[--------------------------------------------------------------------------] ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #572 `888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8 888 888 888 888 888 " 'Can anybody tell 888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 me what's wrong?'" 888 888 888 888 888 " 888 888 `88b d88' 888 o by Tasha [4/14/99] o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] I was busy being the passenger in a champagne-colored car. I wasn't in the passenger seat, I was in the back seat, I always am. We were driving down Michigan Avenue. You have to take Michigan Avenue to get anywhere useful around here. I think we were headed home, though, and that place really isn't useful. It's quite useless, we're always there. I think I'm using this "we" thing as just me, because I was sort of unattached from all reality at that moment. I was staring blanky out a window, it was dusty. No one had written, "WASH ME!" on it, though, which is sad. Sad that the champagne-colored car isn't good enough to have "WASH ME!" written on it, or maybe it's too good for that. I haven't decided which is the greater evil of the two. Too good or too bad. Either way, you're not getting something or not being grateful for it, in which case you shouldn't have gotten it in the first place. There was a car place. One of those places that sells cars. It was across from a Ford plant, so it was selling Ford cars. There were about 50 places selling the same cars in one block. There must have been real competition for business there. I couldn't decipher between the cars. They were all shiny and colored, like most cars, if they've been washed. They all had price tags. I'm sure the price tags were all different, but I didn't have my contacts in so that didn't matter. it was quite a peaceful scene, me in that car surrounded by all the lonely cars which've yet to be bought. I think there was music playing. It probably wasn't too good, I don't remember what it was. Someone might have been singing along, I don't remember that either, they probably had a good singing voice. Most people who sing along sing well. Most. I can't find the proper words to describe this car place and this car and me in the backseat with the person singing along to some kind of music that was playing. I just can't do it. I don't even know if they exist, and even if they do, I don't know about their existence. If I don't know about something's existence, then it doesn't matter, right? If no one reads this, it doesn't matter that I couldn't find the words. It might not even matter if people do read it. I wish I was a painter, or a singer, or something. I would gladly grab a paintbrush and paint you a picture of this car place and this car and me in the backseat with the person singing along to some kind of music. I can't, though. I often try to draw, hoping for some semblance of artistic ability. It never shows up. Singers are much more useful than my voice, which is usually somewhat monotone. Singers can sing octaves, you know? Good ones, at least, like the ones who sing along. They can convey emotion in their voice, and everyone listens, because it sounds nice. The existence is known always, by someone. I'm not a singer. I'm not a painter. I'm not anything special. I have text and I have english and a little french, but everyone could if they wanted it. Not everyone can sing, and being a real good painter usually requires something a tad inherited or born with. One of those phrases or words or whatever. It requires _talent_. My words and text and english and french can be taught. Taught by an old teacher with a bald spot in K-mart jeans that were 3 sizes too small 3 years ago. I've never had a teacher like that, but I'm sure one exists. I don't know where this is going. Probably nowhere. Nowhere is a good place to go, mainly because it's no specific place, and it can be anything. It's one of those few things that don't require a specific definition. "Somewhere" doesn't require a specific definition, either. That takes a little glory off of "nowhere." Too much glory is a bad thing anyway. That's not a jackoff of a cliche though, because there are certain things one cannot simply have enough of. There's always that one song that you can listen to on repeat, because it completely changes your out look on life for about 3 minutes. Go somewhere. Did you know I cry? I do. Not an absurd amount, but enough to substantially qualify me as someone who does, indeed, cry. That's as far as I'm going tonight. I cry. The end. [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] [ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #572 - WRITTEN BY: TASHA - 4/14/99 ]