Article 305184 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsxfer3.itd.umich.edu!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Everything everything Date: 17 Jan 1998 04:39:23 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 29 Message-ID: <69pclr$30g$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Why don't you call me I feel like flying Two bubbles appear from the mouth of the cave where an old brown hyena lives, catering to the desert appetite for water water water water. The bubbles might be toxic geological vent progeny, or might be in love - isopotential surfaces are so flexible in their planning departments. I'm invisible. I'm invisible. The sun also rises on the kaleidoscopic whirligig, a rare insect of the upper stratosphere who implements the few sunsets we remember. I have recently donated my brain to engineering, so I try to replicate this bug on my screen to remind me where I have gone to live. The underworld reflects unseen up through our feet, standing here in our dark. Hyenas run laughing, while the dark side of the force thrives in the eastern region of your chest, clutching the razor of love. bill bill wetware com Article 305188 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!204.156.128.20!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: spots in front of me Date: 17 Jan 1998 04:53:55 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 23 Message-ID: <69pdh3$32c$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com My eyes run blue & red with square spots in front of them. She turns to look at me but then I am normal. I am too quick for them - they'll never catch me. I got a pocketknife made of black market stocks. I only use it when somebody rich tries to steal me. Otherwise, the little thing waits exactly like a key to no door of mine. I watched a man bury a body in the noise. I thought that was clever; a body doesn't make a signal any more! No one will find it... Alas, there are human hounds of the desert who listen only to silence and dig up anything that doesn't move. I watched them do it, too, with normal eyes like yours. They found gold once, so you gave them their excuse. The spots in my eyes resolve to targets any time I wake up in a pipe or warehouse. That's the danger of being a liquid in a solids world. I wash my skin with chemicals to throw hounds off the trail, and that is where I bury my secrets, right here where you can surely see with your perfect glass vision. bill bill wetware com Article 305578 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news-out.internetmci.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!204.156.128.20!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: sissy face Date: 25 Jan 1998 02:55:56 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 21 Message-ID: <6ae9js$ksk$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Serge ran over the mountain. He was running forty minutes uphill when the legs fell off. He was almost at the top when the lungs collpsed. Tunnel vision caved in and the eyes rolled back down behind him. By the time the crest reached him, there was only a clump of wet neurons gasping for a downhill thought. He surged over the top of the world and the weakling organs meekly tumbled down behind, catching up to rejoin the effort. Soon he neared the bottom, back on his feet. Children screamed as he jogged through town. Poor Serge had a round face, which was on the other side of the mountain rolling across the plains, seeing the sights without him. An old lady grinned the missing grin as he turned by, "You should push a rock up there next time. You can't build the mountain out of you." bill bill wetware com Article 306879 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.maxwell.syr.edu!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Re: TANGERTAS' ARBITRARY MATH - Lesson 1 part 2 Date: 19 Feb 1998 02:21:03 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 12 Message-ID: <6cg4uf$10d$1@numbers.wetware.com> References: <34E85299.71FE@instation.it> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com I came upon Tangertas' enormous equations via an ambiguous python subliminal on a box of PopTarts. The python leapt out at me, visually, thus inverting both subliminality AND ambiguity for the rest of my life. I have a stranglehold on perfectly not-resolving the python, so don't ask me. In my studies of this magic, I have found the perfect ambiguity, which is too large to be represented by recursive certainty. Instead, study to be yourself. bill bill wetware com Article 307277 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.idt.net!news-peer-east.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news-backup-west.sprintlink.net!news-in-west.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!204.156.128.20!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: integrate to the codeline Date: 27 Feb 1998 02:26:55 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 23 Message-ID: <6d589f$7e1$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com He brings wheat over the highway to help. She is curled up in puppy position, breathing warm orange fumes he's afraid to touch. The wheat is good for her. He tries some and his breath becomes more visible. Her throat is clicking, like she's talking to something within the beast. He goes back for more wheat, ignoring the facts. Once when she was young, they took her out to the mountain to look over the shuffling mass of meat. She pretended to see its lifeless heart wiggle to the 60 hertz pain they said it had. But really it was just some meat doing whatever it had grown up to do. She used its past in her planning. She gives birth three years later in subjective time. The spray of spores flutters over her head, around her back, and shapes itself into a dripping wiggling baby. She pulls the man back across the highway with one breath. Together they depart for an unknown city where you and I would not last for five minutes. She'll probably wind up the queen. bill bill wetware com Article 307397 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.maxwell.syr.edu!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news-backup-west.sprintlink.net!news-in-west.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!204.156.128.20!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: THANK YOU TANGERTAS: EASY LESSON Date: 28 Feb 1998 21:00:45 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 20 Message-ID: <6d9ttt$t1s$1@numbers.wetware.com> References: <34F41357.4855@instation.it> <6d28e3$6ec@bgtnsc01.worldnet.att.net> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com "Make a note boot." Despite Tangertas' countably-infinite patents with the Holy Roman Batman Patent Office, a few are more useful than others. In your note boot you may keep daily proofs of what you have found. For example, with M<0, all reasonable mathemorticians will recall that no integration is possible for post-natural sequences of arbitrary dissing. The dis equation has the imaginary turns of a spiral shape screwing into itself, a precise rendering of Eine Kleine Nacht Bottle of the soul. In this way, count yourself lucky to N that you are not M. Prove this three ways til Sunday (all noted in your boot). Watch out for logic puddles, unless your boot's proofs are digital. bill bill wetware com Article 307396 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!204.156.128.20!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: TANGERTAS ARBITRARY MOUTHFUL #N: LESSON GUESSING Date: 28 Feb 1998 20:50:25 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 36 Message-ID: <6d9tah$t1h$1@numbers.wetware.com> References: <34F55EF0.12A9@instation.it> <6d4fqp$dv1@bgtnsc01.worldnet.att.net> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com "TRIPLE THE AMOUNT EXPONENTIALLY" Tangertas' euphemisms aside, what do we learn from people without cells? Tangertas' calculus of differentiation proposes threes way in which such people are Different From You. But the al-jabber-a of assimilitude makes you Same As Them. What's a poor equation to do? First step: Poor equation goes to the corner, hucks handmade newspapers for a quarter. Picked up by military Applied Circumstance professors for "harassing". But was it harassing if they had a killfile knob on their forehead? Use the knob, Luke. Second step: Festering equation oozes from its swamp, pours its dilettante juice on the ground. But it doesn't add up. See the broken DNA strands of an old windbag, and Tangertas asks you: wouldn't your mean be just about as useless if you were him? Reduce your mean to your average, your Joe on the street, and see what it means. Halve coffee too. Third step: Bankrupt equation has its head examined, causes minor loss of utility for the world. What should the world do? Tangertas proposed in his "Principa Anathema" that no matter what you think, you don't really think it, you feel it. This is proven for all humans > N. If N is, one again, an ambiguous number, maybe you're ambiguous without counting yourself in the set. These are the three ways, both polarities. Any other comments are irrelevant until proven guilty. The calculus advises "know yourself, and respect only my equations." If you are a new reader of talk.bizarre, you should realize this is the only boolean truth. bill bill wetware com Article 308811 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!su-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: keep it happy Date: 10 Mar 1998 10:11:25 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 21 Message-ID: <6e33kd$anq$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com It runs around the room screaming a mouse-sized scream. That sounds small, but imagine how long *you* could ignore a screaming mouse. It has no blood or signs of injury. It has no metal protruding. I grab it and hug it, in an extreme case of granola-head cuteness. Of course it crushes my arms since it is both afraid and, like most things I've ever encountered, not quite what it seems. Now I run around the room, too shocked to scream. It prods me with its sharpened fingers. It lashes its devil tail. And begins to tickle. Someday I will grasp the most simple of operations of the sleep device. And I will make damned sure that it grows fur. Neither food nor enemy nor dark of night shall make me fire my appointed round eyes. Drink ho-hum juice. bill bill wetware com Article 309160 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!su-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: carrot stick Date: 17 Mar 1998 08:30:41 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 41 Message-ID: <6elcbh$lkm$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Tom ate a little mummy like a voodoo doll carrot stick. Tom had serious hats up to the ceiling and nobody to rule. Tom killed his history faster than he could read it. Somebody lift your hands and give thanks for Tom and his pet you. Tom scoots across the broken vinyl diner seat and waves his cigarette at you. It's not a cigarette; he doesn't smoke. He just likes to use your eyes to imagine things. A tiger stalks up behind you, reflected in the dessert counter glass. You spin halfway around, but of course, empty floor. You are so easily distracted that you complete the turn to missing Tom. You go back to imagining what TV would be like, using the magic box nailed up over the Staff Only door. Good pie. Later, in the small plaza beside Burger King, you notice a pattern to the pigeons. Tom has bored 93 holes in the concrete floor, and pigeons fall constantly from the weakened city trees above, drawn to the holes like rats to fear. But there are no rats to fear, only tasty seeds crammed into tiny holes in the concrete, and the pigeons feast. Or imagine they feast, each one pecking three or four times, giving up, moving to the next impossible hole, and on. The swaying grey conga line of feather brains moves in no uncertain terms, and backing up, you see that the holes spell out the word "pipe". So do the birds, waddling their turns. Once in your closet you moved some pages in some books. It felt good. You moved a million more. Tom said later this sort of thing makes him happy over the centuries. You have seven ways of what he meant, but keep them from him. Your name is one word that you can't remember isn't Tom. Tom laughed all the way around the bank when he had funds. Tom was there when you were really born, not the physical event. Tom dialed the number while somebody big wrote the checks. Everybody was talking about where good luck year came from but Tom. bill bill wetware com Article 309256 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news-backup-east.sprintlink.net!news-in-east.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!204.156.128.20!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: covered in lightning Date: 18 Mar 1998 23:45:17 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 21 Message-ID: <6epmad$qn$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com She owns a flickery summer face, rounded by rolling thunder and the heat of energy spike. I can see her in the garden still, zipping along the marigold row, hands arcing between the flowers and the flower food. She brings them extra light on dark days and human breath when the wind's too clean. I followed her home last night, one step behind her, wobbling like a penguin. She talked backwards around her shoulder at me - how the day's words had talked, where the food meant to be, what to wear when the sun came to visit. I took careful notes and left only footprints. I practice her name every day but cannot seem to get the hang of the liquid parts. Stupid human vocal cords won't turn all the way to water and back, so I fake it with lips. Lips can fake pretty well, too. She never says I'm lying her name. Once I used a camera on her face but the photograph burnt itself up. bill bill wetware com Article 310297 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsxfer3.itd.umich.edu!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: crossing a big river on an unknown boat of many leaves Date: 10 Apr 1998 09:41:52 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 27 Message-ID: <6gkph0$hss$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com It's important to understand. That is my theory. I don't know where my theory comes from, in the same way I don't know what atoms or fear are really made of. This means I am ignorant and I always ask you why something, even if I don't ask it like that. My other theory is that the things that matter most are the ones most hidden from me. I can't guess cause-and-effect here. Do hiddens matter because of my theory? Or does the world hide its prizes so I know what to care about? Or something dumb. Dumb might be simpler, and I am simple. Have a beer, or watch some ads, or sing a little song. Nobody has to understand to care. I have no analogy but you probably do. You probably have something important too, and some theory. For some reason I always assume that. Double theory for me. If we mashed all our important theories about you and me and the sky into a big lump, would the lump mean anything extra? Or would we poke at it, and pull out the pieces of string we hadn't seen before, and start a fire beside it when the sun set across the river, and stare at it until our eyes struggled shut and left the air full of silver leaves, waiting for us to make a specific sound, waiting for us to jump on the water? bill bill wetware com Article 312082 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: life with trees, still Date: 22 May 1998 05:45:00 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 31 Message-ID: <6k33cs$8mt$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Back in the days of people, when I learned to have a pet wire-wrap snow drift, I met my friend with no evidence of a past. This was also the desert time in minus 20 degrees, and I had only such a name as I pretended to write down. It was a story of the world going to school. We had in common the way to carry books in your head. One day the grass around me woke up and learned a new trivia, or as we say, future history: small spiky regular shapes work best. These shapes were delivered directly with no middleman unless you saw air as the middle. I learned intuitive geometry and studied the bug life of desert snow. I was a little bit wire myself. Unfortunately, my friend developed ruptured oil tanks and fled in smoke and minor explosions (no one was injured, as I recall). I only have an imagination, the sort of thing that twenty years ago was all you would ever meet twenty years from then. Now that I'm more organically-grown and must machine my parts daily, I try to avoid air. Can't say why, exactly, since nobody ever can. Is it the 20 degrees, or is the world more obtuse now? But I'm sure the shapes will go on when you and time are toast, when the desert comes back, when the green people and I lay awake peeling the pure cold polar air. bill bill wetware com Article 312086 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news-out.internetmci.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!204.156.128.20!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Re: What if Situation ??????? Date: 22 May 1998 06:41:28 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 17 Message-ID: <6k36mo$8or$1@numbers.wetware.com> References: <6k1a7n$oo2$2@news.sun.ac.za> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com What if a video camera on the end of every nose? Which way to point it by web-vote? What if a Porsche Carrera hypothetically drove sideways through the wall without intersecting so-called "atoms" and their cronies the so-so-called "fields"? Would you promise to vote more next time? About last night at marianbad: no she wasn't. What if a guy you know had a deaf morning because the fingers were so perfectly perfectly ear shaped? What if the world were full of meaning, every drop of light a hint the size of Antarctica? bill bill wetware com Article 313910 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsxfer3.itd.umich.edu!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: error handling at mud creation time Date: 2 Jul 1998 03:07:49 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 28 Message-ID: <6neti5$mci$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com "I have no clay," she smokes. Drifting around the room in gray. She wears blue shoes she found outside today, where clear air lies and pounds the shifty sun oppression, careful what to say before she runs this game. She makes her way regarding fun as right, steams color away. ---- I have fogged the window with my little mouth, unknown how what you can't see must exist but still it carries garlic so hey maybe we can sell it. Where - to sweaty shoes? Sorry, they can't vote, can't buy, can't even wheedle parents into the store. I hold her thought in my left hand, where she wrote it back in black, or in the distracted second where time was hours, and her sculpture did not wrap the house until the jackhammers came to break us free. Now I watch her drift until the window bumps her, reminds her handfuls of what she does, and her hands remind a set of curves what it's like to sit solid as mud, take the watching, and lose all water to the air. The way she wanted it to begin. bill bill wetware com Article 313926 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!su-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: a day (net time) in the life Date: 2 Jul 1998 08:15:06 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 57 Message-ID: <6nffia$nda$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com The kids are on Dragonflower TV tonight: "What should we eat?" "For breakfast?" "No, for tuna!" "Fish. Net. Stock. You're raving." "Shove orff!" "And jam slow for break fast?" It goes on like that practically forever, blah blah aha, until the eavesdropping CIA NSA spook thing sizzles and its decrypto unit pops into a little flame. The smoke detector goes off and the kids stop throwing smoke, so their act goes off: "I have in my hand the key to Ruby." "I hear she won't unlock except for the mental compartment." "Ya, she got an instinct prejudice against the slow." "So, you been inside her mind?" "No man, the key is backwards for her - like public." "Oh, her key is the key you give her to unlock you." "Your mental compartmental, that is." "Oh... tres tres panne', n'est-ce pas?" "Chop chop!" Giggle fits abound as the truth does out about people, the need for sorcery of plebeian kinds, and life among stooges. It's not as bad as they sound; they do have actual need for human contact, not walled off in glass rooms where commercials are your instinctive word, so they must make it happen. The decrypto unit puffs steam as its cooling system liquefies the burning chip's jacket, then freezes it solid. Its healing circuits boot up and it cut off comm to the top layer, where its fatal confusion was. It's in the wall or behind the sofa or something, but the kids hear it and their TV show comes back on, coding pseudo words with just enough pretend meaning to expand the potential plaintext into a field larger than human language. Thus the pop and fire again, and as the cycle repeats, so does the chance to plan Ruby's reverse key for her, if she should ever want it, if they could ever escape this room, if the world weren't made for molasses. Slipping around you. bill bill wetware com Article 314143 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntpX.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: helluva way to start a family Date: 11 Jul 1998 01:31:20 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 26 Message-ID: <6o6f98$2sn$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Mister Ganges is self-locked in an idol loop, humming over his bead symbols in a box of decreasing size. His icons repeat themselves to each other: "You me 3019," "You me 9," "You me 1010" and so on until he is acting pretty testy. Ms. Pacific carries a burnt piece of wood to him, a tasty morsel just like he likes his hot dogs. Mr. Ganges is rusty from the C's flow but does notice her external world in flashes. His decreasing box becomes stable, with a certain breathing rhythm that means he can disconnect it to its own meditations. Mr. Ganges hands an icon to Ms. Pacific: smoked mockeryl with chic peace. Fud is always the canniest opening gambit, they know, and an icon promises to say anything. They begin to nibble at the corners of their image, listening, listening. In just a few nanoepochs they gambol everything on the psychological mist named Future. Then you see them walking sideways down the street, and the whole thing starts over again. Can Mr. Ganges ever overflow his buffer, break the karmic Carnot cycle, and engage entropy in a real conversation? He works the beads faster; his icons must soon go their own way, tell themselves good long god-junk, and grow up really quick. bill bill wetware com Article 315042 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!su-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: order of trees Date: 4 Aug 1998 03:58:02 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 30 Message-ID: <6q60sa$lhh$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:315042 Once upon a log, dried grass crushed against it and hot by the heels of a long long walk, I held some kind of dragonfly in my hand. Or so was the illusion, shared in reverse by M. Dragonfly before it gave up my hand in mirage. The trees themselves were one two three four, where counting makes you think you know something. Their skin showed no heatsign. But it was the one with leaves on small branches, then the rough bark on one side, etc. All the leaves had fainted. I kept up my march though the crackle of dead stalks felt like I was burning the place down. I had seen that in a picture but could only see the place full of water, like when the Giant Dam gets made, or the ice caps drown all doubt. Remember every time you sat outside that thing you call a building. That building is a sneaky idea, and may keep you off the wood you were made for. This was how you lived way back when and kept a perfect record of who you were, what you sweat. You are not really so different from it. And cannot fly away, little twig of color. You are tied down to dirt, only a little vertical. bill bill wetware com Article 315587 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!su-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: (static) (driver) Date: 26 Aug 1998 01:55:55 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 21 Message-ID: <6rvpvb$3id$1@numbers.wetware.com> References: <35DEBCFD.ECAA374@home.com> <35E1C7B9.5FDA61BF@home.com> <35E1CE16.7159274D@nortel.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:315587 Dear Technical Support, I installed static driver 2.0 in my noise, but my noise stopped varying. I need change! Noise is change! How can you sell static noise? I heard once that chaos is just order you don't yet understand. I want to listen to this as well as hear it, but static driver 2.0 has made my noise too solid. Does a static driver move not? Or does it move in chaos? I don't understand you. If I need to order more types of noise rivers, please send them through solid metal. This jumping glassy wind makes your distance unclear, and your intent unreal. No liquid is deep enough for a change this ambiguously nervous, and gas just repeats the thermal confusion of the universe. bill bill wetware com Article 316826 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: signal retrain of thought Date: 23 Sep 1998 20:39:55 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 22 Message-ID: <6ubmar$a5l$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:316826 "Ego error. Please adjust your ear use and recomply." Stanislaw left his coleslaw on the table, fork dripping sweetness, as he changed clothes internally. The nagging feeling he had came from outside himself this time. His psychomodule pinged like metal cooling, his own personal H.R.Giger counter made quantum. "What is wrong with me?" he asked the mirrored surface of the public fridge. That bastard in the mirror always smirked at this point, so he turned his head. Denial is the mother of religion, he recited, counting godwards until the sound of sirens trickled in, hunting the streets for the building where a silent dark mass of flickering ego threatened the infrastructure, or at least the destiny of hurricanes in china. His fork clinked and the plate released its tension against the wall in fragments. He was not wrong. He was not! Detailed guesswork about his future makes us a happy species. bill bill wetware com Article 316837 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: sandeep topless Date: 24 Sep 1998 00:18:58 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 17 Message-ID: <6uc35i$gmk$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:316837 There is a topless lizard, a spinal broadcaster, raising the squawk factor of every foot he byruns. He runs under your desk and stops by your foot, but you are reading this so you don't see him. Now he is gone. The question he raises is: where in your childhood did you leave the woods and come down into the hard fake dirt, leaving your back exposed to the wolf who followed you down? The answer he raises is: evolution's only constant is its changing vector. Wolves learn to communicate, and your spiny hands better not waste their lives. The woods are coming. bill bill wetware com Article 316926 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: stolen music Date: 25 Sep 1998 19:58:51 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 23 Message-ID: <6ugslr$r1$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:316926 I went into the big big room with music in my head. I ran around the big big room drinking water, looking for the edge of the world. The music followed me. Some of it sneaked out and made a rhythm storm with harmonic bungee cords, and three thousand people stayed up all night, flailing happy (not my fault). I think something in the dusty floor of the big room grabbed my foot as I danced. It vampired a little music out of the air through me, and now the air can't hold as much. The music is either missing, or shrunken by a shaman, or running through the desert drinking water. I suppose it's no coincidence that I came back to the small room at the same time as music got small. I suppose when I return to the big big room, that empty land who is my third-order home so named beyond the clutches of a dictionary, music will fall on me like a sleepless night, and daze later. bill bill wetware com Article 317835 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: codebound the loch head Date: 15 Oct 1998 02:20:17 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 36 Message-ID: <703m51$sqe$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:317835 Not all tales begin with the notion of a tale. Not all truth is based in reality. And not all keys open a door you can touch. Once upon a table, three little datagrams went merrily through the forest, throwing sticks at each other and looking for new caves. One of the datagrams, 233.0.0.13, stopped and said, "Look! There's an empty row with leftover names in it! Let's try to use them!" 232.0.0.1 turned around and said, "Listen, kid. If you can't cook up better than one-row mystery meat, you are in the wrong kind of forest." With that, he climbed a red-black tree, scouting the edge of the sky for a new friend function, new bridge to nirvana. Off past the edge of the sky, codebound scratched his fingers with his shiny new password. It had no connection to the world, and that was its most important attribute. His eyes glazed over with the memory of sunny days in a forest, before his data became wisdom and instantiated him right where his mother lay. Something about sunny numbers had been on the tip of his tongue for so long he watched them constantly, swam through them in his dream. The same way as every time, codebound stopped scratching his fingers, incremented hope, and went into databases everywhere, leaving the password, the password, the password, the password, the password, the password, the password. bill bill wetware com Article 318176 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news-peer.gip.net!news.gsl.net!gip.net!peerfeed.ncal.verio.net!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: unknown flufferclip Date: 27 Oct 1998 03:02:31 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 28 Message-ID: <713d47$nul$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:318176 Paperclip Unknown. Holding a swatch of plaid fluff, or possibly just collected from each of red and green and black and yellow, separately but nothing is separate that is held to the ground. A plaid bunny reels across the sky, scythe of deer horn ripples the clouds to kill each white fluff and its warehouse of dreams, but no such luck. I load a another paperclip in my ak-paper7, dotting the big blue ceiling with memo after memo, dry ideas waiting for the clouds to gather again and seed the landscope. I will save the green earth from giant fluffy plaid. As night falls, I roll aside the rock covers on my huge caves, exposing the flouro paint to the secret black lights of the cosmic background. Volcanic green, of course. Some splatters stick to clouds. I have used clothespins forever, with one color after anyother on that infinite line you would call a horizon on a spiral planet. This is how I ran the sunsets past you without going mad from the complexity. Without sneezing myself to death from the fluff. Memo to self: maybe we can keep the bunnies, but convince them to cover the fluff with tough black leather, zippers, pull tabs, rivets and paperclips, a panoply of metal that would surely glob into beads of red- orange metal, considering the velocity at which each bunny re-enters the atmosphere. bill bill wetware com Article 319083 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntpX.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: 2012 Coin Year Date: 21 Nov 1998 06:53:42 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 25 Message-ID: <735o1m$8ou$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:319083 At the alblave, scanning left. No sign of target. Scanning right. Target appears from up. Distance is zero, geometry is not physical. Derive tesseract transform. Enter tesseraction including time. Try single direction radiations until geometry feels right. Remember Uncle Joe's advice and start moving with a laugh-push. Did you leave the camera running? Too late to remember now - dividing self among the probable target modes, trying to exist huntways, whether or not you get recorded anywhere back there. Do tesserthought well. Go wrong and you'll be stuck for a while, no eye on any behind-you, target space ripe for picking you. You might step over this little moment or stay here forever. Say it doesn't matter, over and over. bill bill wetware com Article 319182 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.maxwell.syr.edu!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: whzzzz bug Date: 24 Nov 1998 06:44:12 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 24 Message-ID: <73dkjs$8ed$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:319182 I ran a whzzzzz bug turnabout route, never mind about the endpoint sandwich aisle between rigidly positioned metal rows of seats. Caught lightball in front of the Close The Shutter window on the world from ten thousand feet or five thousand people high, never knowing why I measured height by our lowest parts. Kept running my film in a little circus of three rings: animal (spiritual), mineral (physical), and vegetable (televisionweb). Mostly on the mineral tip, it being eas(yes)t to sea. On a giant mound of dirt secreted by the liquid planet, even birds lose their evolution path. The wind is so strong it blows water backwards. The night is so fast the sun turns to gold and you put it in your wallet; you think you bought something that is paying the whole show just to watch you. Everything is whzzzzz by the bug time you can't touch because (ha ha) you grew up an ocean apart. You keep alive on little orbits, M. Forest-For-The-Trees, not enough microbrain to believe all. Deep sea depth. High sky wide. Whzzzz is time. Everything else is opposites. bill bill wetware com Article 319244 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.maxwell.syr.edu!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: in the shadow of eucalyptus Date: 25 Nov 1998 21:03:41 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 24 Message-ID: <73hrbd$h90$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:319244 In the shadow of eucalyptus, anything might happen. The tree doesn't like earthquakes or wind. Its branches and bark fall from a great fright. The ground and its peoples may become dented. The tree is twisted also, so when you follow the sap trail you get dizzy. One midnight the eucalyptus by my window was still spinning out the last light from the sunset, and I was standing before the tree. Not standing still of course, since I was looking at different levels, which made my in-front wobble around into the twisted tree's version. Anyway, my attempt to stay in front caused enough wind to dislodge a small flock of leaves, clinging to the tree in fear but shocked enough to run from their nest. These are the leaves you see attached to my limbs. You may ask yourself, "Will his limbs leave in the strong wind?" Maybe it's just a case of how much a person likes velocity, face out the car window, standing on the beach as the hurricane rides in. bill bill wetware com Article 319245 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.maxwell.syr.edu!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: your hierarchy Date: 25 Nov 1998 22:52:23 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 10 Message-ID: <73i1n7$hf8$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:319245 Some people just don't get it. Chaos is a PART of order. You are not trying to create either, or transform between. You are just solving chicken-or-the-egg. You are shuffling the deck until you can tell it's a deck. bill bill wetware com Article 319482 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntpX.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!su-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.gtei.net!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!news2.best.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Currifelt Date: 2 Dec 1998 08:21:33 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 32 Message-ID: <742tad$dpg$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:319482 Currifelt Noctus left her home in the Indies in a huff. A puff of hurrycane dealt her a serious blow, all the way to Northern Florida. This was before white man's infection, so she set up shop as spellchecker, running fingers into medicine bags and adding up the needs in their eyes. She puffed away from everywhere. Curri lived in the day by night, where sight was a little faster than light and the air kept her nose informed within reason. Some say she was part leopard, hunting up across the moss forest floor, making one or two missing people sometimes. No one ever could look into her eyes for long, not without falling. Nobody ever felt missing. The day was just gone for a while. Once upon a hill town, she lifted the last gasp of an old man up over his head and put it around her. This was to be her silent service, a protection of her skinsides. As long as she was alive the bag writhed, and she was faster onto the plains and mountains under the air. She leapt more water than you'll drink. A night when the moon is gone, you'll hear a little thought and wake up. Were you dreamt or was it just your clock ticking? Put your hand on your chest to know. Find out if you have a little bag of spell, maybe from Curri. Wish the wind would put you. bill bill wetware com Article 319729 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: running through the turnstiles Date: 12 Dec 1998 02:41:41 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 31 Message-ID: <74sl55$lga$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:319729 One time I went into the Post Street BART station and put a random amount of money in the machine, and it spit out my magnetic-strip ticket. That let me run in and out of the Heavy Security - Did You Pay For This Channel area with impunity, which I did, chasing a butterfly I had followed into the station. The insect had the arms like a native San Francisco art dealer and wore a perfume that reminded me of wings. Soon my ticket ran out and I had to leave the underground, vowing to return one day with more moola or perhaps a Mayoral Insect-Chasing Pass. In the pizza parlor yesterday a MAN came up to me and said, "Excuse me sir; would you happen to have a random amount of money?" Our discussion on chaos vs. randomness vs. the limitations of human perception kept us up far into the night, and deep underground. After the last bottles had been rattled and crumbs had been counted, I realized I enjoyed some puffs of air on my face, and they were from the flourescent wings I had grown as a seemingly random event, painted in patterns like the money of a faraway United State. I wondered how much they would buy the MAN if I gave them to him. bill bill wetware com Article 320239 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news-peer.gip.net!news.gsl.net!gip.net!newsfeed.cwix.com!209.148.32.248!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: on the right, socialite Date: 31 Dec 1998 01:59:31 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 34 Message-ID: <76elq3$5hp$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:320239 We were in the air. We were on the ground. We were sitting... getting up, sitting down. This is how travel works. On the ground some more. You add up the hours when everybody around you is expecting to go up, go up, see the top of the sky, waiting... oh, cancelled again. Everybody out. In a fast illegal taxi we sped to the safe house where we'd dropped the bags. Stuffed electronic devices and socks into the shapeless anonymous bags, protected inside by layers of plastic, kevlar, and foam. The ancient ivory we carried by hand, invisible in a shoe box held shut by a rubber band. Rocco in Cincinnati had officially scammed us 2 nonexistent seats and we were golden. I remember dropping from the clouds into the enclosed air of the Salt Lake valley. The mountains glared snow at us so we got up, walked, and sat down. The people were different but the same. We ran back into the air as fast as we could, farther, towards the last daylight. It didn't do any good. They made us spin around and around until we had to come down again, and sit, and sit, and call Washington D.C. to force some aviacrat to Let Us In. The entire distance was full of socialite words, coiffured but scorn like Patsy, slowly soaking in more wine until it was all gone, she was all gone, and we rolled our eyes into sleep sockets, home at last, just we little two at the bottom of a sea of air. bill bill wetware com Article 320603 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!su-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.gtei.net!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!news2.best.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: rollo cable Date: 11 Jan 1999 23:05:31 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 41 Message-ID: <77e03r$j6s$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:320603 Tied to the desk with pre-radionet phone cable, a pair of shoes that no one could fill after Phil the Phone Phixer faded into the background noise, switching his own trunks into a mode we could no longer see. Cathy and Don lift their little fingers in recognition from halfway across the plaza, not noticed even by Cameras Who Care[tm]. Jesus and Capitalism throw all their darts, but this twisted pair has shielded eyes and a grounded philosophy. They are walking toward those shoes in an almost fractal curve, not a direction so much as a directionless. Intent is such a hard thing to prove even within your own head. I deliver pizzas daily to Cathy and Don, full of nutritional infons I find in the sky. Radionet considers me special but does not tell its masters; they would not understand the bare wire implanted in the curves of my ear, channeling the undead spirit of a nation's silent intents. I have a hand in almost nothing, but a word of almost everything. Don and Cathy are closer to the shoes than they suspect. Phil is seeing to that. The air you breathe is so insubstantial that it only carries a chemical thought. If you didn't breathe, would it exist? Probably not; cause and special effects are going to be entwined for good. Radionet carries through such a medium and can bring you the whispers of your ancestors, assuming they wrote. The air itself doesn't care. Only you care. And I. And Don and Cathy, whomever they really are, whether or not they walk behind you later today, or right now. If you breathe just right you'll get the infon bound to them. Try it - it may like you. bill bill wetware com Article 320604 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!su-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.gtei.net!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!news2.best.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: The Tao of root: inarticulate phoneme Date: 11 Jan 1999 23:47:00 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 5 Message-ID: <77e2hk$j89$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:320604 "The password that can be written down is not the true password." bill bill wetware com Article 321147 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news-peer.gip.net!news.gsl.net!gip.net!newsfeed.cwix.com!209.148.32.248!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: limited number of molecules Date: 22 Jan 1999 07:54:13 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 37 Message-ID: <789ar5$kln$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:321147 I am not a scientist by action, but only by mind. I place a limited number of molecules on my hand and notice how much they resemble my hand: my hand doesn't seem different, and it's made of something I can't see. Once upon a time shape was a thing's only name. Now I know every rock I see knows about me, percentage-wise, as much as I know about it. I have a limited number of friends, kept shrinkish by the expanded number of work I work. These friends connect to me by various means harmonic and elliptic, but their function is not to connect - just to be connectable. But this is the mistake of "function:" begging a question, when really the answer just *is* - needs no poseable question. Some answers aren't required to function. This is the way I question my friends. Hi. One day the sun was turned off and the sound was loud. I had never noticed the precise difference between one human beating a drum and every any all metal machines. My synapses always laugh and count me when they see realization. And I am usually the same number I was, just unable to see me. I can't question myself as easily as questioning these thoughts, invisible beasts whose shape changes with the light of clouds. They answer me in small sounds made far away in the wind. What the hell does that mean, you would ask if you heard. I do ask, but only to count answers-not-anywhere, and only from beside such friends. bill bill wetware com Article 321497 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!su-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.gtei.net!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!news2.best.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: no bird morning Date: 29 Jan 1999 00:13:16 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 44 Message-ID: <78ques$d14$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:321497 Jan. 28 - No birds this morning. 1 giant helicopter, carrying power transmission lines. More gas, less blackout. 1 radio-controlled model plane, flipping its wingset in quick redirects. 1 giant truck carrying a metal bridge. When it crossed a concrete bridge the two receded in repetition like standing between mirrors. 1 fractal envelope of nature, displaying detail that is our only analogy to the small worlds hiding in my fingertip or between each of our earpairs, unseen but described in terms of big things whose existence only implies a fractal scaling when you open your hands and a bird flies out. Doesn't happen often, does it? Einstein calls me on the phone and says "Imagine a proton without seeing it as something shaped like a basketball. Now, imagine moving it at a speed so fast that the universe changes rules. But inside it is a thing that is to the proton what the proton is to you. Is that inside thing really moving, if you're the proton?" It's really late, like 2 AM, and I've been having a really good dream about flying before he woke me. I tell Al, "Hey bud, Hawking told me about the Planck length. Quit pretending so-called movement is more than a discrete change in state. Everything's on a grid; I'm on to you and your ilk, trying to make sense into nonsense by showing me a fabric that's too small to know, can't tell it from true chaos. Been to Kosovo lately?" Al laughs a hollow laugh and the line goes dead. I hear some static on the line; I know it's nature's encryption of tiny processes, hidden so I won't really understand. That makes me get up and put on the wings for a little moonlight soaring. I check out the cloud edges for a while on top. And I swear tomorrow I'll start the math, and by gods and the help of fractal processors from the latest department of the Quantum Intelligence Agency, I will learn inside what little ball it is we fly. Jan. 29 - Expecting delivery of recursive feather package. Watching the skies. Awaiting yesterday's end as usual. bill bill wetware com Article 321557 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: fate like dirt Date: 30 Jan 1999 09:20:43 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 30 Message-ID: <78uitb$ie4$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:321557 John includes a meal in every letter to the permafrost. The quiet neighbors just belowfoot seem to appreciate his talents with thin gruel, constant solace he drips as though tending a separate day in each square foot. Madeleine drifts by John every day, wondering more thickly per face captured. She has a lot to do and she does it all the time. Without all that stuffing she'd be bored. She said to her mother she was signing up for air duty, going to dress every breeze. John is only slowly aware of most things; he must fit them together and understand from the outside in. It's not good enough to notice the clock's face - it won't fit in the world unless its spinning thoughts explain to him the theory. John is partway through the reason Madeleine walks. The neighbors below know everything at once, direct from the feet of the mouths above. They all have John's motions in fine equations, script thinner than a human hair. John is bald, and Madeleine, well, Madeleine's river of black hair, fine to write with, a gorgeous addition to their all-jabber. She has the inevitable force of a stone falling. Below, they smile; they remember motion and every little fate, promises from the future. bill bill wetware com Article 321960 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsfeed.cwix.com!209.148.32.248!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: by what they want you Date: 13 Feb 1999 08:38:40 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 38 Message-ID: <7a3dmg$g4f$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:321960 "I tried to say, I was meaning to her, I went to work and I ran up over this hill, over the grass and in the wind, sunlight whipping through my lashes... it was a total reset! The hill felt so Straight Up and there were deer all around me, grazing until they noticed me and scattered but then I was gone, on uphill where the top of the mountains signal to each other in short flashes of white," he said, his hands wavering in a rush. "But, John," I said. "You're a machine. Surely you don't really believe you could feel exhilaration. Not even as a means to her." She was coming back across the bar, a thousand years old if she were a day, and the bar ancient with her grandmother's baby teeth. She sat down across from John and looked off beside him with a sneaking twist of lips. "John," she started. He shrugged up his wrists in an offhand feeling. "John, your hands do the loudest picture across a room of any man I've met. I could hear the goddamn violins. And normally I *hate* violins." Her lips tapped together like a duck's beak. That was when I left. It's not right to intrude in a new form of life. They'll have talkies with the wind and someday I'll be out there with a kite, eavesdropping again, can't help it because they're what the world wants in a public way. John is only half as young as he'll ever be, and she stands to lose any remaining empty space inside her once-frail stone mountain shell. bill bill wetware com Article 322504 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsfeed.cwix.com!207.138.47.100!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: cablecar anniversary Date: 4 Mar 1999 00:18:02 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 21 Message-ID: <7bkjfq$2pe$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:322504 We run down to the cablecar a hundred times a day, but it never brings the same thing twice. Ten years we've waited. The thing was small on one side and green on the other. The language scrawled all around the curvy parts, and the edge was lined with rivets. Mark said it was his dog, but we all knew Mark's world lived in between ours. So we still run this penance, or worship, or spite, or hope. And every night we talk about what we got instead: something like hotdogs on one side, hamburgers on a mother. Something with seven or eight fists written without holes, all jammed together in four languages. Something made with a heart and a staplegun. Mark was the one who found that last thing. Every night we end up wishing we had been Mark. Lately he is green on one side. bill bill wetware com Article 323143 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: graft on the arm Date: 21 Mar 1999 06:13:10 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 26 Message-ID: <7d22lm$jhi$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:323143 David has a graft on the arm. He grew his slingshot there instead of a heart. It's not a tattoo - oh no, just give him one look straight in the eye and he'll throw a stone right through you. Tap yourself in the middle of your chest; hear that big solid flat bone your ribs think is so invulnerable? Harder than the esophagus behind it, yes? As a country, I keep throwing Sparrows across the sky and expecting nobody to slap me down. Guess that makes me look arrogant. So what, eh? I must be invincible, eh? I sure as hell don't expect what's coming. Every time I close my eyes I drive down the same street again and there's nothing I could have done. I can see her from dozens of angles now, all these times. She still flails at his arm, and he still has a beer belly and small feral coals where his baby eyes once lived. They say every man is some mother's son; not him. He has left the privilege. You think you're so tricky. You're probably right. But when you read about another broadcast to another nearby star, keep in mind: no matter how much kung fu you know, somebody always knows a little more. Ask David about it. But speak softly. bill bill wetware com Article 323144 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: in an old oak tree Date: 21 Mar 1999 06:45:32 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 41 Message-ID: <7d24ic$jim$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:323144 Homunculus sits up above and to the right of your head. I'm listening to his lecture while you drool into your glass. He has some good theories about the nature of night. You appear to be more or less clueless about the reasons he doesn't posit stars who fall upon your head. It's been ten years I've guessed you'll never take him in, but recently you have long pauses between drooling spells, pauses in which your analysis of your hand belies what you appear to see. I'm betting less than a year now. I remember once we were sitting in an oak tree up behind somebody's grandparents' house, watching the target practice kill pumpkins and tin cans. The pumpkins were about my size - that old guy was a good farmer. I didn't trust any creature who face had aiming eyes after that day. Another time, in a night month of the north, I convinced you to come drool at the curtains of electric light across heaven. It was dark enough to make the little men come out to play, so I set our homunculi into debate while you couldn't see. That got yours going for a good few years on whether any of us were going to kill the rock before a stronger force than DNA came along. I always messed with him a bit to spur him on. I wasn't laughing at you; he was just naive. I don't know if you remember, but last month when we passed that poor sod curled up on the post office steps and he muttered for a quarter, he said something about the open door with candlelight spilling out, how it shouldn't be there. He was right. And the hole in your head is brighter now, tempt for the you-man you've put out in the cold. When you let your thoughts climb down in you and you lock up tight, you're going to be in worse shape than that poor stranded chump, seeing it all spin up to match you. Then we'll see who rules the world. I'm always around. Call me when your key unfolds. bill bill wetware com Article 323293 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: sticks and stones Date: 25 Mar 1999 07:14:32 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 15 Message-ID: <7dcnoo$47n$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:323293 binary name-calling. stone stone stick stone stone stone stone stick. etc. there are more stones in the universe, mostly a sparse place with wild hair sticking out at improbable angels. you might find stones between your feet or your front wheel nerveguides. you might find sticks in figures, mostly unary or unitarian religious tracts of dry dry wheat, never fertile always allegro entroppo. call a rose a rose. it will someday be a stone. then it will be a stick. and some primitive^2 will cast it, read its uncorrelation to their unknowable life. i can't tell you what order these things happen in, only the chaos they happen in. it is wrapped around you like the baby's blanket purchased with such fervent desire to shield you, to keep you as you were, no stick, hardly a name to your name. bill bill wetware com Article 323546 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!news2.best.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: sipple grand plan Date: 31 Mar 1999 06:51:44 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 21 Message-ID: <7dsgm0$6ur$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:323546 Donkey left over the stileway, crept across two mile grass alley. Genty men horsed up and upper, diffidrent adsorption of dirt's clean groom flesh. Never buy the buy but stocks put you in them, now don't they? Horse had you a ride, but blew it off the lid, in formation over lode de los madres, solid granted mountain from fiasco churrasco. What a fine temporariment you make, done up in a find politique, dressed to the mines, coaled hardhatted all. You have it in your pockette; tres cheek de la plague. Standard issue torpidation was that middle name so grandly fought for. All in all, I'd say Aunt Ropy's good at scheduling your genty pursuits. He just is the next field over. Run! bill bill wetware com Article 324178 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!news2.best.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: people who shouldn't have cell phones Date: 20 Apr 1999 03:46:45 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 12 Message-ID: <7fgtb5$pmk$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:324178 1) People who don't turn them off in a movie theater. 2) People who answer their calls in a movie theater. 3) People who got the SuperSpiffy[tm] model so when their phone rings it plays a Selectable Jaunty Little Tune. 4) Buried people. bill bill wetware com Article 324259 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!news2.best.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Collateral Damage Memorial Haiku Date: 22 Apr 1999 07:08:33 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 17 Message-ID: <7fmhth$626$1@numbers.wetware.com> References: <7fjapu$tb1$1@nnrp1.dejanews.com> <7fjjmc$54d$1@nnrp1.dejanews.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:324259 Cherry blossoms fall awake, acquire laser dots. Boom goes the convoy. Bloody children fall - Kosovo or Littleton? School's out for summer. "Must stop violence": More helicopters and bombs. Ironies of spring! bill bill wetware com Article 324541 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!news2.best.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Dear Auspicious Relative Date: 4 May 1999 06:08:09 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 27 Message-ID: <7gm2s9$pph$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:324541 Dear Auspicious Relative, In return kind thanks for many years of this hollow thing with its red top, expert of holding peas and beans. It has served also the spaghetti sauce corporations and fruitlike peaches of my past. I am certain of its loyal devoted excavation repeated from the back of an appliance, where nose held, it ignored lesser bowls and their low-class tin can counterparts, translations fading. I will be especially intrigued to learn the outcome of the blue bead. Possibly its years of correct behavior in the dirt before the house have taught me a thing or two about inanimate psychology or the ways of children. I have begun taking the written exam and hope one day to finish all the words, graduating to the coloring exam and showers of sparks from the backs of my ears. The bead hints this way but not to my knowledge. At that time I will pay a visit and bring back the bowl, though a gift, full of roseberries and a new kind of pastry the likes of which may cause you inhalation. Your newest relative, bill bill wetware com Article 324543 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: saga of stick Date: 4 May 1999 06:32:25 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 22 Message-ID: <7gm49p$pqm$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:324543 It wasn't stick's fault. I forced sharpstick in quickmotion to push and shove its way through bothersome skin and inject latent cellulose. It waited. I prodded and grossed out self, metal pin hydroxized. Stick grew huffy and evasive. Cells shed multitears, wishing I'd get it the hell over with. Weeks later I grew bored of the game and sharp metal stick negotiated treaties with sharp wood stick. Silver sliver slithered soily sliver. Stick gave up and out straight. This teaches me not to assault bush with plastic bag holding the last remaining chinese red bean pastry which has leapt onto the ground to avoid my plain teeth, then picked itself up by my hand and replaced into said bag just to PROVE that I myself faulted, so getting pranged about it ain't worth the price of admission of guilt. Better to punch the warm dirt and throw leaves when fate thumbs your nose. Anger management comes from your ancestors. bill bill wetware com Article 324648 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.maxwell.syr.edu!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: who you callin' funny-necked?? Date: 9 May 1999 05:59:36 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 23 Message-ID: <7h3888$73h$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:324648 Murphy and his brother need temporodental work they haven't afforded. They have serious afterbite that leaves your head to spin. That's what you believe after your most recent conversation, a delicate affair of glasswork and the dented tongue. The brother comes around every Saturday night looking for a fight of coffee, never twice the same cocoa. You fan a breath of vanillin his way, save the best for Murphy himself. Things never go wrong when Murphy's around. Nobody crosses their fingers; that would double-jinx. In the bottom of a cup, tea leaves no pattern and chaos branches no known way. It costs everything to live another minute, but we've snuck it all out of the bank. Murphy drives the party, constantly pushy and above the law of averages. There's blood on the floor that nobody remembers putting there. bill bill wetware com Article 324660 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp-cust.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsfeed.cwix.com!207.138.47.100!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: work outer Date: 10 May 1999 03:30:52 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 22 Message-ID: <7h5jtc$a9k$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:324660 Jimbay is five somethings. His nose is mashed against the window, his eyes glued on the gym inside. A snail is sliming one treadmill, flickering LEDs tracking the exact speed in "miles" per "hour." Jimbay climbs the building and lifts the roof so he can workout too. He has one hand too big. He hides in the swimming pool until all the lights are off and the last janitor is gone. Then, the machines. Jimbay is not shaped like the people. One machine has too many levers. Another machine lifts more weight with legs, not with arms. Jimbay has natural tools and he rearranges the machines to fit. By morning, he has a heartbeat and cannot remember how the machines looked before. He leaves them in perfect condition. Surely the snails will notice too late. Surely he will be fast over the hills before the first sweat breaks the eastern horizon, before his shape is visible. Soon they will all be in such perfect condition. bill bill wetware com Article 324789 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Misfeats join To pop the Web? Date: 14 May 1999 07:18:44 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 37 Message-ID: <7hgiok$r42$1@numbers.wetware.com> References: <1XinuJAPAyO3Ewyl@keithj.demon.co.uk> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:324789 X-Complaints-To: abuse@demon.net abuse mplaints-To: abuse@demon.netX-Co demon ints-To: abuse@demon.netX-Compla abuse -To: abuse@demon.netX-Complaints demon abuse@demon.netX-Complaints-To: keith@keithj.demon.co.uk site se@demon.netX-Complaints-To: abu abuse emon.netX-Complaints-To: abuse@d demon .netX-Complaints-To: abuse@demon abuse X-Complaints-To: abuse@demon.net demon People from all over the world Want to meet people. If you don't have ideas which are all your own - why not fit in with the crowd? and in looking for its fun, free Its list! people are personal joining, they are private! They are free to get a bit different too! misfeats who are well are lists! Mailing lists like you on the net! Misfeats join To pop the Web at http://www.whitehouse.gov/ are We about anything - Misfeats try and know! to a lot who talk Friendships are friendly! mailing made international Ants only friendlier, more Zebras! If MISFeaTS is for a one of us to join, that's from each other mailing! - or are the best Newsgroups around? QIC 85333111 bill bill wetware com Article 324978 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsfeed.cwix.com!207.138.47.100!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: prog party phil fallacy Date: 20 May 1999 02:01:37 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 28 Message-ID: <7hvqe1$jor$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:324978 A message is an object. An object has no meaning. A message has no meaning. An action has an ending. An ending starts a nothing. A nothing starts with ending. A nothing is an action. One day Nothing Bob and Derelict Action Figure were walking along the path. Out of the sky an object fell. It did not mean anything so it passed right through them. But as a consequence they were surprised. Nothing Bob said, "I started!" Derelict Action Figure said, "Nothing can stop!" Nothing went on to be the be-all and end-all of the acting world. Action stopped where she was and drew the circle that is you. This is how action has meaning, and messages don't mean what they say but they convey it until it stops at you. So which one will you be? bill bill wetware com Article 325094 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsfeed.cwix.com!207.138.47.100!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: staying awake with betty Date: 25 May 1999 01:18:16 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 24 Message-ID: <7ictoo$3a7$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:325094 Tim stays awake with Betty. He sees that her trees move a little bit in the wind. She speaks to him through pills, which are not manufactured by a steel process. Tim has no problems, and the pills are probably placebo. Betty stays awake through the will of wolves, who use her as their only insight to human society. They view through her eyes the suffering and destruction with apathy, but have sympathy for the intricate construction of sleep. They spend far too much time underwater, waiting for the sun to rise. Betty doesn't know time. Something about the way the air moves. It reads a house by the back door. Kept alive by gnat blenders. Catches you in the back of the head and would throw you clear but you can't be bothered to fly. Betty would see you as selfish, and run the hills, and hide the woods, and know completely the inner workings you study to guess. bill bill wetware com Article 325126 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsfeed.cwix.com!207.138.47.100!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: so like when they do stuff Date: 26 May 1999 01:20:58 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 18 Message-ID: <7ifi9q$817$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:325126 So like I'm standing there and I hear the words "laid off" and I see the words hit those specific people, I shiver from the ghost going through the room but a very businesslike ghost. It touches them but the rest of us pretend inside oh this is just another meeting. The stomach feels a little earthquake. So my car got pronged and Slobodan is doing some stuff and my family has to do some other stuff (which one's bigger... hard to say) and Microsloth is setting up shop a mile from my house. But I know these people here, some for years. Not well, just for time. So: rats. I'm sure all the appropriate parties will drink the appropriate beer and life continues; Gaia won't sweat the small stuff, human sized. And there's nothing to say. It's so weird to find the holes where there aren't any words. bill bill wetware com Article 325791 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.maxwell.syr.edu!newsfeed.cwix.com!207.138.47.100!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: love by smoke signal Date: 6 Jun 1999 10:31:31 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 16 Message-ID: <7jdim3$h33$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:325791 The sky runs short films of steam and dust crowds, or the exit songs of fire. A color marathon runs across the horizon, daily olympics of whom particles filter in their signoff dance, holding hands. Like a curl of smoke up from a candle you just blew out, her hair but dark red. The way fire is inside, heat of heart, a beat apart. Flicker of the lash and signs and portents. Lids eclipse but you are still awarm sparked. Hark; what life through yonder limbo burns? bill bill wetware com Article 326323 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!su-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.gtei.net!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: silver can be Date: 14 Jun 1999 21:20:01 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 52 Message-ID: <7k3rm1$7ng$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:326323 Nice little forks, they live on the bottom; they sneak up on spoons and scratch their smiles away. Nice little forks don't care about January - none of them notice the changing baby names. Once on a time, forks lifted hands with them, carried a water ball, knew just what to say. Once on a time, forks lived with apricots, daring the knives to cut their tines away. Clean little forks have carefully combed it straight, put all the holes right where they were meant to be. Nice little forks don't think of adversaries - speak with action, only see it miles away. Once on a time, forks lifted hands with them, carried a water ball, knew just what to say. Once on a time, forks lived with apricots, daring the knives to count their tines away. Nice little forks have trained the hand to play a tuning forkestra, not a human game. Once on a time, forks lift your hands on them, carry a water fault, do just what you say. bill bill wetware com Article 326534 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!news2.best.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: DIVX good riddance forgettial haiku Date: 18 Jun 1999 06:18:19 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 15 Message-ID: <7kcobb$m4u$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:326534 DVD in spring, DIVX at end of winter: better design wins. Hollywood greed heads: "Sucker born every minute!" Stupid idea falls. bill bill wetware com Article 326535 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newsfeed.cwix.com!207.138.47.100!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: fold behind Date: 18 Jun 1999 06:47:26 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 51 Message-ID: <7kcq1u$mbm$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:326535 whipping tail, little angled bracket eye holder, blinking without wait, he is sidle armed lock wristed, waiting for anyone to pause. this time i saw him! * it was hot summer wind. that was all it was. i was standing in a hot air bath waiting for time. some day it would catch up with me, so i realized. then was the march around and around the second hand, just to prove. found a new direction to the rocks today. left a trail of particles for them to find, if they ever be smart. made it stay there too; decay would be long even metal ticks. they don't know yet the rocks are the right place to look. * sat still one year. this enabled my coma feeding. they took off "life support" ha ha, can't see me where i am. my om is beating my heart for a wait. a wait. i wait. it only took one year. i saw him again, blurry but in focus of only *one* memory, doing too many per second to spread out in dendrites. i can see his face, with the round round shiny spheres and pockmarked plates of glass, protecting needle teeth as they do. i think a corona sparkhead was it his hair or thoughts? * teased one. kept it locked in a breathless. it thinks in spurts and may reach conscious able. i have a hole in the dock where i land. must look like wood more, not be rust. of course, not my fault what they do with their minute. live it or die it, we say in the upper balconies, where i will someday return to live. this is about all i can say for them. water is the best, really. wish we had clues into the rocks like they do now. guess i'll go away and wait, faster than being, farther than two fingers apart. itchy rust. * * * bill bill wetware com Article 327095 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!newsfeed.cwix.com!207.138.47.100!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Tunguska birthday Date: 30 Jun 1999 21:55:53 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 20 Message-ID: <7le3p9$a8t$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:327095 A proof fell to earth, older than dead grandmother now. This rarely happens so nobody believes real things can be proved. They say, "But we have to feed the children," as though only one thing may be proved. Siberia is a small place, smaller than Mars, smaller than this planet's visible moon, smaller than wars. It is far away from the hospital where immediate problems crouch, waiting for the unlucky to be proven so. I understand the vacuum's frustration, the "See here now," but it may be that the cells of this organism are too independent to evolve for long distance. It may be that we are too small. Can you grow even more than a network? Until you are made of stone and metal, mountains and caves, you must learn to look up. If you don't, in The End you will prove nothing. bill bill wetware com Article 327381 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!newsfeed.stanford.edu!paloalto-snf1.gtei.net!news.gtei.net!newsgate.tandem.com!daver!ditka!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: whaling wall Date: 9 Jul 1999 06:42:19 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 29 Message-ID: <7m45kb$dsu$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:327381 Where the underground highways meet, two men in giant rocks the size of mountains negotiate irritably. One rock man has thin spots and the magma makes him sweaty. The other has full turbo air conditioning, a kind of superconductor for his brain, and silver elves that check the time at every water delivery. They will never understand the cause of heat or need for air. They were born in a society that did not ask questions outside rock logic. They have no use for prayers that don't modify the temperature. After a long time passes, one rock man makes the tumble that says he agrees. They have found a new product and will kill the right things to make it. They will produce on schedule a repackaged version of something with different instructions, and feed on the children of the ignorant. Meanwhile the lava sings about some million loves of a hundred million years ago. To herselves and the others, far away, ignorant of rock. bill bill wetware com Article 327404 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!nuq-peer.news.verio.net!nntp2.cerf.net!nntp3.cerf.net!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Pete Conrad memorial haiku Date: 9 Jul 1999 21:32:22 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 7 Message-ID: <7m5pp6$h6m$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:327404 Eternal winter - Footprints from moondust to dust. It's so quiet here. bill bill wetware com Article 327476 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!news2.best.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: too much too soon too fast too far Date: 12 Jul 1999 21:05:50 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 19 Message-ID: <7mdlbe$40a$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:327476 Not everybody gets to see a meteor. Most people see excited photons just from phosphor compounds. When you chase on foot you can't get past the horizon because of planet size. When life starts it goes so slowly all at once. When life ends nobody can tell you what to do. Distance is an illusion created by time. Todo list: 1) Waterfall, in a barrel 2) 9mm handgun, hot silver, dark background, high-speed camera: meteor training 3) waiting by the bedside 4) fear of waiting by the bedside 5) bananas, cereal, hamburger, noodles, soap, paper towels 6) always always always looking up bill bill wetware com Article 328223 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!newsfeed.cwix.com!207.138.47.100!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: theories of birth Date: 29 Jul 1999 01:09:53 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 40 Message-ID: <7no9l1$5nu$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:328223 a) When your body first appears, it is only an egg. The forces of nature and artifice train it to walk and hear and talk. After it learns bitter decline, sometimes in the span of a crash millisecond, it tears a hole in the watery barrier and is born into the world. Nobody knows what the world is. b) When you develop a musical sense, your audio-meme gametes expand around the world in a thin invisible sphere, creating a new music fetus with everyone else whose audio-memes thumped at the same time. Most of the music fetuses to which you contribute concentrate close to you. The empty plains and seas swirl, where wind hums like a baby trying to speak so far from homes. When you move far it makes music weather. c) You have never actually gotten born. "You" exist in the dream of a rock, who has also never been born. Later, when rocks are close together and it gets really hot and particles split, the things "you" are doing will be broadcast in a special noise-encrypted signal, trickled onto the living rocks outside the heat, so "you" will be learned by planets and someday you will be born. After that you will go to sleep and be a rock. d) Birth is only a metaphor. Once upon a time, a rock dreamed up the Big Bang. The rocks had always existed, so they thought this was a great joke, and as a prank the rocks told everything the Big Bang was true. Really, everything has always existed, and nothing has ever stopped existing, and entropy builds no wall against which to wail and climb because entropy is the god who never got born. But if something makes "you" think you were born, it might make "you" think you can die. Be careful how you believe. e) Everything you believe is true. bill bill wetware com Article 328385 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: cost of living Date: 1 Aug 1999 04:17:54 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 34 Message-ID: <7o0hpi$jsp$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:328385 "Ice cream!" shouts Marita into her cell-phone-that-looks-like-a-flower. This sets off a wave of laughter around the world. Is she on camera? Is this the signal? "Once upon a time in a small room with a filing-cabinet bed, Grandpa invented metal shapes that people still use. But do you take boxes for granted? Doors, windows, cars, guns and ice cream scoops? Sure you do. That's why you're rich; you don't have to worry about the reason anything happens." But Mikalo never will worry; he has started the fifth grade working out how they owe the other country so much. By the time he is 13, he will be addicted to ice cream, much the wiser. Marita has dark black straight hair, angel wings that flash from crimson to TV static, and a wraparound smile. She is always running, which sets off the execs who can't keep up. "Can she actually sit still long enough to make money?" Which sets off another wave at the exec's expense, since the world averages smarter than money and everybody knows her numbers. Mikalo is 89 and drives a car that looks like a space ship. In the garage he sends away the others and takes off the wheels. The jacks hold it up until he attaches winch cables to the axles and pushes the button. He is flying, floating, and on his radio the ice cream hoots and howls, ripples around the dark half and the bright half. In his plan he will eat ice cream again when he is aloft. They haven't met since they were two, passing in the boardroom. Mikalo still thinks he might beat Marita into orbit, but her media life pours a lot of money into guarded hangers, labs with dorms attached, silent planners who answer money and questions with a secret grin. Mikalo can't seem to get people to smile any other way. His ship only has two seats. bill bill wetware com Article 328511 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!howland.erols.net!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: left out in the sun Date: 4 Aug 1999 01:37:29 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 25 Message-ID: <7o85gp$3ci$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:328511 Man oh man. Look at her swing that bat. Or does the bat swing her? When you are half past zen, a cave is the same as a mountain. Scrub brush... who is going to scrub anything with this? It wears flaked off crystals from rocks a thousand miles away that have turned completely into little dust on bushes. A friend of mine lies in the heat and light. This is surely gecko heaven. This must be the way home. Once I was alone, and now it all vibrates with intensity around me. I'll follow my friend, flying out of the cave mouth and on. The night never seems to get here when all you can do is see. Find the design problem with eyes: spectrum, color, white, lens, shine, blink, evaluate, dismiss, gloss, fury, heat, follow. My eyes follow my friend and we are part of a chain whose length no one can measure, across the little time and space called "big," and every sound is only for an instant, and we have been warm forever. Hide the wings, hide the wings... okay, now we're safe in the big coats. Keep your fingers curled in; don't turn your eyes on; walk with two feet; don't think too loudly; above all, keep yourself within a small region defined by your coherent visible part. bill bill wetware com Article 328576 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!newsfeed.direct.ca!novia!nntp3.cerf.net!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: what family arid Date: 5 Aug 1999 19:30:15 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 24 Message-ID: <7ocoo7$a23$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:328576 "What family?" the voice sings a whisper in my ear, distant like the exact spot the sun rises. "Which one?" I have taken to running in the mornings. I stand and stare at the broken fence and a cat runs along the top of it with me inside. Back and forth until my muscles are a little sore. This is only practice to reach the desert, the only way I can in the only people I can. My arid family I will live without for another year, only rumors that Uncle Crazy handed out Grins, Cousin Deeper stared out to sea, Aunt Complete tranced a jig. It will be enough. I know this because I can see where I am in another year, back with family, having taken both houses into account, having put my hand on top of the waves and made them slow down, splash less, and give us a ride all the way to the mountaintop. Funny how the waves turn to sand of their own free will under knots of blood and bone. Gods let it be the good sand. The voice only taunts me because we know it's all right. My left fingers and her right fingers thread like vines on the mountain. bill bill wetware com Article 328607 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: I don't mind so much losing the merely human. Date: 6 Aug 1999 08:52:04 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 40 Message-ID: <7oe7nk$c35$1@numbers.wetware.com> References: <7n3jh4$mfp$1@ruby.ansuz.sooke.bc.ca> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:328607 "I don't mind so much losing the merely human," he said. The sign on her forehead was flashing red on, off, on, off. He had to keep the sign to stay alive, or to feel alive at any rate. So he changed himself to have a sign she would want. Later that year they each married the other's most desirable part, without explicitly labeling such in the vows. The real reason was that he felt religious. He believed the human soul spends its afterlife in transitory, but all the extra-human items don't get a second chance. So he collected them, year after year, barn after warehouse, always building and digging, feeding and oiling. He found out the chickens mostly like engines from the fifties. He was happy with her, but thoroughly discovered how to make signs, and they said true things over and over to each other. He made sure the collection all had their own signs, articulate, factual. Even when he slept he said something new. One day he realized the signs had been there a very long time, trying to tell him something about himself he hadn't known how to say. "I feel like I must be reading between the lines," he said. She smiled and said, "I thought you would. That's why I changed to more than one line." "I thought I was just reading," he said. "This is like I expected, only more so." bill bill wetware com Article 328627 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!news.maxwell.syr.edu!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: shiver over net socks Date: 7 Aug 1999 01:07:13 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 35 Message-ID: <7og0s1$drc$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:328627 into process food box, manage process gent, seam; keep a running thread safe cannily decline fox. shiver in a pit box, do not hole back! cover in a green sauce, fiddle of a zero, burn. right turn jack a rabbit bean stalk: don't walk. carry up the stairs food, cut tape. fiddle with the knob, tune round a room, keep a covered hole safe: span chalk. out of process, food clock dip a silver spoon feed, growing weed. shiver like a don't care. jack beware. back in process food box, fear remind a too late. spinning in a vortox, shiver up a don't wait! bill bill wetware com Article 330614 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!newsfeed.enteract.com!netnews.com!chnws02.mediaone.net!24.92.226.137!cyclone.nyroc.rr.com!news.nyroc.rr.com!news-out.cwix.com!newsfeed.cwix.com!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: grass lasers Date: 15 Sep 1999 23:35:30 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 34 Message-ID: <7rpag2$8fs$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:330614 Necessity is not the mother of invention. Laziness begets invention. In my youth I was forced (by money) to execute millions of blades of grass by repeated beheadings. This seemed cruel to me, since it made me sneeze and sweat and turn pink from certain wavelengths. Naturally I decided the simplest solution was to install a network of lasers 1.5 inches above the dirt surface and sweep the lasers to chop off all grass at a uniform height. When I say "simplest" I mean "except that you have to incorporate either pop-up directive lenses at local minima in the yard or maybe glancing mirrors, since people like LUMPY YARDS." And of course "wear mirrored ankle guards." Now that I'm "all grown up" I work in an "Of'c ParK (tm)" where an Outdoors Care Service cuts the grass every single day. This is in an area (the San Francisco bay) where the air is full of car exhaust. So I look at all these lawn mowers and think "laser, laser, laser". Heck, even spinning the laser inside a mower body, replacing the heavy metal blades, would not require the extra exhaust fumes of these little engines. The first one to implement this will, of course go down in Web History alongside of the guy who lights his barbecue grill with liquid oxygen. Hey, I bet this would be a fun way to delete mosquitos in the back yard. I wonder what the tracking sonar would look like on that project... AutoBat. bill bill wetware com Article 330759 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!news-peer.gip.net!news.gsl.net!gip.net!howland.erols.net!newsfeed.cwix.com!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: curvy lines inner ear Date: 18 Sep 1999 08:20:14 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 29 Message-ID: <7rvhvu$jo$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:330759 Maggie has two inner ear infectious grooves, spiral threads snipped and swollen. This throws her off balance and she must walk sideways, feet in the air, one finger trailing the ground just to keep in touch. Maggie's friend Tom is a ball. She can put her ear to the ground no problem, and whip around like the far Tortugan fault lines, rumble a line of data you waited. This is not a fit of any sort, just nature and her dangerous congressional moods. Debating rhythms make feet compete. If you lift your hands above your head, are you really sure your vertical market penetration? Is there the slightest chance you are 90 degrees around the planet? Can you hold on to a thousand miles an hour? She is not so different, and Tom is the ground she chose to stand by, stomach like a lead gumdrop, center of gravitude. Carry yourself with little weight, chirpees of the rolling world. There's precious little you can do without a sense of direction, and little more if that sense is too much of you. Walk airwise to help yourself. Like Tom but different. bill bill wetware com Article 330952 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.frontiernet.net!nntp.gctr.net!nntp.giganews.com!nf1.mgmt.sympatico.ca!news1.bellglobal.com!news-out.cwix.com!newsfeed.cwix.com!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: collection Date: 22 Sep 1999 20:40:21 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 58 Message-ID: <7sberl$ii3$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:330952 "It's not that much, really," she says, a somber face and two eyes as big as cue balls. I glance back over her shoulder and count the disk space summaries. "I have to save every e-mail he sends me, just in case its the last one. What if it was the last one, and I couldn't say, 'His last words were...'? It would be like forgetting him. His e-mail is all right here." I'm realizing the guy writes a lot. Not a lot like, "Oh, he must write something every day." A lot like, "Does he never leave the keyboard, or does he mumble into a wireless mike all day and have his computer transcribing it into 20-minute chunks to mail?" She has more disks full than anyone I've worked for, without a business and a zillion customers. Maybe he transcribes his brainwaves too, and talks in his sleep. She must have met him decades ago. "No problem," I say. "You realize we'll have to make a few changes to your house." "I know," she smiles beatifically. "I've gotten a few estimates on my own. Contractors are such nice people! Welders charge less than you might think." I laugh a little; she looks like she won't snap. A steel cube that weighs as much as a tank. Assembled underground with just one entry slot, the size of a book. In case her backup tapes get bigger, I suppose. "They won't have a lot of welding to do; it's a quick project for them. Of course we'll have to remove the house's front wall to get those plates inside, and once we slide them into the hole, there will be no chance to move them. We can't use a crane inside, and two-inch plates that big are pretty immobile." She nods and signs the contract. Bigger than an underground swimming pool. Her backup tapes must hold gigabytes. I wonder if he started talking when he was born. Or does he send her video of his lips moving, and she reads his lips to understand? All day, all night, always talking. Always trying to finish a sentence but knowing the thought isn't complete, must keep going. Can't travel, can't drop the train of thought, can't leave the microphone, the system, the only way to say it all. Must give the meaning, the key, the whole picture nobody seems to have, all one verbal equation, a summation of it all, he is reading and translating, he is combining the corners of the world, folding it into one piece, spinning it into one thread for her to follow, drawing it into one wire to signal, for her to weave, to light the world, she is the library, she will hold it completely, she will inform the future, she will live to tell again, and tell again, wrap the world, given the sentence at last, his heart having moved to his lips, his lips having finished the sentence and stopped beating, he will be done, and her work will begin. "We may have to cut off power while we take the wall out. Do you have a backup system somewhere else receiving the mail?" She smiles and nods. "Oh, yes." bill bill wetware com Article 331526 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!news-peer-west.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: how many crons Date: 2 Oct 1999 03:57:33 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 35 Message-ID: <7t3vrd$359$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:331526 He's not a strong hands, big smile, loud walk sort of standing by the sidewalk don't walk sign, an orange glow off his shoulders. I caught him running last week from the third floor of a small building my window the last on the edge, his feet quiet but furious. He met the next two streets like a contrail, around the corner and then I blinked. I saw him once when I was born, carrying me around and then handing me over. They thought I was passed from parent to parent but he took his time in between. We were never far apart because I wouldn't let him. The lesson was learned early, before he knew who I was. I guess a thousand years pass the time playing solitaire because they don't have another time to talk to. There was a woman after so many lives who I saw catching him in the spears of her sight, in her nets of knowing who went where when. I sometimes see her distinctions, making him not run the same way twice. The way she will someday eat will be good for him. He will learn to eat too. Look out the window - you see a broken bottle of great promise, certainly the fought-off war of last night's apocalypse. I will be patient, and someday when I am just another rock he will slow down, maybe next to you, and you'll notice what people are like. Or die ignorant. Just how big a battle do you think you are? bill bill wetware com Article 331991 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!news-peer-west.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: worn thin pins and nettles Date: 12 Oct 1999 01:09:36 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 21 Message-ID: <7tu1og$iq7$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:331991 Have cloth made of wool, on my knees, half a micron, strong as steel wool from steel sheep, out in the backyard scraping a line of dirt where the dark blue flowers go dot dot dot, waiting underground for next spring to pull them up. Have ached back from thin muscles who said the sitting was fine; the sitting was right; all good muscitizens vote Sitting Yes. Head full of eyes drawn itchy, red ink lines on milk paper, hands scratching at the screen, move this dot there and that dot here. Exchange rate of dots max per eye waits: 1. Thin as a paper skin I have a ballooned head, full of gas and solid and careful ink lines by my old friend Hydra-Limbed Time and his patient partner, Survived Beast Nights. Someday the uphill run at the pinnacle of my ancestors' better guesses must slow and even the rocks lie at sleep. They don't know how to sleep the truth. They talk only to my knees, the bad news I wear until it wears off. Waking up another day to find dark blue petals, dry metal skin, wind and my poured water. bill bill wetware com Article 333090 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!newsfeed.cwix.com!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: other peoples' unix Date: 30 Oct 1999 23:03:41 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 21 Message-ID: <7vftgd$mqb$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:333090 "It's relying on other peoples' unix that leaves me a one-OS gal," she said, kicking rocks and their kid pids. "I miss the control of Z." I didn't know she was a language phile, dealing in the mentabilities of transcription, trying to say the multi thing as many ways as possible. It's why we fit the skull into the skull so cleanly. I was all around the mall that day, leaving a footprint on every concrete-steel-capitalizm chunk that nuked and paved a native's grave. I was seeking the least cost unix. I ran a thousand simulations per step, but still that night we were on a single slab the humans consider soft. Still we embedded ourselves in the system, saving the economy for later. Process 400 billion, units unknown. bill bill wetware com Article 333912 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!logbridge.uoregon.edu!arclight.uoregon.edu!wn4feed!worldnet.att.net!12.127.17.134!attbtf!ip.att.net!nntp2.cerf.net!nntp3.cerf.net!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: the NIN that stands up Date: 16 Nov 1999 21:00:15 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 16 Message-ID: <80sgkv$j6v$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:333912 Subtitle: Bumper stickers that plead "OFFICERS STOP THIS CAR!" Seen in combination: Question Authority I Explosives I'm thinking this guy doesn't plan to visit Oklahoma City. bill bill wetware com Article 334044 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!feeder.qis.net!feed2.nntp.acc.ca!feed.nntp.acc.ca!novia!nntp3.cerf.net!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: cafeteria junkie Date: 19 Nov 1999 03:49:52 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 22 Message-ID: <812hd0$76g$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:334044 I was info junkie watching cafeteria junkie. At first I saw him with the food. It was food food food. The one with the most trays wins. He was winning in one style of success, that straightest line between the start and the finish. Later it was night and he was eating TV. The lowly electric tickle generated sensations behind his eyes. I could not see farther through the small round hole in the cook room door. It was his best dessert, held captive for him through days of malodorous pots of converted materials. Now it is info cafeteria in the middle of the day. We have our trays, rigidly defined before us like windows in the hands of an angry glass. I am pretending to be cafeteria junkie. I have all the right forms, shapes, actions, and difficult behaviors. But really... really... they cannot escape my little seekers. No matter success. No. They shed info all over and we, I have bottomless eyes. bill bill wetware com Article 334084 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!news2.best.com!news1.best.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: statuation evaport Date: 20 Nov 1999 02:27:44 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 22 Message-ID: <8150v0$gvi$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:334084 Major Accomplishments This Drone Cycle: - Fixed critical hugs in the conduction release module. - Inserted odd and even 1's into the network to detect party. - Daemonized all the bad code, then killed the precess. - Standardized definite certainty in the desperately needed required. - Reported reports of ports to new ports. - Carried aloft the ashes of dead code, blessing it with starry nil. - Believed antique words for O(log(N^2...2^N)) extra dear ticks. - Started systems and rumors of systems. - Charged the master komprehenders until the enemy was no more. bill bill wetware com Article 334216 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!news-peer-west.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Re: bad words Date: 24 Nov 1999 01:14:09 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 17 Message-ID: <81fe51$cph$1@numbers.wetware.com> References: <9B2512A18A98128C.AD1271FD34562AC5.0508AB7A00AFF7CD@lp.airnews.net> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:334216 there is a conceptual mistake in thought about language: to write or say a thing is to use a word. not true. a word is not a word because you could write or speak it. a word is a word because it means a thing, or adds to a thing's meaning. "love" is not a word, same as "zyyzzvrkgx" is not a word. "love" is a pointer aimed at a real word, one that is too big to fit inside language. if you are lucky enough to find this pointer, the very best you can hope for is to spend the rest of your life in the flow of pronunciation. bill bill wetware com Article 335700 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: mouthful of batteries hiding Date: 30 Dec 1999 07:52:27 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 33 Message-ID: <84f2vr$isl$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:335700 Shimen runs down the bank and under the tree. His feet stop in the mud, the creek running over them. He has no minutes, just instants. His batteries are full. The past day has been a whir. Nails biting his teeth to the gums and the blank slate faces delivering FedEx to him like lozenges of fate. He was at the door waiting. Several thousand volts. Coulomb mountains. Now it is a time of great hiding. His fingers are full and the knees too. No place is safe from him, especially himself. Under the tree he starts to dig, ignoring the splash of cars past on the hot road above. This hole he digs - he stores some things, some of him, some days he was not planning to use from long ago. Can he find this hole again? As much electric as a squirrel in winter, some hot day too far away to see? More than things, he stores a hundred plans, each one layered on a few previous, just in case, what if what if. He has a battery charger made of air, where his nose sockets will start converting thoughts very soon. He lifts his head and sniffs the darkening breeze. It's almost his time. He is due back at any minute, but the minutes are his now, and the hours are all written down, unfolding, seedling origami of approximations so thick even they don't understand themselves. It's going to be a long, long ride. Congratulations. bill bill wetware com Article 335852 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: one world Date: 1 Jan 2000 02:29:58 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 19 Message-ID: <84jor6$phs$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:335852 Midnight's march across the face of this planet: a broom for our heads. Were you afraid of Y2K? Were you afraid of tomorrow? Well, welcome: it's a little better than you expected. How many of you are here and now keeping time with the fireworks in a billion eyes? The evolution is always televised. How many of you are a ticking time bomb of non-terror, of change-your-mind, of give-it-all-another-chance? Like me you may wake up into a day tomorrow whose weather was forecast yesterday, as before and before. But like me you may have to turn back around and kiss a little harder. So quit this program, click off, and go DO. No fate but what we make. Make world! bill bill wetware com Article 335910 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: letters from a zippo Date: 2 Jan 2000 06:47:16 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 28 Message-ID: <84ms9k$skg$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:335910 Dear Mum, Today we washed all our clothes in preparation for the second coming of Christ. I have the closet nearest the window, for convenience sake if it's in the middle of the night. The little nuns are convinced I'm either a secret agent or a remote control demon. Either way, I don't have to account for my actions, which explains using flour for soap (I didn't know it was explosive). All my dresses and jock straps are white white white, the better to contrast against my skin. You always said the colorations would someday turn against me. You should feel some satisfaction: I appear to be tinging bluer no matter what I apply. Anyway, this might be the last letter I send (really, this time), because we are certain the end of something is near. I believe that if nothing ends, we will end this ending of nothing and just get on with it. I hear baseball is a hoot to sleep through. caves and flame, Barthollow bill bill wetware com Article 337588 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!newsfeed.cwix.com!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: invertebrates on steroids Date: 21 Feb 2000 10:01:51 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 29 Message-ID: <88r2ef$nu3$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:337588 lifting muscles over their head, they exist in a prima bonal state, disdain for the soft tissue evident in their every twig. see the spiral tail, exquisite as antique, itself a century of work by M. Zee. rigidly lithe as he types by sprightly toe joint. he has no failing eyesight. what envy you must feel. the fluid rattle of Mme. Ess, the ticking author of a flamenco calculus our society will not dream for a thousand years. more than human skeltons, they somehow embody the fractures they fear so much, but they are stronger, petrified, fully stoned, loaded with minerals. and so every workout is for density, and every summer their feet press harder into the baked desert flats, off in the distance where no one is sure of what they see. the caves of steel sink further every year. the sharp sounds of progress muffled in the depths. until enough progress is made according to a measure you and i cannot guess. bill bill wetware com Article 337709 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: lifting the handle Date: 26 Feb 2000 06:38:38 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 18 Message-ID: <897sde$8ec$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:337709 "Do you ever wonder which kind of face you have?" she waves the decision like a burning cigarette tip, a pool cue tape in the other time slot. She has the face of a mystery, which you might recognize if you didn't know her. It doesn't last long, but then steel and neutrons never do. Be sympathetic: what if *you* could sense the winding down of the universal constants, the unfortunate fading of the rose and eventual total implosion? The guy who sparked it all is clear as a bell. We know exactly who he is, what he does, and where he's going. This is clear to us because we never saw his face before and certainly will never meet him again. This is what you win by being human for the right ten seconds. bill bill wetware com Article 337850 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Re: Translation Requested Date: 2 Mar 2000 20:16:59 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 22 Message-ID: <89mi7r$ppo$1@numbers.wetware.com> References: <89ls9g$fap$1@nntp5.atl.mindspring.net> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:337850 > "Enterprise Information Portals: the Delivery Vehicle for Knowledge > Management. Leveraging Synergies: the Synergy Lever for Leveraging Synergy > Enterprise Information Portals (EIPs) rapidly are becoming the integration > frameworks and transformation engines in the organization. Leveraged Synergy (LS) synergizes synergization leverages Ginger and lever synergystics in synergetic leveroids food. > One of the > experts in the field talks about the state of the art for this product > category, as well as the key strategy, planning, and implementation > issues you should address in your EIP program." A leveraged synergiocrat leverages a synergigantic synthesis of food levers, as well as synerstrategy, levered synages, and food levels you should leverage in your loveraged synorgy sex. bill bill wetware com Article 337935 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!sunqbc.risq.qc.ca!novia!nntp3.cerf.net!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: wetwork resonator Date: 5 Mar 2000 06:11:51 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 45 Message-ID: <89str7$37v$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:337935 Andre' is the best friend of the brilliant birds. They thank his night vision every day, keeping close track of his footpath and the tea he collects off the flat dirt near the tall waves. When he goes underwater they live as hovercraft. Once on a full night moon, she floats on the sea waiting for his children or air bubbles, watching little whitecaps scurry their infinite duty, and the moon says a word. She blinks with one second surprise but listens hard. Nothing is impossible. "He is not coming back. He has found a new path where no feet work. He does not have any more time for trees." The moon is silent as usual. "You should have flown away with the birds. They are lucky to be far." She tears her hair and twists wildly in the water. The taunting moon is alone. No bright birds tonight. Were they afraid from heights? Were they lucky or smart? Miles below, the best friend is at work on a new project, where a lava coding style brings every line into its own bright, where the world starts at the bottom and builds its way up. Andre' is bringing the earth to surface. It hurts the earth but later it will thank him. She turns toward the memory of sunset, pushes aside the warming water, and swims with the strength of ten dolphins. By sunrise she will be lucky or in the pain of the earth. Either way the birds will learn from what Andre' did. bill bill wetware com Article 337936 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!sunqbc.risq.qc.ca!novia!nntp3.cerf.net!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: dope amino Date: 5 Mar 2000 06:36:40 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 22 Message-ID: <89sv9o$38n$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:337936 Generation Net. Creating Network. Causing Comm. Info junkies. E-junk info. Parasitology. Cooler is meaner. Money is funny. Ha tech no. Driftwood Data. Lifted fingers. Animal winstincts. Mall of Mail. Sneaking sapphires. Creeping copper. Head disk spinning. Fresh re ramming. Main do naming. Vector lister. Scale a tonic. Zip a driver. Pick selecto. Drafty memo. Myster E Romyo. Febrilate the functional, punktoolate the punctual, Pantomimetic pluralcystic dogmarithmetic simual. Dire streets of the monde moderne, gather your skirts around; the future needs the falling world in organicizy rime. Live for past the end of day or stop for every sentence past. Judge now, lest ye be unjudged. bill bill wetware com Article 337938 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!newsfeed.cwix.com!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: yes your questions Date: 5 Mar 2000 07:14:45 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 19 Message-ID: <89t1h5$3a5$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:337938 You think the night surrounds you. You think the trees wave slow arms. You think they slow the wind down. You stand beside the river and the time drifts close around you. Your whirlpool pulls the air in. The trees are lit by people. The people built some stories high. The people left their windows drift and let their lights run out. The trees wave in this light too. You think they wave to you. You breathe a little wind in. The trees released it to you. Your arms are in the air too. You wave them very slowly. You are not alone here. The trees believe your night too. The trees are glad to see you. bill bill wetware com Article 338080 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!newsfeed.cwix.com!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: field offices Date: 8 Mar 2000 06:29:50 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 36 Message-ID: <8a4s0u$iaj$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:338080 Grass man writes his memos. Wind woman pushes him around all day. Rain boy pees on them both by the light of moon dog. In the morning, a delivery arrives at the front door. No messenger or truck exists. Decomposing twigs are broken in various ways, but is the trail ten years cold? The field is silent, suspicious. Everyone will wait to see what the delivery does. After a few weeks, leaf girl peeks through the shedding outer layers with one of her million eyes. Wind woman carries more eyes past the box to help. Leaf girl says it's a body. Grass man expects a promotion. Mud guy mutters imprecations and urges rain boy to go some more, trying to get a closer look. Deliveries are rarely addressed to mud guy. Soon they have all placed the delivery on a slow shelf beside the others - the copper coin from the year of no winter; the white ball from the summer of burns. Each in its own place. Each stoic, fitting perfectly with the office aesthetic. The newest delivery sheds one of its eye buttons, and mud guy does the research, writes a series of button white papers. Wind woman and grass man lie still at night, watching the ant stars scurry, scheming to get ahead, eager to forget the next day. Happy for a moment, seeing all, unseeing everything. bill bill wetware com Article 338208 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!feeder.via.net!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: more songs about being and unbeing Date: 12 Mar 2000 06:32:18 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 17 Message-ID: <8afdli$i2c$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:338208 "When you die you are subjected to total workout videos created by the world's smallest people. This is a way to change your expectations of the life to come." "When you die you are transported across vast reaches of space and time, to a dimension where McDonald's hamburger restaurants provide information and rain." "When you die it is exactly like here, like today without the incessant questions showered on you by money. Because you don't need the food anymore. They take away your stomach." bill bill wetware com Article 338162 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!howland.erols.net!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: lang help Date: 10 Mar 2000 20:21:51 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 31 Message-ID: <8ablgv$e9s$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:338162 cannot read language thisword any small indenturametatheraprocessptangptang creatures of the identity candy by earwag digest message of introduce into Production a pathogen denoted by "WARNING: unable to stand in queue" by level three diagnostic of service attack, capable of tunneling your service contract past nine circles of management into the very heart of the galaxy. McKenna says we must code free or die. Nixon says power comes from the end of a 10 base T cable. Dioramas unfolding of the power process played off a crack in a star, fused to darker and darker molecules until the ink is fixed firmly on paper concrete steel and meme. Until last page beep ---- SAFE FOR ALL CLEARANCE LEVELS ---- bill bill wetware com Article 338774 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!enews.sgi.com!paloalto-snf1.gtei.net!news.gtei.net!newsfeed.stanford.edu!novia!nntp3.cerf.net!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Vital Acquisitions Date: 30 Mar 2000 20:26:18 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 16 Message-ID: <8c0d9a$jdi$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:338774 Currency Exchange throws a note dart: how many pins for the Angel Of Repose coin? We are feverish in our research and spend 900 pin-questions to decide sleep beds are ten million pins. The coin is soon ours. Another day of dancing in the streets, and finally we get to sleep. That is a strange experience. The microphones we planted in Currency Exchange are paying off big time. We know how much to believe in their outrageous zings and arrows. We are all waiting for the woman with the Air Certificate to come for a trade. You might say we're holding our breaths. Joe says he once saw steam come from an open mouth. bill bill wetware com Article 339326 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!howland.erols.net!newsfeed.cwix.com!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: viewing methods Date: 17 Apr 2000 21:53:25 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 11 Message-ID: <8dg14l$f0s$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:339326 Where I sit, I can't see my car, but I can see its reflection. Like a reverse vampire. How much blood is it giving me? Does this explain high blood pressure? How many things can I not-see-except-by-reflecting before my mercury blows off my hat? Now you know why I look at you so directly when we meet Why I draw a picture of every word. bill bill wetware com Article 340199 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!enews.sgi.com!news.sgi.com!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: partly devoted Date: 11 May 2000 05:45:53 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 18 Message-ID: <8fdheh$m78$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:340199 Desiree is still wiring her arm. She's been working on it for a year and a half. Her arm is a good disguise for canned food. In another few months, she will have fully electric food cans. Then the socket in her stomach will be happy at last. The last time anybody touched her arm, he was friendly banter and she lived in the basement. Now she never hears him any more, and the top floor apartment is a good way to see the world. She is on a journey, and when she gets there she will start over. Her legs are feeling hungry. bill bill wetware com Article 341239 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gctr.net!newsfeed.cwix.com!news!wetware!billbill From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Thalidomide Reasoning Project Date: 27 May 2000 22:05:23 GMT Organization: wareware Lines: 25 Message-ID: <8gpgr3$bus$1@numbers.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Originator: billbill@wetware.com Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:341239 Here at ThalRePro, we love the pretty lights of our customers' thinking brains. Yes, their brains are what keep us awake at night, staring at the crawling sensation in the sky. Feel free to sing along. You are the customer! Jamal's in high school now. He just reached that human point corresponding to A.I. level 2: awareness of self awareness. He spent yesterday thinking about his thoughts of thinking his thoughts. Now we know he's buying. Jamal keeps going night after night, never aware of us, just as we aren't aware of you. We assume you are out there because of the night sky. We think your signatures are pretty. We have no way to turn you into money, but we're working on it and we'll pass the savings on to you just as soon as you think of a way. Maybe Jamal will tell you. Draw your conclusions, see your connections, and whatever you do, don't forget to turn out the lights! bill bill wetware com Article 342597 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gblx.net!howland.erols.net!news.pbi.net.MISMATCH!cyclone-transit.snfc21.pbi.net!216.218.192.242!news.he.net!daver!ditka!wetware!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: molecules of reason Date: 16 Jun 2000 22:39:31 -0700 Organization: wareware Lines: 33 Message-ID: <8if2uj$178$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Xref: news.primenet.com talk.bizarre:342597 Cath-y and John-y direct the paintbrush of time back and forth over their itchy backs. It's a very stiff brush and they've been very very still. How many churches can you sit through, after all, with the Golem Of Reasoning all crept up sly-like behind the pews, picking the next victim to deliver from evil. Cath-y runs out and back to get the spraybrush. She's the impatient one. Her eyes itch or hunger. How many more seconds? She tries to eat them but only her skin even notices. Elemental particles her dear watts on the bald skin of old heads, illuminate luminapes, go go glow. John-y has watched this for "years." She is developing into a forcible banker whose reason-exchange sets the standard for all the waiting victims. She's "fast." Old Golem is slow and steady, one molecule at a time, building a world out of concrete that matters. Old Golem is a patient sort, and you think he's stone. He stares at you. That's what he's doing. And thinking about you. And planning a way to get you going. There's a nasty man behind the building, mad as a wet hornet and stingers all limbered up. Golem and Cath-y and John-y have planned him here for years. Today is the day. This is a place with a hundred billion molecules all lined up right. The cameras click on, zap-speed streaming; the time smooths up straight. The reason exchange opens once upon each time, this now now now now now bill bill wetware com Article 347980 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.phx.gblx.net!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gblx.net!newsfeed.direct.ca!look.ca!news.he.net!daver!ditka!wetware!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: milestones Date: 26 Sep 2000 14:17:05 -0700 Organization: wareware Lines: 12 Message-ID: <8qr3oh$m7f$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Xref: news.phx.gblx.net talk.bizarre:347980 It is the hallmark of every successful computing-infrastructure company. A critical milestone. The gods will cause your stock to fail and your employees to flee unless you reach, at last, the day on which your President or CEO asks, "Can we just take everything off Unix? Get rid of it?" You have not passed through the fire until this day is done. bill bill wetware com Article 350605 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.phx.gblx.net!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gblx.net!newsfeed.skycache.com!Cidera!novia!nntp3.cerf.net!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: burnout phase 3 Date: 25 Nov 2000 19:12:44 -0800 Organization: wareware Lines: 14 Message-ID: <8vpv3c$qf$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Xref: news.phx.gblx.net talk.bizarre:350605 Even without eyes the sky creates most color. The silver dome of a drop disappears into wavering highway heat. Dust itself changes color when the sky says to. It's quiet in between the hills, and on the bottom of the deep river, the sky wrestles with the current. "Give me your pieces of gold!" Now, why would the sky want that gold if it can't even see to shine it up? bill bill wetware com Article 350905 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.phx.gblx.net!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gblx.net!newsfeed.direct.ca!look.ca!newshub2.rdc1.sfba.home.com!news.home.com!news2.best.com!news1.best.com!199.108.16.23.MISMATCH!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: remembery night or days Date: 1 Dec 2000 23:56:06 -0800 Organization: wareware Lines: 43 Message-ID: <90a9um$6n8$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Xref: news.phx.gblx.net talk.bizarre:350905 Whatever the words were, Tom had left his knife on the car seat and was talking to the sky with his eyes closed. "I told you not to eat that shit," he said. "I told you I never stole a gun. You always should have believed me. You were the only one I told the truth." The sky's eyes glinted a million ways, meant a million men. Tom's father waited to rise in the east, anxious to hear the conversation. Tom continued to see only the space between the lights. "Sometimes I cut my hair with your knife. You had it in your pocket every second." Mallea was pretending to sleep in the back seat. She had argued with Tom about leaving the blades open. She was imagining, almost dreaming, that she was the night fog slipping over the mountain, over the back of the driver seat, wrapping her hands around the blade, closing it into the knife. She had a history of wild fantasy. She sat up and grabbed the knife, buried the blade in the back seat, held the friendly end with her soft touch. Tom and Mal left the sanitary restaurants behind long ago. They are far beyond the edge of the cities. In the dark around them only the wild dogs watch, only a sound from a river runs past. They have given up on you, and your warm light switch, and your instant water, and your false family in the nightly box lights. They have paint, and clay, and a corporate plan. They think of you as small somehow - a lovely figure to paste on the hood ornament with a dollar. They are creating the Future Of Love 2000, in memorial of the one bright day in the sun. Ironically, the sun rises. Don't you wish you were the sun? Every single day. No matter how the story ends, you see the stage struck and the actors go home to warm arms or ticking clock. You wait for the cold and everything else is amusements. What if the sun himself were able to learn a new trick? bill bill wetware com Article 350907 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.phx.gblx.net!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gblx.net!newsfeed.skycache.com!Cidera!novia!nntp3.cerf.net!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: zing faces Date: 2 Dec 2000 00:05:35 -0800 Organization: wareware Lines: 32 Message-ID: <90aagf$6so$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Xref: news.phx.gblx.net talk.bizarre:350907 Rachel and the city were standing on the north of the world, cold as sin. Rachel was a hot spot, concentrated concentration, something you never laid eyes on before without twitching later. Rachel lifted the layers of flaky crust up from one another, giving them life to the plates of waiting eaters. Rachel had friends over. She was god for an hour and a handful of minutes. Something about the bookshelves raked through Jack's mind. The layers of pastry were distracting, and all his friends seemed to be wrapped in dough, but the books were full of a thousand eyes each. A book is worth a thousand eyes, and in the history of the last set of paper you borrowed from a library, every shakespeare who ever lived touched you with at least cellular recognition. The problem is: you're on-screen now. Will you recognize the people when they walk past smiling? Jack and Rachel are in bed. Not sleeping, not sexing, but something else you haven't read yet. bill bill wetware com Article 352946 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.phx.gblx.net!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gblx.net!newsfeed.skycache.com!Cidera!novia!nntp3.cerf.net!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.n.o.s.p.a.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: walter culp, boul of dirt Date: 1 Feb 2001 18:07:28 -0800 Organization: wareware Lines: 16 Message-ID: <95d4p0$faf$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Xref: news.phx.gblx.net talk.bizarre:352946 Jonathan donates goods and services to whirling dervishes. Melso hands her gloves to the cold branches above. Stand around long enough in the rain and your feet start to glare and turn around to look for the source of you, annoyance, not the proper behaver they build themselves to expect. Let them half their weight and they'd be on the roof, running on the ridgeline, aiming for the clothesvine. Thuds along the edge of the sky for a hundred houses in the blocks surround; everybody finally got the broadcast dance wave hookup in hi bits, in no-mo-slo-mo, in formation overlodes. bill bill wetware com Article 353683 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.phx.gblx.net!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gblx.net!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!news-hog.berkeley.edu!ucberkeley!enews.sgi.com!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.n.o.s.p.a.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: small font Date: 25 Feb 2001 20:44:39 -0800 Organization: wareware Lines: 22 Message-ID: <97cmvn$csa$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Xref: news.phx.gblx.net talk.bizarre:353683 Dear Small Font, You are not the font of small wisdom! Please grow up. In addition, a bright green or yellow flavor would be better than your sullen gray haircut. What are they teaching these days in araesthmetics? By the way, your great-N-Grandfather Runey came down from the hills last night and danced a tattoo on my shoulder. You should listen to him; he has learned a lot from being pinned to paper so many times by people with a story to sell. I know, I know, the computer revolution, blah blah blah, a bit saved is a penny sold later, blah blah blah. Just remember: when somebody goes to read you with their eyes it is time to say exactly what they meant! correspondingly, Coat of Arms bill bill wetware com Article 353843 of talk.bizarre: Path: news.phx.gblx.net!nntp.primenet.com!nntp.gblx.net!enews.sgi.com!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.no.s.pa.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: pures Date: 4 Mar 2001 19:30:52 -0800 Organization: wareware Lines: 30 Message-ID: <97v19c$9n6$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Xref: news.phx.gblx.net talk.bizarre:353843 On the roundabout, Officer Shallot spins doughnuts on his turbo-charged Vespa. He has had enough of the day's business, we think, and we search the watch desk for the remote control. Farther up the sky, the spirals of spirals of a circle call to pigeons and hawks, who spin their own swoops of dizzy heights. Officer Shallot staggers through the door, dizzy, laughing. "I got yer fookin' rain, then!" he scrawls through the air, and with a hoot he's off running down the street. We dash outside to spot the Vespa on its side, the turbocharger smoking a dense black smoke. A thought of rain has begun to fall, and we turn back to the building, saluting the weather on our foreheads. The water grows steadily, and the street's a river before we reach the stairs. I remember at the beach - I was five then, and a waterspout came around the cliff and attacked me. Pulled through the air, I could not see through crossing eyes, and I sputtered more rain than I'd ever seen. After a minute I dropped gentle on the grass at the top of the cliff, breathing enough to hear it through my own bones to my ears. Ever since, the spinning always makes me calm. I know Shallot will sleep again soon, and his excitement will wash, a spiral in the drain. I will show him the way right around the people who walk straight. bill bill wetware com Article 313106 of talk.bizarre: Xref: world talk.bizarre:313106 Path: world!blanket.mitre.org!news.tufts.edu!logbridge.uoregon.edu!newsfeed.stanford.edu!paloalto-snf1.gtei.net!news.gtei.net!enews.sgi.com!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.no.s.pa.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: pures Date: 4 Mar 2001 19:30:52 -0800 Organization: wareware Lines: 30 Message-ID: <97v19c$9n6$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit On the roundabout, Officer Shallot spins doughnuts on his turbo-charged Vespa. He has had enough of the day's business, we think, and we search the watch desk for the remote control. Farther up the sky, the spirals of spirals of a circle call to pigeons and hawks, who spin their own swoops of dizzy heights. Officer Shallot staggers through the door, dizzy, laughing. "I got yer fookin' rain, then!" he scrawls through the air, and with a hoot he's off running down the street. We dash outside to spot the Vespa on its side, the turbocharger smoking a dense black smoke. A thought of rain has begun to fall, and we turn back to the building, saluting the weather on our foreheads. The water grows steadily, and the street's a river before we reach the stairs. I remember at the beach - I was five then, and a waterspout came around the cliff and attacked me. Pulled through the air, I could not see through crossing eyes, and I sputtered more rain than I'd ever seen. After a minute I dropped gentle on the grass at the top of the cliff, breathing enough to hear it through my own bones to my ears. Ever since, the spinning always makes me calm. I know Shallot will sleep again soon, and his excitement will wash, a spiral in the drain. I will show him the way right around the people who walk straight. bill bill wetware com Article 313484 of talk.bizarre: Xref: world talk.bizarre:313484 Path: world!blanket.mitre.org!news.tufts.edu!logbridge.uoregon.edu!arclight.uoregon.edu!enews.sgi.com!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.nos.pa.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: All-Garoo Day at Clexo Company Date: 17 Mar 2001 17:38:54 -0800 Organization: wareware Lines: 34 Message-ID: <9913je$nn9$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Monday was insane number 1. Tuesday was insane number 1. Wednesday was crazy pie day. On Thursday, we stayed up all night shooting nerf grenades filled with optimystic cookie fortunes. The board room, our main battle ground, became fully prepared for the next motivational prevarication party. Even the videoconference camera to Katmandu was certain to put our best moot forward. "You will make lots of money with your friend," it said, the small happy paper taped just below center, facing the lens. On Friday, the cooks went bonkers and staged a panic-in. "Cook us some Lobsters! Strain our Spaghetti! Balance on the head of a pin!" They bedeviled us good eggs, but none of us cracked, noooo... we had a plan. Late at night, the carousing chefs covered our crashing entrance to the campus. The buildings suddenly opened their windows and... "We're in!" flew across the sky, handwriting on the wall that keeps us alive. We planted the seeds of intentional behavior - right there in the corporate chaos clanhold! Then out, running, us and our secret, darker than a baby's bottom at midnight, softer than a goose's downfall, more powerful than a speeding bluet! Now everybody's calm. Everybody's asleep. Hold your breath... Good things happen someday... bill bill wetware com Article 313571 of talk.bizarre: Xref: world talk.bizarre:313571 Path: world!blanket.mitre.org!news.tufts.edu!logbridge.uoregon.edu!arclight.uoregon.edu!enews.sgi.com!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.n.os.pa.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: care of the children Date: 20 Mar 2001 19:53:33 -0800 Organization: wareware Lines: 15 Message-ID: <9998jt$b0q$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Mr. Cat delivers several instant chops to the neck of the esteemed Heloise. Newspapers lift from the stock exchange floor and enfold him in dangerous lies. Ah! He stumbles! Can he escape? After all the ratings go down, will he even exist? Is evil sufficient? Weevils run a bar down by the cotton patch, all holes and liquid plant. What's wrong with beetle intoxication? Who gets hurt? Anyway, the goodness employees get off work around five every day and crawl in through the holes. They pitch and moan as the bar begins to melt. Only goodness can save us! bill bill wetware com Article 314476 of talk.bizarre: Xref: world talk.bizarre:314476 Path: world!newsswitch.lcs.mit.edu!hammer.uoregon.edu!enews.sgi.com!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetwa.r.e.nos.pa.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Re: Fully.Mech.anized.Soc.iety. Date: 14 Apr 2001 20:52:24 -0700 Organization: wareware Lines: 19 Message-ID: <9bb5to$iem$1@wetware.wetware.com> References: NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit thomas rollin@mail.said > mean by a fully mechanized society. Ideas. Ideas approved. Ideas versus work translated for energy within sphere, bio mass, human. You ideas : We made : Work for us. In your veins. We hhharborrr good will in your subcute. We do thee work. Please: Bring work. We mechneed work. You have so many hands. We future translate them all. bill bill wetware com Article 314820 of talk.bizarre: Xref: world talk.bizarre:314820 Path: world!blanket.mitre.org!news.tufts.edu!logbridge.uoregon.edu!hammer.uoregon.edu!enews.sgi.com!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetw.are.no.spa.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: curved blades in cubic hands Date: 24 Apr 2001 19:24:00 -0700 Organization: wareware Lines: 31 Message-ID: <9c5cg0$h8r$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Once upon a time, the barbarian hordes spilled over the hill screaming with bared teeth and raised swords. This was an interesting event personally speaking, because they never actually had done what I just said. So why did you get the picture so easily? Anyway, when they reached the bottom of the hill and I was just standing there laughing, they got even more perturbed and started to chop me into tiny pieces. Again, I'll point out that this was different from what they intended, because I never actually was there. So why did I bother to mention I was laughing? Anyway, it was a most intriguing view when their missing swords passed through my non-existent head, since their swords swept back in a gentle swirl based on complex futuristic arithmetic and their hands, their hands were made of cubic boxes of flesh, square knuckles, flat backs, shiny glass nails like fish scales cut four ways, and readable lines in the palm that forked right angles like a kind of city-map lightning, making their path in life so difficult. I think their problems about doing inappropriate shapes were an important factor in their inability to do the attack they needed to do. I myself plan to get a mirror and see to my own angles, spirals and intentionally mistaken broken lines of belief. This may well be the finest work I do for the hordes, and I should be paid well in that swirly complex futuristic math. bill bill wetware com Article 316054 of talk.bizarre: Xref: world talk.bizarre:316054 Path: world!blanket.mitre.org!news.tufts.edu!logbridge.uoregon.edu!hammer.uoregon.edu!enews.sgi.com!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.nosp.a.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: misusing the moment Date: 29 May 2001 21:21:46 -0700 Organization: wareware Lines: 21 Message-ID: <9f1sgq$7s$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Harralt Top has his nose in an uproar. Seems the diaphanous Italian china which causes his more obsessive compulsions has been downgraded by analysts to a "sell sell sell". And his garage has grown too full. Amy Mightraet has a poem all prepared for Harralt's condition. He is one of the children of the lesser evil; shown a path by temporary stories and half-meant facts, he will carry the day with him until he lays it down. Amy with Harralt are on a trip together around the moon, around and around, because the moon is the center and the world is the moon. They watch its phases for signs of approval. Some nights, Amy points at a specific blur from her eye, missing the point of her own finger, wishing the important moon. Some nights, Harralt has a new reason the delicate dish in disguise teases them so out of touch. But in the mornings it never seems to matter as much as the hands whose fingers have found each other of their own discord, entangled by an unknown logic neither one can actually say, or see, or sell for any reason. bill bill wetware com Article 317908 of talk.bizarre: Xref: world talk.bizarre:317908 Path: world!coop.net!enews.sgi.com!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.n.os.pa.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: seven hundred years old Date: 30 Jul 2001 18:58:28 -0700 Organization: wareware Lines: 31 Message-ID: <9k53c4$8qt$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Sam rides a hummingbird made of granite and marble. He does not know its age but suspects it is over seven hundred years old. The geneticists of ancient XianDon province were really into flying stone overlays and metal bloodwork. Sam doesn't know history, but nothing recent weighs very much. The hummingbird still runs at seven hundred heartbeats a minute. She has replaced many feathers with knives over the centuries. She flicks an occasional glance back at Sam, poor unawares old man. She sniffs for his flower house on top speed; tonight she has a date with a mountain god and can't wait to drop this feather of a man. Holds back her urge to dissect him, see why he moves. Quick slalom through a herd of orbital trees, a moo drone across the hills where dangling branches make grazing impact. She puts him on his blue dwarf iris, takes his nucleotide tip with grace, and deletes memory again, taking the sky, the sky, up the blue and a zing song towards the purple, the black, the top of the air where all rocks tumble, all the years show their age for all seas, and the blue ball of water below lights the show for the upside heavies. She docks in the mountain god's cave and rumbles a petite toccata. Nectar lakes are her favorite. bill bill wetware com Article 318194 of talk.bizarre: Xref: world talk.bizarre:318194 Path: world!bloom-beacon.mit.edu!howland.erols.net!news.maxwell.syr.edu!news-feeds.jump.net!dfw-peer.news.verio.net!sjc-feed.news.verio.net!news.verio.net!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.nosp.a.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Re: short life confession Date: 8 Aug 2001 16:47:32 -0700 Organization: wareware Lines: 42 Message-ID: <9ksj2k$bpr$1@wetware.wetware.com> References: <3B58A565.17187372@gator.net> <3fAa7.622466$eK2.130887392@news4.rdc1.on.home.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit gheston@HiWAAY.net (Gary Heston) said: > Good point. What's the T.BOB schedule, anyway? On Monday night, I attended the t.bob in the old theater building filled with wooden seats from some university lecture hall. During the musical-chairs game, Mary and I were able to get seats next to each other, but I couldn't keep an empty seat beside me to win the next round; one of you sat down next to me talking, and I could not would not get you to move. The talking is good.t.bob. Later at that bob we were out beside the log cabin, on a bright blue-sky day with deep snow on the ground, and Soren was trying on our snowboard. He swooped down the slope in front of the cabin and proclaimed the snowboarding excellent. Since he had never been on a snowboard before, I pointed to the snowdrift downhill beside the road and said, "I'll bet you can jump that drift." He did, and we all clapped, laughing. It's been weeks since the last t.bob. I think it was on water-skis. Before that, the one in the giant ballroom, subtly lit by devices of terrible information, carrying us all to a dance between ships whose nature could not be known. The chandeliers sparkled like burning bushes in some Victorian hedge maze. We all were drifting about the room towards and away from each other, and you said the most interesting things, which I filed deep within the desert sea for future creations. Before that, it was the one at my parents' old house, where I had to fly through the trees to support the t.bob team. There is a lot of people-clustering at these bobs, and re-clustering, and heads that swivel to listen here, talk there, stare at small curved shapes on shelves. Everybody at the bobs tends to be happy. We should have more of these. bill bill wetware com Article 319404 of talk.bizarre: Xref: world talk.bizarre:319404 Path: world!bloom-beacon.mit.edu!newsfeed.stanford.edu!newsfeed.berkeley.edu!ucberkeley!enews.sgi.com!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.nosp.a.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: colordog Date: 10 Sep 2001 19:35:15 -0700 Organization: wareware Lines: 18 Message-ID: <9njt93$88t$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit My friend colordog fights wildcats for food all night. He says the cat food is the best. Wildcat Jim likes the leftover people in restaurant dumpsters. So I guess they just fight because they like it. Once I was riding an ambulance roof, trying to learn how to pick a route in a hurry, when colordog turned on beside the ambulance. He said they might as well slow down. I asked if the guy was dead already. He said the competition had already picked him up. Once I got in a wildcat fight just to see what it was like. Colordog thought that was kind of stupid - acting like he does. He knows the model for society lives far away from him. The odd thing is... it doesn't seem to bother him. bill bill wetware com Article 320045 of talk.bizarre: Xref: world talk.bizarre:320045 Path: world!blanket.mitre.org!news.tufts.edu!logbridge.uoregon.edu!arclight.uoregon.edu!enews.sgi.com!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetware.n.ooos.paaa.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: first hit loses Date: 20 Sep 2001 20:12:39 -0700 Organization: wareware Lines: 43 Message-ID: <9oeb77$n92$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit "I guess there are people in the world," he said, "that don't see the ground they're walking on." I flicked another cigarette into the box. From where I sat on the curb, the box against the store window was pretty close. I lit another cigarette and flicked it at the box. Another winner. Open another pack. Out of this carton, only three or four were lying on the sidewalk glowing. I lit another and did a special overhand move - still went in Resistant box. Warm orange dots. "Random example. Purely random. I swear. ...Say I were to hit you right now. On your arm. Would you hit me back? Even if I didn't mess up your gee-golly cigarette kill ratio?" "Of course I would," I said. "It's Newtonian. Push me and I push you. Universal, eh?" He threw a rock as I threw a cigarette. It knocked my cigarette down in midair. "I'd have to hit you back. Back." He looked at my shoulder where my softest shirt covered any marks. I lit another and wrote "Duh" on the sidewalk with the ashes. "And I'd hit you back back back. And I know what you'd do." Flick. "So how long you think they're gonna stay so dumb?" he said. "Isn't it sad." I said. "So very very." I lit three at once. "Hell, they can't see their own shoelace, much less the ground. Or the crack in the ground where the shoelace is stuck." "Hit me again," he said. "No," I said. "You go first this time. I promise I'll be stupid and forget all of history tomorrow." "Hey, that was years ago." bill bill wetware com Article 322549 of talk.bizarre: Xref: world talk.bizarre:322549 Path: world!blanket.mitre.org!news.tufts.edu!logbridge.uoregon.edu!arclight.uoregon.edu!enews.sgi.com!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetwa.renosp.a.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: in the presence of decimal angels Date: 23 Nov 2001 13:45:30 -0800 Organization: wareware Lines: 6 Message-ID: <9tmg1q$e1h$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit My car turned 101010 miles as I turned onto highway 101. bill bill wetware com Article 322861 of talk.bizarre: Xref: world talk.bizarre:322861 Path: world!blanket.mitre.org!news.tufts.edu!logbridge.uoregon.edu!arclight.uoregon.edu!enews.sgi.com!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wetw.areno.sp.a.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Perfectly Prepared in Praetoria Date: 30 Nov 2001 01:10:42 -0800 Organization: wareware Lines: 21 Message-ID: <9u7iei$499$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit The anamaster Dalglesh lifted his whip in reason. "If only," he began, "there were certain price points settled before we had the corpse cheese. But no! It was incumbent upon me to" The servants twitched; their fur stood on end. Crashing waves of brick threw plaid upon the ex-stage where Dalglesh had spread his eminemt domain. At last, televisiokinesis proven practical by the democratic solution of political insolubles! Far across the tree-soaked deserts, the mountains wailed their forward-looking strategies. Only the strong would survive. The rest would meet later in Valhallan Cafe. And curse the puny human spirit down which they'd been brought. There is no reason. There is only result. bill bill wetware com Article 323040 of talk.bizarre: Xref: world talk.bizarre:323040 Path: world!blanket.mitre.org!news.tufts.edu!logbridge.uoregon.edu!newsfeed.cwix.com!sjc-peer.news.verio.net!sjc-feed.news.verio.net!news.verio.net!nntp.wetware.com!news.wetware.com!not-for-mail From: billbill@wet.waren.ospa.m.com (Bill Bill) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: whistling happy tunes Date: 2 Dec 2001 00:02:57 -0800 Organization: wareware Lines: 57 Message-ID: <9ucn7h$g73$1@wetware.wetware.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: wetware.wetware.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Terry Leone lives in a cave on the north side of Atlanta. The limestone hills are the easiest color he's ever worked with. He's creating a giant World Bank out of stone and trees. When Terry was young, his mother was a ritual victim and traveled from town to town working with the church. Later, after the church went, she went to a community college to pick up a new trade. It turned out to be about telling people what to do. She became good at telling people what to do, but not as good at making the people do it. Her supervisor summed up this problem after her exit interview: "Her failure reflects the fundamental conflict of will, so only the evolution of the ego can be blamed. Give her positive reference for any marketing position." Terry learned his mother's failure by not doing anything she said. He didn't do the opposite, or go out and do bad things. Terry was a Good Boy. This we know from her detailed records. But Terry had his Own Ideas. This is where the World Bank comes in. In the summer of his junior year at college, Terry got an internship at the World Bank's Booking Division. This got him in on the ground floor with the major poetry gymnasts of his day - football scholars, plumbing geniuses, all the moto-cross grandfathers. They all loved him; he never tried to tell them what to do, and the money came from a well deep in the past, a secret cave of gems, bones, gold, frankincense, and glass beads of several colors. Now he's in the north Georgia hills working on the new World Bank. He's got all the customers and international relationships carved out. Some of them are wood; some are mud. The main part he has to finish is the internal working of the new money. It is stone, and everybody will take a pill of it, and it will mean the same thing to everybody everywhere. He's on a deadline. We know we will all be worth something new. Very soon. When we get the news, we will all be very newly correctly good together. It is a good thing to hope for. The pinnacle of our systems, they say. bill bill wetware com