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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #796
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "THE DEAD" or "CAITLIN DARFLER
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 FOOTBALL RULES"
888 888 888 888 888 " by AIDS
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 8/22/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Horrible thoughts on this long michigan night... ALl I can think of
is ol' teletype, who might be dead, but probably isn't, oh, teletype of my
dreams, a thousand inferior christs are not even remotely close to your own
blissful love... Teletype teletype teletype
Shall I tell them of when you and meenk killed the green dragon? Way
back in nineteen hundred and ninety-ninitey-nine-nine-nine, August I think,
and oh, the world was august with concern...
TELETYPE: ZOOT HORN ROLLO? How shall I ever find my way home? Where
is Meenk? This burning emotional wound is still evident...
It is still existent... Her, emily, to whom I owe so much,
such as the loss of virginity, that greatest treasure which
is only valuable when lost... When lost to the ages... I
must find her, I must reclaim her, here she is... here she
is now... on IRC... I message her... I reinitiate contact
with her she is mine again again again... I make amends...
Amends amends amenting amends...
Yes, indeed, teletype and MISS EMILY who was now calling herself
meenk did reinitiate the contact, and they did become sort of friends
again... Friends, maybe, but lovers, no, sadly, for meenk was bound for the
coastal bipolar palace of San Francisco, where she would sleep in the
apartment of gweeds and DETH VEGGIE, a.k.a. LUCAS, a.k.a. The Finger
Taker... Yes, strange thoughts indeed.
Vlaad messaged me, talking about teletype's efforts to reclaim
meenk's vagina as his own... As his own, but vlaad had been recently under
the influence of break cleaner, so I can't really verify anything... MAybe
he did... maybe he didn't... maybe he just wanted closure and peace,
something akin to the last couple of plays by SHAKESPEARE. I can remember
hating them all until I saw a live version of Cymbeline in Stratford-upon-
Avon, and then I finally understood their greatness, and why in some ways
they may exceed the GREAT 12 that fills the dreams of all men.
I hid in her serpentine eyes. It was the only place left for me.
Meenk said, "HEy, teletype, why not come visit me before I venture forth
into that land of raging homosexuality, Nob Hill, Telegraph Hill, the
SCARIEST FUCKIGN MASON TEMPLE IN THE WORLD, and gweeds, who has recently
dumped me for www.badkittycam.com?" Teletype, of course, was only too happy
to oblige... Could he do any less?
Teletype's heart flicked on and off with joy. Inbetween the bursts
of happiness, he felt that ol' wound starting to clench and unclench like a
screaming asshole, rasping out the words. Grlfrmars was singing some songs
about how she lost her baby, but it wasn't her biological baby, only her
metaphorical one, and there was must laughter about. With my head hung
down, I felt really bad...
Serpentine serpentine eyes eyes... Yes, yes, Here he mounted her like
a dog.
A million words crafted into one world, and you were there when I
shot JFK. IT was the triangulation of fire that caught the motherfucker
dead cold. OSwald by himself only had a small chance with a single-bolt
manual action mail order rifle, but me, hell, I upped the chances by 50%
when I went down the street, and when we convinced Zoot Horn Rollo to
provide the third, that fucker was as good as dead. AS GOOD AS DEAD.
Meenk didn't know what to expect now. HEr eyes were filled
alternately with visions of Wayne, Michigan, and Galadriel, elven QUEEN.
Yes, yes, she was here, but why was Captain Beefheart singing a sweet song
of lvoe and tribulation? I don't know@! How can I answer such things? I
only report them. It's the job of a journalist to stay totally detached
from the emotional reaction. The eleven queen, she said to meenk, "Yes,
that is a song of Gandalf they sing. It was our name for him. I'm sorry
the balrog got him, meenk."
Meenk said, "Ah, yes, well, I dated the balrog, you see, and I rully
am not too frightened for Gandalf, so much I am sad that his previous
incarnation as the grey will be seen no more. You see, the balrog's real
name is TELETYPE. AH, yes, he could fuck ass like a champ." I killed the
thing the slime goes into. AND IT DOESN'T SMELL THAT MUCH LIKE BODY ODOR.
So, yes, where was I? Oh yes, Teletype was on his sojourn into the
COnnecticut Heartland... HE was going to make us all proud... He's the
sunshine bright killing boy... A fucking murderer of unknown proportions...
Six million jews go into the oven... SIZZLE AND BURN... into teletype's
gluttonous abandon... He follows that yellow brick road down the path to
recapturing meenk... Down the path...
SHIT ASS DROOLERS! RALLY TO MY WHITE CANES!
Teletype was the balrog. It was his fleshly limbs that pulled
Gandalf to his death. TO HIS DEATH, OR HIS INEVITABLE REBIRTH? ON THE
THIRD DAY LIKE A THOUSAND INFERIOR CHRISTS OF OBSCURE HOPES? I don't know,
I can't tell you, all I can tell you about is where I am, and I'm in Wayne,
and there are things coming for me... my just deserts, perhaps, but most
likely seasoned fries...
How long before Stephen and Tasha fuck?
I will time it.
I have timed it.
I know.
But I will not divulge it.
All I know is Teletype was coming down that interstate 95, going to
mEENk, and she waiting for him. What anticipation went through both their
heads? PErhaps teletype was like, "Do I love her? Did I ever love her?
Can I ever love her? I wonder if I ever loved her. I probably didn't, but
it hurts so bad, and that ain't good. It ain't good, son, it ain't good."
MEENK: (Inner dialogue) sad sad sad eyes yes yes yes here he mounted
her like a dog sad sad sad eyes touch me soft here I am see me
feel me here i am yes yes his penis was smooth and white and
creamy I might even suck it I might even let a little of his
stuff get into my mouth yes yes sad creamy white eyes not like
that ruffian gweeds bloom who dissed me for
www.badkittycam.com not like that at all love is inside my
heart but not for teletype who do I love I may be incapable of
love I am without love and still love obsesses me how can this
be how can something that I have only known in abused and
mutated forms and which has never lead me to anything worth
having still obsess me so
Teletype pushed one long, gentle finger into the doorbell, and it was
not long before meenk answered the door with that ol' blue-eyed smile. It
was peaceful and gentle and teletype sighed, because he knew now that things
would, at the very least, be /decent/. He might not reclaim her heart for
his own, he might not repenetrate her, but at least things would be
/decent/. At least the screams had ebbed into the past and the horrible
nights were memories.
She looked over his body, which had changed in shape since she last
fucked him, but was still, in essence, the same. His face was haggard with
years of use, and she had heard the rumors, letting her eyes drift down
towards his arms, and there she saw the pinpoint mural of drug frenzy. The
track marks looked back at her, and one or two blinked their wrinkled eyes.
It was hard to see it. But she let it hurt all the same.
A random observation about Wayne, Michigan: I am more visible during
the nighttime. In some ways, my existence in daylight is almost negligible.
I can't explain why or how, but it's true all the same. I'm hombre
invisible. The grey man. Something pretentious. who knows?
She invited him, and he did go inside, and she sat him down and they
started to talk, but they weren't really saying anything very much. No,
nothing much at all. He had planned this out a thousand times before in his
mind, this conversation and dialogue, he would talk to her about the truest
things in the world, about the very essence of life itself, and she would
finally, after so many years, understand him. The barrier of life would be
ripped open. Something, anything, GOD, anything.
But it wasn't like that. Their conversation was banal and ordinary,
and rather than acknowledge any of the things that had occurred between
them, they spoke about the weather and everything urbane. It killed him to
go nn like that, but he did, because it would be even worse if she stopped
speaking. HEr eyes kept him assured. IT was still all OK.
Never more aware of his own weight as in her person. He felt her
looking at him, and worried that she found him disgusting. He was huge.
HUGE. A more concentrated arena of fat had not been constructed since the
Golden Age of Rome. Nero played hte fiddle while Rome Burned, and he played
"THE SACK OF ILIUM".
Was meenk's face the face that launched a thousand ships?
It didn't matter now, not to teletype, because he wasn't concerned
with the most beautiful girl, or the best girl, but just /this girl/, this
girl before him. She was flawed and she had done evil, and there could be
no question of that, but even these things, which in others would drive him
insane, they mattered little. They mattered nothing. They were nothing.
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
You don't come round my Wayne, Michigan no more. why not?
Meenk thought of Galadriel's parting words of advice, "Take the ring
to Mordor, and then reconcile things with teletype. This age of Middle
Earth must end, but wouldn't it be nice to end on an up-tempo note?"
They went to a movie. They saw STAR WARS: BLAIR WITCH PROJECT PART
14: WILL SMITH DOES DALLAS: EYES WIDE ARLINGTTON ROAD IS THE ROAD DOWN THE
STREET FROM THE HOUSE ON THE HILL WHICH IS RIGHT NEXT TO THE HAUNTING.
Nothing happened there.
The day teletype was to leave, I slept and slept and slept, trying to
get certain visions out of my head. Trying desperately to drive them out,
so that I did not have to spend my entire life consummed. I forced the
pillow over my head. IT was there there there it was no where, but here it
was.
Terrible thoughts on this wayne, michigan night... They got home and
they started talking.
TELETYPE: I'm sorry about how things ended.
MEENK: You're not the only one.
TELETYPE: Why do you think they went like that?
MEENK: What's the chance of a total abuser like yourself and total
victim like myself actually have a working relationship?
TELETYPE: Little, I guess.
MEENK: It's too bad, really, rob, because you were a decent guy.
TELETYPE: I always wanted to be more than a decent guy to you.
MEENK: I know, and that's what made you decent.
TELETYPE: It's a sad thing, really!
---LATER---
MEENK: Did you love me?
TELETYPE: I might have. IT's hard to tell. WHat criteria did I have
to compare it against? My pseudo-relationship to the
sysadmin at BU?
MEENK: Well, did you?
TELETYPE: Did you?
MEENK: Love you?
TELETYPE: Yes.
MEENK: No.
TELETYPE: Oh....
MEENK: WEll, to be honest, I don't know.
TELETYPE: Oh.
MEENK: The thing is, Rob, I'm fucked up. I'm royally fucked up.
TELETYPE: So you tell me.
MEENK: How could I ever love you?
TELETYPE: How couldn't you?
MEENK: I don't know what love is.
TELETYPE: DOn't you? How could anyone not?
MEENK: You don't know.
TELETYPE: Point taken. I don't.
MEENK: I think love's an outdated concept.
TELETYPE: Why?
MEENK: It just is.
---LATER---
TELETYPE: all i really want, honestly, is to die in my footsteps
before I go under the ground. What I mean to say is, I
wish I could be in something worthwhile and passionate and
respectful and then just die immediately after it reached
its apogee. Life isn't segmented enough. I want to flame
out in a burst of passion rather than go into grey ash.
He went home, after she told him about the Lass of Aughrihim, and he
saw the snow started to fall, her scarf kept her mouth well hid. On all the
living and all the dead.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #796 - WRITTEN BY: AIDS - 8/22/99 ]