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   ooooo   ooooo  .oooooo.  oooooooooooo       HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #577
   `888'   `888' d8P'  `Y8b `888'     `8
    888     888 888      888 888              "Waiter, There's a Fly in
    888ooooo888 888      888 888oooo8            My Primordial Soup"
    888     888 888      888 888    "
    888     888 `88b    d88' 888       o         by Miasma [4/14/99]
   o888o   o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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        The words just keep coming like some amazingly talented nymphomaniac
 corn flakes don't smell so good in my room this fine fine afternoon.  The
 crunching sound of my roomate just adds to the non-chalantness and good
 heartness of his soul.  Encaged.  Engaged.  In battle slight mirror images
 relflecting on my screen I can see him crunching now as the milk slowly
 mocks at me from the sides of his mouth.  Damn it, if he grins one more
 time, I think I'll have to hurt him.  He's slurping now like pigs by a
 trough making noises my god this person needs to stop.  The guitars to the
 left of me keep spinning screen savers never looked cool they just add to
 the confusion of this already confused room that's stationed in this
 already confused world.  Damn cigarette wrappers and chewing gum foil
 strewn across together like seaweed like bubble fish Let's pickle.

        Mario's such a damned fool but ignorance is bliss they say and video
 games just work that way.  I'm rhyming now and I don't choose to.  isn't
 that a sign of insanity?  keeping up in rhythm and beat and rhyme like some
 nonsensical genius.  Please I don't want any.  it's enough for me, I'm full
 of shit, thanks.  No no, you can have some more if you'd like.. you seem to
 slop it up just fine.  Thank you for abusing at&t.  Staring eyes of pickle
 juice that green that envious poisonous dried up mucus green hocked up just
 knocking into each other while the metal balls surround it in a cage of
 lightning wonderment.  Standing room only, bitch.

        The status quo believes in this and so should you will someone stop
 that friggen noise it keeps  repeating to itself trying to believe its own
 bullshit.  It's like terror only better.  Fellowship and honor and all that
 good stuff.  Don't you know it makes a good meal.  It's popping fresh
 dough.  Should I be knocked up or something pregnancy never seems right to
 me in a country defined on rape and cheese.  Don't squeeze the charmin,
 that's sexual assault.  It might come back at you with a lawsuit or bathing
 suit or some kind of outerwear.  Lightbulbs going off and on like breaking
 glass and chimney stacks blowing coal smoke all over my new wedding dress.
 Don't throw rice at me, bitch.  Seems there's some frustration here I don't
 know where it stems from but would I be glad to find out?  Just wait on
 line please, we'll be with you in a moment.

        My stomach aches I don't know if it's the dining hall food or the
 fact that 've been sick for a week.  Sick of what tho, that's the question.
 Shiver me timbers but don't blow me down.  I'm too high, I can see my house
 from here.  Deserted in the desert with some magic sand and daffy duck.
 Boy do I miss those days of cartoon reasoning.   Taking breaths and short
 ones at that, Sucks to yer asthmar!  This pointy shell doesn't mean shit.
 Break in half, break it all down, come tumbling tumbling down that hill
 Jack fucked Jill and all that's left is some naked sperm on the edge of the
 bed.  C'mere little doggie.  I think best in the shower and late at night
 before the twlight and the evening infect me I do a little dance before I
 make love tonight.  Slipping down the ladder rungs I don't recall the last
 time that I had a power pellet.  I guess it's a paradise lost at a
 childhood's end.  Raking in the benefits, that's all there's time to do.
 Just raking it in like some bastardized landscaper.  Atop the highest
 mountain of a molehill.  Fuck expressions, I want reality.

        Mutters, rambling, and other positive feedback of words that just
 come thru the top of my brain and end up at the points of my fingers like
 dogs sleeping awoken by nightmasters waiting for a whipping benfore they
 get back to their nightmares of abuse.  How envious we can all become of
 others true and small.  Their lips grow bigger by the minute and I'm left
 staring at large mouths with small voices.  I think this is too
 metaphorical for me it needs to be brought down to such a superficial
 level.  Understanding is just too tough for some people isn't it?  I should
 be psychic, you know.  I think giraffes would prefer it best.

        Listening to chaotic tunes over red balloons, purple horseshoes, and
 could it be?  Green fucking clovers spreading themselves thin.  Lucky, my
 ass.  Thumping beats stumbling like clumsy penguins just chatting away like
 ignorance in a bottle, kept and placed on a shelf for the others to enjoy.
 Fanatically obsessed?  I do so declare!  A fortitude of numbers of time
 clauses and phantom rocks that keep pelting on the newly fallen dirt.
 Clumsy me, clumsy me.  Next time I'll leave the shade up.  Too much light
 never gets in here. Am I confusing me yet?  I doubt it.  Maybe I'll just
 keep on pressing just squeezing, wringing out the towels of garbage onto
 ants.  Simple creatures squashed under nike shoes and keds.  I used to own
 British Knights when I was a kid.  BK baby!  I could really go for a
 Whopper right about now.  I need to feel my arteries clog.  Need that
 tightening, constricting feeling of pins and needles and heat, oh that
 piercing heat.  Like flaming earings with tainted stubs.  Handcuffed and
 wrapped up tight in a reclosable package.  Like mozarella cheese.  'cept
 less clumped together at the bottom.  Stretching through the crawl space to
 reach for something I kept in the back of my closet long, long ago.

        Childhood memories are never good enough nightmares.  You need more
 boogiemen, that's what I always say.  At least, that's what I always try to
 say.  Words never seem to act the way you want them to.  They come out and
 they're there, unspoken words, too.  Just plastered against the canvas for
 the art critic to see and say "What the fuck is this mess?" I don't care
 to put myself on display, you see.  Talented as always.  Burger King crowns
 with their little puzzles that were always too easy to solve but always
 enjoyable nonetheless.  I miss those days of childhood, lost against the
 corkboard of time.  Let me tack up another push-pin and put a nice little
 label there.  All neat and organized.  Like dogshit on a sidewalk.  And
 just as wanted.

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 [ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS!    HOE #577 - WRITTEN BY: MIASMA - 4/14/99 ]
