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Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 15:16:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: strangler the backing track <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Welcome Back, Yarthur!
LIBALP, O darlin' LIBALP/
Please don't tear/
That pink/
Pill-Box Heart/
When you go out wif me tonite.
Thank you. The name of that one is also called Pill-Box Hat. What
a coincidence. Thank you.
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Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 09:50:42 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: oldvel on the way, M.
M., M., it's on the way, yes. Part One (of three or four) is complete,
but how shall I send it? In one chunk would probably be best, but I'm
unsure whether such a large file will post... So maybe in parcels? Still,
in parcels all at once, or spread over several days or weeks? I will post
this I promise. I also promise never to publish this book in any other way,
so you'll have to get it when it comes down the pike. That's why I'm
somewhat concerned about how to do it.
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Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 16:01:12 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Strangled by her bloody m'accuse eyes<CHEATING@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: GR4302: estimations
Just caught your message as I bask here in the morning dehumidifier...
Recommendation: If any post looks like it will exceed, oh, say, 760
lines (where o where could I have gotten that number?), hack it down
the center until it falls into disassembly at less than that. Good?
And I assume that this, by being lowered into our waiting tendrils,
is subject to close scrutiny and the possibility of ammendations, no?
And could someone please post the music for the two (2) "Pill-Box Hat"s?
I'm trysting to play it on the ol' Fender, but I can't quite happens
after the descending tritonal chord progression, confess to need help.
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 16:21:21 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Like a Leopardskin Mess-i-a-h <CHEATING@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: self got there first; tough
Which is why, in this self-continent age, pork pies are much more "hip"
(op. cit.; LIBALP, -doodledei-).
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Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 17:19:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: pork pies? I don't want to talk about pork pies
<H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Re: oldvel on the way, M.
GR, about the novel, it's like this you see, I have approx 1000
blocks for mail, and most of it is used by morning by ten lists and
the few murmurings of anyone who may occasionally, if it rains or
if there is nothing mediocre on tv, radio, cinema, or crawling along
the ground, be disposed to write to me, as some persons have an
unfortunate tendency to login when I would naturally be inclined
to recline.
I used to have much more available quota, but he types so quickly, and
I can't really store it on floppidisks because there is a crook out
there and I deleted the la la la la la la la things, no hard feelings,
I'm sorry, but, but, but, but... y'know.
So, please, 760 lines is excessive, cannot cope, will scream.
And, no, we are NOT going to talk about Pork Pies. NO.
H.
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Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 10:52:00 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Arthur Parker <LIBALP>
Subject: Presto-Digitalis
Ah, the night air is warm.
And H.'s vocal style lends itself quite well to Hotel California. The banjo
rests on her knee as comfortably as my forehead rests on my own knee.
And while we're on the subject of Alabama, life was good in Hollywood,nestled
there in the shadow of Bellefonte Nuclear Power Plant. Perhaps our newfriend
Dana would like to say a few words about Achey-Breaky Heart.
The Pill-Box, I admitted, is for my heartworn pills. H. didn't mind atall.
"Crazy," she said . . . and i said, "crazy" . . . .
Arthur
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 19:08:04 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: CHEATING@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU
Subject: Re: tentative inquiry
On Wed, 26 Jun 91 13:59:00 GMT, next to of course god america i
<MATNIFHLATHU@VAX1.UCG.IE> said:
> i've just subscribed to your list, being struck
> by the beauty of its name. So far, i've
> received some strange material related to severed heads,
> and thus, being perplexed, venture to inquire what
> exactly this list is purporting to discuss.
> Sincerely,
> H Uniatz. (master spy).
On Thu, 27 Jun 91 08:33:06 PDT, <JEFFREY> replied:
>> i've just subscribed to your list, being struck
>> by the beauty of its name. So far, i've
>> received some strange material related to severed heads,
>> and thus, being perplexed, venture to inquire what
>> exactly this list is purporting to discuss.
>> Sincerely,
>> H Uniatz. (master spy).
>
> We talk about white rice, black power, and liver. And
>what's so strange about severed heads? If mine wasn't attached
>to my neck, it would probably be severed too. Roll the rill...
> --Jeffrey
On Thu, 27 Jun 91 20:12:00 GMT, "next to of course god america i..."
<STANIFHLATHU@CS8700.UCG.IE> returned:
>> We talk about white rice, black power, and liver.
> How absorbing. Well, may i divert your attention from the
> contemplation of the above for a min ou deux to ask
> whether there is anyone out there who would agree
> with me that saki, o henry, the saint and nigel molesworth
> are, collectively, god? i regret that i have still not
> formulated a view on severed heads, but, being one
> of enterprise, i shall no doubt do so soon...
> And what or where is "stony brook"?
> Sincerely,
> H Uniatz. (philologist).
On Thu, 27 Jun 91 15:21:14 CDT, "Zoroaster, the Human Treasurer"
<CHEATING@> should have said:
>Thank you very kindly for your inquiry, H. Uniatz, who, I see from your
>signatures, has been dualcareering, or perhaps these are two different
>individuals with the same exquisite nom de stylo but different triplets
>initiating modes. Although there might be others venturing into this
>circle of circles (turn round three times, protectorate to dealings with
>your more sordid types) who could leap in with good humor and proclaim
>underisively "Let's start a Fan Club!" (though I doubt, quite honestly,I
>could join, unless there were divisions or chapters or lodges by which I
>might find myself a member of the Fraternal Order of the Slavings &Lien
>Saint Concession Vendors League), I will be glad simply to agree withyour
>assertion if, in fact, you will be so kind as to keep to your offer to
>divert my attention "for a min ou deux" and keep me thus: elsewise, it
>might be possible that, say, such condictions could run into place as to
>divert attentions (rilly) for an entire year, say, and I can tell byyour
>signature that, possessing a noble demeanor, you would be taken aback(and
>aback again) if the mere idea were more than some idle-timefantaste-test.
>You see, m'dear (IFF I may be so bold as to use that familial style,
>otherwise, "H."), Something Might Come Up, and, it's just possible, ifyou
>Consider it, that, say, you might, in a grand gesture, quote to me from
>some terribly out of Fashion DAP (Dead American Poet), pausing brieflyto
>comment on how badly I spell you're name; and, in so doing, you mightgive
>me a momentary rush of adreniline, or at the very least have someinfluence
>on my synapses misfiring, and I could very easily fall in love with you--
>oops! but it could be! yes! -- and propose to unite our pathetic and
>measily-going cognoscible nodes into one (1) grandstandingall-encompassing
>putative transmitter; you might take acception, if you're that type,brave,
>daring, intrigued by what goes on here (though, no doubt, you won'tcare)
>and persevering (as per severed heads) to find that, frightened off bymy
>own hoisted boisterousness, unknown to this phrase, renege almost before
>I'd readied your occasional lapse, and parade prominently as Idiot,Grand
>Idiot, and be (& rightly so!) damned to the most narrow pits of hell.At
>about this point, we might give the other listmemes who find it too
>encumbersome to ScrollDown past the first five (5) lines, and,assaulted,
>discover how unmerciful this all might be.
>
>Oh, yes, wild speculation, no question about it, the mere suggestion is
>enough to make you toss yr screen to the floor or crumble chalk or puton
>yr best "I am not a terrorist" smile or, dreadful to imagine, cause youto
>begin speaking to yr Mother as if she reads this list (though, ofcoarse,
>she's welcome-on-in to do so) -- after all, who am I to make such
>statements? You might investigate that, even, happen onto an error-
>statement in my credit slips submitted with my typical non-spelling
>flailing to the HISTORY listserv being for the benifit of Daniel A.Foss,
>who might join in, even, and REVIEWing yr options, disclose such thatyou
>might opinionate yrself that it is, ultimately, despite incongruencies,one
>and the same, and you might commit a placardinal sin, say, after making
>certain that things would be for the better by relocating from the
>Westernmost to the Easternmost so as to better (and earlier) enjoy the
>sunrises, thereby auditching both of the unwieldly models from above for
>something dreadfully uninspired as, say, H. (for your first initial -- I
>know nothing, I know nothing, I know nothing), and then a numericalabbr.
>addr. without any clear significance, you might commit a cardinal sinand,
>say, utter some name that you've picked up, might even do it twice
>(((Perhaps, about then, you will be appropriated off of this list. You
>will accuse me of having done it. I will deny it. I will help you back
>on, while making the mistake of confessing to having a few spies of myown.
>At this suggestion, you, relievedly distressed, shall swear arelentless,
>tactile, and acerbic battle against me, even as I'm mentioning that Icould
>bring myself to error-fix and make you an Honest Woman, which will, of
>course, send you into an unretractable rage.))), might even become
>enamo(u)red of another, say, Dan Boyd, who I've already written a po-em
>for, it occurs to me, so there is no need to bring dues to bear lateron,
>all the while treating SBRHYM and myself, e.g., that is, e.g., myself,as
>divertissemementos while living contentedly in ten (10) work-relatedlists,
>without bother, while you shall have made a mockery of any work I'd be
>glintzy enough to attempt to do by "master spy" catching-style
>infiltrations. Fair enough, of course.
>
>Could any of this happen? More to the point, would you be willing totake
>the chance that it could? That individual, <JEFFREY>, most
>certainly would be aghast; he, insula, would be one to declare yourposts
>null-&-void before they'd even reached his unreading eyes, though,later,
>it would be no doubt revealed that he actually believes us to be one and
>the same, as if the marriage (1st (first) proposal) had gone through and
>we'd been joined at the node; he'll soften, good lad that he is. Butwould
>you? I confess, I do not know if I am willing to take this chance, so,if
>you decide to stick around, perhaps I'd best be off with an arm-wave of
>TELL LISTSERV AT SBCCVM UNSUBSCRIBE SBRHYM-L. As I indicated, the
>arresting proposition of falling in love with you is likely to give me
>abrasions of the skull, and I would be better off (perhaps) keepingthose
>areas of my life identifiable to the hordes gathered at the door as Work
>free from complication -- all this in spite of the fact that I, which isto
>say, the node CHEATING@SBCCVM, later to be changed by great need, I, donot
>exist. Obsessions, or so I'm told, are very bad things, very bad things;I
>embarrass myself to admit to them, but, as such, they keep fairlytolerable
>company when I forget to sleep and spend hours sidelonging for credible
>estates.
>
>Oh, yes, before I forget, in response to your kitshcen: Stony Brook is
>where Daniel Foss is. Sorry, I mean George Papoon.
>
>T.
Happy Anniversary. Darling.
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 19:16:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: S T R A N G L E R <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Re: tentative inquiry
Go away.
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Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 19:17:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: S T R A N G L E R <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Re: tentative inquiry
No, hang on, come back, don't go. I'll read it.
I'd only gotten to the first screen.
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Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 19:28:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: i will be calm & i will phone mother & everything will beall
right <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: music slime i mean smil
>And could someone please post the music for the two (2) "Pill-Box Hat"s?
>I'm trysting to play it on the ol' Fender, but I can't quite happens
>after the descending tritonal chord progression, confess to need help.
Take this down. You were doing just fine till the descending
tritonal chord progression, now, we'll have a spinal cord
regression, slip two (2), knit two (2) together, purl to end,
and cast-off.
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Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 19:32:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: forgot the e <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Re: tentative inquiry
>Happy Anniversary. Darling.
Thank you. Kind. Kind.
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 14:58:00 -05
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <<DICKENS>>
Subject: ahem
A CURIOUS FEMALE ALBINO
ONCE CHANCED TO FELLATE A RED RHINO
WHEN ASKED HOW IT WAS
SHE REPLIED "TIS A BUZZ,
BUT I WOULD CERTAINLY NEVER ENGAGE IN ANY ACTS OF MUTUAL
SPONGEWEAR AFFECTATION WITH HIM FOR THE BEAST IS A NOTORIOUS WINO!"
THANK YOU.
THIS HAS BEEN A TEST OF THE EMERGENCY DIRTY LIMERICK NETWORK.
IN THE EVENT OF AN ACTUAL EMERGENCY A HAND PUPPET MADE FROM A MEN'S
WHITE COTTON GYM SOCK WOULD HAVE SUDDENLY POPPED UP IN FRONT OF YOU AND
DONE THAT THING, OH WHAT IS IT? - YOU KNOW - "THERE ONCE WAS A WOMAN
FROM DALLAS" - THAT ONE.
DARLING. CUBE.
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 15:57:03 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBWCA
Subject: I DON'T REALLY HEAR YOU WHY ARE YOU HERE?
Very, very, very quiet. I can't hear it even when they say it.
Nobody is here to say it anyway. Jeffrey is not here, although
he said he was. But there's something I have to ask. Listen to
me. Here's a question. Somebody has to answer this question,
or it will hang in the air and never fall to the ground like the
rodents I saw in the tree. Somebody has to answer. If nobody
answers this question, I won't ask it. You wait and see.
Is Daniel Foss dead? Or what?
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Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 15:09:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Down to a Sinless Seethe <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Afternoon's Plaguesumming Of Yr Excellence With Brief
Instructions On How Best To Iron Yr Shirt OoopsOne
Of Yr Shirts For The Job-Interview
Wrong? Self? Wrong? Pardon? No, I'm afraid things are more
amourned thus: I never wrote that letter, wasn't there at the
time, didn't see it happen, can't even spell "challenge": that
letter does not exist: self wraps self protectively up in wide
black *non*postings and is demonstrably right & invisible:
believe it at that and I'll do all the washing-up for a whole
week, ok? But, seeing that it has been a full year and several
tomorrows of picnicing under London Bridge, and that the very
fact of yr misreading this protestifies, as I live and breathe,
to yr existentacular corpsoreal state, for which, god knows,
I'm ... speechless, just supposing (only supposing, mind) that
I had decided that an M-less month was vastly excessive, borrowed
a key to an empty terminal-room in an empty campus, trajellically
illwritten the missing document, and was fool enough to oftend to
worry about it, I'd rather lyke to redigress and essashay that
I do care quite inalterribly much, however much of a muchness
that may be. It's been a treat, a positive hail-storming
wheel-barrowing treat, to see you vacillate most ably from
socitrichologist to gasconfutable see-real-skiller in adornation of
all yr phantomorrows, & you can seriesly kill me on any daze of the
weak: it's a senti-mental disordering, I know, but even Tuesdays can
be made to counterenumerate; if self were disposed to talk to self,
self wouldn't rilly bother, self'd talk instead to the enemy absently
unanswerving, having whom around @always is ... well, it's ... okay.
I checked with next door as to how the "sod off" you spoke of is
pronounced and trounced it forthwith to my vocabuselary as an
excellent phrase with manifold inappropriate uses: sod off, my
love: "idiot" was meant welcomplementary: I have taken note of yr
address and am sending some of those little paper umbrellas that
disintegrate in drinks; I'd be so pleased if you could maybe
autograph them and send them right back, care of (bes)test@come-
back-into-my-parlour, gateways hah!, you've always gone far more
in for fence-jumping: testudinally test@ceous, perhaps ? ? ? ? ?
? ? ?, &, no, you've mistaken tes yeux again: those are not question
marks, not at all; I wouldn't dare.
...well, I might: what is an M., as opposed to a Juniper Sage? --
compare and contrast, clearly resolving the confusion of borderline
fusion; self has lost the track which self never held (with) anyway.
[jellyfish, left over from yesterday],
H.
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Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 15:12:00 -05
Reply-To: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <<DICKENS>>
Subject: FOSS IS NOT DEAD
He just smells funny.
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 13:16:32 PDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: <JEFFREY>
Subject: Re: I DON'T REALLY HEAR YOU WHY ARE YOU HERE?
In-Reply-To: Message of Fri, 26 Jun 1992 15:57:03 EDT from <LIBWCA>
libwca;
I thought I was here. I guess I'm not. The rodents took your
parcheesi set; I know because they told me they did it. They took
the little marbles and hid them for the summer solstice. Now that
it's passed, we all want to answer your question. Then you can
ask it and we'll go away and leave you to your campsite, blue circles,
and Nintendo t-shirts. When the kids had killed the man I had to
break up the band.
--Jeffrey
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Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 16:14:21 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBWCA
Subject: I KNOW HE'S HERE
A man lives in the woods. I can't find him, but he knows how things
work. He comes and leaves notes for me, so that I will know how
things work, too. His name is Tim. He says this.
"I believe that everything works as a clicking action."
Since this is obviously true, I will find him and ask for more notes.
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 15:32:00 -05
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <<DICKENS>>
Subject: SILLY BILLY
Wilbur, poor fool, what Tim said was
"Everything works with a clique in action"
Zany murphy!
He was referring to members of the opposite camp, NOT your little
woodland friends.
Go get your jommies on and get ready for bed
Santa is coming
on the other side of the sun from now
Give Or Take A Solar Day,
Felonious J. Cubensis
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 13:47:24 PDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: JEFFREY
Subject: Note Number 15
Bill;
I will only write this once. If you find it anyplace other than
nailed to the big pine tree by the fork in the south trail (about
1/4 mile from the stagnant pool) it has obviously been tampered
with and should not be believed, unless of course you cross-reference
it with note number 11. This note, I believe will answer some of
your questions.
First off, it was a blue circle. Only circles with a diameter less
than that of a carbon atom can drop to a temperature that is low
enough for them to go fast enough to attain escape velocity. Try
throwing harder next time.
As for the color, remember your doppler shift. Had it been a red
circle, it would have been cool enough to handle without burning you.
Since you obviously can't tell the difference between blue and red,
I've told the squirrels not to bother with the Bowie tickets. By
the way, it's "Leper Messiah", not "leopard".
Anyway, that's how it all works. More notes will follow.
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 23:06:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: s t r a n g l e r <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: forget all that; try this instead
>Happy Anniversary. Darling.
Another try at a reply: the long version:
In those circumstances, m'dear m'dear m'dear, there is no possibility
at all that I would have thought to remain outside the tramlines of
fire. This here document, currently being read, is also non-existent,
and, as such, is not permitted to be quoted at any time. But, for now,
should I feel a need of my own to add a few small points to any posted
fictional histories, they would run thus:
-- jun 91: self, in another guise, is both bored and busy, intensely
dislikes statistics, and takes to dashing off quick letters to
anywhere at all in between page-turning. One of these ends up in
where is just about as wrong a place as possible.
-- Tuesday, 9 jul 91: a header, ever so slightly out of sorts,
appears, as m'dear had a headache and forgot to wear his dark
glasses, which, in bright sunshine, only serves to augment the
pain. This possible occurrence is nullified by the tested
and agreed caveat that Tuesdays absolutely never, ever count.
The incident is filed for future reference, along with an
earlier review of sbrhym: this forms the beginning of a
mail-folder called "ammo", which made excellent reading, now,
sadly, deleted.
-- oct-dec 1991: during this stretch of time, our hero, due to
general benevolence and a formidable talent to please, is fallen
utterly in love with by a passing fool, who was by then already
half-way there. Something Comes Up, and is highly disapproved of.
The fool, after recovering from a slight upset, sets out with some
diligence to discover what exactly said hero is up to, why he should
earnestly desire to be deleted, and whether an error of judgement
is made in positing his yeux to be beaux; events of this time will
not be precisely recalled as it is not a feature of the plot that
the protagonist should know what exactly went on, nor, indeed, at
what time exactly what went on went on. It is established that,
for worse or worse (as "better" is only what is never felt; he
keeps telling me this), a "Brid" and a "H." do not markedly differ
in their tiresome appreciation of events. Our hero is designated
H's property, forever&ever: this inevitably leads to massive
insecurity, ineptly concealed, when he later shows signs of belonging
to himself alone. It is concluded that no error of judgement was,
in fact, made. This, I shall label the "answer answer answer"
phase, the title ironically meant, as none were actually spotted
in the undergrowth; this, at least, served to disproof self's
earlier quoting of a conjecture that one more readily controls
those whom one can name.
-- dec 1991: never happened: 1991 was an unusual year, consisting,
as it did, of eleven months only.
-- jan-feb 1992: our hero produces several of his more deliberately
obscure postings, feebly countered by H., who hangs on to him in
a quite disgraceful manner, ignobly trying to tell him what is
what, but foiled by the fact that what is thought to be what
is not what at all; this inevitably leads to self-contradiction.
H800 makes himself useful by his absence.
-- a break: upsetting the chronological order, the writer goes and
makes self tea, briefly digressing. Hello, Niall; are you still
overworked?
-- feb 1992: our hero closes the door, in what could be gentle
dismissal or "other". H. both cares and minds, but does not
inquire what the "other", if any, might be, as she is by now quite
accustomed to having strings ending in certain subsets of the
character-set, most notably "?", ignored. She spends several
days refusing to talk to anyone, even H.s, outside of bare civility,
and develops the first signs of a psychosomatic limp, which will be
seen to reappear on sundry other occasions. This elicits a good
deal of gratuitous sympathy, which is less than useless to the hearer,
not being conducive to the return of a knight in shining and, if
anything, over-effective body-defences. A letter of farewell
is produced, the absolute last of its kind, one of self's
few postings which, viciousnesses competently deleted, actually
exists.
-- mar-apr 1992: the first [jellyfish] phase. All succeeding
phases will be seen to be [jellyfish] phases. H. duly
complains of unwarranted interference in the determination of
what manner of reading-matter shall appear before her, but is,
thankfully, ignored. Good times ensue, slightly marred by
an unerring ability on the part of our hero to get others
wrapped up in the strings of their pasts. We go to tea with
Seosamh, and swop weedkiller stories. An interlude on fnord-l
is best forgotten, as H. unwittingly makes things start to
have done with, and, noting the consequent re-emergence of a
limp, makes an ineffectual attempt to stop them. The merits
of "to put up with" are considered as an alternative by HQ,
and passed. HQ is thanked for this, as gratitude was then
neglected.
-- till the present day: a return home. It is diligently aspired
to keep complaints to a minimum; this policy, needless to say,
never gets off the ground. Someone has the temerity to post a
review to sbrhym (probably faulty in that the work was read, as
taught, for perspectives) on jun 3rd, beating some, but not all,
of the national press. Henry marches, yes, I'm afraid that does
indeed read "marches", centre-stage. Later, H. turns quite soppy;
this, while inexcusable, is symptomatic of ... no, merely
inexcusable; the effect is slightly mitigated by the substitution
of the word [jellyfish] for the word [darling], together with other
related words, a cavalier measure if ever I've admitted to the
measuring of one; notwithstanding this, proceedings are seen to be
both highly [jellyfish] and [wish the enemy were here], which is
no damn way to win a war: fear of loss of a hero, maintaining a
worrying presence in the background, is attempted to be negated as
unthinkable and thus disposed of; this also fails. The utter
[jellyfishity] transpiring cannot be dismissed as the Wodehouse
effect of hot weather, as one of the offending parties considers
25 degrees in the shade to be 25 degrees too much; the fault is
thus presumed to be that of the other party (*).
-- lunchtime: I write to the Times, but cannot be bothered to buy a
stamp for the letter. I have lunch -- oops, back to the topic of
discussion.
-- a short while ago: H. tells her obsession to "go away"; not, as is
quickly realised, the brightest of notions.
-- just now: the portion of a sentence marked (*) above is retracted,
as its author is not just now in the slingshot game. It may
reappear at some future date. H., disregarding the fact of
her promised appearance elsewhere one hour ago, practises her
typing, apologises, would damn you if it were feeling up to it,
contradicts herself, would not damn you for anything at all you
might care to offer, and declares exponentially increasing devotion.
Thank you,
H760
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 23:11:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: elsewhere <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: relief
I have not been here all day. I was never here.
I am really quite glad: it is better like that.
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 26 Jun 1992 19:04:30 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: LIBWCA
Subject: THE WOODS ARE LONELY DARK AND DEEP
Thank you Jeffrey. I'm much better now thank you. I still don't
understand some things out here. What does it mean when the squirrels
sing that song about the big red orifice? How do I get to the other
circle, the one with the chicken hearts? Is the devil still out here,
or did he go away after you scared him last night? Please answer all
these questions on only one tree. I only have room for one tree, because
the rocks take up so much room.
========================================================================
Date: Sat, 27 Jun 1992 18:23:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "strangler the chocolate biscuit" <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Consider: Obsessions
And where are you now, my M? Well risen, I should expect, with
the broadsheets shaken up and the spurious cat fed on spurious-
cat-feed, the pleonasms nicely stacked up preparatory to being
mechanically mitigated, the train spyglossed for riff-raff, as,
rilly, you just want a nice peaceful trip, with a few Grove Class
Pressics, in an empty carriage through the Bavarian pinnacles, for
which you cannot be blamed, and now, of course, is not the time
to mention that you bring all the distraughts and distroths upon
yourself, being so endemic and engaging and vexatious, and, presto,
cast them off again in dexterous manipulation of copper wiring and
asphalt. Tell me: would you, truly, be so lacking in sensibility as
to once again knowingly board a wrong train, not knowing at all
where you'd get to, though, perhaps, that first time, you had a
known detestination ("cognoscible aims", y'know, and I'll tell you
now, poor washoutcome though it may be, that self had none at all),
and merely neglected to foresee how sorely the resultant embroglio
would try you and fail you, vainglory be, despite "[my] very own best
interests" (be)lying in sacroscanting yrs in whatever sirendition
of romantic go-go dancing tunes was in brief comic vogue (during which
dramarring, I've verily had the inbetween times of my life while
hovering on the hasperiphery of yrs)? And, if you, being completely
and utterly artificial to the point of non-existence, as you will not
omit to remind me, and with, I suspect, the superpowers to delete,
in thunderflash of protectorates and derisive smile, the entirety of
a given listserv at a given time, fail to attain "safe&warm" (which
compound is only as superfluous as your answer (already tentatively
provided in anticipatory retrospective consideration of freedom from
complicating embarrassments, though I'd rather you stuck by the
enslaving grace of "fairly tolerable company") to the previous question
shows it to be), what chance have I (if I wanted a chance)? Answers on
a pretty postcard, please, to the bottom of yr favourite Great Lake,
whilst I, resting my bombastic hopes on bad grammar, can only venture
"Molim zeljela bih jos jedna godina. Darling."
H.
========================================================================
Date: Sun, 28 Jun 1992 15:13:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: strangler the hypothetical <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Humphrey Bogart
If Humphrey Bogart were walking along one side of the street, and
M. along the other, I would stand, torn, in the middle of the
street and get run over by a bus.
No: if Humphrey Bogart were walking along one side of the street,
and M. along the other, M. would chance upon me under the first
lamp-post he passed by, and, together, if he found the notion
agreeable and if he were carrying his catapult at the time, we
would throw pebbles at Humphrey Bogart to attract his attention.
No: if Humphrey Bogart were walking along one side of the street,
and M. along the other, something would possibly be amiss, as
Humphrey Bogart, I'm told, is dead.
========================================================================
Date: Sun, 28 Jun 1992 21:28:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "insufficient privilege or file protection violation"
<H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Ward
A. M. Ward, his left eyebrow still oddly draped after the previous
night's entanglement with the lift mechanism, cast himself down
upon his couch, missing it by only an inch or so, thus enabling him
to appreciate the unerring symmetry of the design of its cover from
his position on the floor, though reserving a small portion of his
mind for the thoughts which, when aiming for the couch, he had
been intending to think, on the matter of whether the fact of his
having gotten up that morning had really done him any good at all.
Not that he had been notably happy in bed either, but, over the years,
he had learnt to come to terms with so much of the sheep he
innocently counted turning out to be wolves which howled through his
dreams in a disturbance of the slightly menacing peace which
occasionally wrapped his slumbers. Besides, the sheer effort of
shaving had considerably depleted his day's energy-store, though, no,
on secondary recollection, he hadn't bothered to shave, so must have
been thinking of someone else. Momentarily accelerated at the thought
of there maybe being a someone else, he rose and moved towards
his address-book, not really surprised to find that it was, after all,
still empty. Figuring he might as well stay standing now he was there,
he shoved the address-book back into the flour-packet from which he
had taken it, dusted the flour from his shirt, and left by the back
door, saved from falling over the accumulation of milk-bottles outside
by a sudden twinge in the area where his left eyebrow had so recently
been, which caused him to clutch the doorframe, sidestepping as he did.
In the dim light of his office, his eyes lagged briefly upon the
same camisole which he had steadfastly delved for so many years,
but his sigh was force of habit rather than the sense of desperate
expectancy it had once been, as the picture had faded over the
course of the dusty summers, and, really, there was no longer much
chance of his recognising its wearer even if she did, one day, see
his advertisement in the evening classifieds and trek the stairs
to the room from which he ran his divorce & property management
clinic, which was hardly likely seeing that it was now seven weeks and
three days since he had last had a client, and that his telephone had,
he thought, been disconnected just after his dentist's bill came
through. As he eased himself down in his chair, careful not to
disturb the card house, which, after four days' toil, had just run
into a fifth pack, the furthest he'd gotten yet, the ringing of the
phone reminded him that it was not it, but the refrigerator, which had
been disconnected, which could explain why his beer had been so very
tepid lately.
While the woman on the phone gave him details of the month's work
she was offering him, a reverie unfolded in his mind of what he could
do if he had a castle all to himself (though she had mentioned a
receptionist being there to assist him) for even a short while, with
only minor caretaking duties, and of how the quest for the camisoled
one might have more scope from the battlements than it had had from
his narrow window, which, now he thought of it, could, if washed,
vouchsafe more view than the current glimpse of an upper corner of
the poster, which he'd pretty well memorised by then, on the
bus-shelter opposite. However, he had better things than cleaning to
do just then, and, as he put down the receiver, he was already searching
in his desk-drawer for his pen-knife. Absorbed in seeing how many tries
it took him to hit a spot he'd marked in chalk about two inches below
the coat-hook, he didn't even notice the card-house toppling in the
resultant air-stream.
As he went by the poster on his way home that evening, he read its
declaration that "You Make Friends, Our Telephones Will Help You Keep
Them" one last time, knowing he wouldn't be passing that way again.
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 30 Jun 1992 09:47:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Input file does not exist <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: never mind
The Roinn Oideachais was not especially pleased to meet A. M. Ward,
but, indoctrinated mannerliness of self's youth resurging, self
indicated by a shift in the direction of self's gaze, together
with a slight fluttering motion of the hand, that his presence
had been noted. Within the confines of the narrow aisle where
the biscuits were displayed in the village shop, it would hardly
have been courteous of self to pretend to solitude, particularly
as the jangling of self's armour rendered impractical the quiet
exit which self might otherwise had hoped for. Roinn had not
expected to engage in purchasing activities, but three hours of
straying lost around the castle, returning always in circles
to the portrait gallery, had left self hungry, and self had sadly
neglected to remove the sack containing self's high-energy glucose
drink from self's steed before granting it freedom.
Remembering that promptitude was one of the knightly virtues, Roinn
lunged at the first packet of biscuits the hue of the packaging of
which did not overly offend self's sensibilities and prepared to
depart the aisle, hunting in the inner right-hand pocket of self's
mail-shirt for the remains of self's stipend as self did. Self's
mail-shirt having warped in the heat, this process took slightly
more minutes than self had bargained for, so self, mindful of
knightly adage #43, "Chat Up The Locals", coughed gently and
inquired of Ward as to the frequency of his, which is to say Ward's,
as opposed to self's, presence upon the premises. Ward was somewhat
taken aback, as this was the self-same line he had been saving for
the occasion when he first encountered the camisoled one. Dropping
the packet of biscuits whose best-before-date had eluded him for the
past few minutes, he murmured "urk", and clearing his throat, repeated
"urk", as he feared the vowel sound had perhaps verged on the
inaudible at first attempt. Smiling kindly, Roinn remarked that
something in the set of Ward's hat reminded self of one self had
passed by on Brighton Pier a few months previously, and ventured the
deduction that Ward was a much-travelled man. Ward admitted that he
had indeed been around and was not permanently resident in the village,
but had accepted a job as caretaker at the castle. Upon hearing this,
Roinn took a step backwards into the disgustingly healthy oatcakes with
no added salt and half the average adult requirement of vitamin b, and,
quickly regaining self's balance, proposed an alliance.
As Roinn and Ward left the shop, Ward was grinning a grin which,
to an observer who had attended the screening of any old films with
cloak-costumed villains, might be seen as both evil and dastardly: this,
unless the observer was confused by the fact of Ward's face being
obscured by a paper bag. Roinn was mentally composing self's
diary-entry for the day, torn, as always, between the wish to show self
in the best possible light and the knightly duty to minimise the extent
of the calligraphy so as not to have the decease of a rain-forest upon
self's conscience. Silently plunging the depths of the biscuit-packet
which Ward was manually transporting, they turned up the path toward
the castle.
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 30 Jun 1992 09:59:45 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: Mozete limi pomoci, molim vache (moooooo)...
And I thot them felonious cuban varieties were done eradicated--least
from the market....Help Help.... How should I post it? What format
should I use? Let it run on and on or put hard returns in or what???
M., H., &c. send me some advice please cow. Doesn't anyone send
anything direct anymore. Do I have to wade thru this mad rampaging list
to get an answer. What's happened anyway??? It's summer and this list
is popping out of its jeans!! Good, good. Now about that ad-vice....
OK--look part one of GOOKCITY is compleat (pete) of four or five parts.
Do I need to say more??? Am I going to get a response? Could you send
it direct to me, you know who I am.
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 29 Jun 1992 23:43:00 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Juniper Sage <CHEATING@SBCCVM.BITNET>
Subject: The Difference
Seeing as how it has lain fallow, I do not imagine that M shall be
responding any time soon to your inquiry, H760, as to the operating
difference between the two of us, and I suppose it fitting that I
should post an answer and explanation as it is I who posits the two
of us as "separate but equal"; I do not believe that M cares a scant
iota should you wish to believe that an identity function is in place
here. M may very well be correct, as it may not have a huge impact
on the "washoutcome" if you feel M to be attempting to assume the role
of con artist or, as you would have it, simple and tiresome liar, and
working through a Sybil split of dramatic pretention. Regardless,
some simple points: M believes the world of you, and, as a result,
spends much time in a fog of paranoia certain that the person sitting
at the table in the corner who happened to glance up did no such thing
and is taking detailed notes on what food is being ingested for any
"ammo" files you may yet have lying about, cluttering your state-funded
account. This gives M, I suspect, a good deal of self-grandeur and
self-aggrandization with which to wile away the hours of unproductivity
which is otherwise spent with the more trivial and mundane aspects
of unproductivity, such as inventing psychiatric and physiological
explanations for an inability to speak in anything but inarticulate
and noncommittal grunts, if even that. M also toils to maintain an
accurate and up-to-date HUNIATZ file, though mostly that involves,
as you correctly conjecture, scanning the dailies on the exceedingly
remote chance that spotting your name in a police blotter or political
untidiness in the international arena; as a result of this, M knows
more, and will "waffle" on far longer, than one might wish M to about
the complications of the Royal Family; Princess Diana has even come
to be referred to as "poor dear", a grating condescension.
However, perhaps M may no longer be a factor in this breezy list, in
which case I might readily return this account, as there have been
no sightings of our beloved hero since late Friday afternoon, sometime
around 18.00 EDT, when M struck me for no clear reason while sputtering
inchoately about "never leaving operatives out in the open" and promising
revenge. I do not profess to understand this statement, nor, truthfully,
do I care to; still, I suspect that the blow was not intended for me.
Juniper Sage
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 30 Jun 1992 13:53:00 -05
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <<DICKENS>>
Subject: STARK RAVING
And our lovely model, Buddy, is sporting the latest in kicky Summer
Tweeds, looking sharp and feeling no pain whether at the beach or the
marketplace, in this six-piece outfit by Mr. Sweeney Outerwear Ltd. of
Glen Crablet.
Just Thought You'd Want To Know,
Merciful Lee Dickens
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 30 Jun 1992 15:28:00 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "A. Yarker" <LIBALP>
Subject: The palindromic nature of Truth
As you know, Tim writes notes to Bill. These notes say various things.
Today Tim writes:
"look at this when a word is
spelled backward it gives the
Devils side of the word"
("Devils side" has been marked out and replaced with "opposite meaning"-ed.)
Tim goes on to cite as examples:
GOD man cat money happyDOG nam tac yenom yppah
"Yenom" is, of course, the only significant example.
Elsewhere, Tim points out that "the opposite of the word love is evol.
If you spell a word backwards you are slightly Doing the opposite of thegood."
Let's take a look.
Stony Brook Libalp Bill Merciful Lee DickensKoorb Ynots Plabil Llib Snekcid (aha!) Eel LuficremJuniper Sage Daniel Foss Dr. Amos Haggard H.Egas Repinuj Ssof Leinad Draggah Soma .Rd .H
AP
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 30 Jun 1992 14:59:00 -05
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <<DICKENS>>
Subject: Hey Plabil!
Cop a feel
of my snekcid eel
Smile When It's Big Enough For You,
Merciful Lee
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