[--------------------------------------------------------------------------] ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #644 `888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8 888 888 888 888 888 "Seemingly Random" 888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 888 888 888 888 888 " by: RottenZ 888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 5/17/99 o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] It was a complicated expression of love, lust, and passion; equally sprayed on all the walls of the public bathroom. It made Theo want to vomit. In fact, it did make him vomit, on the left wall, thus completely obliterating the delicate equilibrium previously created in careful, broad strokes. Theo never did like art. It began that day as it began every day, a seemingly random bookend to another controlled moment in existence. The concept of Art, in the broadest sense, sickened him always, but it was punctuated by his breakfast, a carefully metered creation of egg and toast, making its own Art, something that the surrealists would have been proud of if they hadn't been killed during the war. He felt suffocated, so much so that he failed to breath properly, and he did what was natural. Such a long bout with madness for such a short life, it was quite the delicate crime. Order or Entropy, it didn't matter. Nothing did, except for the complex and seemingly ingrained illusion of Art that bled into every aspect of a modern life. Bled like a vein, wrested open by a sort of forced attrition, a demand that the world that engulfed him be adorned by the subtle patterns of Art. It surrounded him and he found, even in the most mundane, the roots of the sublime. The sublime caused, within his stomach, such pain that he guessed one of these days he might die of shock. Divine Inspiration was akin to the war. 22 million incomprehensible expressions, their art sprayed across the ruins of Europe. Theo saw it everywhere; in the contours of the box of Wheaties. In the tops of Elmer's Glue. In the day-glow architecture of the new theme-restaurant that had sprung up overnight in his neighborhood. A casual throwback to genius, that kind of genius that stabbed at his heart. Theo saw it here, three colors, red, blue, green. Surrounding the bathroom, carefully ordered, delicate balance. Like an onion, layer on layer. So he puked on it, and moved along. Just like every other day. Seemingly random actions, themselves accidental bouts of creation. [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] [ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #644 - WRITTEN BY: ROTTENZ - 5/17/99 ]