                 ______      ______         ______________
                |      |    |      |        \             |
                 \    /      \    /   ____   \      ______|
                  |  |________|  |   /    \   |    |____
                  |   ________   |  (  {}  )  |    _____)
    /~~~~~~~~~~~  |  |        |  |   \____/   |    |______  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~\
    |  |~~~~~~~  /    \      /    \          /            |  ~~~~~~~~~|  |
    |  |        |______|    |______|        /_____________|           |  |
    |  |                                                              |  |
    |  |          ...Hogs of Entropy Text Files Present...            |  |
    |  |                                                              |  |
    |  |                       "mE t0o!@#$"                           |  |
    |  |                                                              |  |
    |  |                                               By: Mogel      |  |
    |  |                                                              |  |
     \  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  /
      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   "Hey Mogel, how come all your files have to do with either the bathroom
or sex?"
        
  
  *             *             *             *             *             *


     Enter Generic Angst Statement #1 : Humanity is cracking to pieces.
   

   "What to do?  After all the youthful hope has passed, reality always
shines on a human being's insignificance - and it's like a slap in the face."
wonders the white upper-middle class suburban guy before he turns on his CD
of _NWA_ full blast.

   The white upper-middle class suburban girl nods her head in agreement.
   
   "Every day I wonder how someone can walk down the street and simply LIVE
with being nothing.  How can someone live a life and not be willing to offer
everything that they are to the world?  How can someone believe something and
not even challenge it?" she wonders.  Then she eats her well packaged
three-dollar-box with 8 little pieces of cheese and crackers.

   "Who am I?  Why am I here?"
   
   "Who knows.  Why do you care?"

   "Don't be rude."

   "I'm not rude."

   "Don't you care?"

   "No."
   
   "Just fuck off."
   
   "Just fuck off."

   (Fade to Black)


  *             *             *             *             *             *


   Moments pass.  Days pass.  Years pass.  Lives pass.
   
   I sat on my windowsill with the window wide open today.  Freezing cold
temperatures and everything pouring into my room.  I didn't even care.  I was
so angry at everyone around me.  Nobody understands me.  I've fought with
basically everyone around me.  Maybe she'll understand.

   "Is nothing sacred?" she asked me.  She asked me.  She's talking to me!
Isn't it funny that no matter how old you get sometimes some girls will make
you feel like a little boy.  I melt when I talk to her.  She hardly knows me
and I'm ready to lay down my life for her.  My emotions and thoughts get
swirled up.  Is this when obsession kicks in?

   I wonder if she knows.

   "Be careful," my friend said.  "I hope you don't get hurt."
   
   The outside snow-covered buildings move and contort.  The outside air and
it's almost unnoticeable natural static sound is addictive.  I saw the world
as a big picture.  There I am climbing over some big cliche'd ladder and
there's my friends.  Everyone's going up or down their ladder.  There's a lot
of ladders in this picture.  Do I matter?

   "Everything I say is better and more important than what you say."

   "I can't even express myself."

   "You're a pathetic loser."

   "Just fuck off."

    Today I knew it all.  Every answer to every question was there in my
head.

    "Who knows.  Why do you care?"

    Most of my thought that entire day by the window was about why people
think.  Thought is such a burnout.  It's almost a waste of time.  Eventually
you get pulled in some direction you don't want to go.  Eventually you shut
down.  You're full of dead thought.  You know that you're tired of thinking
when all you think about is ways of how NOT to think anymore.  A sort of
anti-think.
                    
    (Dramatic Pause)

    Do I love her or am I just emotionally starved?


  *             *             *             *             *             *


      Enter Generic Angst Statement #2 : Everything has been done before.


   "Then why bother?" Generic Angst Poet asks.

   "Because we must," replies my Generic Hero that will never exist.

   "There's not an original thought left on this planet.  Originality has
simply become an art of concealing your resources."

   "Oh dear.  That's just NOT it.  Unmotivated people since the beginning of
time have declared that all the ideas of their current time was the end all
and be all.  Everyone in the world will be proved wrong as we synthesize.
Things seem unthinkable simply because you don't know them."

   "So how do we go about finding new ideas?"

   "That just happens.  All you can do is learn everything that has already
been thought and use it to pull in some new direction.  Learn.  Eventually
you're going to see that modern humanity has been around a relatively very
short period of time.  There's virtually infinite ideas that no one has ever
thought of.  It's exciting.  I'm ready to find the most original and
revolutionary thought anywhere."

   "Me too!"
   

    *             *             *             *             *             *

   
   I think too much.  I definitely think too much for my own good.  I need to
just shut up and enjoy myself.

   Is this really a date?
   
   What am I doing here?  The Angst-o-meter rises.  Maybe I can write an
'alternative' song when I go back home.  There's her door.  Look at the
picture of Elvis.  Look at the word 'Peace.'  So simple.  So meaningful.
That's the best message ever.

   What am I babbling about?  People will find deep philosophical meaning in
a turnip if you let them.  Fuck that.

   I knock.

   "Come in."

   I wonder if she knows.

   Her room is a mess.  She smiles.  She's on the computer.

   "She's been on her computer a long time.  I've obsessed like that on the
computer before," I think to myself.  Then I remember that's the
understatement of a lifetime for me.

   "Sit down, I'll be off in a sec."

   "Okay."

   Isn't it obvious?  Of course it's not.  I'm the retarded master of hiding
what my true emotions are.  I want to grab her and throw her on the bed.  I
want to recite _horribly_ bad poetry to her and look up at the moonlight and
hear an Italian opera singer and a five piece orchestra in her closet.
Complete with viola.  I wanna hold her.  I wanna love her.  

   Goddamnit.  My life is trapped in some really badly written movie.

   "Wanna go eat?"

   She turns her head to look at me and respond and I see those fuckin' eyes.
Some girls are so beautiful it's disgusting.  She's one of them.  Those eyes.
It's funny how the deeper you stare into the eyes of the girl you love then
it only leads you to feel ultimately hopeless.  You imagine that you could
spend a whole lot of your life with this person, but something deeper inside
you tells you that's not gonna happen.

   You stare this girl in the eyes, and she's talking to you about her
favorite painter, and you're secretly searching the insides of her eyes for
some clue, some hint that she wants you to follow her outside so she can kiss
you.  But mostly you just see yourself reflected in the blank glass of those
eyes, and you realize how hungry you look, and your reflection makes you
sick.

   (Now it's time for a Commercial Break)


   *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


   "This t-file is lame."

   What's the fucks wrong with you?  What's your problem?  Is this file too
boring for you?  Not enough talk about sex?  Not enough big exciting things
happening for you?  Not enough vampires and big bad monsters chasing innocent
people?  Not enough humor?  Do you only read a t-file to get a chuckle?  Is
that all you're here for?  Is there not enough structure for you?  Did I not
follow enough of some ancient rules on writing?  Is this too many ideas here
for you to handle?  Are you mad 'cause i didn't spoon feed you?  Is it too
much for you to read between the lines?  Did I put too much sarcasm in this
file?  Is the irony a little too hidden for you to get?

   What can I do to spice this file up for you?  How can I make it exciting
enough to meet your standards?  What can I do?  Should I add a naked virgin
girl with big jiggling mountain-like breasts running through the woods horny
and naked?  Why don't I add a list of a thousand badly written and redundant
jokes about _Star Trek_ or college life or computers?  I'm sure that those
will be a real hoot.  Should I have included plans to build a bomb out of a
taco?

   Whatever happened to the value in something that made people think?
    

   *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


          Enter Generic Angst Statement #3 : Everything sucks.


   "I hate everyone." proclaimed the youth.

   "Me too!" agreed his friend.

   "I hate this world."

   "Me too."

   "Everyone sucks.  This world is shit.  Everyone thinks what they have to
say is the the most important.  Everyone has their own little fucked up view
of the way the world works.  Nobody anywhere really listens to anyone else,
unless it fits into their little picture of the world."

   "Yeah!"

   "In a world with so many dispositions, you'd think it was a good thing.
Variety _is_ a good thing.  In todays world people die from wars over money.
Just like in the past.  We're not beyond such immaturity yet as a society.
We're not even over racism and sexism and classism and a hundred other ism's.
When the fuck will the world grow up?!"

   "Yeah!"

   "Plus everyone is stupid.  The whole world sucks because people are
stupid.  You, me, and everyone.  I'm fuckin' tired of it."

   "Me too."

   "As young people today we're the stupidest fucking thing in the world.
You do know that the very concept of a 'teenager' is a totally new one,
right?  There was no phase like this before this century.  Now todays society
has created this self-centered, angst-hungry group of rejects."

   "Yeah!"

   "Today's youth is full of this corney bullshit rage.  They get mad at
mommie and daddy for giving them a bedtime, so they scream and holler and
declare themselves rebels against society and other buzz word random
institutions.  Am I the only one that sees the stupidity that goes with youth
in todays times?  I'm about to explode!"

   "Me t0o!!@!"

   "Don't we all as human beings have 'angst'?  Why do we seem to focus on it
to such an inane degree?  What's worse is that when a group of people really
_are_ needing to rage at something, they rage stupidly.  No one seems to have
any common sense.  No one seems to know how to not rage their anger
self-destructively.  I think I'm the only one."

   "mE t0o!@#$"

   Bird poop plops on both the boy's heads and a little bird flutters off.

   The preppy commits a drive by shooting.

   "I'm a Toys 'R Us kid."

   "Get hip, man!  Get cool!  I'm cool!  Yeah, I gotta be cool!  I gotta act
cool.  Walk cool.  Dress cool.  Talk cool.  Fuck cool.  I gotta be cool -
'cause if you don't think I'm cool then I'm just nothin'."

   The little boy skips a stone across the ocean.  He's only eight years old,
but he knows.

   "Is it pompous and snobbish to think of yourself as above this?"

   
   *             *             *             *             *             *


   How am I gonna tell her?

   Sometimes seconds seem like hours.

   Typing on my computer right now.  Typing away.  How do you capture the
human experience in under 20 kilobytes?

   "Just fuck off?" she asked, "Why'd you write that on your door?"

   It's the way i feel sometimes.  The world is stupid.  Everyone in the
world except me is stupid.  It should be their fuckin' honor to speak to me.
Fuck them, fuck them.  They should just fuck off.  I don't wanna talk to
anyone.

   "You're pretty anti-social sometimes, huh?"

   FUCK OFF.  No.  I didn't mean that.

   If I'm not into escapism what the fuck am I doing typing this right now?

% rm *.*

   I gotta talk to her.  I gotta tell her.

   As much as I preach about it, I always realize that I'm the biggest
hypocrite in the world.  I've got the same mindless angst bullshit we all do.

*** emmanuel has been kicked off channel #hack by Mogel (Just fuck off)

   I can't believe that out of millions of sperm, I was the quickest.
   
   I gotta tell her.


   *             *             *             *             *             *


        Enter Generic Angst Statement #4 : Everything is Random.

   A lonely old man walks in the park.

   He likes to write.

   "It's amazing how many people die lonely," someone said to him when he was
young.

   He flips open his writing journal.

   "I'm beginning to see insignificance in everything," he writes.  "It's
like the world was one big scientific experiment plopped out and left to see
what would happen.  You wonder sometimes what actually matters.  What DOES
matter?  We're all going to die.  All my life I've heard people say again and
again to make your life have meaning.  Your life needs to make it's mark.
You gotta be something.  You gotta do something?  At the root of it all -
why?"

   He takes a deep breath and looks up.  No one is around.  He continues.

   "We're all gonna die.  Everyone is going to die.  Doesn't that make it all
seem so futile?  Does it really matter if you go to Harvard and get a degree
if you're gonna die?  Ultimately, what is it doing?  It's helping out someone
else that's gonna die too?  Maybe I'm getting too old, but I just don't see
the point.  Everything is so insignificant.  We want to meet someone to love.
They want to meet someone they love.  It should be that simple.  If people
need to feel like a relationship 'develops' and need conversation, you begin
to wonder what value that conversation is by itself.  Probably not too much.
They could talk about anything, so long as they both agree with it.  So what
does love mean?   Do we even need love?"

   A tear drips down his cheek.

   "In the world we live in today there is an insignificance in conversation
and events in the big picture.  Anyone can be your friend.  You just need to
connect with them in the right way.  When you walk down the street, every
single person has the potential to be your best friend in the world.  All we
need is for them to identify with us.  Again, it makes you wonder if it's
possible to be anyone's friend, what does friendship mean?  Do we even need
friends?"

   He wipes his eyes with a tissue.  One tear drop falls on the top of the
page.  It discolors the white paper with a grey wet spot.

   "One day you turn around and you realize you don't know anyone and you're
a grumpy old man.  Then, when it's too late, you realize that _that's_ the
meaning of it all.  You realize that that's why you're suppose to go through
all the nitty gritty events and conversations that life throws at you.  It's
for you to grow and develop.  The more you experience and think, the more
you're ready for death.  I've failed."


   *             *             *             *             *             *


   "I think 'I'm tired' is probably the most common expression in America
ever," I said to my friend at lunch.

   "Life is like a movie with bad editing," I said to another friend at
another lunch.

   "I think I'm going to call her," I said to myself when I ate alone.

   "Who knows.  Why do you care?" my friend asked me when I asked him if rats
could vomit.  Fascinating fact #234:  Rats can't vomit.  Good lunch
conversation.

   "I wonder if she knows," I mumble and engulf my taco the next day.

   "My life seems to contrived.  I hate it," my friend tells me the next
lunch.  He has no idea.  Seven days have passed.

   "Oh shit.  I haven't talked to her in a week."

ATDT PLEASE BE THERE

BUSY

A/

BUSY

A/

RING

RING

RING

CONNECT BAD MOOD

   "Hello?"

   "Hi.  Uh, it's me."

   "Hey!"

   "What's new?"

   "Not too much.  Been running around like crazy this week.  How come you
haven't called me?"

   "Uh, I've been.. uh, busy too.  I'm sorry.  It's shitty that I didn't
call."

   "What have _you_ been up to?  You actually go to class this week?"

   "Yeah!  And lunch too.  Amazing but true."

   "Me too!"

   Ugh.

   I've gotta tell her.

   "I've been writing a lot too.  I'm working on a real off beat
story-like-thing.  It's more personal than I've ever done before."

   "Great.  Lemme read it when you're done.  What's it about?"

   "It's sort of like a big movie made up of little random stories.  If I do
it right it'll have some sort of theme about what goes through a lot of
people's heads and sort of explains why a lot of people might act like they
do."

   "But of course all the things everyone says are actually your thoughts,
right?"

   "Well, they were my thoughts at _one_ point of time in my life.  Maybe not
as I am now.  It's all sort of a growing process.  I'll throw in some neat
recurring ideas and feelings and it'll be inter-mixed with a love story as
the ultimate symbol of 'angst'.  Heh."

   "Wow.  Sounds pretty rad."

   She said rad.  Teehee.

   "Yep."

   "Hopefully when your done you'll have people screaming in praise: 'Mogel
is the spokesperson for his generation!  His words are so true!'"

   "Haha.  Yeah.  They'll say 'Mogel!!  I HAVE PAIN.  mE t0o!@!!1'"

   "Well, is there anything else?  If not, I gotta run to class.  I'll call
you when I get back."

   Now's the time.

   Tell her.

   "I, uh..."

   I wonder if she knows.

   "I'll talk to you when you get back."

   "Byebye."

NO CARRIER

   "Be careful," my friend said.  "I hope you don't get hurt."

   I keep dreaming that she's going to scream at me.  I keep seeing this
image of her ignoring me.  This image of her saying "You're a pathetic
loser.  Just fuck off."

   I can't even express myself when I'm around her.

   She can understand me.

   Sometimes seconds seem like hours.

ATDT I'M OBSESSED

RING

RING

CONNECT HOPE

   "Hello?"

   "Hi.  Uh, I love you."

   "I know that, dummy."

   Breakthrough.


    *             *             *             *             *             *


   Ahem.

   Did you read this file and get it?  Did you get the message?  Or did you
just spend minutes reading this and it all just flew by you totally?

   Read it again.  Now.

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|=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=|
 Copyright (c) 1995 HoE Publications and Mogel.               #87 -> 06/16/95
 All rights Reserved.  Funk you.
