival
of a rich and carefree life and all, but i'm sadly mistaken. they can take
that idea of everything being my fault and ram it right up their tight little
stingy assholes.
12:27 am. wooo!
mayhaps i should date this incase i become like famous because of it. ha.
well, it's the first friday in august of 1992, and i won't tell you the
numerical date because i damn well forgot that. ah well.
"double god damn and a carton of hells.."
religion bashing is a fun thing to witness, but it is like hellish and bad
when you think about it. i mean, hmm. calmly discussing things with people
and occasionally challenging their beliefs is nice and good and it promotes
the use of ye old noggen, which is great indeed. but outright saying "you
suck, your religion sucks, and you're a flaming dumbass for buying that
shit" is just a little harsh. then again, some people need harshness to make
them stop. hmm.
i feel this filling in my bladder. i think i'll releave myself. hold.
frankly, i would have voted for brown.
song lyrics creep into the old brain:
"and all i eat is dirt /
they say you are what you eat!"
then later on in the song, the guy starts chanting like "i can't eat no more
dirt!" over and over, much many times.
i don't speak like this in the everyday world, just so's you know.
i work at a record store, i know you know. this lady came a drifting in with
her 8 or 9 or not more than 10 year old son today, and she was playing the
part of little miss moral majority. her child wanted to buy a copy of the
bodycount album, the one with "cop killer" on it. she kept a ranting and
raving about curses and gang violence and blah blah blah. she was wearing
this recycling shirt. she had her hair all sprayed up nicely, and she was
wearing makeup. i make be mistaken, but i think she had a leather purse.
how can you be so concerned about what people hear? and how can you be so
concerned about what people throw out? and at the very same point in time,
how can you go a lollygaging around with a thousand and one chemicals strewn
all over your body, 99.9% of which were probably forced down the throats of
screaming rabbits? how can you care so much about some and just fucking
ignore the rest? consolidated lyrics leaking in: "your saying peace to your
brothers while you torture your sisters."
cold in here.
while i was up turning the fan off (just now) i noticed my soviet flag which
no one understands and i don't care to explain to you, whoever the hell you
are.
they say i am the ultimate cynic. i pride myself on this, cannot they see?
i think i'll quote some things from this underground magazine called "sound
off." here you are:
"if you accept what they give you, you deserve what you get."
damn straight. i like that one i just gave you.
"focus your anger. educate yourself. don't accept what they feed you. draw
your own conclusions. don't listen to just one viewpoint. find out what the
other side is saying. then form your own opinion. listen."
"as he began to speak, the words fell short, at the realization of the
absurdity of life. he reach for his dinner fork and gouged his eyes out, as
did the crowd. and slowly but surely they all began to see..."
"ok now repeat after me...
the police are good.
the police are our friends.
the police know what's best for us.
the police are not racist.
the police would never use unnecessary force.
the police would never hassle or harass anyone without a reason.
the police are not power hungry megalomaniacs with the desire and ability to
control and intimidate anyone they may dislike.
the police always follow proper procedure.
the police never instigate riots.
the police never do anything illegal.
the police are right.
might makes right.
it's the american way.
god bless the police."
"'don't worry' said the trees when they saw the axe coming, 'the handle is
one of us.'"
- end o' quotes -
very spiffy mag. if you wants for a copy, write a letter very nice-like to
this address:
sound off
7875 w, oklahoma ave.
apt #1
west allie, wi
53219-3615
send him stamps! he damn well needs them. it costs quite a bit to put out
your own rag. and write a human letter, too. this is a guy, not a company.
tell him you read about it here if you like, i'm sure he would be amuzed.
groan. i am tired. i think i'll save this and donate it to tal meta now. ok?
ok. g'night sleeping world.
-Hairy Leech
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