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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #524
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "For Kelly 2"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by Isaac
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 3/21/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Dream segment:
I am walking somewhere by the side of a road. It is night. I fall
down because my bag is so heavy. I try to get up but I just flop around
ineptly and I feel very stupid. Then I see Kelly walking past me. I
wonder if she will help me or feel pity for me but she does not see me and
she just keeps on walking very quickly.
When you get as old as me you forget how to do things like how to
relate to others. Not that I am old as in lived a long life but I feel
old like a bitter, wrinkled face, tired, old man. I feel like I am
wasting away. I feel like I am nearing death.
I have been digging my own grave for such a very long time. I have
dough a hole deep into not only the world of my unconscious, which some
find so terrifying in themselves, but also into the realm of thought and
answering questions which some find so futile. I don't know why I am so
intrigued with my unconscious and the make up of my psyche or why my
thoughts wander off into what some call "the mysteries of life" while
other people go about there life looking straight forward and only rarely
glancing at those very dark regions above them and below them and feeling
too over whelmed to keep looking. They talk themselves into thinking such
things would not be a 'worth-while' task to undertake.
One day I stop digging that dirty, uncomfortable hole and I look
up into the 'others' world. Someone yells down, "Why don't you get a
life". Such an obviously stupid suggestion, but later the same message
comes back to me from a deep layer with in:
Why aren't you following this bright, clean, well know and
frequently traveled path. It may still have a few bumps or rocks in the
road that haven't been kicked aside yet but I am guessing it is more
enjoyable then that dirty, dark hole you are digging. You will not find
the end of it. If that is what you are looking for. To enjoy life one
must enjoy the means and not the ends. For the means are always there and
the ends rarely come. The only real end there can be is death. You will
die in that dark hole you are digging. Death will be your only eternal
golden "philosopher's stone". Your beloved shining giggling child of
wonder is really a fierce demon and will strike you down and kill you.
You will die alone. You will be seen as a fool.
You are right. The female side of my being has finally made me see
her ways after so long.
I let the shovel fall from my hand. I feel wasted. Looking up out
of my hole I see the beautiful white hands and the interesting, almost
stoic, face of girl. I reach my hand up and she looks back confused. I
laugh at myself as I see how foolish I was to think such a thing could
save me from myself. It is obvious even if she understood my attempt to
reach out with my letter and actually cared about me enough to want me out
of my hole she would not know any method of saving me. With more
observation the truth is even less encouraging. I see a girl who can not
relate to me at all. All I get out of it is a few curious looks before
she decides to continue on her way. Of course I hope that she hasn't. I
hope that she knows something. I hope that perhaps she will somehow show
me something that, in some way, enhances life or enlighten my view of it.
In this way she becomes my Nova-Lucifer (the strange new bringer of light,
and perhaps a new personification of the my age old Nova-Object projected
on to a real person). I hope for things that are very improbable. But
desperately, I don't want her to leave me here, no matter what the
situation. For when one is in the dark places like I am, any attention is
good attention.
Now is a new time of such greatly complex and deeply rooted
problems that only emotional, 'irrational' solutions exist.
It is depressing that from my position she is seems inaccessible.
To me she has becomes the figure head of a whole world that I feel I have
left behind and I can't get back to.
One time in class tears came from my eyes and I pressed my shirt
sleeves against my eyes to dry them and hind the fact. I was successful.
I laughed at myself a little. It took a great deal of ego-conscious
energy to keep the tears back. Perhaps I was keeping them back, not only
because it is embarrassing, but because I didn't feel like trying to
explain. It is hard enough to explain to myself. It is very hard to give
a letter to a girl you don't know in a world you have forgotten how to
get back to.
Aww wah so sad.
Lately I am becoming fond of thoughts of my own death.
Why does it feel so wrong to want to share my thoughts with
someone. Perhaps because she makes me feel very stupid when she asks me
why I would desire to share my thoughts with her. You might as well ask
me why I desire to live, for both come from the same psychic level.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #524 - WRITTEN BY: ISAAC - 3/21/99 ]