💾 Archived View for gemini.spam.works › mirrors › textfiles › magazines › HOE › hoe-0676.txt captured on 2022-06-12 at 12:38:05.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #676
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "Oh Boo Hoo! Poor Me"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by RottenZ
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 6/9/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
So, while I've sat here, quietly, smugly, carefully for the last few
years, brimming over with a sort of cock-eyed self import, my loser friends,
for lack of a better phrase, have been arming themselves for the next wave
of life. Even as I, the fully sentient being, Jon, have carefully hacked
away at whatever bullshit project that I've taken onto my plate, my robotic,
mind-numbingly personality-less, drone-like comrades have been sitting alone
in their rooms, neglecting what I thought were important social skills in
favor of more technical pursuits. They come in neat packages that are
little more than buzz words to me; DHTML, PERL, LINUX, all that jazz. Yet
to the world beyond my front door, apparently, these words, when added to a
coherent resume, are like black gold; a flawless diamond the size of a fist,
easily dislodged and pocketed in the blink of an eye. While I've wasted all
my time on "creative" pursuits, I've lost the opportunity to join the ranks
of the next great marketable ubermensch; corporate whitewash, swallowed
whole at twenty dollars an hour.
It's easy to fight it, simple to say that the resounding hollowness
of corporate life is a soulless road that I'd rather not travel. And yet,
pieces of me, those that realize that all the creative pursuits I've
followed look as good on a Taco Bell resume as they do on one for a job that
really matters, those pieces are furious at the sweeping arcs of tragedy
that make up my half-baked existence. These skills that I've failed to
acquire might be the boon of the business world, currently, but who knows
how they can help me snag the dream job of tomorrow? Who knows how far that
someone with both the gift of an imagination and the rote technical skills
that so many young people seem to possess could go? But none of that
bullshit matters, because I don't have those skills, and probably never
will.
And the worst part of this mess is that I'm smart enough to pierce
the surface of this world; I've already lodged my sticky fingers deep into
the crust of technology. Like some sick mayfly I've swallowed and
regurgitated and swallowed again my own small plot of silicon; it's as much
a part of my life as breathing is. But I'm just too stupid, or maybe too
lazy, to dig any deeper. While I should be picking up new ideas and
transforming myself into a dangerous modern warrior, I'm wasting my time
writing offal like this. And for what? The two or three of you that have
bothered to stick with me this far? Well, fuck the both of you, I say, and
while I'm at it, fuck me as well. I was going to put some Icarus reference
in here, but I can't make it fit what I'm trying to say, so I won't. My
point is... my point is that my miserable, stinking life is just one big
waste of time. Period.
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #676 - WRITTEN BY: ROTTENZ - 6/9/99 ]