165 lines
7.8 KiB
Plaintext
165 lines
7.8 KiB
Plaintext
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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what were you doing 2 hours ago?
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it's 3:25pm. what was i doing two hours ago? swapping jokes with a friend.
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checking email. planning the location for the friday-afternoon-spree-of-
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drunken-glee. friend just called. "_____'s dad died two hours ago." when
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just this past weekend he was feeling fine. free of pain. great outlook on
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the future et al. marvelous recovery from a bleeding ulcer. makes one
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wonder if what was felt was truly said. maybe he just said he was fine to
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shield his family from his pain. an attempt at a
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self-fulfilling prophecy spoken too late.
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the living can speculate whether or not the dead knew Death was near. but
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did they really? i remember when my great-grandma died. my mom was already
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at the hospital...they had called saying she wouldn't last the night. my
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brother and i woke up to the phone ringing... "kids, a taxi is coming to
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pick you up. great-grandma will probably die soon."
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4 breaths a minute.
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then 6. 7. she seemed to be coming back like she had those zillions of
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times before. but sometimes zillions to a child may only be 8. 24 hours
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later we thought she pulled another fast one. i gave her a kiss goodbye.
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"i'll see you in the afternoon great-gramma." after sleeping a few hours
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at home, the phone rang. we all rushed rush to it; mom got there first.
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by her tone of voice it was evident that great-grandma was dead. we could
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only speculate whether she wanted to die alone, to go through her final
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pain alone, so the last picture of her on our minds would be of her
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pleasantly sleeping, a faint smile on her face, and a touch of rose in her
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chilling cheeks.
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peace.
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i decided on friday to make this an on going abstract. until it seems to
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come into completion. on this manic day i am continuing this peace...my
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escape from the echoing keystrokes resounding off the cubicle walls around
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me.
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escape.
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it sometimes can be in the form of multiple personalities. what once may
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have been considered a disorder now reflects everyday life on the net.
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ironic ain't it? people impersonating who they think they might be under
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their
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masques.
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til chance the night comes when the lightning strikes, the monitor dims, and
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they are faced to gaze into their own eyes in the glass. and they see that
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in years of living multiple personas they have managed to allow each masque
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to bend, not crack. to form into one united person, embodying all aspects of
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every persona. at this point they decide to do away with all the names of
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their masques but one.
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death to the rest.
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when one such as demonika announces that palpable obscure will no longer lick
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its palate, click its nails upon the keys, what is the proper eulogy? to
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whom shall we send our condolences?
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on this wedding day of days i remember a powerful energy, a lashing tongue,
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nails not made for clicking, but for piercing through the keys to your
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inner-most soul. gouging through the many masques within you inside out.
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damanstian.
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not seen nor heard from for years now. slipped away. silenced perhaps by
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the new and improved masque95 or NT, or perhaps by itself. damanstian, my
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damanstian, fuck's poster boy of rage, wherefore art thou now? the current
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rage may fit the name, but truly your words were more
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seething.
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if such a powerful being is capable of committing itself to death, what must
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come to raise it from the grave? or perhaps even its inner-most soul has
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forgotten who it once was. in the words of the great Floyd, is it
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too late?
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even fuck has taken on a new face. once a critic of Life itself, is now but
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a medium of rants and raves. few palpable pieces stay true to the past. the
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unspoken ideal. the intellectual ramblings of fucked up souls who had more
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to criticize than religion and relationships.
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whatever happened to those?
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a few years ago, less than a second to infinity, and not far off in the
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memories of my heart and mind, the mom of a high school friend went in to the
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hospital for some minor surgery in the abdominal region. wasn't kept
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overnight...no reason to. she woke up for the wee-hours-of-the-morning-pee-
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break common to most living beings, and died on the floor right outside the
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bathroom door.
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hemorage.
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i can only wonder what she dreamt that night. was there a hint of
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foreshadowing in her sleep? did she know then as she fell to the ground that
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Death had followed her to the door, perhaps after pricking the exterior of
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her bladder with her own internal blood to cause her rise? what did her
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children think when they found her a few hours later, dead after their
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peaceful sleep? and who would be to blame? chance the hospital foresaw
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such event, would not fate have taken her anyway, seconds away from the
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nurses' bell?
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who can pay for loss of Life when Death itself can not pay suite?
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if one could pay for Life, what would be the cost thereof?
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for a couple bills one can purchase a sperm and egg.
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but what would be the price
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of the infinite souls
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that such junction
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could realize?
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-=-=-
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i must admit that after two zero zero i wondered if it would ever come to
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three...but four? and with more actives than not? if it came to three i
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vowed to myself to write again. and to write my first fuck. and i do have
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1 submitted. 1 writing. 1 more written and more quickly blown to bits. if
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this wasn't forecasted in four zero zero as a phwack to get my ass in gear,
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it may never have come to completion. or as complete as it is currently
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with a tbc on the end
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to be finished in the next millini-era
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maybe i am wrong.
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maybe fuck is still the same. maybe nothing else has changed.
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but me.
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yt
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tbc...
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions =
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= Mail: jericho@dimensional.com (Mail is welcomed) =
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= To receive new issues through mail, mail jericho@dimensional.com with =
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= "subscribe fuck". If you do not have FTP access and would like back =
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= issues, send a list of any missing issues and they will be mailed. =
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= AnonFTP FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK =
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= FTP.SEKURITY.ORG/pub/zines/fucked.up.college.kids =
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= FTP.GIGA.OR.AT/pub/hackers/zines/FUCK =
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= FTP.ETEXT.ORG/pub/Zines/FUCK =
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= WWW http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho =
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= http://www.reps.net/~krypt/fuck.html =
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= http://www.simunye.com/fuck =
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= (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. =
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