My ears are plugged with foam rubber to blot out the screams — so many screams coming in through my window, like a nightmare in daylight.
From Pathetic Life #8
Sunday, January 29, 1995
It’s only football, though. I’m not watching the Super Bowl, of course — no TV, and no interest — but the mobs of cheering sports fans reach right through the ether and slap me in the ears, over and over. Hoots and hollers and honking horns burst through the glass, from neighbors in this building and the building across the alley, and from too many bars on this block.
Judging from the volume, I’d guess the 49ers are way ahead.
♦ ♦ ♦
It’s a little after five in the afternoon as I’m typing this, and I’ve spent the day going through the mail, and writing a few letters. Yeah, I do occasionally write letters back to people. It’s a mighty rare moment though, so don’t get your hopes up. Keep those cards and letters coming, I love ‘em all — even the hate mail — but don’t expect a reply.
There’s lots more love and like mail than hate mail, so what follows is not a random sample. The angry letters are just more interesting, that’s all.
We’ll start with mystery mail from Don Stevens, CPCU, of Escondido, California. No, I don’t know what CPCU stands for, but Mr Stevens sent an envelope which contained:
• a two-page photocopied article from the Escondido Council for Self-Esteem (?)
• four pages from a book on the Shroud of Turin
• a newspaper’s review of the book A History of God: The 4,000 Year Quest of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, by Karen Armstrong
• and ten 32¢ stamps.
There wasn’t a note in the package, and only the stamps made sense. 10 x 32¢ = $3.20, two dimes more than the asking price for this zine, so presumably he wanted a copy. I was feeling like a stinker, though, or maybe my powers of telepathy were flickering, but instead of sending the zine I used a few of the stamps to pay for my envelope and my annoyance, and sent everything he’d sent back to him — without a note, same as his package for me.
That was a week ago. In today’s mail, Don responded with:
• a copy of something about true love being based on your date of birth
• a photocopied letter to an astronaut (“Dear astronaut,”)
• a couple of pages from a book called Please Understand Me
• and this time, an actual note from Don Stevens, CPCU:
Hey, Pathetic. Thanks for all the great material, especially the stamps.
—Futility Enterprises
OK, Don. We battled, but you won fair and square. A copy of my zine is in the mail to you.
—DH
— — —
Killed a couple of hours of my own pathetic life reading your issue 5…
Yes, the [British] government does indeed tell us which books and zines we can read and receive. EISOC, Everyone Is Doing Outrageous Sex, being the latest one to be seized and destroyed by Customs and Excise. Get this: They send you a letter saying they’re going to destroy what they’ve confiscated, unless you object. And if you object? They prosecute you! Hey, democracy; I love it too…
—Bruce at Bypass zine
— — —
Your zine is funny, and I could even tolerate your sort of hateful attitude, but your attacks on other zines makes me wonder. It’s almost like you think you can build up your own zine by ripping apart other people’s zines…
—Anne Alvarez
Anyone who thinks my zine is awful gets no argument from me. I’m puzzled when anyone pays for it, and amazed when someone pays a second time — as you did, Anne. But my habit of calling shit shit in the zine reviews certainly isn’t zine envy, or any other complicated psychological canard.
I write rotten reviews of zines I think are rotten. Simple as that. And I don’t even know what reviews pissed you off — looking over the past few issues, most of my reviews seem favorable to me. Maybe they seem brutal because what most zines call “zine reviews” are just a series of puffy pats on the back for their zine buddies. My reviews are my honest opinions, and in my opinion, not every zine ever published is worth reading. If you disagree, think I’ve been overly harsh with a particular zine, send for that zine — I dare you.
—DH
— — —
Thank you for the sample issue you sent so promptly. I enjoyed most of it but I’m offended by your ‘review’ of a movie [December 18] wherein you gloated over the deaths of several Drug Enforcement Agency officers. You said you have “a right to smoke, snort, or inject” anything you want? I’ve heard people say legalize marijuana, but are you really for legalizing everything? That’s lunacy.
Whatever you are for or against can’t be more important than the lives of innocent men and women doing their job, enforcing the law. Like it or not our elected representatives have decided that certain drugs are illegal. I strongly doubt the wisdom of legalizing drugs, especially hard drugs, but if you disagree you should work within the system to have those laws changed, but to “enthusiastically clap” when policemen are shot and killed is un-American and sick…
—Phil O’Conner
Those were fictional cops, Phil. Nobody sane mourns the death of fictional cops. But sure, let’s do this:
I am generally a good citizen — haven’t killed anyone, don’t do much shoplifting, etc — but on my shelf is a small quantity of marijuana. I don’t imbibe very often but it’s nice to know it’s there if I’m bored on the weekend, and I torched up while reading your letter. Why that should bother you, or President Clinton, why anyone on Earth but me should give a damn, I dunno.
So you’re right, I support the legalization of drugs, but no, I’m not working within the system to have the laws changed. The system’s sole purpose is to grind dissent to nothingness, so I prefer keeping my distance from the beast.
DEA narcs have a job to do, yes. Their job is to find me, arrest me, and incarcerate me, so I can rot in prison and be raped daily for the rest of my life. That’s their sworn duty, the career they’ve chosen, and they’re not my heroes. What they do for a living is deny people their life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness, but I’m un-American for opposing that? Bite me.
—DH
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.
Addendum, here and now: The final score of Super Bowl MCMXCV was San Francisco 49, San Diego 26. Yay.
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