=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= MaxDaemonChildren ----------------- My lips are dry for want of kissing. You see, he lives far away. He has a girlfriend. His life is one of content, all is orderly and rearranged for maximum psychological stability. He has a stable job. He cut his hair. He is cleanshaven now. Not like when we met. I will never forget it. I was 16, fucked up, scarred. I didn't eat enough. I was in a psych ward, on the levels system, President of the freaks. I was IQ tested and put in the same track as him. So we met 'in school'. "Why?" That was it. One question. One word that spoke a thousand. His eyes were haunted perfection. He stood, too thin, with hands shoved into pockets, shoulders slumped, large loose sweater over tye dye. His eyes burned into mine, and I knew that if I lied, he would know. One second. That was all it took, and I knew that we were kindred. He hummed Jane's Addiction as he typed furiously at a computer with the monitor switched off. His dark hair covered one eye and touched his shoulders rebelliously. His arms were scar covered from razors and bowls. His skin was pale, his face unshaven. I loved him. "I thought you were lying through your teeth." We were in group, a tough one with a scary leader. This is what he told me his first impression of me was. He was right. He was honest. And he just didn't fucking care how angry he made me. I have been searching for him in the shadows of other men ever since. We're friends now. He tells me about work and his girlfriend. He takes anti-depressants. We write hurried e-mail on lunch breaks. There will always be a part of me, a tiny part of my soul, that will be devoted to him. And somehow, I know, that I will never find his equal, that he was my one chance, and that it will be impossible to find another soul whose poetry is the same as my own. We met at the wrong time. You want the truth? Fine. Here it is. Don't let go. When someone can speak to your soul, reach you in the dark places, smile at you when the flames are rushing over you, and laugh when the sun is on your face, don't let go. It's all in the eyes. When you know what I mean, then it is right, and you shouldn't give up on it. Ever. Palpable Obscure "no one, not even the rain, has such small hands." =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions = = Mail: jericho@dimensional.com (Mail is welcomed) = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = To receive new issues through mail, mail jericho@dimensional.com with = = "subscribe fuck". If you do not have FTP access and would like back = = issues, send a list of any missing issues and they will be mailed. = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = Files through AnonFTP FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK = = FTP.SEKURITY.ORG/pub/zines/fucked.up.college.kids = = FTP.PRISM.NET/pub/users/mercuri/zines/fuck = = FTP.WINTERNET.COM/users/craigb/fuck = = FTP.GIGA.OR.AT/pub/hackers/zines/FUCK = = FTP.ETEXT.ORG/pub/Zines/FUCK = = Files through WWW: http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho = = http://www.prism.net/zineworld/fuck/ = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=