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That's a wrap.

From Pathetic Life #1
Wednesday, June 29, 1994

After a boring day at work, I came home and started proofreading and editing the month of June. I'll type a few more paragraphs, hit the 'print' button, and then the typewriter will type by itself, taking about two minutes per page. While it clacks, I'll make some sandwich spread sandwiches on white bread and watch In Living Color. 

♦ ♦ ♦

And that's a wrap. Pathetic Life #1 has come to its pathetic conclusion. 

Tomorrow morning I'll sneak into work early, and run off twenty copies, but that's optimistic. I don't have any idea who'd read any of this. There's no-one on the mailing list except the publishers of a few zines I like, and of course, Factsheet 5, the big zine that reviews little zines. If F5 gives Pathetic Life a good review, someone somewhere might send for a copy. 

I'd thought about mailing a copy to Margaret, but now that she and I seem to be finished, that would be mean, wouldn't it? I'm not mean to people that I like.

♦ ♦ ♦

Whether this zine is a hit or a flop, I've already decided that there will be second issue. Expect more monotony just like the first issue, because c'est la vie (such is life).

It's a bore, but it's my bore and I'm happy with it. And anyway, writing about it helps deaden the dullness, and gives me something to do besides endless old movies and masturbation. Maybe the zine is another, less sticky way to masturbate.

If you want to see Pathetic Life #2, send $3 or the usual to the address below, and get your head examined.

♦ ♦ ♦

Addendum, 30 years later: As filler for half a page at the back of the zine, I listed twenty upcoming movies off the calendars from the local repertory cinemas, from A Woman Under the Influence at the Red Victorian on 7/10/1994, to Drunken Master and Drunken Master II at the UC Theater on 9/8/1994. 

And under my list of movies, here's a paragraph I'd forgotten entirely:

I'll probably go to most of these movies, and you're invited too, so long as you don't eat all my popcorn, and don't talk after the lights go down. If you'd rather dine in splendor, meet me at the Sincere Cafe, on 16th Street near Valencia. Call for reservations, or just show up and look for the fat ugly white guy picking his nose.

The address was a drop box I'd rented to handle zine-related mail, and after the address, my telephone number. Wow. I hadn't remembered being that open, or that desperate.

In 1994, I was not only photocopying my diary and mailing it to strangers, I was inviting people I didn't know to meet me for a meal or a movie — or call me, any time.

If you're wondering, that offer has expired.


This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

 

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