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| There Ain't No Justice |
| #22 |
- Going Crazy in the Suburbs 02: Relationships -
by Hairy Leech
the thing i can't stand about writing tanj files is that i always end up
deleting things. i don't think it's possible for me to just sit down,
think, and write a tanj file. it just dosen't work. i can sit down, think,
and write. fine. but if i convince myself i'll submit it as a tanj at
first, i can't write. i end up writing a page or two, then deleting it.
"i think you know how far i'll go.."
too bright in here. i need darkness. darkness and the hazy blur of smoke
"if you're not careful, you're going to hurt yourself.."
candles: lit incense: smoldering music : loud and offensive coke :
there's this great rush of happiness that comes to you when you find
someone that cares about you, how you are, what you do, someone who would
care if you dropped off the end of the world one day. better than a drug,
i'll say. not that i know. drugs aren't my things. never have been. no
anyhow, the feeling is great. it makes life worth living all of the sudden.
but it dosen't change anything else. the problems are still there, they're
just all blurry, unclear.. you can't see them as well because you aren't
looking at them every day. you see a man getting spat on in the street, and
you think "gee, i'm glad that's not me. at least someone cares about me."
the event dosen't register. if you're alone it slaps you in the face,
because you could see yourself getting spat on. easy. simple.
so relationships are a drug, a crutch, blinders.
not to put down relationships. i enjoy being cared about. having someone
who isn't related to you tell you they love you is something that is.. it's
impossible to describe. nothing wrong with feeling good. nothing at all.
just so long as you don't let it rot your brain.
i work with a gay man and i enjoy it.
i remember when i was a child, they always told me to set goals for myself.
i never did. maybe i should start.
go listen to a song called "hard times" by fresh bush and the invisible
man. it's.. yeah.
strange to sit and think that i'll end up living my life and probably never
be fulfilled. sort of makes me lose interest in living. no reason to live
if there's no fulfillment waiting at the end of it all.
now don't go getting the wrong idea. i'm not going to do myself in. not at
all. i've crossed that bridge already.
they say i'm sick, and maybe they're right. then again, maybe they're
wrong. maybe they are. maybe they're too damned busy examining me to see
their own faults. maybe they're too busy perfecting their use of the
scalpel to see who they're butchering. maybe to use an old phrase, they
can't see the wood for the trees.
maybe.. just maybe.. this society is really as blind as it appears..
i wish someone could understand what i write. alas, it never happens.
remember my first tanj? hmm? sure, it was funny in a way. but there were
serious bits to it. i remember someone made some comment about it, took it
as a big joke. it's just so.. frustrating.
lack of incense.
i often wonder how my life would have turned out if i hadn't moved to the
big old modern north. i suppose i'd be some hick goober riding around on a
tractor wearing over-all's, chewing tobacco, and spitting in a coffee can.
my father told my mother she'd turn me into a scrawny geeky queer if she
took me to the north. i wonder what dear old "dad" would say now.. i
i wonder how people can abuse their own families. sexually, physically,
"you've run out of lies.."
dad never drank. dad never used to smoke. dad was naturally a fucking vile
monster, he didn't need drugs to help him any.
grew up in a big house. 12' ceilings in the living room. no insulation. big
old rotten falling-down house in the middle of a swamp, almost. right next
to a highway.
i used to lay on the floor, when the cockroaches weren't down there, and
look up at the ceiling. you could see the sky in some spots.
big tin roof.
i remember one summer a swarm of bees found a hole in the side of the
house, they made a hive in the wall. i could lie in my bed at night and
hear them buzzing, buzzing..
mom & dad slept on hospital beds.
i remember the stop-light my brother had.
i remember the snakes that would come into the house.
nothing quite like living in the south.
"new last rights.. look what we have done.."
i remember the lack of attention my father paid to me. i was just a thing.
he told me only a couple of things, "yea," "no," "i reckon," and "go ask
your mother." not much else.
i used to sit and watch him count out over $400 a night. he owned his own
i used to sit and watch and listen when mom came and asked him for money to
buy groceries. mom didn't work. he would give her a $20 and say he didn't
have any more.
let's do a head-count. 5 children + 2 parents = 7 people. $20 per week for
7 people just dosen't do it.
i ate a lot of maccaroni and cheese. and peanut butter sandwiches.
my father sexually abused my sister. that sure was a great thing to tell
brainwashed my brother.
me, i don't think about him. push him out of my mind. make him go away.
make him cease to exist.
i just want to go and ask him why. just want to see his face..
lack of a real father made me a mama's boy. when i got teenage, i became a
rebel mama's boy. now i'm so separated from her, from almost everyone, i'm
the only one left who understands me.. hard to talk to people who don't
not to say i'm not happy. i'm happier now than i ever have. i've happened
upon support, a companion, someone to lean on, someone to talk to.
used to beat my mother. think that's why i'm here. he wanted it, she either
spread her legs or got beat up. not a real ego-booster, let me tell you.
she got even. took a .22, loaded it, shot at him 5 times outside in the
yard. he went to sleep, woke up with dear old mom sitting on his chest, gun
in his face. "shit his shorts" comes to mind.
too much shit in the world. too much, way too much.
i need new and exciting incense. this scent is getting old.
not much comfort for me in today's modern disposable society. i don't want
to be on a talk show, so there's not much compassion from most people.
yeah, i wonder what it would have been like to have had a father that
cared. i wonder.
i always say i'll never marry, never have kids. maybe i will anyway, just
so i can be the father that i always wanted, sort of..
"land of rape and honey" was recorded on analog tape, i can hear the fuzzy
i crawl up into my mind, and i plumb my thoughts, and it feels like i
should be in a war-zone.. feels like i should see bombed out buildings,
fires, death everywhere.. it's not as simple as all that, though. the
destruction is there, just not as visible as all that.
a war with no words.
"keep your religion out of my crotch."
i don't feel much like being cheerful and smiling, but once i save this i
my luck, the computer will fuck up and this will all get flushed.
hmm. wonder how people will take this. wonder if it'll actually make it as
a tanj. wonder if i'll actually bother to upload it. hmm.
- hairy leech
0/4/92 - 8:44 pm
why the hell am i dating this? it'll
ever amount to a lump of shit. i'm
hell. i just went to save the file, and the disk screwed up. anyone want to
donate an ibm? please? pretty please?
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