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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #533
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "Murphy's Pub"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by Trilobyte
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 3/27/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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i have the ability to think. no, really, i do; it was given to me
by august. everything that happened in that fateful month led to heavy
brain activity. the anchors were released, and the ship of thought went
out to float about in search of clusters of seafoam. when some was found,
the nets were released, and the foam was grabbed up in large as possible
quantities and stored in the bays beneath the deck. and then when the bays
were filled, the ship began its return journey to the dock. that journey,
though, that the ship of thought tried to make, was never completed,
because eventually the seafoam in its bays became unfoamy water. lots of
water stored in the bays of a ship is bad, i think. so the ship sank.
my ship of thought sank. i guess i can't think. at least there was
a beautiful sunset on the horizon at the moment that the ship sank. and
they made a really good movie about it, with this teen heart-throb. and
though my ship of thought was completely unmanned and robotized, the author
of the screenplay for this movie managed to work in some sort of plot
involving this teen heart-throb's character falling in love with a bar
steward. the movie was a big hit in the artsy film crowd.
with their facial hair and their black mice collections, they stood
and cheered at the end of the film's initial screening. i was not patted
on the back, because i was not there, but the director was there, and he
got a pat or two on the back, and so did the author of the screenplay.
he's now writing some movie about overweight women fellating fish, which
might strike right to the heart of enthusiasts of a different type. the
enthusiasts of pornography, which i am not a part. i know people who are
involved with pornography. i also know people who were formerly involved
in pornography, though they would never admit it. some people buy
pornographic material in stores! some people create that pornographic
material in the stores! i can't believe it. i can't even think about it!
quit! stop! plug up my head with red plastic, man, i can't take the
preshah!
boO! beat me! i am a ghost of yearling horse, run about the
pasture with reckless nature, pee on trees and fart on my facial openings,
please! please, horsey! i will feed you oat bran and food! it's not fair
that others should have to suffer while i sit here and enjoy the pleasure
that you are! for everything you are, in every single way, i'm pushing
you too far, there's nothing that you want to say. you're a horse, i'm a
horsey, we're all sauce in the great world of portable pee containers, of
which there is a big market, and i participate in. free enterprise, man,
in the portable pee pots, in which i write poetry for the masses. they
digest the words and ingest the soul. fried okra and yummy grits, imperial
apples with terrible twos. run about the cafe'. climb onto peoples'
laps. they enjoy children. they enjoy LAUGHING AT CHILDREN. children
make life FUN. children usually have FUN LIVES unless they are the lousy
poor children that i went to church with when i was young. those kids
smelled bad and had sex with each other. i didn't.
at least i don't have scraggly long nasty blondish hair. i am not
considered the matron of my universe. i am the patron of the goods of the
free market. matron or patron, it's all the same, in this grand space of
umbrella economy. boing, boing, down and up it goes, like an umbrella in
a storm that's not really raining but not really dry either. or when you
go indoors and it's not raining anymore because well it's raining outside
but you're in a building and buildings usually have rooves. rooves are
there to keep out "elements", though they themselves are made of elements,
as are you and i.
did you know that all the little atoms that make up all of your
things and stuff are self-contained universes? it's the truth, it's
satisfactchll. our earth is an atom in a universe that is actually a small
microscopic piece of some big thing that we don't know about. like it's
probably not a person, because how could people as we know it exist on such
a completely different protoplasmic pot of universal freaky stuff?
or what if everything was all mixed up? like what if our universe
was actually a small, small portion of YOUR HEAD? say that. say it LOUD.
make my MOTHER hear what you say, because I originally said it, and she
would be proud enough to whoop my ass. sampladelic.
it's just not enough these days to sit and enjoy the rampant crime.
people have to go out and DO IT. steal my chair out from under me. fun.
i sit on my porch in the ghetto and rock and drink lemonade and eat
watermelon, just like my grandfather used to do. you should too, but
instead you're participating in my worldview. you run into it like the
Green Lantern and are very fast and then you steal my chair! at least i
still have my watermelon. no, it's gone too.
hey, look, i'm in the universe.
i've had too much pee-pee. it melted my hairbrush. the bench in
the pub is where i get on with love. the wooden table is the battleground,
hands vs. hands, eyes to eyes. there's lasers between the eyes. yours
and mine. zoom-zoom boom-boom, if ya know what i mean. and we will go out
afterwards. you will go out to home and i will go out to home too. homes
are different. someday that will change, with your home and my home being
the same home.
it's just not enough these days to sit and enjoy the rampant crime.
i can break off protruding plastic and underlings will anger. RISE UP FROM
THE ASHES, their leader says to the crowd. BREAKING OFF IS NOT TO BE
ALLOWED. EAT THAT, BITCHES, and the masses collide and conform and
correlate into a conglomeration of common goals of conquest. what's that
knock at my door?
me: hello?
them: we're the underlings.
me: oh, yeah, i'm thinking about you all night long. your enormous member.
them: tis.
me: yes? yes! yes yes yes yes. <pant pant pant> blow my whistle. ring
my bell.
them: let us in.
I open the door for the underlings. they are small and look scary
with pointy noses and big skin and muscles. they come into my room and
sit down all over the place. they don't want to watch movies, or sing
along, or play with the others. i beat upon them with a wooden stick. i
pry open their hearts with meaningless love. their eyes are glued shut,
where is the pain i remembered? it's buried deep beneath the concrete,
and cars travel over it every day, from night til morning, and back again,
and planes fly overhead so i can see their bellies but their bellies do
not look back. planes are on a mission, and i don't understand that
mission. the people on the planes sit in comfort, or vomit, they drink
their martinis and droning, they growl. their success is critical to our
mission. they should not be hampered in any way.
sea, sex, sun, and fun. i miss. on the beaches of sunny florida,
the sex, with beautiful young french starlet-harlots, they are looking for
something much better than they are getting. besides, the hotels are bad.
the lamps catch on fire and sliding glass doors are always unlocked and
open and Sea Thing comes in at night and stands in the room.
my butt tans as i release my
coca-cola [ha ha, it's on fire]
into the warm, pink pleated cushion of her
throat
as we lay on our beachtowel. i am on top of her. it is a glorious
moment. her
uvulas
are large, like many of the girls of the region. her wavy wild
black hair accentuates the features of her delicate, womanly
face
that's what i said. that's what i meant. it's natural to want to
beef up tactics to conquer the foe, but that is one foe that just ain't
bein' conquered. bitch.
we both know that we are kindred souls. the way that we can just
talk and talk about things that really are important to us but have little
to do with the goings on in the world. you are beautiful, and we are
beautiful. that is how it will be, must be, and is meant to be for the
rest of our time. how wonderful that two people should have been made for
each other, as you and i have been; how terrific that we should have met
so nonchalantly. you are my light in this world. i am happy to have been
blessed with you. though we've only known each other for these few weeks,
they are as important as any of the rest of our weeks we will share. our
weeks together will be countless, timeless periods of cosmic love.
unspoken. understood. meaningful and blessed. there will be so many good
times. any bad times will not be ours, but rather the evil that is put
upon us by the world, jealous of what we have. surely this world will try
everything it can to pry us apart, but they will hardly matter. i will
keep them from affecting you and i, my dearest, my heart has been connected
to yours since birth, and no surgeon will pry us apart. our corpuscles
will flow between the two of us as shared and magical corpuscles do.
milk. it's what makes my bowels ROAR WITH ANGER. it crushes me to
a pulp. kill the milk. bash it and smash it with all your might. it is
not worthy of the bacteria it contains. ice cream tastes good, though, i
must admit.
that's what one girl would always say, WOULDN'T YOU, ONE GIRL???????
YOU TELL ME!!!! TELL ME NOW!!! I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR FUSSING WITH
REPEATING PHRASES, RASTAWOMAN! IT'S TOO MUCH! BEAT ME! TELL ME I'M
YOURS! I'VE HEARD IT SO MANY TIMES, THE WAY YOU REPEAT PHRASES, I MUST
ADMIT.
hey, hey, charlotte, if you want pizza, you go ahead and tell
grandma, and she'll get it.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #533 - WRITTEN BY: TRILOYBTE - 3/27/99 ]