,... $$$$ $$$$T""P$$$ba, ,gd&P""T&bg. ,gd&P""T&bg. gggggggggg $$$$ $$$$$b d$$$$ $$$$b d$$$$ $$$$$b ggggggggggg """""""""" $$$$ $$$$$$ $$$$$ $$$$$ $$$$$bxxP&$$&P """"""""""" $$$$ $$$$$$ T$$$$ $$$$P T$$$$ $$$""""" " """" $$$$$$ "T&$bxxd$&P" "T&$bxx$$$$$' " """""$$$ """ """""" """ ggg "Meditations On a Schoolgirl Crush" ggg $$$ by -> Rhea $$$ $$$ $$$ $$$ (* HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #907 -- 11/29/99 *) .,$$$ `""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""` There is a thing called genius, and sometimes I think about cabbages and kings and wonder just what exactly it is that I see when I look through the tiny holes in my Ritz cracker. My salty, buttery, rich Ritz cracker. Well. Who knows. I just had an urge to spew out a pointless, meaningless paragraph. I get those sometimes, you know? For a tiny second, his eyelid was completely and utterly reserved for me. Down, then up, then a smile. No, the smile was there all along -- that blissfully patronizing smile. If only he knew that I would turn that little wink into something "poetically abstract" -- or absurd... yes... absurd -- and think about it with a sigh or two. Or three. Really, I realize that me, myself, I, and the world are entirely too large to tackle on this silly fancy of mine. But at least when I walk by his classroom and steal a glance at his unkempt hair and tight -- nicely tight, not nauseatingly tight -- jeans, I feel somewhat passionate. Will he see me? Does he know? He must. It must be the most obvious thing in the world. I'm sure he thinks it's cute. It is cute. No, I can't use the word passionate. I'm not worthy of it. Is he? I hope so. I hope so. I decided that taking the time to write in a sensical, efficient manner is completely unnecessary. It's much more interesting this way -- if it were clear and concise, we might discover that there's nothing behind the words after all, and wouldn't that be traumatizing? And then we'd all fall down and break our crowns. And Jill? She'd come tumbling after, of course. I was thinking; they should have reversed that nursery rhyme and have made Jill tumble first. Then it would become a marvelous allegory for that dreadful bite into that dreadful apple. A girl at lunch the other day found a worm in her apple, the poor thing. That was the same day as the good morning day, wasn't it? Yes, the day when he said, "Good morning!" and the morning suddenly became good. Yes, it was that same day. I ate an apple that day, too. The only problem is that Lolita is so young... And he is so old... is this corruption? What is wrong with me? I think it's just so I have something to think about amidst the revoltingly apathetic high school boys and girls who will never change -- the waters around them haven't grown, no, they're shallow shallow shallow! -- because I feel so out of place. "Dorothy Parker must have worn glasses," said one of them. I laughed - it was funny! Wasn't it? I don't wear glasses. Instead, I pollute my eyes with cruel, cruel bits of plastic, tinted lightly blue. Lightly, lightly blue, but my plastic-less eyes are already lightly, lightly blue, so are they now, with my strange pollution, a heavier blue? I don't feel them in my eyes at all when I wear them, isn't that nice? I think it's nice. Has he ever noticed that my eyes are blue? Actually, I've never noticed if his are. Yes! That's good! That's good that I haven't noticed! Maybe there is hope for me! Maybe I've just been exaggerating this infatuation! But now I can't help wondering... are they? I would be much more pleased with myself if these paragraphs weren't just another vain attempt of a schoolgirl to find her "place in the world," but, you know, it gives me something to do. And there's only so many times a girl can listen to the Police's "Don't Stand So Close To Me." It was inevitable that I would write about it. It was inevitable that I would seek out and be thrilled by Nabokov's fascinating prose. And here I am now. Yes, here I am, thinking about his sunglasses and his exciting world travel and his wink. Here I am. So teacher teacher, here's an apple for you. A shiny, wormless, beautiful apple. But don't take it, please, no matter how much I want you to bite into it. Don't take it, and maybe this sweet corruption will slowly fade away... Or will it stay? [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] [ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #907 - WRITTEN BY: RHEA - 11/29/99 ]