[--------------------------------------------------------------------------] ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #796 `888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8 888 888 888 888 888 "THE DEAD" or "CAITLIN DARFLER 888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 FOOTBALL RULES" 888 888 888 888 888 " by AIDS 888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 8/22/99 o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] Horrible thoughts on this long michigan night... ALl I can think of is ol' teletype, who might be dead, but probably isn't, oh, teletype of my dreams, a thousand inferior christs are not even remotely close to your own blissful love... Teletype teletype teletype Shall I tell them of when you and meenk killed the green dragon? Way back in nineteen hundred and ninety-ninitey-nine-nine-nine, August I think, and oh, the world was august with concern... TELETYPE: ZOOT HORN ROLLO? How shall I ever find my way home? Where is Meenk? This burning emotional wound is still evident... It is still existent... Her, emily, to whom I owe so much, such as the loss of virginity, that greatest treasure which is only valuable when lost... When lost to the ages... I must find her, I must reclaim her, here she is... here she is now... on IRC... I message her... I reinitiate contact with her she is mine again again again... I make amends... Amends amends amenting amends... Yes, indeed, teletype and MISS EMILY who was now calling herself meenk did reinitiate the contact, and they did become sort of friends again... Friends, maybe, but lovers, no, sadly, for meenk was bound for the coastal bipolar palace of San Francisco, where she would sleep in the apartment of gweeds and DETH VEGGIE, a.k.a. LUCAS, a.k.a. The Finger Taker... Yes, strange thoughts indeed. Vlaad messaged me, talking about teletype's efforts to reclaim meenk's vagina as his own... As his own, but vlaad had been recently under the influence of break cleaner, so I can't really verify anything... MAybe he did... maybe he didn't... maybe he just wanted closure and peace, something akin to the last couple of plays by SHAKESPEARE. I can remember hating them all until I saw a live version of Cymbeline in Stratford-upon- Avon, and then I finally understood their greatness, and why in some ways they may exceed the GREAT 12 that fills the dreams of all men. I hid in her serpentine eyes. It was the only place left for me. Meenk said, "HEy, teletype, why not come visit me before I venture forth into that land of raging homosexuality, Nob Hill, Telegraph Hill, the SCARIEST FUCKIGN MASON TEMPLE IN THE WORLD, and gweeds, who has recently dumped me for www.badkittycam.com?" Teletype, of course, was only too happy to oblige... Could he do any less? Teletype's heart flicked on and off with joy. Inbetween the bursts of happiness, he felt that ol' wound starting to clench and unclench like a screaming asshole, rasping out the words. Grlfrmars was singing some songs about how she lost her baby, but it wasn't her biological baby, only her metaphorical one, and there was must laughter about. With my head hung down, I felt really bad... Serpentine serpentine eyes eyes... Yes, yes, Here he mounted her like a dog. A million words crafted into one world, and you were there when I shot JFK. IT was the triangulation of fire that caught the motherfucker dead cold. OSwald by himself only had a small chance with a single-bolt manual action mail order rifle, but me, hell, I upped the chances by 50% when I went down the street, and when we convinced Zoot Horn Rollo to provide the third, that fucker was as good as dead. AS GOOD AS DEAD. Meenk didn't know what to expect now. HEr eyes were filled alternately with visions of Wayne, Michigan, and Galadriel, elven QUEEN. Yes, yes, she was here, but why was Captain Beefheart singing a sweet song of lvoe and tribulation? I don't know@! How can I answer such things? I only report them. It's the job of a journalist to stay totally detached from the emotional reaction. The eleven queen, she said to meenk, "Yes, that is a song of Gandalf they sing. It was our name for him. I'm sorry the balrog got him, meenk." Meenk said, "Ah, yes, well, I dated the balrog, you see, and I rully am not too frightened for Gandalf, so much I am sad that his previous incarnation as the grey will be seen no more. You see, the balrog's real name is TELETYPE. AH, yes, he could fuck ass like a champ." I killed the thing the slime goes into. AND IT DOESN'T SMELL THAT MUCH LIKE BODY ODOR. So, yes, where was I? Oh yes, Teletype was on his sojourn into the COnnecticut Heartland... HE was going to make us all proud... He's the sunshine bright killing boy... A fucking murderer of unknown proportions... Six million jews go into the oven... SIZZLE AND BURN... into teletype's gluttonous abandon... He follows that yellow brick road down the path to recapturing meenk... Down the path... SHIT ASS DROOLERS! RALLY TO MY WHITE CANES! Teletype was the balrog. It was his fleshly limbs that pulled Gandalf to his death. TO HIS DEATH, OR HIS INEVITABLE REBIRTH? ON THE THIRD DAY LIKE A THOUSAND INFERIOR CHRISTS OF OBSCURE HOPES? I don't know, I can't tell you, all I can tell you about is where I am, and I'm in Wayne, and there are things coming for me... my just deserts, perhaps, but most likely seasoned fries... How long before Stephen and Tasha fuck? I will time it. I have timed it. I know. But I will not divulge it. All I know is Teletype was coming down that interstate 95, going to mEENk, and she waiting for him. What anticipation went through both their heads? PErhaps teletype was like, "Do I love her? Did I ever love her? Can I ever love her? I wonder if I ever loved her. I probably didn't, but it hurts so bad, and that ain't good. It ain't good, son, it ain't good." MEENK: (Inner dialogue) sad sad sad eyes yes yes yes here he mounted her like a dog sad sad sad eyes touch me soft here I am see me feel me here i am yes yes his penis was smooth and white and creamy I might even suck it I might even let a little of his stuff get into my mouth yes yes sad creamy white eyes not like that ruffian gweeds bloom who dissed me for www.badkittycam.com not like that at all love is inside my heart but not for teletype who do I love I may be incapable of love I am without love and still love obsesses me how can this be how can something that I have only known in abused and mutated forms and which has never lead me to anything worth having still obsess me so Teletype pushed one long, gentle finger into the doorbell, and it was not long before meenk answered the door with that ol' blue-eyed smile. It was peaceful and gentle and teletype sighed, because he knew now that things would, at the very least, be /decent/. He might not reclaim her heart for his own, he might not repenetrate her, but at least things would be /decent/. At least the screams had ebbed into the past and the horrible nights were memories. She looked over his body, which had changed in shape since she last fucked him, but was still, in essence, the same. His face was haggard with years of use, and she had heard the rumors, letting her eyes drift down towards his arms, and there she saw the pinpoint mural of drug frenzy. The track marks looked back at her, and one or two blinked their wrinkled eyes. It was hard to see it. But she let it hurt all the same. A random observation about Wayne, Michigan: I am more visible during the nighttime. In some ways, my existence in daylight is almost negligible. I can't explain why or how, but it's true all the same. I'm hombre invisible. The grey man. Something pretentious. who knows? She invited him, and he did go inside, and she sat him down and they started to talk, but they weren't really saying anything very much. No, nothing much at all. He had planned this out a thousand times before in his mind, this conversation and dialogue, he would talk to her about the truest things in the world, about the very essence of life itself, and she would finally, after so many years, understand him. The barrier of life would be ripped open. Something, anything, GOD, anything. But it wasn't like that. Their conversation was banal and ordinary, and rather than acknowledge any of the things that had occurred between them, they spoke about the weather and everything urbane. It killed him to go nn like that, but he did, because it would be even worse if she stopped speaking. HEr eyes kept him assured. IT was still all OK. Never more aware of his own weight as in her person. He felt her looking at him, and worried that she found him disgusting. He was huge. HUGE. A more concentrated arena of fat had not been constructed since the Golden Age of Rome. Nero played hte fiddle while Rome Burned, and he played "THE SACK OF ILIUM". Was meenk's face the face that launched a thousand ships? It didn't matter now, not to teletype, because he wasn't concerned with the most beautiful girl, or the best girl, but just /this girl/, this girl before him. She was flawed and she had done evil, and there could be no question of that, but even these things, which in others would drive him insane, they mattered little. They mattered nothing. They were nothing. ONE TWO THREE FOUR You don't come round my Wayne, Michigan no more. why not? Meenk thought of Galadriel's parting words of advice, "Take the ring to Mordor, and then reconcile things with teletype. This age of Middle Earth must end, but wouldn't it be nice to end on an up-tempo note?" They went to a movie. They saw STAR WARS: BLAIR WITCH PROJECT PART 14: WILL SMITH DOES DALLAS: EYES WIDE ARLINGTTON ROAD IS THE ROAD DOWN THE STREET FROM THE HOUSE ON THE HILL WHICH IS RIGHT NEXT TO THE HAUNTING. Nothing happened there. The day teletype was to leave, I slept and slept and slept, trying to get certain visions out of my head. Trying desperately to drive them out, so that I did not have to spend my entire life consummed. I forced the pillow over my head. IT was there there there it was no where, but here it was. Terrible thoughts on this wayne, michigan night... They got home and they started talking. TELETYPE: I'm sorry about how things ended. MEENK: You're not the only one. TELETYPE: Why do you think they went like that? MEENK: What's the chance of a total abuser like yourself and total victim like myself actually have a working relationship? TELETYPE: Little, I guess. MEENK: It's too bad, really, rob, because you were a decent guy. TELETYPE: I always wanted to be more than a decent guy to you. MEENK: I know, and that's what made you decent. TELETYPE: It's a sad thing, really! ---LATER--- MEENK: Did you love me? TELETYPE: I might have. IT's hard to tell. WHat criteria did I have to compare it against? My pseudo-relationship to the sysadmin at BU? MEENK: Well, did you? TELETYPE: Did you? MEENK: Love you? TELETYPE: Yes. MEENK: No. TELETYPE: Oh.... MEENK: WEll, to be honest, I don't know. TELETYPE: Oh. MEENK: The thing is, Rob, I'm fucked up. I'm royally fucked up. TELETYPE: So you tell me. MEENK: How could I ever love you? TELETYPE: How couldn't you? MEENK: I don't know what love is. TELETYPE: DOn't you? How could anyone not? MEENK: You don't know. TELETYPE: Point taken. I don't. MEENK: I think love's an outdated concept. TELETYPE: Why? MEENK: It just is. ---LATER--- TELETYPE: all i really want, honestly, is to die in my footsteps before I go under the ground. What I mean to say is, I wish I could be in something worthwhile and passionate and respectful and then just die immediately after it reached its apogee. Life isn't segmented enough. I want to flame out in a burst of passion rather than go into grey ash. He went home, after she told him about the Lass of Aughrihim, and he saw the snow started to fall, her scarf kept her mouth well hid. On all the living and all the dead. [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] [ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #796 - WRITTEN BY: AIDS - 8/22/99 ]