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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #541
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "Call Me Naked"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by Paganini
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 4/3/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Warning: offensive material follows.
Recently, someone that I revere to an extent told me I was a
pervert. He mentioned the subtle sexual undertones behind my conversation
and writing, and I would like to take this opportunity, this forum, to
explain myself, and to defend myself from such an accusation.
Alright. If sitting around thinking about sex constantly makes me
a pervert -- then damnit, I'm a pervert. If walking around the house
naked at all hours of the day hoping to catch the mailman but finding it
only to be a mail lady, and then not actually caring either way, makes me
a pervert -- call me a pervert. In fact, I'm naked right now. I'll
probably be naked all day; thinking about all kinds of disgusting and
vulgar acts.
Okay. Not really. I'm not really naked and none of the above was
true, but I thought it might catch interest (if not offers) so I threw it
in. Actually, I'm going through a strange phase right now. I've
discovered little things that are kind of nice to do. For example, I have
found that I like reading slightly obscene literature in clean public
places (not the local Stop N Go). I think it's kind of neat to be reading
it, and people around you have no idea what's being read or thought, and
the idea just appeals to me. That doesn't make me a pervert. I don't like
wearing pants all that much anymore. I don't think that should be an issue
at all. When I write, I put on a Patsy Cline cd and I sit in my underwear
and a t-shirt and I write, and I don't think that's perverted either. I
like not wearing pants, and were it socially acceptable I would go without
pants everyday (weather permitting of course). People have too many qualms
about being naked.
Another thing. I'm not obsessive but I have an ex that I would like
to -- not really kill -- but seriously hurt. By the way, I just realized
the way this is heading and, no, it isn't a manifesto. Actually, I dated
the guy for about 8 or 9 months, and then out of the blue he got another
girl pregnant. That's bad. I was wronged, and while I fell I have dealt
with that well, I am still consumed with thoughts of say: murder and
stalking. Now, I don't think it's really stalking if you just drive by the
house a couple times. He left his keys in my car but I'm not going to give
them back. In fact, recently I have thought about cutting up his keychain
and baking it into a muffin or a cake or something, and making him eat it.
Yes. Sometimes when I am driving I think about that and I have to stop and
control my maniacal laughter.
I really don't think it's all that sick that I spend so much time
thinking of little subtle ways to scare the Jesus out of him. For
instance, I think that cutting the crotch out of his underwear might send
an invaluable message of some sort. Little notes that read "Die." or
"You." might also get an interesting point across.
Anyhow, I don't suppose there is much of a point to all of this but
I also figure I'm not a pervert. I think everyone has strange thoughts
about other people -- whether it be sex or death and it's okay to express
them too. So, in response to you, my dear friend Jarett, I am not a
pervert. Well, I would like to write more, but I have to throw on my
trench coat and go out flashing (new essay altogether).
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #541 - WRITTEN BY: PAGANINI - 4/3/99 ]