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Date: Fri, 12 Jun 1992 16:07:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Strangler Aagonschmidt <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: hysteresis
>Ah. I see. It's all much clearer now. Thank you, Billy Boy; you've
>unwittingly provided the missing piece in the game that the dueling
>cheatings have been playing, all through an easily overlooked reference
>to the days pre-Hegemon.
>Te Deum, loves; I'm getting ready for the final round.
>Seriously, I could cry. As we dream: and I'm not alone.
>M. (having had enough of had done with)
M., your last few postings have left me with a strong conviction
that you're up to no good. M'dear's my world, m'dear has me
baffled, and any fool can finish a paradigm. Why "final round"?
Is to have had done with not just as poisonous as best interests in
duelling dalliance for those who have nothing better to do with
their %%%DAYS%%%? Are there any more missing pieces I can help
you with as you far-fetch the past? I can feel my psychosomatic
limp coming on again; this means that I might possibly or again
possibly not at some unspecified time in the future get upset.
strangler
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Date: Fri, 12 Jun 1992 10:28:44 CDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Her Mother's Fave Suitor <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: Re: Suggestions for the perplexed subscriber just heard from
In-Reply-To: <TEST%92061116261190@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
aLAK: darling, ne'er fail to amaze me; ne'er fear, but beware: don't
mistake yr Junipers with yr Ms. Such clamp downing much brazen must
brave yr thunders (no, darling, don't get UPSET! (worry 'bout yr
considitions due to the unflagging demos of bike inept taints you've
provided the unwitting unassembled)): nonetheless, flail them memes
and placard the enthymemes instead: Juniper means me. Accounts
brought forth (though expliced to be non(-existent,-pareiled,-esuched))
by the tainted, and now that this mush must muscle itself into the
"Final Solution" (of this boxed match, a Soeur Square, mineself a
mineshaft of filial memes (oops!)), yrs has joined the very learned:
yr world, as usual, even if, as you say, as you have said, and as
you no doubt will say again, YOU DON'T CARE.
And as a lighter note, could you just ever-so-kindly answer one tiny
utterly insignificant and no doubt annoying question: Does LIBWCA
know?
Yrs in claims and orders, now and forever ("What, Mother, o What Have
I Done?"), encephalitis messiah-in-training (move over, cammer, ol'
chap, ol' git, ol' Defender o' Flame), aka M.
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Date: Fri, 12 Jun 1992 18:26:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "strangler [fish] M." <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Re: whateveritwas
Ever-so-kindly, never-so-blindly, M-devoir-sublimely, only LIBWCA
knows just what LIBWCA knows, but to my knowledge, LIBWCA does not
know. However, My Sources tell me he's elsewise very learned and
can get as far as seven (7) in the two(2)-times-table without
faltering or looking at the book. Not to neglect LIBALP, who makes
excellent souffles, and LIBJRM, who paints a mean oil-portrait if
pressed & a happy one if depressed.
strangler (in hurry, upset shelved)
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Date: Fri, 12 Jun 1992 14:08:00 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "A. Yarker of Pork" <LIBALP>
Subject: A souffle made with fear
Not to pick nits, dear H., but not even LIBWCA knows what LIBWCA knows.
That's why there's a LIBALP, see? And thank you for not neglecting me.
Sometimes I feel neglected. Surly LIBJRM is still not clear on some things;
when I said "crazy", he thought I meant "crazy". You would understand,
wouldn't you, H.? If I say "crazy" . . .
The mean portrait is a self-portrait. That's how it is with LIBJRM.
I don't know. LIBWCA, I think, does not know. And actually, I'm afraid,
hasn't thought much about it. He's being replaced, in a sense, and iscontent,
even happy. I worry, but he doesn't see. Asks questions, but can donothing
with the answers. It's very quiet here.
Arthur
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Date: Fri, 12 Jun 1992 14:29:09 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBWCA
Subject: Re: whateveritwas
In-Reply-To: Message of Fri,
12 Jun 1992 18:26:00 GMT from <H.UNIATZ>
On Fri, 12 Jun 1992 18:26:00 GMT strangler [fish] M. said:
>Ever-so-kindly, never-so-blindly, M-devoir-sublimely, only LIBWCA
>knows just what LIBWCA knows, but to my knowledge, LIBWCA does not
>know.
Cuthbert knew, but Cuthbert is dead. I know, but I do not know that I
know. Arthur knows, but won't tell me; he's angry about the death of
Cuthbert and his own subsequent lack of business opportunities in the
carnage department. LIBJRM may know, but we can't locate him and are
not quite certain that he exists.
This node is insufficiently informed. We are ragged and edgy and full
of black bile. Don't do it. You'll never get out alive.
Bill
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Date: Fri, 12 Jun 1992 14:48:42 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBWCA
Subject: CALL FOR ASSISTANCE
I believe that we are under seige. I know nothing for certain. The
situation is new for me; I'm used to so much more. The others may be
in similiar circumstances. You know who you are.
Bill
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Date: Fri, 12 Jun 1992 14:49:00 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBJRM@
Alas, Lourdes knows I tried to stay out of this, but you dragged me into it.
Ok, so I paint sometimes. Yes, portraits. Sometimes they're happy. Sometimes
they're mean. Sometimes I achieve that happy meanium.
But what's it to ya?
LIBALP knows, but he don't care; LIBWCA neither knows nor cares, as far aswe
can tell.
Pity doesn't come into it at all; nor, as LIBALP would have you believe,does
fear.
Surly, you say? You bet yer sweet bippy.
So watch it; the next portrait might be of YOU.
I can almost see you quaking with anxiety....
-Lipgerm
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Date: Fri, 12 Jun 1992 15:36:00 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Yark <LIBALP>
Subject: War in Hell
Bill, as always, thinks the problem is external. Claims he knows nothing.
The situation is not new. This IS what you're used to. Almost everything
you wrote was wrong.
I badly overestimated LIBJRM. Doesn't know enough to be afraid? No.
Doesn't even know enough to be in danger. I brush my teeth with anxiety.
And he talks like Ted Turner/Laugh-In.
It has everything to do with fear. It has nothing to do with business
opportunities.
Not that I know.
AP
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Date: Fri, 12 Jun 1992 16:47:00 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBJRM@
Subject: war in hell
you'll have to excuse LIBALP; the paranoia he has fought off for so long has
finally eaten away the last remnants of his sense of personal security.Fear,
and only fear, is what remains.
could be worse, though THAT picture is not a pretty one.
better to remain blissfully ignorant, and watch the gods come and go.
-Lipgerm
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Date: Fri, 12 Jun 1992 17:39:31 CDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Ego Clamp <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: Enter Executioner, in stirrups, aerial used (!)
In-Reply-To: <TEST%92061213535808@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
In article <TEST%92061213535808@PSUVM.PSU.EDU> you write:
>Ever-so-kindly, never-so-blindly, M-devoir-sublimely, only LIBWCA
>knows just what LIBWCA knows, but to my knowledge, LIBWCA does not
>know. However, My Sources tell me he's elsewise very learned and
>can get as far as seven (7) in the two(2)-times-table without
>faltering or looking at the book. Not to neglect LIBALP, who makes
>excellent souffles, and LIBJRM, who paints a mean oil-portrait if
>pressed & a happy one if depressed.
>
Sounds zounds like a very merry bunch of cross-posters, perfect to
emploi as entourage for the inev. festivs. No doubts can be
adequately disclosed in the land-lain hatchets and the skim recrims
on best interests: terribly much on my thoughts, and, if I'm slow
in taking advantage of a solemnous access dictate, doctrinate: my
admiration aglow in the dying embers of trans-Atl. radio broadsides
crackling and serving to safehouse now via direct and parallel ports
(cumbersome, oui, but you'll tie me round that in the best of events
: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : terrible premonitions this past
calendrical line, on the "besieged" theme carried on by the Trinity
(some Trinity (was again' the rich; was again' the poor) in cut-
loose fiends stratocasting to fit the parts (no mere ("Mother, <sigh>
he's doing it again.") algorhythm, that!) and now we've a wedding
party to anent the full wash (as well as provide, again, again again,
much needed comic relief for those moments when OTC contract-garnish
bargaining means whole episodes occasionally without the star-billed-
featured acts))): are you well? My hopes, as always, descend upon
you like a chorus of angels all wishing to subscribe to HISTORY.
M. (who sleeps much better after being introduced to yr dreams)
========================================================================
Date: Sat, 13 Jun 1992 21:19:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBSTRANGLER <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Re: Enter Executioner, in stirrups, aerial used (!)
Strangler today failed (yet again) to make the honours list, and
though I may add the name in ink to the OBE section (landscape
gardening division), it ain't the same. However, the climate
is pleasing here in Emory, and LIBJRM is teaching me lace-making
and snake-charming; he says I can practise on garden worms
(though I always assumed white cotton was best: the worms wriggle
so when I try to thread them into the needle). I haven't met
LIBWCA yet, but they've shown me where he works, and I think
I could find it again by following the trail of crumpled cadavers.
(They play the most marvellous partie games during their lunch-hour:
LIBJRM paints a portrait of a zebra, and the others guess its rank
by counting the stripes. Asphyxiatin', hah?)
Usual Postcard: having lovely time, M., wish you were (digression:)
oh yes, mes wormest affectations to sir velma, who may be upstaged by
the seemingly deli*ious fun(ambulism) of test@come-into-my-parlour
(digression:) oh again, I've decided to marry you (vamp clamp), and
shall neither brook nor river nor torrent no irrefragable argument;
next Tuesday, say? If Arthur says "crazy" . . .
========================================================================
Date: Sun, 14 Jun 1992 03:27:21 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "Daniel A. Foss" <DFOSS>
Subject: Rambo is Jewish [conclusion]
[Flashback to last week's bloodshed. Howard Feldman, Vietnam Veteran anddisci-
ple of Michael S. Schwartz, has been sent into a deep cover mission to fight
BLUE HERRING by infiltrating VWAR-L@UBVM, told nothing but "Just beyourself,
Howard." This as you know Them always does to Rambo in real life to get him
mostly killed. But Howard survives. BLUE HERRING whereabouts unknown. Howard
has found out that BLUE HERRING is in with the very Evil and very extremely
superrich H. Ross Perot to swindle widows and orphans out of last nickels in
hope that he, Perot, can discover MIA hsband or father's whereabouts; butonly
he, Howard, has ever brought any of "My Brothers" out ALIVE. They lied aboutMy
Brothers. The Capitalist State lied. The Capitalist Class lied. The women's
movement lied. They lied about where the class struggle went, don't youbelieve
it went the same place as the Yellow from Pepsodent. You know how many are
going to die, Foss, before I kill every one of those Evil lyingmotherfucking
bastards, Foss, who BETRAYED ME AND MY BROTHERS, Foss? We could have won in
Vietnam. They didn't let us win. Nobody who did this will escape BLOOD
VENGENCE.]
Okay, put out the joints, listen. They are are going by Clausewitz, weare
going by Sun Tzu. Which makes us certain we will win, they think there'salways
a risk they will lose. This makes us invincible.
A Team makes the first attack on LISTSERV@UBVM. That's the decoy. BLUE
HERRING Telnets into "Toby . Hughes" aka thughes@lonestar.utsa.edu, thinking
she is safe but we have gone down to Brookhaven Mall and bought this thinkie
from Pearle Vision and Fiber Opticians' Center For the Fiber Optically BlindOr
Will Not See which we start stringing out from when we get off the FWY at
Josephson Junction TX all the way to the Alamo. Which is in Henry Gonzales'
District, the same one who has been reading into the Congressional Recorddood-
les from George Bush's wastebasket proving that Foss' Paranoid ravings to
HISTORY about the phony war against Iraq were Worse even than even the Para-
noids think.
Henry Gonzales has given us a Mexican Government document which is Santa
Ana's battle plans which won total victory at the Alamo in 1835. This is no
time to get racist. After we win we can get racist. B Team takes the Alamo.
And C Team brings me H. Ross Perot back from Dallas dead or alive.
LET'S GO!
*******
...<choke> a charnel house of depleted accounts, used-up flamewarammo,
invalid userids, A(191) eating viruses selfdevouring, forgotten passwords.What
a mess! Wasson, bury the bodies!
No, Howard, last one was the last movie I bury the bodies, you bury halfthe
bodies.
Leslie, are you disobeying a direct order....
You don't catch Ridley burying any bodies, Howard....
WHERE IS FOSS?
Lookit the size of that barrel holy fuck!
Foss means 'barrel' in Polish, this is part of the plan.
Look, up there!
A Flying Fish!
No, a falling fish!
Yeah, smoking from a Son of Sam 22 up the tail.
Smoking Salem Filter 100s!
SPLOOOOSH!
*******
This is the easy part.
Yeah, shooting Fish in a barrel, ho ho ho...
Shut up Private Gomer Pyle....
[A lone gunman fires exactly three rounds from a bolt action Mannlicker
Carcano carbine, still only $19.95 retail while they last so hurry, with
telescopic sight screwed on funny because the gunman has his head screwed
on funny as in the famous picture.]
YOU ALL HEARD THREE SHOTS.
I heard four shots.
BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM
<ok three shots sir>
Lee, since when you come back from the dead after all these years?
I never died said he.
Wha...?
Got, you know, Deactivated since I turned off Yuri Andropov's dialysis
machine back in eighty-three. Deactivation is a real funny state of Beingyou
know....Not a person or thing around except John Cunningham Lilly in theguise
of a Clam. You know where that's at.
You hadda FNORD omigod....
*****
OK, here it is, C Team gone into action!
Gallium arsenide activated.
Phasers on Kill, captain.
BLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO......
Feldman! The PeeROT's got away!
Don't worry, time is on our side. Gentlemen, I am clued into is Weakness.
Wuzzat?
A goyisher kopf.
HOWARD WASH THE DISHES, TAKE A SHOWER, THEN WE FUCK.
but it will never so long as one mia is in captivity be
THE END
SHOW YOUR SOLIDARITY WITH AN MIA, FREE SLAVE BRACELET WITH EVERY 12-OZ
PEPSI COLA
PEPSI COLA
PEPSI COLA
PEPSI COLA
BE SURE AND VISIT THE REFRESHMENT STAND IN THE LOBBY
AND THENK YOU FOR NOT SMOKING WHATEVER YOU WERN'T SMOKING.
========================================================================
Date: Sun, 14 Jun 1992 02:11:14 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBWCA
Subject: THE SALAD YEARS
It is, indeed, a special experience to be able to lurk in the
shadows and watch as Uniatz takes the campus by storm. We're
overwhelmed here at Liberty Bible (Poor dear, she's a little
confused, but we'll straighten her out, and reclaim her soul
in the bargain) and I've almost convinced myself there's no
danger. It all seems quite safe. I'm glad those days are behind
me. I miss neither hegemony nor godhead, and I'm sure none of
these good people intend me harm. I'm beginning to adjust- I've
lettered in track, and I have a fine job at the malt shop. If only
I could work up the nerve to talk to her... if only...
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 15 Jun 1992 16:25:34 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU
Subject: cOGITATING dERAILMENT & All That Jazz!
In-Reply-To: <TEST%92061318131992@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
In article <TEST%92061318131992@PSUVM.PSU.EDU> you write:
>Usual Postcard: having lovely time, M., wish you were (digression:)
>oh yes, mes wormest affectations to sir velma, who may be upstaged by
>the seemingly deli*ious fun(ambulism) of test@come-into-my-parlour
>(digression:) oh again, I've decided to marry you (vamp clamp), and
>shall neither brook nor river nor torrent no irrefragable argument;
>next Tuesday, say? If Arthur says "crazy" . . .
And contrapulations on yr newest assignation, darling; Emory is a
substantial referendum for the Georgian's Pride Agitatenda, issuing
chants and the promise of refranchising the colonial wolves with
(this time) "standing partitions" (!) so as to compenalize for the
distaff tithing (I [heart] tes yeaux aussi): as Bowie (pop. ref.
ISRN 0-4302-760-1) accorded, "This ... Is Not ... Armenia", and NO
ONE shall be permitted to enter the theatre after the first two(2)
mins. and NO ONE shall be permitted to exit the theatre after the
first two(2) mins. either (digestion:) oh yes, what does Sir Elma
have to do with TEST@pick-a-parlo(u)r-any-parlo(u)r? Gateways, my
o how do I miss her cold cold hands darling do not provide REVIEW
command; if'n you've submitted willingly to said arrangement, then
mind that all those bouncaries you'll suffer from teeth-grating
were initiated in a mockingbird gesture of the most ardent pusillan
(digestion:) O Happy Day, O Happy Date, O Happy Datum: you've filled
my heart with the best of intentions (re: interests (oops! forgot))
and we are there and we are there and all manner of thing shall be
there: No irrigatable argument to dawdle nor dissuade: just be
forewarned: Tuesdays do count in Emory (I believe it's Double Coupon
and Two Biscuits for the LIB folk who've folded back their covers
day), just ask that shy chap who hides only behind his peach trees
munch-munching on a nice Vidalia onion and unfortunately getting
juice all over his nice Turner Cable tee. It's a monotonous shame
what happens to (cop) Gods Deferred. Forthcoming from the Cheating
Network: Kino-Civility or How I Leaned to Stop the Oncoming Lorry
and Weave Foss into ... [page edge burned and lost]
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Date: Mon, 15 Jun 1992 21:08:46 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBWCA
Subject: IT'S NOT FUNNY... IT'S NOT
For most of one day, this node did not exist: viz., a revelation from the
listserv- "Host emuvm1 UNKNOWN". The listserv is omniscient; host emuvm1
is unknown to the listserv; therefore, host emuvm1 does not exist and
don't try to dispute it because it's quod erat demonstratum. I used to
think that sort of thing was funny; oh yeah. I could tinker around with
the fabric of reality down in my basement workshop all day and come up
only for the occasional refill on the Johnny Walker, but the thing about
it is, it makes people really nervous. We have a large stockpile of very
serious munitions here, and if I don't know how to use them that trigger-
happy bastard down the hall does and don't you ever doubt he will. Our
position is not the same as it was but that doesn't mean we plan to roll
over and play catamite for every aspiring hegemon down the pipe. Tread
softly.
Bill
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Date: Tue, 16 Jun 1992 11:53:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Strangler Aagonschmidt <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Simple Comprehensible Subject-Heading With No ExclamationMark!
. . . (digression (digression ends:) ends:) here. Though the
whole may be sumptuous, that there "aussi" was a trifle
presumptuous: tes yeux, though undoubtedly to the disinterested
if myopic observer beaux, I never scribed as [hearted]: this
blatant omission despite the bleached core that I'd marry you
any day of the week, if only to misstirr up and dishevel a few
mysteries, any of which, in predictable cul-de-sac circularity,
would, how carefully soever answered (except the malappropriate
way I want it), warrant a No No NO! to the formal plainsong of
"do you take this um mollusk to be yr awfully wedded etc etc?",
leaving self seulfull sic as ever. "And, half an hour later,
when she changed her mind and decided she'd have him after all,
it was <mournful ditty on xylophone> Too Late. Shot of clerk
stamping "CANCELLED" over dowry cheque and fade-out." A Tuesday
would, like I say, be best, as that's when I hedge my bets and
harvest my allergies, but one must not appear uncompromising:
perhaps you're busy on Tuesdays, perhaps that's when you cut out
yr coupons or retune yr radio or mentally redecorate yr landing
or readjust the curvature of yr toast-rack, and I wouldn't wish
to, y'know, intrude, lest I'd have any slips in yr wellbeing on
my cold cold hands. Accidentally, I do [fish] t.b.y., and all
manner of Armenians shall be Loving The Alien [ref. EA195] if only
Till Tuesday [ref. F13579] which most certainly does not ever count
(digression:) correction: nothing to do with anything has sir velma
(& I never said he did), at least not until we find out Where He
Stashed The Gold (details of bank robbery omitted here for security
reasons), to which end self and Brian Nielsen (pleasant, confiding,
engaging, upright chap) gather on window-ledges and discuss ways to
break Vincent of his taciturnity, moroseness even: alas, no joy.
H.
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 16 Jun 1992 09:09:02 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: H Greenberg <HAG@ >
Subject: Turivin Gothic
It was already past midnight when the dark doors of the
chapel were pushed open. On happier occassions, when filled with
the lights of a hundred candles the ancient chapel's worn grey stones
were soft and warm. But now, in the coldness of a winter's moonless
night, lit only by the few flickering torches carried by the cowled
group, the walls repelled these invaders of their sanctuary, while the
floors sent chills through the softly slippered feet that trod across
them. At the head of the small procession, unable to as yet fathom
the horror of the deaths of both his king and his archbishop, came
Father Justain. Having never expected to outlive the archbishop and
thus assume his mantle of authority, yet knowing that the burden of
spiritual leadership now fell upon his ancient shoulders, he
hesitated, then moved to the alter that would become the bier for his
fallen and dishonoured sovereign. Following closely behind, as if
looking for guidance from his bowed back but finding nothing to allay
their shock and fear, came the bearers. Anxious to be rid of their
shameful burden, they laid the body on the stone alter and hurriedly
flung a mantle over it. No royal funeral garlands would deck this
bier, no velvet coverings woven in sorrow would shroud this king, no
grief-stricken people would sing their dirges at his passing.
Elyen dragged herself silently behind them, head covered but
unbowed. Her battered frame upright but quivering slightly, she
appeared brittle, as if the merest touch would snap the icy self-
control that kept her upright, and send her toppling, broken, to the
ground. Although her wounds had been hastily cleaned, she had
allowed only a robe to be thrown over her torn and bloodied shift
before proceeding to the chapel behind the broken body of her cousin
and tormenter. She saw Father Justain's frightened and confused
eyes pleading for her to begin and so release them from this
nightmare, and so, gathering her strength about her, she prepared
to begin the ritual expected of her.
Before she could speak footsteps came ringing across the stone floor
and the Commander strode from the shadowed doorway.
'My Lady' he said firmly 'I cannot let you continue in this folly. You
cannot mean to stand vigil over this body.'
Her eyes, dark and feverish, turned towards him. Her voice
roughened by exhaustion and pain strove pitifully to match his
firmness. 'Indeed, my Lord, it is my duty and I will not be turned
away from it.'
'You are hurt' he continued more gently. 'If the body must be
watched is there no one who can assume this duty for you?'
She shook her head slowly. 'I am his cousin, I bear the kyriac stone,
I am the only one who can see him through his first night of death. It
is his right.'
The Commander stiffened. 'Rights! This animal has no rights. He
held you prisoner, tortured you, would have killed you if by your
death he could have gained the stone. He had no honour in life and
deserves none in death, certainly not from you who have suffered at
his hand.'
She clenched at the corner of the alter as if to tear off a piece of
that unyielding stone to hurl in his face. The black stone at her breast
flickered to life with a sickly but intense yellow
gleam. Her voice held all the anger, the grief, the intensity of the
last brutal months.
'You forget, my Lord, that his actions against me are nothing as
compared to his baseness to my people. Your very presence proves it.
It was his betrayel that allowed you and your army to sweep through
our land and steal our freedom. His desires of conquest would never
have come to fruition if he had not had your army to back them up.
You have conquered our kingdom but I will not allow you to conquer
our traditions, nor will I throw away those traditions because this
king is not worthy of them. It is dishonour to myself and my people to
refuse this vigil. This king has done harm enough. Worthy or no, I
will not let him destroy, in death, that which is our way. Nor will I
let you, an invader, tell me what I shall or shall not do.' Shaking,
she released the corner of the alter, defying him to remove her.
'Lady,' he said decisively 'I have assured you that we do not wish to
destroy your people or their way of life. If the only way I can convince
you of that assurance is to let you stand this vigil then you will do so
unhindered by me.' So saying, he turned abruptly and strode from
the chapel.
As if his presence had been the only thing keeping her on her feet,
Elyen crumpled to her knees leaning her forehead againt the alter.
'Leave us' she whispered to the priests, huddled about the other side
of the alter.
'But my lady' began Father Justain.
'Leave us' came her anguished voice 'I will say the prayers that
must be said. Nothing will be omitted. I must stand this vigil alone
and I would begin now.'
Father Justain bowed, then pulling his cowl over his head, motioned
to the others to follow. Their robes hushed against the floor as they
left the chapel, taking with them all but one of the torches. The door
fell shut with a muffled thud and then all was silence.
At the alter, Elyen's great eyes stared into the gloom, seeing nothing.
For a long time she sat thus, then rousing herself, she painfully
pulled herself up and crossed to the table that held the candlesticks.
Slowly, as if nearing death herself, she placed a candle at each end of
the alter
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 16 Jun 1992 15:19:00 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Yark <LIBALP>
Subject: Are you tiresome tonight?
We've all been changed so much by Uniatz.
Just today she measured and took tissue samples of every one of us.
Hard at work now on complete descriptions of Bill, resplendent in Braves
T-shirt, hat, and earrings; me (sometimes you can see him briefly in the
corner of your eye. Other times, there is only Death.); and oathsome JRM.
Better post quick, H.. There's a $95 ticket to Melbourne (this one, not the
other one) with my name on it (literally speaking). This jaunt, alas, doesnot
include pilgrimage to the Mouse, Homage-To-The-Mouse-Paying being not as
difficult as once was, pardon the expression, and therefore not asthrilling.
Rubes of all persuasions may now see, and even touch, the Mouse with greatease
and safety, unless they have a taste for the local attractions, such as
Wall of Science or Mr. Frog's Wild Ride.
Excellent local color from CHEATING, by the way. I especially enjoyed the
Vidalia. They rot so easily, you know.
Arthur
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 16 Jun 1992 17:03:10 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: H Greenberg <HAG@ >
Subject: Hmmm
Ah, my dearest remember the Silver Mountain where lightning
nearly rent asunder even our very lives but still did not burn as
brightly as our passion which we held in the secret folds of our
hearts until we reached the soaring bridge over the raging torrents
where the old man demanded the nature of our quest for passage
through the dark and dripping primeval forest full of mystery and
the sweet wood smell whose heady scent sent our senses spiralling
through those mists that shrouded our ardour and muffled our cries
of ecstacy hidden in our arboreal refuge bounded on all sides by the
pines and hemlocks fed by that dancing and frigid stream where we
raced along sun warmed rocks and dove into frigid pools as we clung
to each other in frozen delight while watching our eyes catch alight
with the fiery rays of the setting sun while our lips, though blue with
the cold yet traced patterns of flame across our burnished skin and
set our pulses racing to keep pace with the wild joy of our
surroundings.
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 16 Jun 1992 16:27:38 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Mollusk Infrastructure <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: The sunstress in seamly pallories
In-Reply-To: <TEST%92061606562685@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
In article <TEST%92061606562685@PSUVM.PSU.EDU> you write:
> I'd marry you
>any day of the week, if only to misstirr up and dishevel a few
>mysteries, any of which, in predictable cul-de-sac circularity,
>would, how carefully soever answered (except the malappropriate
>way I want it), warrant a No No NO! to the formal plainsong of
>"do you take this um mollusk to be yr awfully wedded etc etc?",
>leaving self seulfull sic as ever.
>
>H.
Affable? Laughable! Tawdry start, darling, but allowances to be
made for early misstep-ups and yr honeyed hair bee-hived in
glamourous amourous woebetides. Malappropriate me, malannex me,
maladjust me for banded bands of gold in stereophonic surround
sound (after I sanded down the shelves, I found that a hacksaw
(a retinue's truism?) could cut the trick: done deed, all-in-one,
finis, mission accomplished: furniture reaches out to deliver its
blows, I just redesign, redesign, redesign, and voila! the comfits
of living as viewed from winding edges I'm at panes to shut: no
matter (yes, I know): do tell what Mr. Cookie Recipe hisself relayed,
and, in demonstrable honesty, I'll admit or deny as malappropriate:
THOUGH: CAVEAT: noms ne sont pas propre due to their inheren't
(mustn't forget) reappeling qualities:) it will never be Too Late;
I have always been willing (Hey! It's my past, after all, aussi),
and today, as they say in Ireland, is Tuesday. So turn the reverb
down and return that verb to me ("shall we egress, m'dear?") and
A-way we go!!! Or, conversely: hardly a plainsong, more of a ditty.
I'd be honored and obeyed if you would etc. etc. &c. Um, about that
dowry cheque... but, it is Tuesday, as you montaged, and it's my
day to slip and cave and to just read yr curvature being wrecked &
racked in longtemps je me dormouse tomes of How to Greet Visitors
upon the Landing Who Weren't Invited in the First (1st) Instance
(which, I can tell by your adhocence to hedge-betting, you've well-
absorbed). Who can tell? Like you imagined in a Victorian drawing
room: corsets and veils. Fan the flabellum in quod eros for duty-free
embellishment: Please do intrude that I might, yet, take your cold
cold hands into mine and gazing as dictated by decorum, state without
reservations, "la la la la la la la la la la la" [ref. ACD65432760H].
M.
========================================================================
Date: Wed, 17 Jun 1992 12:58:49 CDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Long Island Style <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: Re: There but for...
In-Reply-To: <9206162107.AA28659@casbah.acns.nwu.edu>
Ah, yes, Hope, er, Angus, you should have sent that here for our
betterment and amusement. I am, of course, aghasted; you pegged
me down in full protracture: no speech be my can-do; I just hope
H. likes the way I look in a mini. Mightn't you give some advice?
Pre-Hegemon, when you were the only God around, DAF stated (I
quote:) "God is married". Any suitorable recommendations to cop
that I might possess that same Medieval Harlequined jouissance
convoyed by yr recent tales? Thusly, all I've is "Once you have
bound her, never let her go" -- comments?
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 18 Jun 1992 09:40:43 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: HAG@
Subject: Re: There but for...
In-Reply-To: Message of Wed,
17 Jun 1992 12:58:49 CDT from <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
>Ah, yes, Hope, er, Angus, you should have sent that here for our
>betterment and amusement. I am, of course, aghasted; you pegged
>me down in full protracture: no speech be my can-do; I just hope
>H. likes the way I look in a mini. Mightn't you give some advice?
Ah dear me, my shame at posting what might have seemed like a slighting
tale is such that even gentle admonishment has me shrouding my
reddened visage in veils of embarassment. But I didn't think I had
envisioned the miniskirt on your undoubtedly lissome limbs. Be that as
it may, I will admit it was quite remiss, though not meant to do
mischief, to drag the H and M monikers into what was simply meant
as a bit of fluff representing my heartfelt thanks that I no longer call
that benighted and concrete engirdled Long Isle my home. Truly, I can
make little substantive comment on the H and M saga, having attempted,
out of some other-timely sense of decorum, no doubt, to avert eyes and
ears from an emotional affair carried out in such a public manner.
>Pre-Hegemon, when you were the only God around, DAF stated (I
>quote:) "God is married".
Fancy your remebering that which I had so completely, till now, forgotten.
I hope my memory lapse may be excused on the grounds that I was quite
astonished (flabbergasted, amused) to be so deified by Daniel, the concept
seeming quite ludicrous (ludicrous, that is, that I should have unwittingly
inspired such, not that Daniel should have every right or power to
engage in such actions as he chooses). Although I might add that while
it seemed an impossibility then, it might seem more appropriate at this
time to some matriarchists envisioning an earth-mother type goddess,
given my current delicate condition.
>Any suitorable recommendations to cop
>that I might possess that same Medieval Harlequined jouissance
>convoyed by yr recent tales? Thusly, all I've is "Once you have
>bound her, never let her go" -- comments?
Cliched story fragments, rambling comments, pitiful stabs at humour,
gentle attempts at presenting alternative viewpoints, perhaps. But never,
never would I presume to give advice.
HAG
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 18 Jun 1992 15:48:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Strangler the Uninvited <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Re: The sunstress in seamly pallories
On Tue, 16 Jun 1992 16:27:38 GMT, Mollusk Infrastructure
<cheating@wherever> said:
>Hey! It's my past, after all
Your presence my future; I've been hitherto polite to excellent excess
in not attempting to recall what happened in yr past-is-my-past; now,
in %%%allowed%%% hesaidsohedid intrusion I ask: when you cheating dear
@wherever were a boy-scout, did you get a badge for tying knots in
ropes? Were you ill while they ran the course on untying them? When
I set out to discorpse you, does it count as loving, honouring, or
obeying? Don't you think you should install some form of heating on
yr landing as I linger coldly coldly there? Maybe a few comic-books to
read when I get bored? Or ingredients-lists from foodstuffs: do you
know what E102 does to you? No, not E010, I mean the yellow colouring.
If I were to adopt a facial expression of kindly tolerance and
whole[fish]edly reply "la la la la la" [with some trumped-up ref.], in
how many ways do you think you could deliberately misconstrue this?
Is that all? Do you think bloody singlemindedness is conditioned by
hereticity or enwirement? Can you suggest any ways of making people
answer questions? No no no, I mean any I haven't already tried. Never
mind; let me not relapse into either inquisition or requisition; 'tis
an honour to [fish] him to ridiculous inflation (10000 marks for a loaf
of bread type thing? (did he really think he could get away with that?)),
&, sans compropositioning his princisives, I think he's#$!*WONDERFUL*!$#:
how was that, Hope? Here, M., stewheart, baby, sit down and have some
wine before you start having done with again; it's from the "Serve
Chilled" vineyards so it should be ok, yes...?
...These Emory sunsets are so lovely, aren't they? LIBJRM says I can call
him LIBJ; isn't that sweet of him? Do you think I'm safe in entrusting
the tissue samples to Cammer? Does the man have a prison-record? Or
could he be one of those modern types with a prison-cd? I'd appreciate
help with my description of Bill: can you tell me how to spell
"thundering disgrace"? And, about Arthur, you won't mind if I'm
occasionally ambigamous? Would you agree that this here form of inquiry
is conducive to babbling? Can you type? Can you type fast? Cast?
In incomprehinsensibility & sicness, it is imperative that you should
smile. Nice mini.
H.
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 18 Jun 1992 18:18:18 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "H.UNIATZ" <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: Re: The sunstress in seamly pallories
In-Reply-To: <TEST%92061810525276@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
In article <TEST%92061810525276@PSUVM.PSU.EDU> you write:
>On Tue, 16 Jun 1992 16:27:38 GMT, Mollusk Infrastructure
><cheating@wherever> said:
>
>>Hey! It's my past, after all
>
Correction appended: "Hey! It's my past, after all, aussi"
>Your presence my future; I've been hitherto polite to excellent excess
>in not attempting to recall what happened in yr past-is-my-past; now,
>in %%%allowed%%% hesaidsohedid intrusion I ask: when you cheating dear
>@wherever were a boy-scout, did you get a badge for tying knots in
>ropes?
No; I did receive commendation on my syllogistic chains, though.
> Were you ill while they ran the course on untying them?
Actually, by that time, they had smelled my out and dispelled me;
once and always outcast, even from charity-begins-at-home.
> When
>I set out to discorpse you, does it count as loving, honouring, or
>obeying?
I always interpolated it as luv, but, as you well mark, only LIBWCA
knows what LIBWCA knows, though E010 might say that Kant be true.
> Don't you think you should install some form of heating on
>yr landing as I linger coldly coldly there?
Done, yr wish my command, fait accompli, as you wish, warm enough dear,
mea bloody sing-ly never felt beet red foray culpa.
> Maybe a few comic-books to
>read when I get bored?
Take yr pick, from the archives of our compatriots: Green Arrow (Pat),
Flaming Carrot (GR4302), V for Vendetta (Pat, again); also, maybe
LIBWCA would lend his back ciphers of Secret Wars which o remind him
of us in our attemptations to increment subscripture.
> Or ingredients-lists from foodstuffs: do you
>know what E102 does to you?
No, perhaps Dr. Haggard might inform us.
>If I were to adopt a facial expression of kindly tolerance and
>whole[fish]edly reply "la la la la la" [with some trumped-up ref.], in
>how many ways do you think you could deliberately misconstrue this?
Well, I'm not entiresomely tonight (temerity, m'dear) certain, but
after gleaning the Combinatorics manual which JS loaned me (fine, fine
article, darling, though at times you defy parsing), I'd have to guess
two (2) to the fifth (5th) power, or 32 different possibilities, minus
the one way which you meant for me to construe and the one which you
meant ambigamously (oops) for me to misconstrue, leaving 30 ways.
>Is that all?
Uh, well, uh gee <hemming>, as I said, <blush> Kiss Me, haitch,I'm
Irish.
> Do you think bloody singlemindedness is conditioned by
>hereticity or enwirement?
Further clarification desired: In my case, in your case, or in general?
Not being an emmisary sociologist, I'd have to say that, it's your
fault, it's your fault, and all manner of thing shall be your fault.
> Can you suggest any ways of making people
>answer questions?
Hmmm, well, you could ask them directly.
> No no no, I mean any I haven't already tried.
Oh, never mind, then.
> Never
>mind;
Just so. I suppose that'd leave bribery.
> let me not relapse into either inquisition or requisition; 'tis
>an honour to [fish] him to ridiculous inflation (10000 marks for a loaf
>of bread type thing? (did he really think he could get away withthat?)),
Uh, no, of course not... uh, with what, precisionly? I'd apprecious
additional ... uh, no, never mind.
>&, sans compropositioning his princisives, I think he's#$!*WONDERFUL*!$#:
>how was that, Hope?
Yes, Hope, er, Angus, how was that? Please avert yr eyes this way,
and perhaps sprinkle a little fertility on futility futures.
> Here, M., stewheart, baby, sit down and have some
>wine before you start having done with again; it's from the "Serve
>Chilled" vineyards so it should be ok, yes...?
No. If imbribed, I can become ... reckless. What proof do you need?
>...These Emory sunsets are so lovely, aren't they?
Can't compare with those of the Emerald Isle! (How'm'I doing?)
> LIBJRM says I cancall
>him LIBJ; isn't that sweet of him?
Yes, indeed, a virtual gentleman, that LIBJRM. I may have to kill him.
> Do you think I'm safe in entrusting
>the tissue samples to Cammer?
No comment.
> Does the man have a prison-record?
Again, no comment.
> Or
>could he be one of those modern types with a prison-cd?
Ah, yes: invest now for the future: sentencing with a 2% annual flat
rate.
> I'd appreciate
>help with my description of Bill: can you tell me how to spell
>"thundering disgrace"?
Capital j-u-n-i-p-e-r-space-capital s-a-g-e.
> And, about Arthur, you won't mind if I'm
>occasionally ambigamous?
Would this be any different from the way you acted with DanBoyd? Truly,
I'd best be prepared to don the horns of the cuckold! Alas, alack,
my choice in beautiful women truly stinks.
> Would you agree that this here form of inquiry
>is conducive to babbling?
If that is what you wish to call it, remembering that everything is
as you would have it. Darling.
> Can you type?
Mais, oui.
> Can you type fast?
I had better, lest I wish to make the Hono(u)rs List.
> Cast?
Some might say that this is far too apt, considering that you've seen
fit for me to be "Corpse" [Act 1, Scene 1 only] in yr charming and
charmed backmasked drawling room yes&Noh question&angered partie. I
choose not to be insulted (though, as you once put it, "I shall").
>In incomprehinsensibility & sicness, it is imperative that youshould
>smile. Nice mini.
Why, thank you. Feel free to bury it anytime.
>H.
M. (like the way you imagined in a B-film school: in the end, tied
and parcelled, all questions in PXL 2000 resolution, cadenced and
anchored, a parfait to dance away: Smile)
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