PreviousIndexNext
========================================================================
Date: Sun, 2 Aug 1992 20:31:26 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: changing for shame & you must take the stick
Notice: Due to the piddling job of attacking the controversial title
of what some are now calling my 'opus' (short for old puss?), an attack,
I might add (and do), if indeed it may even be called such, which was
instantly put down by one half-baked ill-advised & logically fractured
post on my part. For shame! And now we are drifting down into polite
labelling and divisiveness, calling oneself a 'foreigner' or jumping up
and down for no reason but to jump. Personally I don't know how you
can be a 'foreigner' on this list. Well, anyway (zonzuza) as I were saying,
due, in part, to the utter lack of sustained attack against what is
certainly considered by many to imply offense, I feel forced to force the
issue by issuing this proclamation, that said book, formerly now known as
-gookcity- will hereby by authorial decree--to which you must trust, sinceyou
have no choice, that, indeed, it is I, GR4302, who have authored this littlesl
eeze, and, indeed, this post--be now title and henceforth known inperpetuity
as "A0-KeyDuckyCity," and when you think about it this new title means the
same thing. References to 'gook' within part one (only) should also be
likewise adjusted, as well as the subtitle of part one. The reference was
originally--I swear--only to garbage can slime (non-androidal) and vaguely
to the Spacerats episode of Blake 7, though many, I'm sure, will swear I
planned this all along....untrue! This is--indeed, I swear--a rill actual
bow the political correctcness in case I ever have to run for the
Presidency of Mexico. If you prefer I will also accept "DogRibsCity"
"SlimeyCity" or "ChickenBackNeckCity". But please henceforth in posts
refer NOT to this work by its original title. I'm ashamed of myself and
ashamed of you for not being ashamed of me. I know just last week I begged
you not to criticize, but I didn't think you'd rilly take that seriously.
Sirius, after all, is flying high, and by all definition that trulymatters--at
least in this post--we are indeed under the dog days....woooo wooo wooowoooo
:^##
========================================================================
Date: Sat, 1 Aug 1992 20:28:44 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Juniper Sage <CHEATING@SBCCVM.BITNET>
Subject: Re: 30 MIN. BRONCBUSTER
In-Reply-To: Message of Wed,
29 Jul 1992 09:15:00 -05 from <DICKENS>
On Wed, 29 Jul 1992 09:15:00 -05 Merciful Lee Dickens said:
> "With a couple of his men, Reub herded the mustang into the corner
>of a smaller corral and then squeezed him against the fence with a
>strong gate. Thirty minutes later, the tamed pinto was following Reub
>around the corral like a pet puppy."
I remember when this happened. It was an impulsive move on Reub's
part, dangerous as the engine had not yet been stripped and the guages
had not yet been greased. The transformation into a hatchback took
the longest; the Mustang did not wish to lose its more aerodynamic
clip in spite of the roomier feel which would result. Also, the section
you've cited is somewhat misleading; Pintos often act that way as a
peculiar result of the location of the gas tank _behind_ the rear axle.
========================================================================
Date: Sun, 2 Aug 1992 23:30:37 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
Comments: Warning -- original Sender: tag was H.UNIATZ
From: queue cue <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: Reports of [...] demise
Further along in her coptic policing efforts, we might find made available:
A FALSE M
The crumpled-up weed pack stuck in the rug
Margin
I am not here today, am meadowless
A cellophane not to loosen
Tenuous connections brought upon the reef
The numbers of your name, valiantly
Vacantly, the mouse and its whole fear
Of miniscule arrows
What is not her is of her
Today in her margin, her debt
The whole visible whatever it is inaudible
As surrounding
The plate on which I heat the words
Worrying that the figure or owl
This leads everywhere and nowhere
Impacted in the back
Is there entrance
Every latch edge of her a kindle
Each word an exit for the dream
--if'n that's where she's led. Hello, m'dear; how's the factory
cherish image resolution fair? Strum strata, like the bitter
renunciation I've detected, from the stumbles lodged in protest
in Costa Mesa, CA, in rubbled Orange County, just coming out of
Cleveland, riring up on my heals to find: Noise Noise Noise, with
a disarray of musical embellishments. I try my hand and her patience
once again: "I've got two sweets and you've got defeat" for her
Foggy Mountain Breakdown and cry (she wanted a much younger Armenian
but settled for an Armani-vested and vestitured cretin) -- or,
East, out of my habitual domeain beneath an Erica (S)heath, shorn
at its highest juncture: out into Maggie Valley which must look
lovely this time of year; shame 'bout the reputation working to
full effect. Blue Ridge boys, LIBALP, are kind enough critters
who can be counted on to answer questions about the poles' orient
and won't even chew gum while doing so. Yes, thanks, JS, for
relaying the message about Ohio. But "Fnir vg sbe Z"? Far too
harsh, she's my creme du jour et des ans, barring no holds
restrictions. I've "minded" everything you've said, m'dear,
and would even become a benedict to my Country to become
benedictated to by you, to whatever you apostated, in the dream of
your conjuggling blissters applied to my pyroclastically lacerated
neck. All for [rutabega], [jellyfish], even ... then, this:
Newsgroups: bit.listserv.literary
Subject: %% Undelivered Mail %%
Message-ID: <LITERARY%92073104571199@UCF1VM.BITNET>
Date: 31 Jul 92 09:55:00 GMT
Sender: "Discussions about Literature" <LITERARY@UCF1VM.BITNET>
Lines: 165
Comments: Gated by NETNEWS@AUVM.AMERICAN.EDU
X-Delivery-Notice: SMTP MAIL FROM does not correspond to sender.
Comments: To: LITERARY <LITERARY@UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU>
Your mail was not delivered as follows:
%MAIL-E-SENDERR, error sending to user H.UNIATZ
-MAIL-E-OPENOUT, error opening !AS as output
-RMS-E-CRE, ACP file create failed
-SYSTEM-F-EXDISKQUOTA, disk quota exceeded
%MAIL-E-SENDERR, error sending to user H.UNIATZ
-MAIL-E-OPENOUT, error opening !AS as output
-RMS-E-CRE, ACP file create failed
-SYSTEM-F-EXDISKQUOTA, disk quota exceeded
Your original mail header and message follow.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%br>Via: UK.AC.NSFNET-RELAY; Fri, 31 Jul 92 9:55 GMT
Received: from UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU by sun3.nsfnet-relay.ac.uk with InternetSMTP
id <sg.11364-0@sun3.nsfnet-relay.ac.uk>;
Fri, 31 Jul 1992 09:52:06 +0100
Received: from UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU by ucf1vm.cc.ucf.edu (IBM VM SMTP V2R2)
with BSMTP id 3856; Fri, 31 Jul 92 04:46:41 EST
Received: from UCF1VM.BITNET by UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU (Mailer R2.08) with BSMTP
id 0422; Fri, 31 Jul 92 04:46:39 EST
Date: Fri, 31 Jul 1992 09:47:00 GMT
Reply-To: Discussions about Literature <LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm>
Original-Sender: Discussions about Literature<LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm>
Subject: %% Undelivered Mail %%
Comments: To: LITERARY <LITERARY@UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU>
To: Multiple recipients of list LITERARY <LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm>
Sender: LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm
Your mail was not delivered as follows:
%MAIL-E-SENDERR, error sending to user H.UNIATZ
-MAIL-E-OPENOUT, error opening !AS as output
-RMS-E-CRE, ACP file create failed
-SYSTEM-F-EXDISKQUOTA, disk quota exceeded
%MAIL-E-SENDERR, error sending to user H.UNIATZ
-MAIL-E-OPENOUT, error opening !AS as output
-RMS-E-CRE, ACP file create failed
-SYSTEM-F-EXDISKQUOTA, disk quota exceeded
Your original mail header and message follow.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%br>Via: UK.AC.NSFNET-RELAY; Fri, 31 Jul 92 9:47 GMT
Received: from UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU by sun3.nsfnet-relay.ac.uk with InternetSMTP
id <sg.11137-0@sun3.nsfnet-relay.ac.uk>;
Fri, 31 Jul 1992 09:45:38 +0100
Received: from UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU by ucf1vm.cc.ucf.edu (IBM VM SMTP V2R2)
with BSMTP id 3843; Fri, 31 Jul 92 04:42:22 EST
Received: from UCF1VM.BITNET by UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU (Mailer R2.08) with BSMTP
id 0360; Fri, 31 Jul 92 04:42:21 EST
Date: Fri, 31 Jul 1992 09:41:00 GMT
Reply-To: Discussions about Literature <LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm>
Original-Sender: Discussions about Literature<LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm>
From: Mail_System@UK.AC.EAST-ANGLIA.CPC865
Subject: %% Undelivered Mail %%
Comments: To: LITERARY <LITERARY@UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU>
To: Multiple recipients of list LITERARY <LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm>
Sender: LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm
Your mail was not delivered as follows:
%MAIL-E-SENDERR, error sending to user H.UNIATZ
-MAIL-E-OPENOUT, error opening !AS as output
-RMS-E-CRE, ACP file create failed
-SYSTEM-F-EXDISKQUOTA, disk quota exceeded
%MAIL-E-SENDERR, error sending to user H.UNIATZ
-MAIL-E-OPENOUT, error opening !AS as output
-RMS-E-CRE, ACP file create failed
-SYSTEM-F-EXDISKQUOTA, disk quota exceeded
Your original mail header and message follow.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%br>Received: from UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU by ucf1vm.cc.ucf.edu (IBM VM SMTP V2R2)
with BSMTP id 3830; Fri, 31 Jul 92 04:37:41 EST
Received: from UCF1VM.BITNET by UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU (Mailer R2.08) with BSMTP
id 0287; Fri, 31 Jul 92 04:37:39 EST
Date: Fri, 31 Jul 1992 09:37:00 GMT
Reply-To: Discussions about Literature <LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm>
Original-Sender: Discussions about Literature<LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm>
Subject: %% Undelivered Mail %%
Comments: To: LITERARY <LITERARY@UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU>
To: Multiple recipients of list LITERARY <LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm>
Sender: LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm
Your mail was not delivered as follows:
%MAIL-E-SENDERR, error sending to user H.UNIATZ
-MAIL-E-OPENOUT, error opening !AS as output
-RMS-E-CRE, ACP file create failed
-SYSTEM-F-EXDISKQUOTA, disk quota exceeded
%MAIL-E-SENDERR, error sending to user H.UNIATZ
-MAIL-E-OPENOUT, error opening !AS as output
-RMS-E-CRE, ACP file create failed
-SYSTEM-F-EXDISKQUOTA, disk quota exceeded
Your original mail header and message follow.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%br>Via: UK.AC.NSFNET-RELAY; Fri, 31 Jul 92 9:36 GMT
Received: from UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU by sun3.nsfnet-relay.ac.uk with InternetSMTP
id <sg.10815-0@sun3.nsfnet-relay.ac.uk>;
Fri, 31 Jul 1992 09:35:43 +0100
Received: from UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU by ucf1vm.cc.ucf.edu (IBM VM SMTP V2R2)
with BSMTP id 3808; Fri, 31 Jul 92 04:29:48 EST
Received: from UCF1VM.BITNET by UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU (Mailer R2.08) with BSMTP
id 0163; Fri, 31 Jul 92 04:29:43 EST
Date: Fri, 31 Jul 1992 04:29:31 -0500
Reply-To: Discussions about Literature <LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm>
Original-Sender: Discussions about Literature<LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm>
From: LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm
To: Multiple recipients of list LITERARY <LITERARY@edu.ucf.cc.ucf1vm>
>From LITERARY Fri Jul 31 02:29:13 0500 1992 remote fromucf1vm.cc.ucf.edu
Received: from ucf1vm.cc.ucf.edu by atss.calstatela.edu; Fri, 31 Jul 199200:25
PDT
Received: from UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU by ucf1vm.cc.ucf.edu (IBM VM SMTP V2R2)
with BSMTP id 3743; Fri, 31 Jul 92 02:29:32 EST
Received: from UCF1VM.BITNET by UCF1VM.CC.UCF.EDU (Mailer R2.08) with BSMTPid
9901; Fri, 31 Jul 92 02:29:25 EST
Date: Fri, 31 Jul 1992 02:29:13 -0500
Reply-To: "Discussions about Literature"<LITERARY@ucf1vm.cc.ucf.edu>
Sender: "Discussions about Literature"<LITERARY@ucf1vm.cc.ucf.edu>
From: ucf1vm.cc.ucf.edu!LITERARY
To: ucf1vm.cc.ucf.edu!LITERARY (Multiple recipients of list LITERARY)
Content-Type: text
Content-Length: 1038
Date: Thu, 30 Jul 1992 21:22:27 -0900
Sender: "Discussions about Literature"<LITERARY@ucf1vm.cc.ucf.edu>
Someone please help me. One of my posts showed up on the list over ten times
here. Something is really wrong. And the headers
get longer and longer and longer.....
List operators help!
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%br>End of returned mail
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%br>End of returned mail
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%br>End of returned mail
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%br>End of returned mail
... at first I laughed until my eyes protruded, Carl Stalling-like,
thinking, coup!, she's a genius even when she wishes to remain the
shadow jones average of my oscillating stock. But, then, a brief
reflection, and a pause; should I worry? Should this be a sign that
something is befalling the troops, that LIBCIRC should have been
heeded? You can but be assured that St. George'll have nothing on
me if I find I need to set sails, raise the red flag, raize the
Enemy fortress, and come a-wassailing all who might ill-gateway
themselves find.
Darling?
M, who will be pleased to fill in the details as the need proscripts
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 4 Aug 1992 00:07:18 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: Ned Cordwine's Basement
yeah how you like it they say you somethin you aint?
like a bit o' brain killin lead in the master's red paint
shit! you and i could be bouts any old shit i guess
you be a wart on a pigs left one and i'll be tha wrinkle in yo' dress
hats! hats's whats we need and lots of 'em
count me out for this round and stick my boots in the oven
heh heh what? & what? & what? a piece o' good high ?
wooop there goes pie! wooop there goes pie in the sky!
pie in the high fly sky blue wonder
heh heh play it out in one kind or 'nother
;^##
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 4 Aug 1992 00:36:26 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
i am old, i am old
i will shove this pencil up your nose
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 4 Aug 1992 11:26:00 AST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: J_DUCHESNE@
Subject: Cloud Nine Originals
WHO IS:
i) an extremely complex and delicately poised chemical structure; ii) for
the occasions in the intersticial "empty" space a complex objective da-
tum ived from this complex strucunder normal "responsive"
treatment, devoidf originality, the complex detail reduced phy-
sical simplicity by negative prehensions; iv) this detail preserved for
positive feeling by the emotional and purposive readjustments produced
by originality of conceptual feeling (appetition); v) the physical dis-
tortion of the field, leading to instability of the structure; vi) the
structure accpting repair by food from the environment.
Cloud Nine (from A..)
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 4 Aug 1992 11:37:00 AST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: J_DUCHESNE@
Subject: Do not read Cloud Nine Originals
Cloud Nine Original was mutilated by A... Do not pay attention to it
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 4 Aug 1992 11:04:00 -05
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: HELP I'M STUCK IN THIS FAT!
So anyway I'm in this dream, right? And it's kind of like I KNOW I'm
dreaming, but I'm still like rilly rilly affected by the events, you
know and very disturbed by the whole thing? So anyway the cab pulls
over - oh yeah, I'm in this cab - and everything is like real grey and
rainy and there's this guy. He has on like this raincoat kind of
thing, one of those trenchcoat kind of things? Well, this is SO weird!
Because like it's my Dad? And I go like I'm Sure: Daaaaaaad, what are
you DOING here? You know you're not supposed to ever come into my
roooooom! And he goes Sandy, wake up, this is NOT your room and I like
look around? It's like I wake up only I'm really still dreaming? And
I go My God and then I realize like I'm on this weird computer party
line kind of thing and I can see my words as I'm saying them on this
cheap monitor screen and I look down and I see my hands only they're
not MY hands and they're like the hands of this middle-aged fat hippie
pervert and I go My God because I notice he's like getting this growing
bulge right THERE in his trousers? Ugh! Gross! And the worst part is
now I'm stuck here and I can't get out.
OH YEAH AND I'M NOT WEARING A BRA!
You've been a great audience!
Thank you and Good night!
Felonious J. Cubensis
Machiavellian Villain
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 3 Aug 1992 22:30:38 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
Comments: Warning -- original Sender: tag was H.UNIATZ
From: queue cue <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: Re: Reports of [...] demise
The Roinn Oideachais, unable any longer to stomach the company of
A.M. Ward, struck out on self's own and, while Ward dismembered his
beloved in the subtle ties of dream-laden slumber, the Roinn crept
out of the castle, heading towards the village as that, self felt,
would be the best place to gather some needed background information
on who this Ward character was, besides a fanatic collector of
magazines of colo(u)r photography, whether these were fashion plates,
West End pamphlets, West Indies travelogues, glossy tabloids with
features on the plastic surgery of celebrities, fanzines of horror
cinematography, illustrated gardening assists, vehicle promotions,
or even, Roinn had observed, that particularly vile form of
pornography that Roinn remembered (Section LIX) was never to become
the property of the proper knight. Roinn had been dutiful in
whatever tasks Ward had assigned, carrying them through with the
vim and vigor which had enabled self to pass the chivalry grade with
the highest scores in the history of the academy, in spite of, and
perhaps owing in part to, Ward's reluctance to indicate any degree
of appreciation, or even acknowledgement, of Roinn's diligence.
Self once again pondered briefly a career change, knowing that this
mild form of escapism was a slight infringement of the Rules of
Order, but one to which self enjoyed allowing self to fall prey, an
indication that whatever else Roinn was, Roinn wasn't excessively
rigid.
The Roinn Oideachais had hoped to pass unnoticed out of the castle
gates, which, considering the almost absent castle guard, should
have been a far too simple task, which would have tipped off Roinn
immediately that self would thus not succeed if self had a streak
of cynicism; however, that was also not avowed and indeed would
prevent one from passing as high as Roinn already had, so self was
taken somewhat by surprise when self was accosted by what was
quite clearly a police detective, or a detective of some sort, in
an ill-fitting disguise; Roinn credited self with keen powers of
observation, never thinking that perhaps the detective wished to
be recognized as such and not as a cypress tree. Appearances can
be deceiving; this, unfortunately, was an omission from the
handbook, so Roinn took the opportunity to sidle over in a
clandestine saunter that wasn't next to the ill-disguised
detective and mutter conspiratorially "The plum dog hums in a
facecious manner from the John Phillip Sousa songbook at midday",
feeling that that was the proper way to greet one in radar-evading
mode. Inside of his ill-disguise, the detective rolled his eyes
as derisively as he could, which was immediately followed by a
pang of regret that he would be the only one to appreciate such
a marvelous and distinctive facial contortion, other than the
readers of this passage, who can at best imagine how fully emotive
it was, as this seemed to be the standard means of introduction
for anyone suspecting themselves being recruted into an imbroglio
of whatever film noir fantasy they allowed themselves; the
detective made a mental note to himself, as he had several times
before, to try and find what the source was for that peculiar and
annoying line of dialogue. Briefly, the detective wondered to
what degree this imbecile would be able to help, and wondered also
if it wouldn't have been better to keep with the Boy Scout. Still,
he had gotten the knight's attention, which was enough for right
now, and with a slight bending of one of his branches, indicated
the presence of a post office tower which had been prematurely
discarded several meters away midst some leaves and bones; then,
as the Roinn Oideachais turned to appropriate self's new found
treasure (which, it must be admitted, self did not have the
most remote idea how to use), the detective made a slight
adjustment in his floral arrangement so that, when Roinn turned
again, self was standing, so it appeared, alone in a moderate
grove that gave way to a dense thicket. Appearances can be
deceiving, but as, as noted, this was not a rule familiar to self,
the Roinn continued merrily on self's effervescent way.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 4 Aug 1992 17:43:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: strangler <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: application for a set of details and one (1) stick of Ohiorock
Oops, I hoped you had not seen that. It was, you see, that I
was doing Something Terribly Devious which momentarily used up
a considerable amount of filespace at precisely the same time
as LITERARY was having a fit, with the evident result. Sorry.
No, you should not worry; such minor mishaps seem to seek me out
and infiltrate time better spent lounging against walls in
poseured expectancy or in search of viper pits (as dragons might
be stretching your credulity) into which to consider casting self
to bring a shelter a-wassailing hither in Damsel Fabricates
Distress To Lure Knight tabloidiom. I may have already mentioned
this in passing, but H. ["where he is, I'm lost in his abundance, //
And when he leaves me I know nothing more, // Than that he was
divine"] M: that, m'dear, was a misquote; I'm telling you now so
that you cannot reprimand me should you chance to cop it, and, for
the slow reader or the width of a t-shirt, it condenses to
H. [wryylsvfu] M. No, "Fnir vg sbe Z" was neither harsh nor
objectionable: I [gncvbpn] JS as much as he allows me to, what's
left over is displaced onto M in play me one damn Foggy x2 Dew
Breakdown and cry "darling are you loathsome tonight" blackened-
sail-hoisting tactics in check on your continued virtual breathing,
adjuring your wellbeing at wherever as per the cremator toujours et
des ans requirements. And, about the po-eM, I'm deeply aroused by
your ability to run linear-in-parallel whilst fettered to me; a mite
tinny, perhaps, but there's always ear training, as some kind soul
once suggested to me ...and O how I do adore you. Go raibh very
maith agat.
H.
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 4 Aug 1992 21:30:39 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
Comments: Warning -- original Sender: tag was H.UNIATZ
From: queue cue <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: Re: Reports of [...] demise
In-Reply-To: <TEST%92080412473473@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
>Oops, I hoped you had not seen that. It was, you see, that I
>was doing Something Terribly Devious which momentarily used up
>a considerable amount of filespace at precisely the same time
>as LITERARY was having a fit, with the evident result. Sorry.
No need to apologize; qu'est-ce que c'est? Pardon, but this
parlor game has built enough speed as to make me hunch over so
as to leave only that chitin law journalman (Jack a toi) exposed
to the impending doom. My admirroration goes out to yr restraint
though: I'd have excorsixed in a minute anything I'd have delved
up -- or is this the barren fruit of a cockroach-trained mind,
the pudding-taste that, yes, the tollbooth has upped the ante and
Hope's a Four-Letter Word (get LIBALP to play me them blues)? I
could ask, as insinuated and incinerated in "some kind soul once
suggested" livre-living tactics. Still, even if I recoil in a
mixture of [jellyfish] and pain, it probably was well worth it
for the expressions of agonized decreptitude in on those poor,
poor LITERARY claimants ("yr honor, she's up to nogood, any shmo
can see that, she'd be my first wife if had only jumped out of my
skin at the chance, and to the point whoyagonnavotefer? Wrong
answer chum no peers could be so low as not to be higher and thus
all decisions de facto inter alia rubbish, thrown out in the glee
of happenstance") who, McGuff-Bono or no, suffer no wrongs as
well as they insist are thrust upon them. But tantamount, m'dear
m'dear m'dear, to rescindication for the summer plays: low output
assails the lie-group and yr not not well? Gladly would I:
>No, you should not worry; such minor mishaps seem to seek me out
>and infiltrate time better spent lounging against walls in
>poseured expectancy or in search of viper pits (as dragons might
>be stretching your credulity) into which to consider casting self
>to bring a shelter a-wassailing hither in Damsel Fabricates
>Distress To Lure Knight tabloidiom.
... which is the risk taken, an albanishment as arm's length and
yet songsmiths still accord me dues and afford me dues and the
application may take time to process. Suffice: West Virginia
scab signs sighing scat to mongrel roles: welcome? who's got time
for welcome? and up from Charleston to Parkersburg in what is,
simply, the Last Place, in that grandiocese infulating means that
Spanish Lock-Jaw Syndrome (which must've claimed DAF (who isn't a
turnip, I mean, rilly, PLABIL) demonstrates no medalliance upon
the alighted wings (sorry 'bout the Irish Angling Team; maybe
when y'all join the LIBowery Boys for the Rise Up & Be Counted
Tho' You'll Lose Money, youbetchumredrider, in 4) when, settling
in a slow dim hover, one can stand on a final, recreated mound
and gazingly approve for what else is there to do upon the W.V.
Moundsville Correctional Center. Smiling my bestest anti-
terrorist smile ("no, I don't have any interest in this building
except that AAA said the Rosetta Stone was found here ("Come one!
Come all! Truth in adverteasing!) and I brought this nifty time-
lapses-but-for-Eastman's-clamp-&-vice"), I board the plane with
a feeling of fealty. The chancery's gone wrong again.
> I may have already mentioned
>this in passing, but H. ["where he is, I'm lost in his abundance, //
>And when he leaves me I know nothing more, // Than that he was
>divine"] M: that, m'dear, was a misquote; I'm telling you now so
>that you cannot reprimand me should you chance to cop it, and, for
>the slow reader or the width of a t-shirt, it condenses to
>H. [wryylsvfu] M.
I'm a distant sum, and am unable to find it, so why not let me
believe the whole world's but a stooge, and ours, at that? Thank
the Lord for the Nighttime, says Neil Diamond. And that's ...
okay.
> No, "Fnir vg sbe Z" was neither harsh nor
>objectionable: I [gncvbpn] JS as much as he allows me to, what's
>left over is displaced onto M in play me one damn Foggy x2 Dew
>Breakdown and cry "darling are you loathsome tonight" blackened-
>sail-hoisting tactics in check on your continued virtual breathing,
>adjuring your wellbeing at wherever as per the cremator toujours et
>des ans requirements.
Next: "ain't there a man who can feign amore"; shall I rewrite all
the wrongs into a new bleating yet not quite sane lad? Or does the
de adjure move onto a rock'n'roll Hitler, a Wan Pale Earl to order
up some clemency notes for/from? Et des ans. Remember, Something
Terribly Devious may requite a shelter ... or dismantlepiece one.
> And, about the po-eM, I'm deeply aroused by
>your ability to run linear-in-parallel whilst fettered to me; a mite
>tinny, perhaps, but there's always ear training, as some kind soul
>once suggested to me ...and O how I do adore you. Go raibh very
>maith agat.
Very, very maith en retours. You've no idea. But, lest I've enough
credit to open my own New po-eM shop, I'll disclaim it as my own and
note that I did not misquote a bit, thereby reveling my true calling
and time: I should've been a monk, scribbling the notes of the very
nearly dead onto parchment which'll never keep.
>H.
M.
========================================================================
Date: Wed, 5 Aug 1992 10:22:28 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: it goes splat!
Well I recognize a familiar pattern. After long last I believe its back--
well we'll see if dear H and Cheat keep it up, hah? And to M. Felonious:
You're illegality is sweet to me. Please excrete more of your inestimable
blue-green electronic juices. As I've said before: we may be ants, but
giants shall ride on our e-shoulders, e-kingdoms and e-nations shall bee-born!
Once again no-one seems to care doodly-squat what I do to my e-book (hah!mine
in name only!), even changing the goldern title, which used to be soanathema
as to ensure nasty e-tongue wagging from the peanut gallery and theso-called
observer faction (piss on you). So, what am I to do, hah? OK: The e-book
is now called "CHOOKCITY" or "DOGRIBSCITY" as the only other acceptable
alternative. You all are shits and probably live in New York yourselves.
See how long you'll have to wait for part three if you won't play with me.
It is my puppy and I can invent oblique rules that include you not beingprivy
to them, but you could at least TRY to be cooperative. And I haven't even
finished part two (still "Some Kind of Record"). Oh well, part three IS the
Sci-Fi part.... what's it called I forget... let me check the othermachine...
"Underground" (of course). Oh well suckers, see you in six weeks or less.
I hate all of you except the ones I love more than you hate me, believe it!
;^##
========================================================================
Date: Wed, 5 Aug 1992 20:30:40 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
Comments: Warning -- original Sender: tag was H760@
From: queue cue <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: Re: urgent
In-Reply-To: <FNORD-L%92080511543123@UBVM.CC.BUFFALO.EDU>
> Wanted: One (1) VIPER PIT. Must be of convincing
> appearance, easily transportable, with no more than
> one previous owner. 1950s open-top model with all
> accessories preferred. Price no object; will pay
> any sum modulo five (5) (in shillings). Rental
> also considered. Replies to H.UNIATZ asap.
Yours for the keeping: a construe: am I to be uprouted on my
ways and means for the sake of (gen. case) raibh which a tacit
tactic tricked me into accepting as My Own (despot the tendency
I'd relished to do so, with a torpor stance quemely awed in
hurricane rushes (green-grown))? A wary worded stigma, caveat
emperor jones: don't affix yrself without Houdini clause to
a vituperative viper cloist: I'll dash off but the velocity
isn't to be distendencied in harbo(u)rings -- it might just take
hours to arrive, measuring cup in hand (oops), at the voided
Damsell-out angled lure (Hope the heat isn't too much, try the
Meditateranean if done in) to Sing: You'd Better Still Have
Life to Feel. Yet facultied extendencies have "poseured
expectancy" unrepelling and rappling a good Sir mercilessly:
def: one whose Fulgent Mail bespeaks theatric exhibernating
tenterhooks that make ya wanna snap yr fingers, clap yr hands,
and dance dance dance (unapproved var.)! Or not. Modulo in
the orchestra-&-mosh pit at half the pricecaked fare-thee-well,
and one needn't fret as to the availability of Trixie-kins to
provide sustainance prior to yrself. My credulcimer hammers
don't doubt the clean form of the dragon-hunting mode (is this
yr event? might Eire expect the Gold?), so you, in all good
grace, need not usher in the Sun but might just, oh, table-
twist that the shelter, lean-to such that it is, might have an
in turnabout a firmament to filament. Yours for the keeping.
And yet, and yet ... I detect a wave washing the latest leavened
breed away, as DAF cites new ventures that must girdle their
departed cities, sites of last sight: [name withheld]-L; Plabil
as well. GR4302 taunts a beaconing cry of withheld interest for
sake of greater decrying upheld high, not guessing to ponder
that at least one of the faithful might be a completest, not
wishing to venture forth as the clock works its way stop-action
style. My psychoses jig a frenzy: STACAT-L, admission post-
paid, admittance for non-funebrial types, but for DAF. A world
that is good. A world that is large. A world just a few
spaces over from this one and apt to wheeze the breath. And of
course McGuff-Bono is there chantillacing. Lovely in its whim-
trace, there, on the palms of my hands.
One last, I must go, Rachmaninov has had a dearth of days
preluding to a curiosity of left over weeding efforts, preSaged
by scrimskulleries: M ire in habituation of CPC865? Point
Blank: How many citizens do you incorporate under an annex
banner? Harrington well enduced non est, "mind sieving for
dimes and donut-holes" (Torus! Torus! Torus!), and I'd bet Eyre
Square on it: I've never been had better in my life. No
remorse, no complaint, just the water-tread et des ans.
M (...the journey takes one hour... anyway you add it.)
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 6 Aug 1992 11:05:14 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: continued adventures
"Necessity is the polecate of all battles!" growled the rat, seeming to
read her mind and rolling up on the balls of his feet with a glare.
"Take that!" she yelled, landing the kick with accuracy. "Now you'll
know what a scar looks like!"
"Revenge comes in several shades of viccisitude, change you'll regret..."
was the last squeaking noise she heard as he scurried down the hole and
out of sight.
;^##
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 6 Aug 1992 16:43:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: strangler <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Re: urgent
***** For Sale: One (1) VIPER PIT: unused, deemed superfluous *****
[To the reader: please insert "Darling." randomly throughout text]
As I was saying,
>Comments: Warning -- original Sender: tag was H.UNIATZ
won't do: you&I are going to have to sit down and have ourselves a
little conversation about calumny and deceit, during the discourse of
which I shall contemplaintively regard a carving knife while you vow
to mend your mendacious waylays. But, "no remorse, no complaints",
it's a different and wider trance, don't lykewake me yet, I wish to
see how it ends, so...
Delved too deep in grappling with Things Terribly Devious that work
in theory but fragment in practice, I took a break to rampart a
hail of imparted placenames by consulting the united cartographical
states, which, if memory serves, lie between fishless pictorial
representations of the atlantic and the pacific oceans; see here,
this dot, that's LIBALP, making guitars from empty cartons and
elastic bands; all together now: "hiiiiiii, Arthur", and a salute
to DAF, who seems to know what's to know about basketball as well as
everything else. And, now, you find me reading for enshrouded
perspectives, wondering if it is now or ever was a tuesday, and I
bewilder how you find time to do it all, and it all, and all of it
all. For yr curiosity shop: yes, Dr Haggard habituates cpc865 in
remote-login when email is s-l-o-w, and, Point Blank, I'm the only
citizen I can offer as enslaved stooge to yr world under the annex
banner, immeasurabling you better kept and had through liaisons et
les ans as I span the usual hierarchy of cheating-l and stacat-l
while positing an oncoming bus with a learner driver, and I'd bet
the Eyre Square you've just lost to me that that same driver is a
scion of the cheating network, as I have not yet found proof that
there is anything which is not. I'm castle-keeping yr soul till
you choose to reclaim it; undone with it I cannot have, anathema
as recovery from my lean-to-me sheltered Lapse. Scared I was and
am, being the pauseforeffect ... COWARD that you weren't, but to hell
with that, forget the viper pit, j'adoube + j'attends: whitesugar,
brownsugar ("oops", smile, et des ans)? Sing: I'd never felt better
in your life back then, and yet, and yet ... better becomes better
still in this unbestable interest, and I do.
H. (set cheating-l mine mine mine)
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 6 Aug 1992 13:30:00 -05
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: Reply to Re: urgent
To the reader: please insert "Darling." randomly throughout text
H. (set cheating-l mine mine mine)
*** FERMENTED MUNG BEAN GAS FROM ACROSS THE DEEP BLUE SEA:
H.,
you silver-tongued devil,
what is it you're trying to say?
Spit it out!
For Christ's sake, man!
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 6 Aug 1992 19:30:41 LCL
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
Comments: <Parser> E: Original tag was -> FROM:cheating@ccvm.sunysb.edu (Dktr. Subtilis (ego vamp -) )
From: Undetermined origin c/o Postmaster<POSTMASTER@SBCCVM.BITNET>
Subject: Re: Recidivism Made Easier
The Roinn Oideachais made it all the way to the village, 100%
captivated by the strange object which the make-believe tree
had given self, before self realized that, with the new day,
self needed to be shriven. It was a painful task, one of which
Roinn was not particularly fond, but it was one of the dictates
that no self-respecting knight (which Roinn was, though never
to excess) could ignore. Thus, Roinn altered self's plans
(once again proving, self thought admirably, that self was not
rigid) upon arriving in the village and looked for a shop that
might do shrivings, so to speak, but the village was very poor
and very undeveloped, with not even the swamps drained yet, so
to speak, and so Roinn soon discovered that no one had the
slightest idea what self was talking about. This happened to
self on great occasion, which enabled Roinn to suppress the
temptation to wield the strange object in self's hand to full
effect, whatever that would be, on the unsuspecting populace,
in which self would have to include self (Roinn reflected
wearily that next time self should consider asking trees which
bear gifts to indicate precisely what self is supposed to do
with them beyond the appreciation which Roinn was beyond
reproach in showing, unlike that pasty chap, Ward); thus, Roinn
calmly (and, mind you, m'dear reader, without calumny or
carving knife) entered a shop which bore the title "The
Wretched Time Keepers" which Roinn had not remembered from when
self had been there earlier, to make the necessary inquiries.
One brief moment after registering that it was indeed one of a
growing number of Domesday Curiosity Shops, possibly a
franchise in a chain, with a number of marvelous gift items for
those perched on the abyss, all types of entertaining gadgets
with which to while away the dwindling moments on this forsaken
planet, soon to be engulfed in any possibility of destruction,
without taking one's mind too far away from the costly
inevitable -- computer games that were patently unwinnable,
flashing "GAME OVER, TRY AGAIN?" within two (2) minutes of
start-up; maps of lost civilizations, indicating all the places
of their final traces, and, in some instances (the Mayan had
received some sort of hono(u)r in recognition of a fine, fine
job), detailing with a time line the slow (sometimes quick)
reduction in numbers; fictions which make only the most meagre
attempts to fill a genre while emphasizing through the actions
and thoughts of the characters the cruel fate shared by all
(Roinn noticed the presence of P.D. James amid the authors ...
odd, thought self), and plenty of other glass-cased valuables
such as bumper stickers, sports caps, toiletries, and cartons
of cigarettes -- Roinn, the sly knight, was jumped. Something
heavy came down on the back of self's helm, and Roinn, pausing
for effect, slumped noisily to the floor of the establishment,
an embarrassing and provocative position for any self-
respecting knight (which Roinn was, though not to excess) to
find one's self in.
When the Roinn Oideachais came to self's senses, self half-
expected, out of the daze of pain and discomfort from the lump
on self's skull, the dry parch of self's throat, and, not least
of all, from the fact that self's right foot had gone to sleep,
to see Ward watching intently from over the corner of the large
blood-stained desk (upon the manner of how such came to be that
way Roinn only now reflected) as if trying to see if Roinn
might be on the verge of doing something terribly un-knightly,
such as drool; instead, Roinn's eyes went wide and self began
to make frightened little noises from behind the gag (which,
Roinn thought in relief, would have absorbed any un-knightly
moisture) and move jerkily trying to loosen the very well-
fastened ropes that kept Roinn bound to a chair which Roinn did
not feel to be the most comfortable self's kidnappers could
have chosen as a recognition of what stood, smiling, if it
could be called that, across the brightly lit room from self.
Slowly, with labo(u)red difficulty, the Cockroach began to speak.
Meanwhile, our hero apologized vigorously to the vicar who he
had somehow mistaken himself for, thinking that, if such an
error happened again, he might have to end his involvement in
such a tale with a leap that would make the boy scout's pet
frog envious. The vicar, for his part, looked confused still
at exactly why he was still alive. Suddenly, the vicar dropped
the copy of "How to Obtain Correct Timetables from British Air
& Rail" onto the plush carpet which had caused a tremor of
static electricity to give him an even more theatrical look,
and cried, "Blast! I've missed my bus, I just know it!", and
stormed out, leaving our hero to determine precisely what could
be done to maintain some sense of cohesion out of the rain-
splattered pavement, the grey trenchcoat giving the only degree
of color to the surroundings as our hero slouched his way home.
Acrimoniously,
M.
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 7 Aug 1992 15:32:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: strangler <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Re: our Hero headless
If Roinn had not been crushingly contradicted with such a marked
frequency as to make self reluctant to venture any home-grown
views, self would have opined that the object currently assailing
self's eardrums was no further removed than second cousin to a
speaking cockroach, and one of remarkable size at that. Self
reminded self that self, being a knight of the upper echelons, did
not understand the concepts of fear and discomfort, and, controlling
self's trembling by pretending that self was a dandelion in a dying
breeze, self took note of the words of the insect, mentally
castigating self for self's failure to attend the Boy Scout Refresher
Course in Latin as self realised that self could only guess wildly
at what "cantat sic nupta" was and that self's phonetic spelling of
"bus upholstery company" did not conform to the Knightly Shorthand
Standard. As self's uneven handwriting covered the pages, self
realised the import of the words which were being imparted to self,
and looked up just in time to see the cockroach attempting another
facial expression which just might have been a smile as it vanished.
Roinn found self filled with strength which enabled him to break the
ropes which bound self, and also with inner calm, which seemed to
self a considerably more useless commodity, but self had been taught
to conceal self's derision, so self duly settled self's expression
into one indicative of his supposed internal state (self was quite
proud of self for these touches of cynicism), read once over self's
notes, consumed them without seasoning, and strode purposefully from
the castle. In the light of what self had just heard, self could
seek out and destroy Ward with none of the misgivings which had so
dented self's valour in the past.
Ward had been feeling a trifle overexposed lately (and not a little
miffed at being referred to as a "pasty chap"), and his request not
to appear in the current instalment was granted. Compromise was
reached on the one secondhand reference to him.
Moving slowly in the midday sun, the plum dog came up the road, ambling
along in time to the twittering of the birds and humming at intervals
from the John Phillip Sousa songbook which it carried. Encountering
Roinn along the way, it paused to admire the pluminess of its
reflection in the knight's shining armour, resolving to purchase some
oil of evening primrose to enhance the sheen of its fur, though
mindful of what had befallen its Great-Uncle George while testing
quack remedies. It was at this moment that Roinn remembered self's
new toy. Self drew it from under self's breastplate and fiddled with
the various switches and knobs until self found the trigger, at which
point a bullet, being faster than light, was not seen to glance off
of Roinn's mail and through the [heart] of the dog, which proceeded
to lie twitching slightly, still without very much in the way of
sheen, on the hot road-surface. Blinking rapidly to self, Roinn
realised that what self carried was in fact one of the new post
office towers of which self had been instructed in the Knightly
Academy. "Yeeeeeeeehaaaw", self said to self in merry anticipation
as self resolved to shoot up the villagers; recidivism, self thought,
had never been easier.
Our hero, [heart]ily sick of disguises, bundled up those accessories
which made him akin to vicar, cypress tree, and cockroach, and
donned again the grey trenchcoat which was the only garment he
really felt sufficiently unlike himself in. The vampyre had told
him to be home by six LCL, but he was already late and had lost some
parentheses in the line of duty. He prepared himself for the
inevitable recriminations, composing excuses as he wearily went on
his way.
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 7 Aug 1992 14:58:00 -05
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: Reply to Re: our Hero headles
LAVENDER:
Stupid Boy!
Recidivism is for civilians only!
Or so she said.
MANNERING
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 7 Aug 1992 18:30:42 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "Parentheses to the Right of Them, Parentheses to the Left..."<CHEATING@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: Harrangueton Hext, What Will You Do Next?
> Sing: I'd never felt better
>in your life back then, and yet, and yet ... better becomes better
>still in this unbestable interest, and I do.
Then, you don't mind if I might just? It'd have to be DAF's brand
of goldenbrownsugar, that which he'd sworn off except when dancing
and prancing and what have you for it's ELECTION YEAR and they're all
starting to sound alike. Scared? Lethe-lykewise, I'd not noticed,
but dolefully I'll nod, with only the Smile to gainsay a gentle breeze
to play on yr fine, fine mendicantations. The remote-in-the-good-
Dktr's-eye-login I'd've guessed; I simply wish to know m'dearly which
edema-treads-lightly, clearly stamped. Prosit, pal, this sample of
delirium: Lapse a little closer, and all will not be necessarily a
fine and well-attended Eyre Square display be, through government or
scion intervening. Yr eyes have it, at any price.
M.
PreviousIndexNext