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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #644
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "Seemingly Random"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by: RottenZ
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 5/17/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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It was a complicated expression of love, lust, and passion; equally
sprayed on all the walls of the public bathroom. It made Theo want to
vomit. In fact, it did make him vomit, on the left wall, thus completely
obliterating the delicate equilibrium previously created in careful, broad
strokes. Theo never did like art.
It began that day as it began every day, a seemingly random bookend
to another controlled moment in existence. The concept of Art, in the
broadest sense, sickened him always, but it was punctuated by his
breakfast, a carefully metered creation of egg and toast, making its own
Art, something that the surrealists would have been proud of if they hadn't
been killed during the war. He felt suffocated, so much so that he failed
to breath properly, and he did what was natural. Such a long bout with
madness for such a short life, it was quite the delicate crime.
Order or Entropy, it didn't matter. Nothing did, except for the
complex and seemingly ingrained illusion of Art that bled into every aspect
of a modern life. Bled like a vein, wrested open by a sort of forced
attrition, a demand that the world that engulfed him be adorned by the
subtle patterns of Art. It surrounded him and he found, even in the most
mundane, the roots of the sublime. The sublime caused, within his stomach,
such pain that he guessed one of these days he might die of shock. Divine
Inspiration was akin to the war. 22 million incomprehensible expressions,
their art sprayed across the ruins of Europe.
Theo saw it everywhere; in the contours of the box of Wheaties. In
the tops of Elmer's Glue. In the day-glow architecture of the new
theme-restaurant that had sprung up overnight in his neighborhood. A
casual throwback to genius, that kind of genius that stabbed at his heart.
Theo saw it here, three colors, red, blue, green. Surrounding the bathroom,
carefully ordered, delicate balance. Like an onion, layer on layer. So he
puked on it, and moved along. Just like every other day. Seemingly random
actions, themselves accidental bouts of creation.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #644 - WRITTEN BY: ROTTENZ - 5/17/99 ]