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Flodis Issue 13
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.-------------------------------------------------.
| flodis - flowers of disruption - #13 - 01.08.99 |
`-------------------------------------------------'
the zine for tasha & anjee
**&&**&&**&&
here, my friends, are flowers. they're the line above this one.
on the lines below, though, there is an issue of flodis which could seem
very much like a diary entry written by an insane lovelorn drug abuser.
the truth is, i've been up for a while, i saw blair witch project tonight,
and my brain is a bit muddled. so when asked about what's going on, i made
some insights into my situation. yes, the one i've been whining about
lately. i decided that instead of just replying to my friend nick, who
asked me what was up, i would let flodis take care of the reply.
BEWARE OF THE TRUTH, FOR IT LIES WITHIN.
i was going to send out a story that i just wrote. it was going to be
flodis #13 (13 is a significant number, you are aware). but, this kinda
preempted that. below this line are flowers. below the flowers is an
email that has changed from a plain message to a description of a boy's
life. please don't be offended by my lame act of exposing my feeble trauma
to the world at large by releasing the flower in flodis. rather, take
comfort in the fact that this is the zine for tasha and anjee, and it
started as mailbox filler material, quota-eater, bandwidth-waster. this
message below could easily only be significant to me and nick and a few
other parties. but hey, it's just me musing. it could be amusing,
especially if it could apply to anyone's life who is reading it. but i
doubt it. but maybe later. file this in the bin labelled "things that
might happen to me sometime." and keep it safe. ropes.
**&&**&&**&&
On 01-Aug-99, Nick wrote:
> what's buggin ya tim?
Oh, something along the lines of "a lot of stuff."
Mainly the fact that three days have gone by and I haven't had any contact
with my girlfriend.
I'm really wondering what's up, actually curious about her physical
well-being, questioning if she actually exists anymore.
I last saw her Wednesday night. It's now Sunday morning.
Tonight I drove past all the normal venues, and her car was not at any of
these places.
I drove past her pad, and her car was nowhere to be found.
I drove back around all the normal venues, and again did not see her car.
She hasn't been online at all. She hasn't replied to my emails. Her phone
line was busy all day.
I've got this other girl who's interested in me, and I've got nothing to
conversate with her about.
I've met the girl from Florida, whom I could talk about anything with.
I talked with cat-eyes about former chums and her recent escapades with my
old childhood pals.
I felt completely bashful when the gorgeous twenty-something cook/waitress's
eyes contacted mine as I conversed with her and Jenny at Octane this
evening.
Since Wednesday night I have lost my connection with the one person with
whom I am theoretically supposed to be the most connected to, and from that
night until now, I have been connecting with far more unexpected people
than I could have ever anticipated.
Connecting is not a sexual term, of course; nor is connecting a sexual term
or even necessarily a very emotional term. It just involves being
conversationally level with someone for a period of time. And ever since
Wednesday night, I've been at level with all sorts of people. When you and
I were talking about government blur sessions, for instance.
If you had asked me a week ago if I expected to connect with a lot of people
in any coming period of time, I would have replied in doubt. There was one
person I was concerned about. Now she seems to have stepped out, and
suddenly I am once again able to see through the glass in my lighthouse, to
beacon and communicate with the ships in my harbor. And some of those
ships are unidentified! They've entered the bay without warning. But they
came in peace to serve their purpose. Some have already docked and left,
while some remain moored. They seem to come and go as they please.
And it's good for people to have freedom like that. But some of the ships
are leaving before I want them to, and I have zero control over them.
And soon a certain metaphorical blur may enter into my view, whenever she
decides to make herself known again. I'll find out just why she was gone
and then understand how easy it will be to make her that way for good.
So really, I'm not bugged. I'm just waiting for the window cleaner to come
back into town.
&&**&&**&&**
the truth is, i get really sentimental when i've been up through the night
and into the morning. anything that might have any sort of stupid
significance gets magnified eighty times to me. i start feeling really bad
when i kill insects, etcetera. so my whole revelation i've had about
seeing everything clearly now and how i've had great conversations and
developed connections could just be blurry-eyed early morning hogwash. or
it could be fact.
never do anything very significant after being up for more than 15 hours. i
haven't been yet, so i still have some dose of sanity. ahah. but if
you've been up for 16 or 17 hours, don't break up with your girlfriend or
decide to be a professional glass blower. sleep on it. if you get a good
rest and feel the same way in the morning, then maybe it's right. but you
might have a clearer head at the start of the day. everything begins fresh
and just gets rotten as the day burns down. at the end of your day blow
the ashes away, and let everything regenerate. making a decision in those
ashes means that they stay. they spread to anything relating to the
decision you made.
god i get weird when i'm tired. sorry.
byebye, faithful flodis fertilizer.
ÕÕª .-.
»ÕÕÕº ª »ÕÕÕÕº Õª ÕÕÕÕÕÕÕª | | this was an
Õª ÕÕ | | honestly bad
»ÕÕÕº ÕÕÕÕÕ | | time-waster
»ÕÕÕÕÕÕÕº | | email-box
ÕÕÕÕÕª ÕÕª »»» | | filler
»º »ÕÕÕÕÕº »»ÕÕºÕº »ÕÕÕÕ»Õº »ÕÕº »»ÕÕÕÕÕÕÕº | | from
.----------------------------------------------------------| | trilobyte
`----------------------------------------------------------`-'
flodis / flowers of disruption #13 / 01.08.99 / trilobyte@hoe.nu
tell your friends to wipe a futon with flodis
