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   " """"""$$
 """                    """"""                                         """
 ggg                      "A Different Kind of Man"                    ggg
 $$                            by -> Anodyne                          $$
 $$                                                                   $$
 $$        [ HOE E-Zine #985 -- 12/23/99 -- http://www.hoe.nu ]     .,$$
 `"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'
 
	"...This is completely spontaneous.

	This is a new style.

	This is comin' straight out of my keyboard and touchin' you deep.

	You'll be laughing after the first sentence and crying after the
 second, and I'll take it from there.

	The sermon on the mount.

	I'm the Dr. Jones of text, findin' the Grail and pasting it in
 fully preserved.

	This is the zenith; stop looking in Florida, Ponce, you can live
 forever here and, hell with it, all your little bearers are invited too.

	It sure ain't all serious though.

	How much of that is true?

	I should put more gems in and save the liquid silver for garnish.

	I could go for some chips right now.

	Inspired or insipid, it doesn't matter since they'll bite the worm
 anyway because they're always ravenous.  Everybody's little voice inside
 whispers of mysteries never encountered.  They could be around the next
 corner or behind the wall.  But they can't find it here unless I make
 these words a mirror, because that's where they'll find it all.  They'll
 find it all inside and outside and within and through and over and
 under, and that's the only place it can be found. In the yellowed tooth
 and ill-healed wound and the smiley-face sticker on an A+ paper, they'll
 find everything.  They won't even look hard because the more they look
 the less they'll see because they'll be looking too hard.  It'll be tough
 to comprehend.  Sure, it might hurt at first but then happiness will tuck
 you in tonight and every night.

	Don't listen to your father.

		       / \
	m	o	r	n	i	n	g
		w      | |	o	o	d
		      (| |)

	that sure wasn't literary but it happens to many of us,
 and that makes it worthwhile.  The textbook says to speak to the 
 human condition, and that's what I'll do. 

	They'll have to do half the work.  I can only do so much because
 I'm tired and after all I already wrote today, so it won't be good unless
 you read in the quality.  It doesn't have to be good, though.  No
 pressure.

	Dark and light and good and evil may be the two sides of the coin,
 but who wants coins when you can have crisp bills and the blackjack table
 at Monte Carlo.  Scarne says to watch out for cheats and I trust him.

	Scene: Christmas morning, 1987.

	Child walks down stairs. 

	<camera follow>

  <camera pans left -- pile of presents covered with
  the motes of light from a central multifaceted ball (can
  you feel the tension?) and (wait for it)...>

	IT'S DISCO SANTA!     

	Complete with chest hair and polyester, that jolly old elf dances
 up the chimney with the best of 'em.

	Sounds groovy, baby.

	How long can this shit keep flowing?  C'mon, ride it out with me
 pardner, only twelve more miles till Mexico and that's really where we're
 all headed.  Tijuana doesn't seem like much until you've slept face first
 in ethanol-drenched sawdust on a saloon floor, trust me.  That's the kind
 of local color you need to appreciate such a distinguished destination.

	You say it's incoherent and I say it drips from my tongue like
 caramel.  Agreement is what we need right now.  Lets oust this dictator
 Death and make Life lead the junta.

 	There is no dearth of honesty among thieves and liars, they're
 only missing some spark of spirit.  I think the spark could have been
 found in it the bottle of Sprite that you had last Tuesday. It was
 refreshingly citrus but you didn't notice because you guzzled it. That's
 what the thief does.  He takes life and just sucks it down and asks for
 more and more and he never looks at what's in his hands before it's
 hawked and up in smoke again.  There is such a thing as too much but you
 can't know when to stop or start, it's intuition or nothing from here on
 in and like madmen we tumble ahead.

	I can feel your furnace.  One finger inside, then another.  You
 shudder.  My tongue darts toward the shrine...

	Fuck that, it's fucking.  Eat that bitch out.  Better yet, make
 her suck it.  What kind of man are you, anyway?

	A different kind of man.

	I want to be a different kind of man.

	Every day I'm a different kind of man.

	Stop fooling around and write, damnit.

	This is more completely spontaneous.

	This is a newer style..."

                -- the author preparing to write a text file

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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS!            HOE #985, BY ANODYNE - 12/23/99 ]