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      (*)   (*)   *   (*)~*~(*)                  HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #888
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   ~   0     0  ~* *~  0         hOGS    ~     "Blah Blah De Fucking Blah"
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   ~   0     0  ~   ~  0        eNTROPY  ~            By: Phairgirl
    *  0     0   * *   0                *               10-23-99
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        Silly fucking silly, sitting around talking and thinking about
 nothing, just typing like a stupid asshole cuz there's nothing better to do.
 And I'm entertained by Gallagher at 3am, just like every other redneck
 midwestern American with cable and no place to go at this hour.  And the
 alcohol doesn't help me realize how stupid I'm being either, because it's
 not good to drink alone, but I did it anyway.  Always intelligent.  You
 betcha.

        I'm just all about pissing everyone off these days, I think,
 sabotaging cool shit and forcing myself to be angsty lame instead of making
 things better.  But how do I make things better when there's nothing here
 but angsty lameness?  It's such a whine, such a crock of shit.  Maybe
 tomorrow I'll study so that my big plans for graduating might have half a
 chance of happening.  Maybe I'll remember not to take any more independent
 study classes.  Maybe I'll force myself to do ignorant busy work for the
 sake of a grade.  Maybe.

        But what do I do about everything else?  I start to make a point and
 I think about something else.  What's talking at this point?

        I'm having regrets, and that bothers me.  I kinda fucked with my
 brain and did a bunch of stupid shit.  I made out that I was this slut, when
 I'm not, and it was inappropriate, anyway.  Not to mention drugs.  Drugs are
 so fucking dumb, but here I sit drinking and wondering if my friends will
 ask me to shroom with them.  I don't even like this shit.  I'm just bored
 and stupid, but if there's no harm in the long run, it's okay, right?
 Except that I feel stupid for doing it.  No long-term effects, except for
 low self-esteem.  But that's nothing new, is it, and I can cope with that.

        But I drive people away from me in droves, and I don't be needing to
 do that.  Such as this file; do I really need to be sharing this?  What the
 fuck does anyone care?  Why do I spill myself out to the world?  "I'll never
 be open again..." maybe it's compensation for what I can't do in real,
 meaningful relationships.  Anyone can learn everything there is to know
 about me by reading my website and writing or even talking to me for ten
 minutes online, but in reality, I'm just a charicature.  It's funny, though,
 because in both worlds, I fake nothing; neither are reality, and it feels
 much better that way, because then my mission is truly accomplished.  Is
 this a sabotage?  Jesus fucking Christ, where the hell is a therapist when
 you need one.  I need to be on mass medication and laying on a couch
 spilling this shit.

        I was especially disturbed today.  I've been a fucking crackhead the
 past couple of weeks, awaiting the new Dream Theater album, and irritating
 everyone around me with their music, since me and two other people in this
 town like them.  Anyway, I'm watching their 5 Years In A LIVEtime video and
 singing along, surround sound blaring, bass shaking my computer hard enough
 to wake my screen saver.  Either way, I'm a fucking crackhead or something,
 because I heard the song "To Live Forever," which I've heard before, but I
 nearly passed out or started crying or some shit, the song was so beautiful.
 What the fuck?  I've been doing this a lot lately.  Beauty in music is
 making me cry.  I think most people would recommend that I try and get a
 life or something, get out of the house once in a while, stop taking my
 music so seriously and get a hobby, I don't know.  I'm just a failed
 musician, I guess, pitying myself.  Fucking right, let's get that pity party
 out of the way right now: goddamn my family for being poor and not being
 able to afford my music lessons, goddamn my self-esteem so that I can't
 stand to sing in front of anyone but myself, goddamn my endless obsession
 with music that makes this hurt so much.  And, of course, fuck myself for
 typing all this shit out, because it's not something I should publish or
 even look twice at because it's all a bunch of the same.

        And I'm still avoiding my original point, which is why I shouldn't
 try to write a coherent piece when I'm buzzing, which in itself is stupid
 but that's been covered.  Why do I drive people away from me?  It's on
 purpose.  I tell people things that they don't want to hear, I open my mouth
 and say, "HEYYYYY, I'M CRAAAAAAAAAZY!" and they say, "Um, yeah, okay,
 later."  And for some reason I think I expected them to be intrigued or
 something.  Because, as we all know, crazy fucked up whiny people are very,
 very intriguing.  Everyone likes to hear people bitch about their miserable
 lives.  Notice the lack of a phairgirl fan club.  This isn't necessarily
 done without intention.

        But hey, I'm driving the kickass people away, and that's okay,
 because otherwise I'd have nothing to blah blah de fucking blah about, and
 nobody would hear from me.  That's right.  Yeeeeah.

        Anyways, I think originally I was talking about something, I don't
 remember and I'm too lazy to scroll up.  But I'm not a slut, even if I told
 you I am.  Maybe once upon a time, I was stupid and did the fucking thing,
 but honestly, if that's what I wanted I would be doing it right now.  Hey,
 it's all part of a groove, and I've moved on, realized that wasn't my thing.
 I'm not saying sex is bad, cuz hey, it's all good around there.  But I heard
 once that it's supposed to mean something, and I'd like to try that
 sometime. I'm not in a rush.

        So what the fuck am I doing with myself NOW?  I really don't have a
 clue.  Focus isn't a good thing, it's a quality I'm lacking severely.  I
 need focus.  I need to do the things I want to do and finally move on with
 all of my dreams for the future and quit bitching about the here and now.
 It will happen, I think, just give me the present and all the bitch rights
 so I can stay sane until I get there.

        If you ever meet Ben Stein, tell him your name is Francis Pumphandle.
 See if he gets the obscure reference.  If not, beat him to death.  Oh, hell,
 beat him anyway.  It's only Ben Stein, and it's Ferris Bueller's day off, so
 no need to keep showing up.

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 ( *(c) hOGS oF eNTROPY pRESS*  HOE #888 ~ WRITTEN BY: PHAIRGIRL ~ 10/23/99 )
