[--------------------------------------------------------------------------] ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #577 `888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8 888 888 888 888 888 "Waiter, There's a Fly in 888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 My Primordial Soup" 888 888 888 888 888 " 888 888 `88b d88' 888 o by Miasma [4/14/99] o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] The words just keep coming like some amazingly talented nymphomaniac corn flakes don't smell so good in my room this fine fine afternoon. The crunching sound of my roomate just adds to the non-chalantness and good heartness of his soul. Encaged. Engaged. In battle slight mirror images relflecting on my screen I can see him crunching now as the milk slowly mocks at me from the sides of his mouth. Damn it, if he grins one more time, I think I'll have to hurt him. He's slurping now like pigs by a trough making noises my god this person needs to stop. The guitars to the left of me keep spinning screen savers never looked cool they just add to the confusion of this already confused room that's stationed in this already confused world. Damn cigarette wrappers and chewing gum foil strewn across together like seaweed like bubble fish Let's pickle. Mario's such a damned fool but ignorance is bliss they say and video games just work that way. I'm rhyming now and I don't choose to. isn't that a sign of insanity? keeping up in rhythm and beat and rhyme like some nonsensical genius. Please I don't want any. it's enough for me, I'm full of shit, thanks. No no, you can have some more if you'd like.. you seem to slop it up just fine. Thank you for abusing at&t. Staring eyes of pickle juice that green that envious poisonous dried up mucus green hocked up just knocking into each other while the metal balls surround it in a cage of lightning wonderment. Standing room only, bitch. The status quo believes in this and so should you will someone stop that friggen noise it keeps repeating to itself trying to believe its own bullshit. It's like terror only better. Fellowship and honor and all that good stuff. Don't you know it makes a good meal. It's popping fresh dough. Should I be knocked up or something pregnancy never seems right to me in a country defined on rape and cheese. Don't squeeze the charmin, that's sexual assault. It might come back at you with a lawsuit or bathing suit or some kind of outerwear. Lightbulbs going off and on like breaking glass and chimney stacks blowing coal smoke all over my new wedding dress. Don't throw rice at me, bitch. Seems there's some frustration here I don't know where it stems from but would I be glad to find out? Just wait on line please, we'll be with you in a moment. My stomach aches I don't know if it's the dining hall food or the fact that 've been sick for a week. Sick of what tho, that's the question. Shiver me timbers but don't blow me down. I'm too high, I can see my house from here. Deserted in the desert with some magic sand and daffy duck. Boy do I miss those days of cartoon reasoning. Taking breaths and short ones at that, Sucks to yer asthmar! This pointy shell doesn't mean shit. Break in half, break it all down, come tumbling tumbling down that hill Jack fucked Jill and all that's left is some naked sperm on the edge of the bed. C'mere little doggie. I think best in the shower and late at night before the twlight and the evening infect me I do a little dance before I make love tonight. Slipping down the ladder rungs I don't recall the last time that I had a power pellet. I guess it's a paradise lost at a childhood's end. Raking in the benefits, that's all there's time to do. Just raking it in like some bastardized landscaper. Atop the highest mountain of a molehill. Fuck expressions, I want reality. Mutters, rambling, and other positive feedback of words that just come thru the top of my brain and end up at the points of my fingers like dogs sleeping awoken by nightmasters waiting for a whipping benfore they get back to their nightmares of abuse. How envious we can all become of others true and small. Their lips grow bigger by the minute and I'm left staring at large mouths with small voices. I think this is too metaphorical for me it needs to be brought down to such a superficial level. Understanding is just too tough for some people isn't it? I should be psychic, you know. I think giraffes would prefer it best. Listening to chaotic tunes over red balloons, purple horseshoes, and could it be? Green fucking clovers spreading themselves thin. Lucky, my ass. Thumping beats stumbling like clumsy penguins just chatting away like ignorance in a bottle, kept and placed on a shelf for the others to enjoy. Fanatically obsessed? I do so declare! A fortitude of numbers of time clauses and phantom rocks that keep pelting on the newly fallen dirt. Clumsy me, clumsy me. Next time I'll leave the shade up. Too much light never gets in here. Am I confusing me yet? I doubt it. Maybe I'll just keep on pressing just squeezing, wringing out the towels of garbage onto ants. Simple creatures squashed under nike shoes and keds. I used to own British Knights when I was a kid. BK baby! I could really go for a Whopper right about now. I need to feel my arteries clog. Need that tightening, constricting feeling of pins and needles and heat, oh that piercing heat. Like flaming earings with tainted stubs. Handcuffed and wrapped up tight in a reclosable package. Like mozarella cheese. 'cept less clumped together at the bottom. Stretching through the crawl space to reach for something I kept in the back of my closet long, long ago. Childhood memories are never good enough nightmares. You need more boogiemen, that's what I always say. At least, that's what I always try to say. Words never seem to act the way you want them to. They come out and they're there, unspoken words, too. Just plastered against the canvas for the art critic to see and say "What the fuck is this mess?" I don't care to put myself on display, you see. Talented as always. Burger King crowns with their little puzzles that were always too easy to solve but always enjoyable nonetheless. I miss those days of childhood, lost against the corkboard of time. Let me tack up another push-pin and put a nice little label there. All neat and organized. Like dogshit on a sidewalk. And just as wanted. [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] [ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #577 - WRITTEN BY: MIASMA - 4/14/99 ]