From: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org (eda-thoughts-digest) To: eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Subject: eda-thoughts-digest V3 #206 Reply-To: eda-thoughts@smoe.org Sender: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Errors-To: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Precedence: bulk eda-thoughts-digest Monday, May 22 2000 Volume 03 : Number 206 * If you ever wish to unsubscribe, send an email to * eda-thoughts-digest-request@smoe.org with ONLY * the word unsubscribe in the body of the email * . * PLEASE :) when you reply to this digest to send a post TO the list, * change the subject to reflect what your post is about. A subject * of Re: eda-thoughts-digest V3 #xxx or the like gives readers no clue * as to what your message is about. Today's Subjects: ----------------- ET: red [Naomi ] ET: Good Bye Letter to the World(poem) ["Seth D. Fulmer" ] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Sun, 21 May 2000 11:29:12 -0700 (PDT) From: Naomi Subject: ET: red i am what i hate. after last year, the smallest loss of control w/ my mother, containment and lack of freedom surrounded by children w/ her order hanging above my head, it shoots quick and straight to my gut. and this fire starts. i feel rage. he is leaving for time, and i am here, told i will do what she says when she says it. he is leaving and i am here. he took my couch, and he has the remote - red fills me. they are sick and crying and miserable and she says she didn't sleep last night and she needs me to help her. red. i need you to help me clean her room, she says. and i am staying home. i am staying here, and i cannot leave her presence. red, blazing red. just let him have his time out of the house, she says. and i hate. it makes me want to cry angry tears and scream at this loss of control, at this captivity. my mind goes mad at it. my blood boils, and sanity flees. and i hate. in this moment i have never hated anyone, but i hate her. and i want to cry and i want to yell and i want everyone to know how desperate i am. and then i see : i am what i hate. ===== "What is Desire? Desire is... complicated. One person always wants the other person more." -VS __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Send instant messages & get email alerts with Yahoo! Messenger. http://im.yahoo.com/ ------------------------------ Date: Sun, 21 May 2000 16:31:45 -0400 From: "Seth D. Fulmer" Subject: ET: Good Bye Letter to the World(poem) Ok peoples, I went home for the weekend. It was alright I guess until Sunday afternoon(today)..well the whole day wasn't that good. Anyhow, like I feel like crap so like any comments are fine but I won't change so please don't try to tell me what to do :Þ Anyhow, like here's the poem I just wrote now and afterwards is a poem I wrote a while ago so you know what this "Hitler's blade" is all about. If you don't want my poems, well you don't have to worry about that anymore. Take care and Bye bye. -Seth ============================================ Good Bye Letter to the World by Seth D. Fulmer 5-21-00 This is the sort of letter one gives to a bunch of friends when they're going away and never ever coming back I know you're a bunch of idiots The rest of the world not you IQs similar to that of grapefruit But try to understand this I hate the world I live in the people within it too I want to go somewhere else I don't care just away from here I'm ready to just do it take that last fine step into the chasm I look down to called hell, or the final abyss Satan, he really welcomes me and with open arms I swear He'll send me helpers so I don't mess up For that I bless him dear That blade which previously owned by Hitler; Does it glisten on my bookshelf?! I think I'll go over and pick it up and strike myself down in hatred I do love the way people treat me though when I'm feeling like this A homeless man approached to beg from me and walked away quite rapidly Ok, so I sign this letter now, I kiss it and sign it with blood Go on now, and go get laid and leave me the F* alone ============================================ Hitler's Blade by Seth D. Fulmer 5-08-00 I massage the long blade in the grip of my hands It bears on its hilt a schwasticke and a saying that's in french It says Par le diable Je te tue mon ami It's a demonic little instrument using the devil's power to kill Lately in my life, people have been far from kind I'm ignored like I'm inferior and I'm in the way all the time I wish I could die give them a dream come true I won't ever be around them except in spirit as a ghost I look at the blade and I see my demise The Devil speaks to me quietly Seth you know you want to do it The mirror before me is cracked from the party The party my roommates had without even thinking to ask me I see all the beer bottles scattered about the room Taking a sweep with the blade all the glass is then vaporized A rat comes out exploring from the wall seeing a piece of pizza half eaten on the floor I point the blade towards him and saying "Die!" makes him history. I don't deserve all of this stuff all the torture, pain, and betrayal Every day I jump through hoops only to end up with a hangover This time will be the last I hope a higher life exists after death This blade can help me get there with no more pain or crying either ------------------------------ Date: Sun, 21 May 2000 17:10:14 -0400 From: Annie Subject: ET: No purchase necessary. I figured it's been a while, sooooo...here's some shtuff. There is no escaping prayers of you. Only the time-honored tradition of making porcelain out of everything-- so willing to shatter. And with your words fleeing your mind like blood, what can be assumed save that you see yourself a Queen, a decadence carved of living stone. My hands undo the stalagtite, sticky and livid-- my hands that are erosion. With the yawning of the cave's tumbling and fumbling mouth, I behold innocence sanctified. . . . . . I abhor the nightmare, not the dame. I feel for the rook, but not for the game. Bone china, bone china, splinters in my tongue. Ich, ich, ich, the blood issuing forth as a river flying toward a crimson sunset. And I can hardly talk, my tongue sticking like barb wire. Forgive the cruelty in my eyes- but what you say is no surprise. You see? Ignorance is not bliss, after all. So I hold my palms out to you, like a Christ unto his men. What do you see? Would you take hold of me? If I can do the bleeding, will you neglect your despair? . . . . . The appeal is not merely in the swaying of hips or the careless, merciless smile. It is in the ambiguity, the coy manner in which I label everything. Prodigal son, killer, kleptomaniac and pathological liar- I have humanity down to a finely chiseled art. But the mystery comes when I can no longer read eyes. And the mystery is what drives me on. Yearning to unwrap it like a sweetly scented candy, melting on my tongue, I strip and strip away. What lies behind the false? Where do the half-truths end and the privacy so shy begin? Child, can you even comprehend me? I like to think I am too far gone for your understanding. And I, like any lonely sunrise, feel a need for compassion. Yet I see I will get none from you and your kind. I am the cat that walks alone. All the king's horses and all the king's men Dare not attempt to put me together again. Eyes tilting daintily earthward and hands moving gracelessly skyward, I step, tip-toe, through the briars and primrose. Thorny, cheerful. A sickening combination. Beautiful and cruel. And yet this twist is not new! What makes me different? How am I a sparrow among eyeless fish? I am a siren! I am the one that got away! No rope, no buckle, no chain to drag like shackles through mud. Clairvoyent and misconstrued. My humanity amid my inhumanity, my opposing faces and my self-contradictions- this is how I keep. I can only keep until the sun sets. Then I am a loosed hellcat. No dark can simulate the absence of a night. Thank God. Do I maim your curiosity? Yes? Maybe for just a moment or two. Fine with me, mon cherie. Adieu, adieu. Like an inexplicable death I'll wait for you. . . . . . Who dares speak of me, to use me as a pawn? A thousand pardons, the gnashing of teeth and the outrage of illbred blood. What is said is true enough-I loathe the blasphemous Lucifer, the pretender, the would-be Lord of the Night. I cannot tolerate him! He would steal all that is mine by bloodbirth. The beauty frozen, in cold storage, and not for his eyes. And he basks in his manor, his cage of angel-whores to do his bidding. I can see him in a bed of satin-lined mahoganey. And I want to feel the snapping of his petrified neck in my hands. Girl, witch, bastard, seraphim-whatever you may be-come to me. Come, and know as I know. Know the nights of terror, of the metapmorhposis. As I would lie awake, spilling my gut. And all the turmoil of being born to eternity, the anguish of slaughtering relentlessly, and not having the courage to let myself die in the name of the purity of life. A small sacrifice for humanity. And then-ah, the realization! I see them now as rats in the street-carriers of plague of the mind and soul, teeming with disaster and striving for imperfection. The sin! And I realized that my duty was not to fret, to panic. My duty is as the scythe, a purity harvest in the name of the reaper. And who would believe it? Not I, for so very long, indeterminable time. But now I now better. Satan spawn, maybe-but they are no better. So bring me your impoverished, bring me your raven. I think I may yet be able to love. I believe I may yet have compassion for you, who see as I see. And I have it out for Pandora, the mad one. She has loosed her box of cravings, and I snap and snarl at them like a rabid moon. Out of the shadows I stride in the bleak night, blood in between my teeth and licking it clean-smiling like a glutted god, an inegnue saint. Yes, my dears? How may I serve you? You call, and I come, a willing assasin. More than willing. With alacrity I understand the importance of this mission. Nocturnal and waning by day, by night I am a hollow prophet, a Lazarus among the yew trees and the birch, who shed their skin like serpents. . . . . . ------------------------------ End of eda-thoughts-digest V3 #206 **********************************