PreviousIndex
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 5 Apr 1993 13:20:02 -0400
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Notker Babalus <GR4302 >
Subject: future daze say dagon city rise drown you poops
MC: Well folks our time's just about up for today. Time left
just for any last comments from you Dagon??
Dagon: Yes, Dagon say thank funny fish heads for hear Dagon
talk tell you all...But! No matter! Silly fish heads all go
pop, all the big poo go drown you pop-head. So sorry little
poopballs make Mamma so mad and bang bang on de head--
MC: Sorry! Time's up!
Dagon: Yup! Right!
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 6 Apr 1993 11:00:00 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Bialik Poetry Server <BIALIK@BRANDEIS.BITNET>
Subject: Poem of the Day
A DirgeChristina RossettiWhy were you born when the snow was falling?You should have come to the cuckoo's calling,Or when grapes are green in the cluster,Or, at least, when lithe swallows muster For their far off flying From summer dying.Why did you die when the lambs were cropping?You should have died at the apples' dropping,When the grasshopper comes to trouble,And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble, And all winds go sighing For sweet things dying.
========================================================================
Date: Wed, 7 Apr 1993 02:22:33 -0400
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Notker Babalus <GR4302>
Subject: bbeating us senseless with futile hopes of resolved perception
i think they've discovered the cultural equivalent of a binaural beat
keep what's going in one ear just slightly off what's going in the other
they can set the frequency, the social assonance
despair or elation, serendipity to order
i think i've discovered that if you scramble both connections you can breakit
you can learn to think through the ensuing semiotic pinknoise
--your brainwave something like a primitive shaman or schizophrenic--
radio-noise is good training
listen to the broadcast on AM
a station two counties away
hope to get some bending beat
behind a baseball cover-show
some wire warped tune or pulse
anything to break up my head
bbeat this binaural bullshit
by learning to walk the waves of chaos
ride one step over their best second guess
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 8 Apr 1993 16:22:36 -500
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "Hope A. Greenberg" <hag >
Subject: Re: Subscription request
On Thu, 8 Apr 1993, William Leavy wrote:
> Please send me information on subscribing to the Stony
> Brook Literary Underground list on listserv.
>
> Thank you,
> William Leavy
Dear William,
Lest you have grandiose notions of a revolutionary literary circle
scintillating with wit and grandeur, conversing with knowledge and
intellect, and....quick somebody give me a third pithy phrase....we must
do these things in threes.....be forewarned that the SBRHYM-L list is so
named not because it evokes anti-establishment, daring, poetry and prose,
but because underground is the suitable resting place for most of the
traffic across these screens. Think graveyards, putridity, sewage, and
little nasty beasties that go crawling about in the netherworld. Mix in a
bit of bluff camaraderie and the occasional attempt at contemporary and
meaningful poetry that is usually decried instantly and there you have it.
Still interested? send a mail message to listserv@sbrhym-l.sbccvm.bitnet
In the message type only:
sub sbrhym-l William Leavy
or any psuedonym that you prefer. Bung it off and you'll be on your way.
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 9 Apr 1993 08:26:00 -05
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: Good Friday
I have composed a short poem in honor of Good Friday. Ahem:
My cat is free
Up in a tree
Oo wee
Thank you.
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 9 Apr 1993 15:10:45 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Bill Anderson <LIBWCA>
Subject: Re: Subscription request
In-Reply-To: Message of Thu, 8 Apr 1993 16:22:36 -500 from<hag@
On Thu, 8 Apr 1993 16:22:36 -500 Hope A. Greenberg said:
>On Thu, 8 Apr 1993, William Leavy wrote:
>
>> Please send me information on subscribing to the Stony
>> Brook Literary Underground list on listserv.
>>
>> Thank you,
>> William Leavy
>
>Dear William,
>Lest you have grandiose notions of a revolutionary literary circle
>scintillating with wit and grandeur, conversing with knowledge and
>intellect, and....quick somebody give me a third pithy phrase....we must
>do these things in threes.....be forewarned that the SBRHYM-L list is so
>named not because it evokes anti-establishment, daring, poetry andprose,
>but because underground is the suitable resting place for most of the
>traffic across these screens. Think graveyards, putridity, sewage, and
>little nasty beasties that go crawling about in the netherworld. Mix ina
>bit of bluff camaraderie and the occasional attempt at contemporary and
>meaningful poetry that is usually decried instantly and there you haveit.
>
>Still interested? send a mail message to listserv@sbrhym-l.sbccvm.bitnet
>In the message type only:
>sub sbrhym-l William Leavy
>
>or any psuedonym that you prefer. Bung it off and you'll be on your way.
"Erudition"
========================================================================
Date: Sat, 10 Apr 1993 20:22:13 -0400
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Notker Babalus <GR4302>
Subject: Quem Quaeritis?
Plop dummy up above three bent trees
Four-thousand cars trying to keep warm
One mighty one on scaffold high
Eyes closed hands open wide
In imitation of 101 feet of white porcelain crucifix
I can see four states from here
Just the peaks just the highridge skyline
As the Earth bends the Sun's first rays
Across this simple horizon
Four-thousand sighs at once released to the sky
And a look to help bring these dead wooden legs up
In time I will
In time I still might try
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 13 Apr 1993 09:44:23 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Robert Holder <WHIPLASH>
Subject: Senora Evora
Senora Evora was my fifth grade spanish teacher, and everybody
in my class hated her. I don't remember exactly why we hated
her so much, but we all did.
I developed this ability to make time pass more quickly while
I was taking that class. I would stare at the big clock over
the blackboard, right at the second hand. It started when I
was particularly miserable one day during the "Spanish Hour"
because I had gotten an answer wrong or was whispering to some-
body or something, and had gotten in trouble. I was sitting
there wishing I could make that second hand go faster. So I
stared at that second hand, and started trying to will it to
go faster. My mind slipped into this vacant, trancelike state
(much like how it is now) as my eyes followed the second hand.
It moved around the minute marks at a hypnotically even speed,
and my mind would blank out until it hit the "12" and I would
realize with pleasure that a minute had gone by and yet I had
hardly been aware that I was in that classroom at all. Plus,
I was one minute closer to being done with spanish for the day.
I got really good at it, and could actually do it by looking at
the minute hand, but it was easier to do by looking at the second
hand. The second had moved more quickly, and did the work of
emptying my head for me, with a little shot of joy each time
it passed the topmost hour mark. The minute hand was a slower
cousin to the second hand and when it hit that top mark, my
suffering was over! The closer the minute hand got to the top
of the hour (when the class was over) the faster time went.
But once or twice during each class, Senora Evora would have
us answer questions from the text book one student after
another, around the room, so when the voices started getting
closer to me, i had to come down from my thoughtless trance and
quickly figure out where we were in the questions and count up
to what my question was going to be and figure out the answer.
Then, as soon as I had spoken, my brain would switch gears and
I'd be back in my little time warp, staring at that clock. I
just stared vacantly at the clock every day at that hour for
weeks and weeks. She must have thought that I was autistic or
something because eventually she just left me alone. My turn would
come to answer, and she wouldn't even call my name. Out of the corner
of my eye, I could see her make a little mark in her book, when it
was my turn. I had to come down to see that, but it was less work
than counting up to my question and figuring out the answer.
I was failing that class, and it would have been the first class
I had ever failed, except that one day near the end of the term, as
it became time to begin Spanish class, and my empty head was settling
down for a nice daze, our regular teacher made an announcement to the
room.
"Senora Evora is sick and she won't be teaching Spanish here
anymore."
At this, the entire class erupted in a cheer, "YAY!!!!" We
actually jumped out of our chairs, cheering with joy. That's
how much we hated Senora Evora. I wish I could remember some
specific examples of what was so miserable about her, but I
was so stupefied throughout the whole semester I can barely
remember anything about it except that beautiful clock. I trust
that there were sufficient reasons in our ten year old brains
for our feelings about her. The sound of that cheer still
echoes in my head. It is easily the most sincerely joyous sound
I have ever heard human beings make.
Our regular teacher became flustered and angry and began to chastise
us. She made us aware that she was very disappointed in us. We
were advised that we were behaving in a way that she disapproved
of greatly, and that there may be some punishments to come. But
inside we were all very happy. That was one of the few times in
my life that I felt some kinship with the people around me. And
the best part was that for some reason or another, they passed every-
body in the class! Apparently they couldn't find a substitute
teacher, and they couldn't give us grades based only on partial
completion of the course or something. It wasn't explained to me;
all I needed to know was that I was going to pass. Even in my hazy
torpor, I had known I was failing the class.
Now I feel kind of bad about Senora Evora. I'm sure she must have
had people who loved her. I don't recall if she was married, but
everybody has somebody who loves them. Suffering is always worse
when there is somebody involved who has some feelings of love. And
I feel bad that she became sick and was in pain. But I do still have
some vague impressions of her, and my memory tells me she was a dom-
ineering, unforgiving, cranky authoritarian bitch. I'm still glad we
cheered when she left. I still cheer when one of those fuckers leave
my presence...
...even if it's ME! *Especially* if it's me...
much love,
rob
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 13 Apr 1993 10:08:24 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "T.J. Seitz" <TSEITZIN>
Subject: Reject This Poem!
"REJECT THIS POEM"
I Dare You!
To castrate me
With your fucking fountain pen
All editors are like Lesbian Nazis
Envious of what they lack themselves
(The ability to impregante)
Words
Buggering the seething carcasses of rotting poets instead
For ephemeral inspiration
Printing only politically correct propaganda,
Not the painful truth.
T. J. Seitz
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 13 Apr 1993 11:01:26 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: CUTHBERT@SOMEWHERE.IN.ENGLAND.ORG
Organization: International Brotherhood of Valets and Hired Goons
Subject: Re: Reject This Poem!
In-Reply-To: Message of Tue, 13 Apr 1993 10:48:56 EST from <TSEITZIN@>
On Tue, 13 Apr 1993 10:48:56 EST T.J Seitz said:
>Did I hit a tender spot in your bleeding liberal heart or are you
>just jealous that I said what I did before before you could!
We have to be nice to these people over THERE, by god, but we don't
have to be nice to anybody here. Not anybody. This is the Steely-eyed
Killer Dismembered-Corpse Hideous Horrible Wailing Death List, you
rancid little fuck, and if you EVER try to do ANYTHING that's even
REMOTELY relevant on this list again, we will FEED YOU TO THE WEASELS!
Have you ever been fed to the weasels? THEN WHAT THE HELL DO YOU
KNOW ABOUT THE PAINFUL TRUTH? HUH? HUH?
Dana, take this stinking heap of shit outside and break its kneecaps.
Cuthbert
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 13 Apr 1993 10:21:00 -05
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Merciful Lee Dickens <DICKENS>
Subject: Senora Evora Responds
The late 1970's was an especially trying time for me. I was struggling
to make ends meet and had taken a job teaching Espanol to the little
children of Benedict Arnold Elementary School. It was so difficult to
leave alone my own poor child at home to do this, but I had to work to
pay the power bill. Poor Federico was in such terrible pain that the
only way I could ease his suffering was to keep the machines on, night
and day. This meant that, in addition to my regular job cleaning the
churches at night, I would have to take this extra job in the day.
I would have just enough time, after returning my cleaning cart to the
little closet in the rectory, to race home and kiss my poor brave
Federico, blow out the candles on his iron lung and kidney dialysis
machines, and hobble to the school, thirty-two blocks from mi casa.
It meant going without meals and new clothes and all the other things
that normal people take for granted, but what could I do? I had to do
the best that I could. I had to devote all my waking hours to helping
my child.
Each day I would pray that Our Savior would take pity on my child and
ease his suffering. I would gladly have taken his pain if I were only
able to do this, but it was not meant for me to exchange places with
him. "Go ahead, Mama," Federico would say, trying to smile though the
pain made him grimace, "I will be okay." My little soldier was so
strong for one so young.
I remember that the children I taught in this school were so unlike my
own poor child. They had everything. My little Federico had nothing.
Still they were not satisfied. They were fat and lazy, contemptuous of
authority, ill-behaved and mean-spirited. There were days that I could
hardly keep back my tears when I thought how unfair it was. Still, I
had no choice but to keep trying to teach them.
There was one little boy, Roberto, who I remember to be the most
difficult to reach. He had many tattoos on his little arms and he
would sit staring vacantly at a spot just over my head. He had such a
look of abandoned hope that it only added to my own misery and I made
every effort to reach his tormented soul. I used to light a candle for
Roberto at the church each night when I lit one for my little Federico.
I made extra efforts to inspire him to learn. Still, it was no use.
He would only stare into space.
I worried so much in those days that it finally took its toll on my
health. One morning I awoke to find that I was too weak to rise from
my futon. I crawled to the door, but could not raise myself high
enough to turn the knob. I collapsed from the strain and when I
recovered, it was hours later. I had no money for a telephone and
since there was only little Federico and me, there was no one to run
for a doctor or to contact the school. It wasn't until the next day
that I had the strength to go back to work, but, alas, it was too late.
I had lost my job.
As much as I looked and pleaded for another job, still I could not find
another job. Time wore on and the little bit of money I made from the
churches was not enough to support even our meager needs. It was a
time of great despair.
Soon, the electric bill had become too long overdue and they turned off
the power to my darling nino's machines. I was forced to spend my last
few pesos on a generator for him. It was the kind that you sit on like
a bicycle and pedal. Pedal, pedal, pedal for hours. If you stopped for
very long, the power would run down.
"Por favor, Mama," the tiny voice would beg, "do not tire yourself so.
I can take the pain for awhile. Rest." And forgive me - sometimes I
would faint from the hunger and lack of sleep until I would wake up
guilt-ridden and grief-stricken to see the agony my child endured in
those hours of my neglect.
Finally, I made a vow: All day and all night I would pedal. It was a
decision that I was firmly committed to and it consumed all of my
time. No longer was there time to leave the cramped apartment. No
longer was there any opportunity to get out in the world.
Late at night I would sometimes wonder what became of my students and,
especially, Roberto, but then I would force myself to put it out of my
mind and pedal...
Senora Gabriella Evora de Asuncion
Clearwater, FL
4/13/93
***********************************************************************
(FOR A WRITTEN TRANSCRIPT OF THIS HEARTBREAKING SAGA, SEND A DOLLAR IN
U.S. CURRENCY TO THE "GET A LIFE FOUNDATION" CARE OF THIS STATION.)
You've Been A Great Audient!
Thank You And Good Night!
Merciful Lee Dickens
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 13 Apr 1993 11:20:36 EST
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "T.J. Seitz" <TSEITZIN>
Subject: Re: Reject This Poem!
In-Reply-To: note of 04/13/93 11:11
Do you think I'm afraid of a couple nerds who think that
idle threats transmitted anonamoulsyover a data line makes them
'real' men!! Give me a break and put your buddy's dick back in
your mouth where it belongs! I want to see true beatnic's
on this list not unworldly ignoramus' like you.
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 13 Apr 1993 11:38:57 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Robert Holder <WHIPLASH>
Subject: Re: Reject This Poem!
PUMP UP THE VOLUME
PUMP UP THE VOLUME
PUMP UP THE VOLUME
FFF UUU CC CC KKK !!!!!!FF FF UU UU CCC CC K K !!FF F UU UU CC CC CC K !!!!FF F UUUUUUU CC CCC K !!FF F UU UU CC CC K K !!FFFF U U CC C KKK !!!!!!FFF III GG GG HHH TTTTTTFF FF II II GGG GG H H TTFF F II II GG GG GG H TTTTFF F IIIIIII GG GGG H TTFF F II II GG GG H H TTFFFF I I GG G HHH TTTTTT
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 13 Apr 1993 11:50:38 -0400
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Notker Babalus <GR4302>
Subject: fight! fight!
Fight on the list! Fight on the list! Wow, we ain't had such a
row in in in ....hmmmm--true we've been quite placid since the War.
I must agree, tho, that TJ Zeitschitz is a little 'behind-the-lines',
eh? Beat Nick?? Nick'll pound your flippin kahuna, ear-lips.
Blood's alright, even politcal nastiness and pokes, but why complain
about editors? Why use vulgar sexism? Hey this list is dedicated
to DESTROYING the publishing industry--that's why we exist. If
we all give it away, we've won. I look for an e-day when everyone
who wants to comment on anything can post to the Grand Lis' o' Lis'
and have done with it. Most of us already have expert searching
routines to weed out what we don't want, so why worry about being
lost in the wash of the Information Age. Editors, like dinosaurs and
TV executives, are so much dung, yes. But leave it alone and it'll
rot into fertilizer for future daze. Why send your work to a
rejection-house anyway when the Underground Mutoid Zombie Shit List
blindly accepts everything, even your tripe. Publish or Perish? OR IS
IT Publish AND Perish? Go back to the fifties, joker joe. We don't
hate editors, just ignore them and watch them shrivel. Eh, my friends?
He sounds like a Midnight Oil album, eh?
;^##
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 13 Apr 1993 11:24:26 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Bill Anderson <LIBWCA>
Subject: Re: Reject This Poem!
In-Reply-To: Message of Tue, 13 Apr 1993 11:20:36 EST from <TSEITZIN@>
On Tue, 13 Apr 1993 11:20:36 EST T.J. Seitz said:>Do you think I'm afraid of a couple nerds who think that>idle threats transmitted anonamoulsyover a data line makes them>'real' men!! Give me a break and put your buddy's dick back in>your mouth where it belongs! I want to see true beatnic's>on this list not unworldly ignoramus' like you.BZZZT!AUDIENCE: Awwwwww!EMCEE: Oh, so sorry , T.J. At least you have the fifty dollar gift certificate and the home version of our game, AND we'll give you a chance to come back and play again in our Tournament of Juvenile Delinquents in June! Brush up on your punctuation skills, and that VW microbus could be yours. Thanks for playing Real Beatnics! Until next time, this is Lawrence Ferlinghetti saying, "Hang cool, Daddy-o"!AUDIENCE: (Finger popping) Aw-Reet!ANNOUNCER: Prizes on Real Beatnics are provided by Ye Olde Beret and Bongo Shoppe, in return for promotional considerations. While in the North Beach Area, contestants stay in the back of my car. Real Beatnics features authentic bad spelling and is a waygone production. Man.
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 13 Apr 1993 11:39:23 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: General Mills <LIBALP>
Subject: Re: Reject This Poem!
In-Reply-To: Message of Tue, 13 Apr 1993 11:37:17 EST from <TSEITZIN@>
On Tue, 13 Apr 1993 11:37:17 EST T.J. Seitz said:
>The universal solution differs from person to person
>And if you don't know the answer now, time will
>offer you enlightenment eventually.
Whoa, easy now. Our highly-trained medical staff will be here to assistyou,
if you have some concerns that need to be addressed by professionals.
Our staff includes:
Dr. Colon - proctology
Dr. Strait - orthodonture
Dr. Newcombe - radiology
Dr. Luk-Si - ophthalmology
Dr. Wartle - dermatology
Dr. Piddle-Walker - geriatrics
Dr. Totztender - pediatrics
For your special affliction, we recommend Dr. Krankenkopf, a Germanspecialist
who's been living in Paraguay. (Keep it under your hat, hee hee!)
ap
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 13 Apr 1993 12:45:54 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: General Mills <LIBALP>
Subject: Re: to T.J.
In-Reply-To: Message of Tue,
13 Apr 1993 12:30:20 EDT from <NCHARLTO@ >
On Tue, 13 Apr 1993 12:30:20 EDT Nathan Charlton said:
> Why don't you wash your own mouth out T.J. since you seem to be the
>only one hung up on naughty words. Why don't you stop regurgitating all
>that pseudo-beatnic hype which became mainstream publishing material
>long ago, and say something? You still haven't told us what the painful
>truth is. Are you ashamed of your painful truth?
Somebody say "painful tooth"? We can handle that, too!
Make an appointment with Dr. Thor Molar before it's too late!
Extra for mouth-washings. No checks.
ap
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 13 Apr 1993 12:49:38 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Robert Holder <WHIPLASH>
Subject: JUDGEMENT FOR THE PROSECUTION
Order in the court. Cleophus, silence the prizner.
>thump< >whack< >thunk thunk<
Very good, thank you Cleophus. I find the defendant
T.J. Seitz, formerly knowed as the leader of the ex-confederate
Bad Boy Gulch Gang, guilty of horse stealin' an spittin'
on the Saloon floor. He is hereby sentenced to be strapped
to the horse he stole, sittin' backwards, hands bound behind
his back, and the horse driven inta th' desert with no food or
water a distance of twenny miles to the alkaline well at which
point he be cut free and the horse brought back to town. the court
will adjourn to the gallows porch to observe the sentence
bein' carried out immediately. Cleophus, lead the prizner
outside. Court is adjourned.
Judge Roy Bean
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 13 Apr 1993 12:58:41 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: General Mills <LIBALP>
Subject: Re: Correctiom
In-Reply-To: Message of Tue, 13 Apr 1993 12:55:15 EST from <TSEITZIN@>
On Tue, 13 Apr 1993 12:55:15 EST Guess Who? said:
>The last line of the writing was misprinted
>
>Here's the correction:
>
>Not the painful poop!
>
>
>There guys you happy now? Send in the proctologist
>I need to ask him a few simple questions about spelling!
I'm glad you mentioned Dr. Colon, because he would like to speak to
you. He recently discovered that one of his fingers is missing, and he has
traced its disappearance to the day of your last visit. Could you "lookinto
that" and call us back? Everyone's happiness depends on it.
ap
PreviousIndex