[--------------------------------------------------------------------------] 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 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] 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. [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] [ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #778 - WRITTEN BY: GRLFRMARS - 8/2/99 ]