Freaks Macintosh Archive/Freaks Macintosh Archive.bin/Freaks Macintosh Archives/Textfiles/zines/Midnight-Raid/midnight raid 8_app_640x480.sit/tmr 8 small.rsrc/TEXT_2900_18 Why I Went Vegan.txt

Text File | 2000-01-09 | 9KB | 132 lines

eightteen                @         18        @                eightteen
                         @ Why I Went Vegan  @
uhm.....                 @   Eror type 11    @                   dIE@#$


 Pretend you’re watching this on TV, it plays out in a disjointed
amalgamation of narration, effects, and action. He begins with brief dialog and
moves into his rambling recitation.
 “Heh!”
 This type of thing is fun, but sometimes it’s hard to take these kids
seriously. As my friends reorganize the strike, a problem at hand, I let my mind
 wander a bit.
  Open your eyes and see all the love in me! I got enough forever! Don’t be
afraid, to take all you need from me, and we’ll be strong together ooooaaaaah!
And we’ll be strong together!  And we’ll be strong together! Open your eyes and
see all the love in me! I got enough forever! Don’t be afraid, to take all you
need from me, and we’ll be strong together!
 “Heh.” I say to no one but myself, this time with even less enthusiasm. We
move out as the little happy hardcore ravers in my head dance around and hug
each other. I’ve never seen anyone outside of boy scouts prepare so much for
something, and after all that they manage to find imperfections in their plan.
 “That light’s bright man.” Paranoia sets in on the group :P
 “Should we take it out?”
 “Yeah.”
 It’s funny how stressed out they can get over little things. I thought we
were gonna have to split up in a mad panic and regroup at the rendezvous after
such an unexpected obstacle. We should have just broken it last night. It’s sort
of ridiculous, this whole deal. They all say it’s about animal rights and the
next movement and all that. I don’t know though. There aren’t many people I’ve
met that are more adamant about anything, so I give them respect for that I
guess. The compassion aspect is legit; that’s real. They care and all, but it
comes down to self sacrifice and accepting the fact that you really can’t go out
to eat with everyone else anymore. Like them, you just have to care I guess. I
have my own reasons--not that I don’t care altogether.
 I don’t really know how any of these other kids think, or why they do what
they do. It’s definitely got something to do with growing up in the suburbs,
looking for something to do, trying to figure out why the hell you hate it here
so much.
 Once you get past all the obvious reasons that you’re unhappy, and actualy
start thinking, you realize that you’re just sick of the same thing all the
time. You’re not any better than all the pathetic people that dwindle theirs
lives away here. You’re bored, and you’re whinny. That’s it kid. No matter who
you are, someone is more needy, someone always has it worse.
 Deep down it’s hard to tell if any of them care about what they’re doing.
It depends on what you know. These things are always in the world, and a lot of
it really is cruel. It’s only when you’re put face to face with them that you
start to get into it and let it bother you. For most of them, they had to take a
step on their own to get to that point, you have to do extra to get yourself angry.
The first time they saw a leaflet they thought it was cool. Some of them wanted
to make a difference, to do something, it didn’t really matter what. They never
really even thought about it that way before, and that moment had a big impact
on their thinking. I don’t know all the other things they thought. At first, I
wanted to fight for the cause, to be part of it all, but now I know that just I
wanted an excuse to do stuff like I saw Christian Slater do on television. I
wanted to be like the Duke’s of Hazard and drive around fast, and once in a
while throw a molotov cocktail and all.
  Back when fire crackers still really kicked ass, the long summer days
didn’t leave too much to do in a constructive sense. We were too old for day
camp, go away camp only lasted for so long, and that was only for who could
afford it. Sports suck, that rules them out. Sailing is fun, but you had to go
every day--Screw that. There were all kinds of community sponsored/related
programs for kids our age, but nah. Thus, there was nothing to do. Jumping the
back fence at the pool and harassing the life guards only entertained a young
mind for so long. The guards at the beach looked better anyway. They didn’t have
anything to do either, so they let us hang out with them. When we weren’t
staring at the girl lifeguards, we built things out of sand (usually girl
lifeguards), climbed on rocks, and threw stones into the water.
 But even hot 19 year olds in swimming suits willing to talk to sixth graders
with brand new skateboards could get boring. So inside we went. Television does
indeed have no boundaries. Whatever time of day there is always something on TV.
Never let fools who say otherwise lead you down the wrong path. They will end
their lives bitter, broken, and alone.
 We learned many things in those days. Sex came easy. What with MTV, HBO, and
PBS, we had it all figured out. Already educated by analog television sets and
TV Week; we would endure the coming school days by staring blankly at the board
until our attention returned, and commence to throw things at each other. To the
principal’s office and beyond.
 Someone got America Online, and the compiled files of the anarchist cookbook
became our definitive guide to everything. All I wanted to do was make it smoke,
but the alcohol lamp that came with my chemistry set exploded when I filled it
with the insides of a pack of morning glories. A few months later, Brett’s hand
came apart while he was stuffing strike anywhere matches into a CO2 cartridge
with a screwdriver. That ended that.
 With The Rescue, Red Dawn, and Toy Soldiers, I set out on the rest of my
life. By way of this and that I further developed my interests and beliefs.
There’s no room in life for killing, things don’t make you happy, no one is
perfect, and you and me are just like everyone else. But when all is said and
done, wtf am I supposed to do with myself? What to do? What to  do?
 This is where I stop elaborating on my past, and answer that question. What
to do?
 We slowly crawl along the alley way. Our shoes make faint crunching sounds
on the concrete. We emerge partially into the light, dark shapes silhouetted
against the wall. Brian is first, he raises the slingshot and sights the target
through the eye holes in his ski mask. He releases and his ball bearing
penetrates the thick glass housing and the lamp goes out with a shower of
sparks. The shatter of glass and the peace of the city broken by a thousand
sounds all at once as the engine of the escape car parked on the opposite side
comes to life and the loud slapping of our frantic sprinting feet echo off the
buildings. We surge into the street, a torrent of angst, adrenaline and
misplaced purpose. Tony, bounding fiercely at his target, puts a brick through
the window of the shop. My heart thumping and hands trembling, I flick the
cigarette lighter open and light the rag.
 As he extends his arm past his head, preparing to throw the bottle,  a loud
stereophonic swhooshing (the sound of flames moving through the air) drowns out
everything else as the picture speed goes into slow motion. All action halts
abrubpty when his wrist snaps back and his chest protrudes forward in
equilibrium. In small white letters, the following appears:
 “March 11, 1999 02:23 A.M. Highland Park, Illinois: Adriana Furs”
 There is a short pause. The action resumes in slow motion with the same
swhooshing. Imediately before the moment that he will release the bottle it
freezes. In large white letters, the follwoing appears:
 “WHY I WENT VEGAN”
 There is another pause and the action resumes at normal speed.
 I break out laughing and let the fire bomb fly through the window of the fur
store. There is a barely audible sound of breaking glass before it is
overwhelmed by the flooding rush of gasoline in ignition as the entire street is
illuminated by the flames. I can see the gum spots on the sidewalk and the
clothes on display in the windows across the street. I can’t stop laughing as I
jerk my head each way. Brian is first to the car. He struggles excitedly with
the door handle and takes the passenger seat. Tony transfers the milk container
of gasoline to his throwing hand, awkwardly performs a leaping spin for
momentum, and lets it sail. At Brian’s shouts, I stop gawking like a little kid
and jump into the car. Tony’s container meets the ground well inside, breaking
open and the small blaze beginning to consume the shop nearly doubles. The
flames reach the out from the window onto the front of the building.
 Tony leaps into the car next to me in the back seat. We’re already speeding
away as I reach over his legs to close the door. My friends have serious, if
excited indignance on their faces, like they just saved the world and all. I
can’t stop laughing. I’m not laughing at them, I know you have to live for
something.
 It’s just the fun and everything makes me laugh.
 “Heh.” I say, slouching down comfortably when I finally stop laughing.