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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #579
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "Love's Labour's Lost"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by Darwin
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 4/14/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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It was the middle of March when Paul's dreams began to change. At
first he thought it was because his diet had changed, or because he had
stopped smoking so much marijuana all the time. Then, he thought that it
might be an alien intelligence trying to contact him. Then, he thought
that it might be due to climate change, ozone depletion, sickle cell
anemia, solar radiation or localized frontal lobe seizures. The actual
reason was far worse than any of that.
Around the end of March, Paul got so worried that he went to see a
Doctor. When his Doctor asked him the symptoms, Paul very calmly recited
the story of a gripping police drama, torn from the headlines. It seems
that a man had sent a bomb to the District Attorney's Office as revenge
for the prosecution of his brother. Not understanding, the Doctor asked
him for the symptoms again. This time, he told the humorous tale of a
frustrated Big-City girl with bad luck in love. She tried time and again
to find the right man, but each man she met was flawed in some hilarious
and awkward way. Hearing this, the Doctor hurriedly wrote Paul a
prescription for Hydrocodone and left without saying anything.
The scrip was for 20 pills (and a refill), one of which should be
used if and when Paul experienced another episode. With the wonders of
medical science at his disposal, Paul relaxed noticably and found himself
whistling as he prepared dinner. After finishing his meal, he put some
mellow music on and lay down on his couch to read a book. It was a book
about ways that unsuccessful people change their habits and become
successful and wealthy people.
The next thing he knew, Paul was looking at the side of an
Expressway. A smooth voiceover explained that the driver of the
Recreational Vehicle on this particular road had missed his exit and had
decided the solution was backing up the on-ramp. One smart aleck quip and
multi-car collision later, Paul jerked awake. Shaky and disoriented, he
eventually managed to get the pill bottle open. He lay down on top of his
sheets and didn't wake up for the rest of the night.
Paul didn't go to work that morning, and before lying down to
sleep that night he took another pill. His office called and left messages
for him, but they stopped after a week or so. His carefree attitude and
cheerful demeanor were replaced by the blankness of a chronic chemically
depressed zombie. The only time Paul left his apartment was to buy snacks
at the gas station next door and when he got his scrip refilled.
After about a month of haze, Paul's scrip ran out. He called his
Doctor, but he was informed by the answering service that the Doctor had
no office hours on the weekend. She told him that the Doctor was only to
be called in an Emergengy. Paul begged her to call him, but she insisted
he tell her what the Emergency was. A stream of words rose into an almost
inchoerent whine as Paul desperately explained that he needed more
medication.
The answering service called him a junkie and hung up.
Faced with the loss of his only respite from the attacks, Paul
decided the only solution was to not sleep. He started with coffee but
eventually moved to a diet of bread, milk and ephedrine diet pills. There
were some close calls, but Paul made it two and a half weeks in sleepless
relative comfort.
Two and a half weeks is when Paul started hearing voices. It began
almost inaudibly, but within days he was hearing reports of babies being
shaken to death by their parents, houses burning down, bombs falling on
people. Occasionally, he heard a story about a student athelete or a
health breakthrough that promised dramatic new results in the treatment of
something or other.
Paul checked all the walls, all the drains, everything, but
couldn't find the source of the voices. He started playing his music as
loud as possible to try to drown them out. When maximum volume wasn't
enough, Paul started howling at the top of his lungs.
He was still howling when the Police arrived.
After being arrested for resisting arrest, Paul (still screaming),
was thrown into the drunk tank of the local precinct. Unfortunately, the
drunks appreciated his deranged yelling even less than his neighbors or
the Police, and Paul was quickly and brutally knocked out cold.
The next thing he knew, an Angel was helping him with his burden.
God knew that Paul was a good man, and good men are helped by Angels in
their time of need.
The Angel comforted a battered and bruised Paul and led him into a
brilliant white light.
As Paul opened his eyes, he was surprised to see a criminal in
Cowboy hat and boots embroiled in a gun fight with a similarly clad
Sheriff. Not understanding, Paul closed his eyes, only to open them a
short time later to the criminal being apprehended and placed into police
custody. Paul was totally exhausted, and the next time he closed his eyes,
he didn't wake up again for a day and a half.
When Paul woke up again, he focused on the only movement in the
room, which in this case was a scene of two men and a woman talking. The
man talked about his latest album and then the other man and the woman
joined him in a song.
Paul hit the Nurse Call button.
When the nurse arrived, Paul found out that he had been taken to
the local hospital. The Police, in a singular and unprecedented act of
mercy, had decided not to press charges for his "drunk and disorderly
conduct", perhaps realizing that he had more serious problems.
Paul's recovery was surprisingly quick. After only a week propped
up in his white bed, watching people discuss and women fall in love and
men shoot each other and politicians pretend to have motivations and
products sell themselves, he felt much better. His Doctor pronounced him
cured and he walked out of the hospital with a bounce in his step.
Paul went home, took a box out of his closet, plugged it in and
lived happily ever after.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #579 - WRITTEN BY: DARWIN - 4/14/99 ]