💾 Archived View for gemini.spam.works › mirrors › textfiles › magazines › HOE › hoe-0572.txt captured on 2022-06-12 at 12:34:38.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #572
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "<darwin_> 'Can anybody tell
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 me what's wrong?'"
888 888 888 888 888 "
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o by Tasha [4/14/99]
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
I was busy being the passenger in a champagne-colored car. I wasn't
in the passenger seat, I was in the back seat, I always am. We were
driving down Michigan Avenue. You have to take Michigan Avenue to get
anywhere useful around here. I think we were headed home, though, and that
place really isn't useful. It's quite useless, we're always there. I
think I'm using this "we" thing as just me, because I was sort of
unattached from all reality at that moment. I was staring blanky out a
window, it was dusty. No one had written, "WASH ME!" on it, though, which
is sad. Sad that the champagne-colored car isn't good enough to have "WASH
ME!" written on it, or maybe it's too good for that. I haven't decided
which is the greater evil of the two. Too good or too bad. Either way,
you're not getting something or not being grateful for it, in which case
you shouldn't have gotten it in the first place.
There was a car place. One of those places that sells cars. It was
across from a Ford plant, so it was selling Ford cars. There were about 50
places selling the same cars in one block. There must have been real
competition for business there. I couldn't decipher between the cars.
They were all shiny and colored, like most cars, if they've been washed.
They all had price tags. I'm sure the price tags were all different, but I
didn't have my contacts in so that didn't matter. it was quite a peaceful
scene, me in that car surrounded by all the lonely cars which've yet to be
bought. I think there was music playing. It probably wasn't too good, I
don't remember what it was. Someone might have been singing along, I don't
remember that either, they probably had a good singing voice. Most people
who sing along sing well. Most.
I can't find the proper words to describe this car place and this
car and me in the backseat with the person singing along to some kind of
music that was playing. I just can't do it. I don't even know if they
exist, and even if they do, I don't know about their existence. If I don't
know about something's existence, then it doesn't matter, right? If no one
reads this, it doesn't matter that I couldn't find the words. It might not
even matter if people do read it. I wish I was a painter, or a singer, or
something. I would gladly grab a paintbrush and paint you a picture of
this car place and this car and me in the backseat with the person singing
along to some kind of music. I can't, though. I often try to draw, hoping
for some semblance of artistic ability. It never shows up.
Singers are much more useful than my voice, which is usually
somewhat monotone. Singers can sing octaves, you know? Good ones, at
least, like the ones who sing along. They can convey emotion in their
voice, and everyone listens, because it sounds nice. The existence is
known always, by someone.
I'm not a singer. I'm not a painter. I'm not anything special. I
have text and I have english and a little french, but everyone could if
they wanted it. Not everyone can sing, and being a real good painter
usually requires something a tad inherited or born with. One of those
phrases or words or whatever. It requires _talent_. My words and text and
english and french can be taught. Taught by an old teacher with a bald
spot in K-mart jeans that were 3 sizes too small 3 years ago. I've never
had a teacher like that, but I'm sure one exists.
I don't know where this is going. Probably nowhere. Nowhere is a
good place to go, mainly because it's no specific place, and it can be
anything. It's one of those few things that don't require a specific
definition. "Somewhere" doesn't require a specific definition, either.
That takes a little glory off of "nowhere." Too much glory is a bad thing
anyway. That's not a jackoff of a cliche though, because there are certain
things one cannot simply have enough of. There's always that one song that
you can listen to on repeat, because it completely changes your out look on
life for about 3 minutes. Go somewhere.
Did you know I cry? I do. Not an absurd amount, but enough to
substantially qualify me as someone who does, indeed, cry. That's as far
as I'm going tonight. I cry. The end.
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #572 - WRITTEN BY: TASHA - 4/14/99 ]