
 (~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~)
      (*)   (*)   *   (*)~*~(*)                  HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #900
    *  0     0    ~    0                *
   ~   0     0  ~* *~  0         hOGS    ~             "Hoe 900"
  (    0*~*~*0 (     ) 0*~*~      oF      )
   ~   0     0  ~   ~  0        eNTROPY  ~              by Tasha
    *  0     0   * *   0                *               11-7-99
      (*)   (*)   ~   (*)~*~(*)
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        Every girl here is required to wear a white dress covered in navy
 blue stripes, making it some sort of futuristic plaid.  They've been
 required to wear these dresses for some time now, though i don't know why or
 since when.  I just know that this is the way things are.  The fabric of the
 dresses are thick and ill-textured, covered with some sort of material that
 gives them some semblance of being smooth.  If they were put on any normal
 body, they'd leave the skin horribly chafed.  Raw and deceivingly pink,
 making the viewer think of perhaps a spring flower, rather than tender and
 sore skin.  But these girls have been subjected to this rough fabric since
 their birth, and second-handedly subjected to it from the moment of
 conception, since their mothers were required to wear the same thing, maybe.
 Again, I'm not sure when this futuristic plaid dress thing came into play.
 In all the glory of their pure nudity, the girls are found to have leather-
 like skin covering their bones and muscles and organs from their shoulder to
 mid-thigh.  That's what part of the body the dresses cover.  The dresses are
 sleeveless, however, and have one-inch straps covering the shoulders.  Pale
 orange sweaters accompany the dresses.  The sweaters are used to be more
 provocative or modest, maybe both.

        Sadly, global warming took over the planet many years ago and the
 sweaters keep the girls fairly overheated.  Acne covers their back and arms
 from pores clogged with sweat, but the sado-masochism of everyday life must
 prevail through these little wool things.

 [-----]

        I sometimes get these incredible urges to grab someone off the street
 and talk at them.  Not talk to them, at them.  Then I would like them to
 talk back at me, and not to me, and we would continue talking at each other.
 And this wouldn't really be a conversation or debate, but just two people
 talking at each other, like conversations in one's head, but the other
 person's talking would spawn more thoughts and it would be beautiful endless
 chatter of meaningless intensity.

        I think the reason I ramble so much is because I am often so
 uninterested in reality and what's really going on that I have elaborate
 conversations and stories in my head.  And I play them out, playing each
 character, and how I would want them to be.  And then I get in an situation
 with another person there, and I'm supposed to be talking to them, but all I
 can do is talk at them, because I forget that there's another person there
 receiving these messages from me through some medium.  And I just talk and
 talk and talk, like I do in my head all the time.  Although, the
 conversations in my head tend to be a bit different, because there are never
 any subconscious obligations to be the cool kid on the playground cursing
 just a little bit too low for the teachers to hear.

        I want to dance in the rain and have a raindrop living on my lower
 lip forever and I want to dig in the mud until I hit the golden clay and
 then keep digging on and on and on and on to China or Japan or some other
 Asian country.  I want to climb a mountain, only to scream and climb back
 down again and be the Japhy Ryder of this generation and of some other poor
 mis-guided Buddhist, even though I hate Japhy Ryder.  I want to crack my
 knuckles endlessly until my mind is constantly clouded with that small
 sound.  And I want to ride around in the back of a pick-up truck and feel
 the cold air of a Michigan winter on the tip of my nose, which I seem to
 have grown out of.  And I, I, I, I, it's all about me.  Maybe I should start
 a diary, but I tried that once and failed, and just disappointed myself.

        I had a dream of a junk-sick boy crawling down a hallway towards me,
 and he was grinning and his teeth were yellow, and some of them were
 missing.  And it wasn't a nightmare.  It was just a beautiful junk-sick boy
 crawling down a hallway towards me, grinning, with yellow teeth, some of
 which were missing.  And I woke up, and that's all I remember, and it
 somehow makes me think of Stephen and his e-mail about dreams.  And how he
 said dreams are just neurons firing randomly and then the person fabricating
 some plot for the dream.  But that whole idea just makes dreams seem so
 worthless and pointless and meaningless, and dreams are beautiful, even if
 they are just fabrications from firing neurons.

        I'm supposed to be writing this hoe #900 thing, but I'm not sure what
 I want to do with it.  For the longest time, my writing consumed me, and it
 was the only thing I felt passionate about.  Then, I lost track of
 everything in my life and lost myself on a path of not knowing.  Not knowing
 what I wanted to do and who I was and how to find these things out.  And
 slowly I found my way again, but my writing was no longer very important to
 me.  I discovered a me that could  be unattached from the world of
 prepositions and direct objects and punctuation and everything and anything.
 
        And I'm forcing out how #900 now, I wasn't before, but now I am,
 because I've been confined to a deadline.  And every girl I pass seems to be
 wearing the plaid dresses and orange sweaters from some weird novel
 predicting the fall of society as we know it.  And I wonder if there's
 something wrong with me in my gray skirt and plain t-shirt, and Allison
 claims I look Amish.  And I wonder what it's like to be Amish.  I wonder
 what it's like to be religious in general, though.  To know for a fact that
 God exists and have no lingering questions about reality and the world and
 the nature of it all.  I wonder what it's like to be able to have such
 strong beliefs and convictions in one thing, and I wonder and wonder and
 want to have that, but I can't.  Something in my nature doesn't allow me to
 believe all these things, and the sides of myself clash again and create
 thunderstorms inside my head of wanting to believe and not wanting to
 believe or have anything to do with it.

        And I'm confused, and back to forcing out hoe #900.  And I'm kind of
 tired, and kind of wondering what would happen if I suddenly ran around
 naked and screaming in French.  Would that make everything better?  It seems
 like a wonderful idea.

        Phairgirl wants this now.

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 ( *(c) hOGS oF eNTROPY pRESS*       HOE #900 ~ WRITTEN BY: TASHA ~ 11/7/99 )
