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Date: Tue, 8 Sep 1992 17:47:46 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: HAG <HAG>
Subject: Uhhh....
21 days of concentrated SBRHYMers notes read in one afternoon--can my
brain stand the pressure (insert graphic description of exploding
heads complete with the usual gore).
Why 21 days, you ask? Obviously you wouldn't ask since it's not the first
time I've been silent for so long. But I will tell you anyway. For want
of a cable a connection was lost, for want of a connection.....no, wrong
line. Actually I never did get a cable for the home machine, never having
felt the need. Several hours of e-mail from the machine at work was
always sufficient to fulfill the craving. However, I am now at home and
shall remain so for some time to come. Piqued your curiosity yet. Of
course not. Too bad, because I'm going to explain it anyway.
Please welcome as a non-contributing--at least for some years to come--
member Ms. Tegan Emily Greenberg, born 8/20/92. For those of you who
like details: 8 lbs. 5 oz., 21.5 inches long. Mum and Babe have been
and no doubt will continue to "do well". Eyes, wide-set, bright, and
of a charming grey; face, round; nose, trim; mouth, of rosebud variety;
chin, small but determined; personality, engagingly grave and placid.
I shall try not to sully this list with graphic descriptions of her
birth--it might be too intense even for those who espouse the
ratgutslimeetc. school of literature. Nor shall I make you suffer
through anything that I may happen to write in the next few weeks as it
will probably be too rose-coloured positive to be welcome on this list.
However, thought I'd tell you all the news anyway.
Hope
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Date: Wed, 9 Sep 1992 02:06:09 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: you serve as my slough/ lucky you lucky you
eventually your icons get so thick that you easily slip into the realist
illusion, even the modern boast (unfounded) of gifted sight over all
cultures not blessed with a magician as clever as Durkheim. You start
feeling the formula inside your very being, feel the wave the world
stands on, hence the grandiosity of mental disease in the Western World;
men think they're gawdam napolean, women think they're elizabeth taylor,
children are all ultraman or a faery princesses. Wait, not the children on
your block? Good, listen up, the future's in your hands. Eventually
the line is so clean that you cease to see any quantumn packages except
in physics textbooks, safely exiled to the realm of rilly small, and cruise
everynight thinking, 'wow, hey, how could anyone not live in chicago? (la?
frisco? vienna?) Everyone should have cucumbers and msg on their hotdogs.
Everyone should have hotdogs; yeh, then there'd be no world hunger. Shit
ain't it great to be white--everyone's a genius. Ah what the hell's physics
anyway but a gawdamn very convincing religion? Why should we revere science
as if anything meant anything to anyone anyway, huh?' Right, them extremes
are part of the show. 'It's this or that, you shit. Russia was wrong so now
it's Star Trek Cap. Mickey, over and out. Why should we listen to these
glib routines anyway? What makes you think America ever had anything tosay?'
What makes you think you know your whiteass way around the zillion pimples
of our very massive and impressive geography? You've never been to me.
See, that's the point, neither have I. Makes life sort a' special, huh?
"Waterlillies in your bathtub silent invisible conversation...."
========================================================================
Date: Wed, 9 Sep 1992 08:34:00 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Arthur Parker <LIBALP>
Subject: Booting Up Baby
Spoken: If she gets used to the radiation from the monitor now, maybe she'll
become immune.
Aw, look at her little fingers on the keys . . .(music swells)
Baby took the car out/
But the car ran outta gas
Baby burned the bank down/
But disliked the smelly ash
We thought that nuuuuthiiiiiiiin'/
Was good enough for Baaaaaabbyyyyyy/
But now
Baby likes to go surfin'
in my
shoes
Surfin' in my shoes Hey!
Baby digs
goin' surfin'
in my
shoes.
Cowabunga, kids! That one's called Surf Baby Breakout! Dig it!
And Hey! Congratulations Hope! Don't show bunt!
Arthur
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Date: Thu, 10 Sep 1992 10:28:54 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: ibajibin
Yes, your baby is on fire, yes. Banks, good! AND, if I may be allowed
to pontificate (hehe you can't stop me!!!) for a moment, it behooves,
in such a year, an election year and even the dreaded 1992, it behooves,
I say, each of us who reside daily in slime, who, may we say, rollgloriously
in the entrails of all e-animals (& perhaps even actual animals as thecase
may be), it behooves us to counter the spread of thoughtless mind pressure
(ala the two word bumper sticker) and five minute sound bites with reams
of mindless idiotic banter, the purpose of which of course would be to cause
mind prickliness and chaotic activity needed to counter thecommerical/politico
squeezing our heads are taking from the media and people's foreheads. I
suggest a poster campaign. Take some of this hedonistic bozoid drooling out
on the streets, or, if necessary, up on the walls secretly at night like the
Chinese used to do before they even shut that down too. I suppose thatmakes
anonymous postering as a practice unescapably ring with sardonic disgust;
it says 'look how afraid i am to say my part in public but look howfearlessly
i defy your wall'. And that's what this list is anyway, huh? Anonymous
postering? Still I think at this point it would be wise to waste a fewtrees
(which are gone anyway) to try to puke to a wider audience, huh? OK, don't
reply. That'll just make them think you're all taking orders from me and
silently (even smuggly) carrying out my suspiscious designs. Of course, we
know that isn't true, don't we? Don't we? All hail to the Bugman ofSorento,
May our Ghostus shine upon the Mostus. I never buy anything with a redwhite
and blue label (too many association tracks, french? liberian? malaysian?
yeh!) except that generic cranberry juice and mon dieux I believe it'swhat's
done me in. Oh well, hehehe....
;^##
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 11 Sep 1992 01:02:03 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: queue cue <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: Re: ibajibin
I've tried this, GR, I rilly have; on my last declension to the
southern barracks, I placed bits and fragments of Her Most Sacred
and Divine words and I stapled, taped, hot-glued, epoxied, and
insert-in-slot-b-tab-a-ed everywhere, in the middle of the road,
to the left of the enormous clock tower which used to govern one
of the more vacant parks on the Trail of Tears amusement park
tilt-a-whirl, in one of the unexplored passages of Mammoth Cave,
right before the path of the redcarpeted ducks in Memphis, even
passed out sheets as the holy word in Shakertown once I'd donned
my disguise which lasted for a little while until I was asked to
explain my presence and why I was frightening the small children
with my evil grin. I was, you might imagine, unable to compel
others to Follow, Lead, or Get Out Of The Way; I believe I may be
responsible thus for the recession. Sorry, all; next time I'll use
GookCity (still waiting on Ch.2 Pt.2) ...
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 11 Sep 1992 01:10:19 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: queue cue <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: Re: Uhhh....
>Please welcome as a non-contributing--at least for some years to come--
>member Ms. Tegan Emily Greenberg, born 8/20/92. For those of you who
>like details: 8 lbs. 5 oz., 21.5 inches long. Mum and Babe have been
>and no doubt will continue to "do well". Eyes, wide-set, bright, and
>of a charming grey; face, round; nose, trim; mouth, of rosebud variety;
>chin, small but determined; personality, engagingly grave and placid.
>
Congratulations, congratulations, this is marvelous, and I greatly
appreciate that her initials will be TEG. Actually, though you will
be unbelievably busy, you should scrawl every thought down; I'd be
curious to find what would flutter through -- hope postpartum d. skips
you by. At least monitor her carefully and take note to alert us when
she begins to show the signs of Stony Brookish placidomingo arias.
Quite an inventive wrong-definition-and-two-weeks-early-Labor Day
present: and, I'd imagine, a fantastic Christmas present from 1991.
M.
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Date: Fri, 11 Sep 1992 01:20:39 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
Comments: Warning -- damnmodernart gets into everything
From: queue cue <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject: _M Seemingly Coming To Pieces, September, 1992_
>What makes you believe that all I see, all I touch, all I think, is
>not already M-medi(t)ated, extrapolated from yr existence in
>trapolepositioned well-pleated kilterpsichorean (careful, m'dear, or
>I'll remind you of yr black mini) rock&rolls of the rilly imperative
>wish that this userid should be castled in yr mind, if nowhere else,
>when killed in action, adventure, romance, go-go dancers: chorus,
>please, Arthur: "crazy..."
>
Her also-ran-tan crisply clamors for attention, surmising the cariosa
scalings that adorn all these fallen flivvers, yet the self-razeeing
dreadnought(-&-cross-word-puzzles) have delivered unto her a snashing
[sic] success, from vestibule to vestry where she, perfect prefect,
discards the bricole with less ado than might be given an annoyance:
Yet: the redoubt redouts and finds that her ericoid touch is more than
enough to keep this sederunt afloat: I love her in postcard photos
element-exposure ruined, I love her in the tonic slam that provides
in-house-arrestimations of just what she means to me, I love her in
the distances, the flint-sparks, the black minivans, I love her.
All In Due Time. Which, incidentally, has just run out.
G'night, all.
M(H760-castled)
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Date: Fri, 11 Sep 1992 21:39:20 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: central kentucky, 2 a.m., the tva has just gone offline...
Yes! yes! I remember. The subway, but then I didn't believe it, I mean
it was the subway after all. But in MAMMOUTH CAVE, YES! It had to be
you. I so appreciate this, my e-friend. Remember the time we met in a
dream and dug up ancient bones to inscribe silly earth goddess poetry
on them? Well, it was you at the Cave and you just admitted it. Do
you ever communicate through caves or rocks? I'll try to pick you up.
Please, you must now redouble you efforts! Try harder! Lengthen your
stride, quicken your pace, pongale en cambio pendotes! Strike strike
whilest we still have some magnesium strips left! Yes, gentlefolks,
I do have a statement to make at this time, and it ain't berries, nope.
You the berries! You!
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 11 Sep 1992 21:20:25 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: poop musicology
You don't have the time
And you rilly don't know
If you rilly want to get there
You better take time
If you want to take it along
When you go if you're goin'
I got socks and underwear
To last for a week
I got three-bean salad and tofu
I got nine packs of color TV Magic cards
And a balding spot
And three lines running to Sunday
Help my lungs are gone
Give me back my liver, Barnaby Jones
Help I got crabs from
A girl in Colorado with enormous ones
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Date: Sun, 13 Sep 1992 22:21:09 CST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: GR4302
Subject: armful's a chance way i be (oblivated re: post 2 Sep 92,09:47:12CST)
armful's a chance way i be
if i don't know what i mean i see
i overtuned with up bars go
then wrenching i, eyes closed and hit
feet dangling like enobe god
gadzooks! ruminate i swiftly
marvelous i could awake from this
:^###^:
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Date: Mon, 14 Sep 1992 11:09:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "H." <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: baby baby baby
Hello, Tegan Emily Greenberg;
Rather late, I know, but nevertheless I wish to warmly welcome you
to the cot in the corner of Sbrhym's living-room, where I'm sure
you'll be most content. The sawing sound you hear in the distance
is Gr4302 making you a rocking-horse, while Arthur carefully performs
rot13-type operations on the instructions on the carton of talcum
powder. The heavily behatted shadow lurking behind him is that of
Bill, furtively attempting to replace it by gunpowder. DANA, WHO
WON HIS SCHOOL'S PAPIER-MACHE PRIZE FOR THE SECOND TIME RUNNING THIS
YEAR, IS PULPING YOU AN ICKLE RATTLE. The other subscribers (incl.,
I see, tim) are off-tuning lullabies from the garden. Cheating
dearest loves you.
Congratulations, Hope.
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Date: Wed, 16 Sep 1992 15:55:00 -05
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: THIS JUST IN:
Dictionary headers:
Mendelssohn - mercurochrome
snapdragon - snoopy
transmissive - trapshooting
librarian - life
You've Been A Great Pack Of Vassals!
Thank You And Good Night,
Your Liege,
Merciful Lee Dickens
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Date: Wed, 16 Sep 1992 16:18:00 -05
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: 2 More Things
And Then I'll Let You Go:
I've learned the art of whistling the note that gets female mosquitoes
hot - REALLY hot -
I can whip them into a thirst frenzy
delirious and dreaming about the blood at the other end of the whistle
they come in droves
but here's the interesting part:
I'm a ventriloquist and I'm standing just around the corner from YOU!
Kitchy Koo You Little Bastards,
Merciful Liege Dickens
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 17 Sep 1992 14:02:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: garbled benedictions <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: Clandestinnitus
If party oops I mean partie A fictionalizes a fact and partie B proceeds
to refactualize that fiction, it is not necessarily the case that
partie B should arrive at partie A's point of commencement: the unreliable
nature of this inverse function makes for sloppy mathematics, if nothing
else, though here&now so much else and elser and elsest to abashedly
murmur through this span of his immortality ("Mother, for how long is
immortal?" "For as long as it tak-- I mean, that is to say, till Christmas,
dear, then we'll ask your father"): drumroll, drumroll, R. B. Fanclub Prez,
sweetie pie, lambykins, wouldya, couldya, smile till it hurts and
lopsidelongs in invocations most solemn and in singsongs? And there was
a silence in the Killfile akin to that of mornings awakening to wonder
exactly how many minutes were to pass before his customary place amid my
mental disturbances was filled, there to stay till I slept again (Kiddies'
Puzzle Corner: spot the obvious logical error in the above). Y'know
self expired of chronic malignant metastatic eyestrain oh quite a few
months ago now from over-contemplation of the great lurid-orange-on-matt-
black screenish substance so to whom have You been addressing Your so-to-
speak attentions lately? Hyposemia, m'dear, hyposemia: <God and theDevil
in these letters> <of credit for future empire> <I am White,Christian,
&c &c> <do not reply at this address>: Horace Gregory beingsomewhat more
apocalyptic than is his wont; let us therefore go now, you&I, and attend
nightclasses on the gentle UndamnedAncientArt of taxidermy: blow me down
if m'very-dear hasn't lapsed within shooting-distance, [jellyfish], H.
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 17 Sep 1992 16:51:35 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: TIMF
Subject: cow eats dog whole! details inside!
Just before we shot him, he fell to his knees, oblivious to the mushy
french fries that lay scattered over the linoleum floor, and begged for
mercy. He wanted mercy from us. It made me laugh. He wanted mercy from the
man who had just seen his best pal shoved headfirst into the deepfat
frier for trying to sneak a honey BBQ wing into his combat vest pocket.
He wanted mercy from the man who had raised a pet chick since he was
a boy of eight only to to..damn it!..only to see dear little Pepe (who
would never hurt a fly) fall prey to one of the Colonel's chicken-
scavenging death squads. Fuck mercy. I had no mercy for him. All I had
for him was a spray of hot lead courtesy of mister McUzi!
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