vr
a novel
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
May 1996
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
From: Nichelle
Date: 1 May 1996
Subject: Gabe's Back
It has been five days since anyone has sent e-mail to this list. As I told
Murder (who doesn't read e-mail anyway, so who cares if he gets this), Gabe
and I are going through classical music 101, beginning with Beethoven's Ninth
Symphony. Beethoven seems to have omitted the part about the cannibals, but
we will have to put it back in because I'm reading Heart Of Darkness also,
having joined Gabe's Book Of The Month Club.
Actually, I have been meaning to sit down and write e-mail to the list for
days, but have been sitting behind Gabriel on the couch plotting to take over
the computer. He pages everyone on the MOO with "Nichelle is getting very
angry with me because I am spending all of my time on the MOO". I need to
find new ways to amuse myself, I guess, because there isn't a seat in the
house that doesn't give me a glorious view of the back of Gabriel's head.
I told him that I ought to buy a computer so that we can talk to each other
on the MOO. As he told Peri, the only thing I get three times a day is meals,
though I'm not complaining. They are delicious meals, and I got my pancakes
with maple syrup this morning for breakfast.
I wrote a heart-breaking letter to David, my "boyfriend in the midwest",
this morning, and I'm feeling like a horrendous bitch. I'll get over it, after
a nice walk down to the public library and a trip to that godawful mall so
Gabriel can get a belt and I can go to Hooters for a beer. At least the sun
is out today, which may be a good omen. Perhaps the AT&T software will
arrive. And if His Magesty's Mother (Gabe found us a geek-for-hire, but he
had to ask his mother if he can help us post porn on the Web) would just
surrender, we could begin work on our Web site, and I could even pull up
a chair and sit at the computer too.
From: Peri
Date: 1 May 1996
Subject: Whatever
My point is that if you want me, you have to be kind to me. If you don’t
want me, you won’t break my heart. I realize that that condition that I place
on your behavior may seem unreasonable to you but it’s still a condition.
Whether my writing needs editing or not is really no concern of yours unless
I contract your as an editor.
I’m glad you’re interested in me and how I might use my life to create literature,
but honestly, I’m old enough that I’m not interested in spending time with
asocial arrogant intellectuals unless there’s something concrete I get out
of it that outweighs the risks I Take spending time with such people like
yourself. The benefits have to clearly outweigh the risks, and what I call
risks are social ones. If one of the conditions that you level on me while
I spend time in your World is putting up with your rude behavior, and I don’t
clearly see a special opportunity for me in that World (which I don’t), then
I don’t see any reason for being there.
Peri
From: Peri
Date: 1 May 1996
Subject: P.S.
The reason I know about prioritizing between risk and benefit is that I
already do spend time in the company of many socially ‘dangerous’ people
on Jay’s House MOO. There, there is probably a slightly lesser risk to my
sense of propriety and social graces than there would be in your World with
you, but the benefits are obvious to me: ready technical answers to miscellaneous
technical questions, and a very solid foundation in business-type networking.
Another reason that occurs to me now to refuse belonging to your World is
that I simply don’t have the time to participate to a degree that I’d feel
comfortable with.
Also, as for my e-mail address, you can find it here on Lambda in the Library,
and I believe it’s on my nametag on JHM, but you’d have to ask someone there
who I am there, since my handle is different.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 1 May 1996
Subject: Goetterfunken und feuertrunken
Quodlibet I hope you appreciate this. I've been breaking my balls translating
the Ode into English trochees and neither the English language nor my brain
finds trochees very easy. Actually I just began doing it lazily last night
after getting into a fight with Peri, who's trying out our list, and drinking
a lot of whisky. I should write whisk(e)y because I also had a miniature Jacky,
which smells like silage, before drowning the bad taste away in the pure,
the noble J&B. Si ca passe, tout passe, dixit Dede. I've got some good
lines: Joy, beloved, God-inspired, Thine enchantment binds together, Him
who a fair wife has taken, Join us in thy jubilee, Joy all beings do partake
of, From the breast of Mother Earth, All the good and all the evil, Follow
in her floral path, Kisses she bestowed and vintage. I can see some of you
smirking: "That's just a translation. Anyone with a dictionary and a quart
of whisky can do that." Yeah, you fucking try. English words just do not
want to be twisted into trochees. Stiff Lips suggested I just set it to swing
and write iambs. That might be smarter. By the way, Jeff and John, I've had
to make some kind of Faustian deal with Peri that we would all be "nice"
to him/her, whatever that means. I guess what the fuck. I promised Tyisha
I wouldn't call her a nigger and she still left. Oh well. We'll be on the
web soon enough and trust me, Jeff, this list will explode. Have I ever been
wrong before? OK, once or twice, but never mind. I hope you're all (Corinne,
John, yes Johana) working busily on your web texts. Why should Nichelle and
I have to do all the work? I wrote Lonni about her son's helping me with
the 'puter. (No, I don't want to spend the next few years at Sommers.) and
she answered that while her he had probably already seen almost everything
that's available on the 'net, she wasn't sure whether she wanted him to make
money from "such things". It's OK if he just uses it to jack off, but heaven
forbid he actually do something useful. Anyway she'll probably say yes, and
the thought of causing that FWB some domestic strife amuses me.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 4 May 1996
Subject: Bad-ass bitch
I think I've got a live one, one hundred and ten pounds of smart, mean psychoanalyst.
The first time we met, about a year ago on DU, she told me she had read all
of Freud. Whatever that means, that's about a hundred thousand pages. Nichelle
asked at breakfast (pancakes, they're a favorite of hers) if that included
his shopping lists. She was joking, but yes some editors publish shit like
that. I also pointed out that it might even be interesting. I've had to streamline
my shopping lists, but I used to write these four-language monsterpieces that
only Dede and I could read. Anyway, Rosanne is about my age. Peri I guess
you're 26 to be exact. I'm almost done with the Ode, about a dozen problems
still to be dealt with. We're probably going to go to the library and watch
the 120 Days of Sodom this afternoon. Perhpas Nichelle will give you her
commentary. I don't think she'll have any nightmares about it. It's disturbing,
but very cold and cerebral, very little blood and only one good scream. Where
have you been, Peri, under house arrest? or did the wife just get fed up
and throw the 'puter out the window? I bet Stiff Lips has thought about it...
From: SAGReiss
Date: 4 May 1996
Subject: Rosanne
Nichelle is in the kitchen weeping. She just yelled at me: "It's a piece
of shit!" talking about Pier Paolo Pasolini's 120 Days of Sodom. You've got
to help me. This is a major domestic dispute. Please go to the video store
and rent this film and tell us what you think. I feel like I've done something
very wrong, but I don't quite know what. It's a work of art. Anyone can see
that. So, it's a little weird and violent. What am I s'posed to do? Obviously
I far underestimated the disturbing aspects of the Marquis de Sade's work.
Actually Nichelle's attitude is refreshing. I've been reading Sade for so
long it almost seems normal to me. And Jeff discovered Sade like a fish discovering
water. I guess one can become immune to bad craziness. I had no idea this
could be so upsetting. Everyone I know reads this shit. John is probably on
his way to the library to check out the 120 Days in the Wainhouse translation.
Shiiit, I went to high school with the man's daughters. John will just say:
"Gaby, you have some odd friends." What can I say? I guess I'll take Naked
Lunch off of the Book of the Month Club. I had forgotten how powerful a work
of art can be. I guess I'll be waking up to screams in the night for a few
days. But as I said, I think Wozzeck is in some ways more disturbing, because
it the scene of everyday domestic violence, whereas Sade is just a man who's
been fucked with and imprisoned a little too often and just decided to say
good-bye to the human race. But I'm not sure it's so much worse than Kurtz
saying: "Exterminate all the brutes!" or Falkner making everyone sleep with
members of his own family, or cutting the balls off Benjy or the nigger in
Light in August. That seems to be a recurring theme in his work. What's that
called, Rosanne, castration envy? Anyway the storm seems to be dying down.
We've agreed on pasta, mushrooms, garlic, basil, olive oil and lots of parmesan
cheese. I've got to go. I feel like I've still got some explaining to do.
Gott verdammt mich, was will das Weib?...
From: Nichelle
Date: 4 May 1996
Subject: Rosanne
" On another topic, I know you have all been waiting for the oracle at Syracuse
(Sicily in Greek, where the Greek colony had an oracle) to speak on the all-important
subject of what Nichelle really looks like. For the answer, each of you must
make a trip to the library. Look up Man Ray's picture of the Marquis de Sade,
and there you have her, same nose, same chin, same blue eyes looking off into
the distance, same curly hair, same corpulence. When I told her this, she
didn't seem happy. I wonder why..."
It's real, and you can't just squeeze your eyes shut and pretend not to
see it. I sat through the movie, didn't I? Without flinching, or vomiting,
and with dry eyes. I didn't want to talk about it when we got home. I still
don't want to talk about it. I don't need you to run to the video store to
settle any domestic dispute. I won't be waking up in the middle of the night
screaming. Not all art is meant to be pretty. The world isn't always pretty
either. What is terrible is not that I'm horrified, but that you're not.
From: Malcolm
Date: 4 May 1996
Subject: National Systems Meetings
I find that ending up going to a national systems meeting tends to cut down
on my geeking time. I'm Peri, the one your dear leader has been aiming his
rhetorical questions at me. V., my wife, would probably be highly unlikely
to throw my computers out the window. For one, we live underground, with windows
high up in the ceiling that tend to be at ground level and that tend not
to open very widely. Minimal falling damage. Second, she knows I'd just use
it as an excuse to buy a bigger and more powerful one, or worse, a mac. Too
great a risk. Better to let me buy computers at a slower rate, like when they
become unbearably slow for the latest version of Bob Pro.
A friend of mine is spreading around his idea of a Massively Parallel Pornographic
Supercomputer. I thought you all might be interested. First I have to tell
you his name so that you know that he has dibs.
Andy Maxwell
Some legal shit could apparently let him sue anyone who uses his idea without
permission or something. Of course, lawyers will let you sue for just about
anything these days. How irritating. Anyway, the idea is that we can use Java,
a language which only really allows for processing and network communications,
to randomly split up big jobs (like image processing, rendering, least squares
fitting, and modelling and simulations) and run them on web browsers' computers.
Since browsers' computers are relatively idle when browsing, say, graphics,
like, say, the biggest draw, free pornography, the calculations should be
relatively quick, and if we can get a lot of hits at the same time, we could
get one hell of a huge massively parallel supercomputer. We could host popular
pages for free, because the payoff in connections would be worth it, and we
could probably do fine with just the revenue generated by selling the computing
power, let alone possibilities in advertising to such a large sector audience.
Lastly, disturbing news about Sade. Amazing how art can be so powerful.
Gabe, how can you be so self-professedly brilliant and not know this? Culture
is here for a reason - I think to help give us a framework with which to
understand, control, and at times redirect the powerful emotions we come
up, and the powerful ways we seem to invent to evoke it.
Also, so far, I have seen nothing I'd call 'literature', something Gabe
has been talking at me about while trying to convince me to preview your
World and participate. I've seen what look like typical shared diary entries,
but I've been promised literature, and I'm wondering where it is.
Oh, and I'm 27, not 26.
Peri
From: SAGReiss
Date: 5 May 1996
Subject: Rosanne
SAGReiss is so stunned by that horribly weird and pretentious name that
he has to postpone this message to get it right. (That's not being mean,
Mr/Ms Malcolm, just surprized.) I must confess I didn't understand shit about
the first three or four paragraphs of your letter. Most of it was too technical
for me (I'm missing a cyberchromosome on my left ear.) and some of the American
slang was just too tough. Remember, I missed out on the eighties. I like your
friend's idea, however. I too am always coming up with hare-brained schemes
for fomenting subversion and making lots of money usually necessitating Jeff's
cooperation, which of course he'll never give. I don't even understand the
huge and stupid fight between Macs and PCs. (One of my first humiliations
coming back to the States was Mrs McGinn [the man at SU] saying: "We are PC."
and I didn't know what that meant.) scaredycat and other high-class geeks hate
Macs, but I've used both and really can't see any difference at all. Right,
literature, well that depends on what one is looking for, how one defines
and recognizes literature. (For those of you watching on TV: "This is not
a book...") A certain kind of literature died and went to limbo upon the
publication of Finnigan's Wake many moons ago. Besides, as I've written elsewhere,
if the internet is going to change the way we shop and work and entertain
our bordom, let alone how we fuck, it might as well do something useful as
change the way we create art. Literary questions concerning BABEL. What is
the role of Corinne and Jeff? They are characters of some kind, but they
seldom appear. They are really stand-ins for the reader himself. But how
can the reader be a character? And what of the narrator (foul-mouthed, drunken,
polyglot intellectual)? What of the other characters based on real life?
Or those, like Dr Geisskopf who are more typically literary? And what of
the question of time? (As I told my class last year: "All English poets are
obsessed by time.") Murder , you swine, when are you going to answer? Johana
what's your final word on that pseudo-scientific theory of the internal clock
of music? Where the fuck was I? God I hate going to work at some dumb-ass
time like eight AM on a Sunday morning. Why didn't I stay in the States, waste
a hundred thousand dollars of my parents' money and now have a cushy job
when I can mostly sit around MOOing all day like the fucking wizards and
going to some cheap-ass conference and watch naked girls dance, instead of
serving breakfast to the conference goers? Oh yes, time. BABEL (which some
low-rent publisher in San Francisco is now reading) is written in real time,
but drawn out over the course of six months, which bears no relationship to
the narrated time, which skips about all over the place. How about fiction?
Some of you may remember the Saddam Hussein incident at the hotel. Only problem,
as I once confessed to Nichelle, is that I never saw it, except in my imagination.
So far as I know something like that happened on my day off. I heard two versions
of the tale and invented the rest from my knowledge of Saddam, Hafez and
the general atmosphere of ignorance and bad manners at the hotel. I just made
it up for your reading pleasure. Isn't that what literature is? OK, so maybe
it's bad literature, but until someone comes up with a better definition,
and finds a name for what we're doing... Actually I really don't give a fuck
what we call it. I write, like other people breath. Peri, you missed all the
talk about the punctuation in Stiff Lips' Great American Rape Letters, but
if I took note of the effects of the punctuation, and if she answered that
she had thought about and played with the punctuation, then isn't that a
literary concern? You'll see those letters just as soon as I get my slimey
little hands on a piece of software and get that sixteen-year-old geek over
here to hook me up. I've got to go serve brunch to the boys from the Defense
Department. I've already told them they had better not fuck with the internet
or I would spill orange juice down their backs...
From: SAGReiss
Date: 5 May 1996
Subject: Re: Rosanne
One last thought before work. THIS IS NOT BEING MEAN. Does anyone besides
me and Jeff know what a capon is? It's a neutered rooster, aka cock. Just
a culinary tip of the day from the trained professionals in your local food
service industry.
From: Nichelle
Date: 5 May 1996
Subject: Rosanne
I will even begin by talking about Rosanne, since her name has been the
subject of so many letters. I tried paging you several times on DU, but with
no response. I'm going to go brush my teeth and gargle with some of Gabe's
Listerine, and go back to try again.Hi Peri, nice to hear from you, though
I admit that I didn't understand much of your letter either. I refuse to
talk about literature anymore because the last time I did Gabe trashed me,
especially the line about 'guiding you like a lover to my center' or whatever,
which I admit was in very bad taste. Not that I haven't been spending a lot
of time thinking about literature. I'm racing through Gabe's Book List at
about 80 mph. (No, negatron, I don't do km, you canadian pervert. Ask Gabe,
though I doubt you'll have any luck. He won't translate for me half the time
when we're talking here in the apartment.) Anyway, I don't give a fuck about
all that. I'm here to learn a few new words (Note last week's dazzling use
of 'cunt') and watch Gabriel tear through the MOOs like some kind of posessed
cyberdonjuan, brilliantly but dangerously sucking down stunning amounts of
Ricard and tobacco. I usually just sit on the couch and nag him about it.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 6 May 1996
Subject: Re: Rosanne
I've thought of a nickname for you, Peri, unless you'd prefer to stick with
Peri, which might have its advantages and inconveniences, should you decide
to put a text on the web site. We could call you Capon. Rosanne of course
can be Dr Geisskopf. I'm still working on a nickname for Johana. Any ideas?
That means I'll have to change the name of that Chinese girl I cyberate to
Dr Yung, which is a nice pun for those of you with very bad taste, like myself,
and also avoids confusion such as why the fuck we weren't speaking German.
No, Sade is neither domestic nor even gender violence. What means gender to
Sade? He was the original gender-bender. Here's a good spot for a very elegant
little polyglot pun. One of the obvious problems of BABEL, which you seized
upon implicitly Peri, is the question of its genre, French of course for
gender in all of its grammatical, social and biological implications. Sade
is violence on a cosmic scale. Sade is just a monster of linguistic fury,
all recorded in this dead-pan very pretty eighteenth-century French or, as
all the biographers say, copied on a scroll of paper in microscopic handwriting.
Of course I take the problem of genre to its last logical degree, using handwritten
texts, typescript, e-mail, cybersex etc. There is even, Peri, a carefully
worked-out and elaborately illustrated theory of language and literary esthetics
behind this madness. Some day you can read BABEL and decide for your self.
We can begin with the text from Kierkegaard's Sickness unto Death which JD
Salinger uses as an epigraph in, I think, Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters.
I haven't got time to type it now. I'm s'posed to be writing our shopping
list. It may not look like it, but I've been working on the ideas that allow
me to write the way I do for more than fifteen years. We all have our hormonal
problems. I've just never gotten beyond the star-struck thirteen-year-old
boy who discovers sex and Doestoievski at the same time and feels something
from which he will never recover, which Henry Miller brilliantly analyses
in The World of Sex, the first realization: "They've got cunts, and if I'm
nice to them they'll show it to me and maybe even let me touch it."
From: Malcolm
Date: 6 May 1996
Subject: Re: Rosanne
Actually, SAGReiss, thank you for pointing out that my name information
is old in my .elmrc. I fixed it. You'll find this name far more pretentious.
:>
Peri
From: Malcolm
Date: 6 May 1996
Subject: Re: Rosanne
> One last thought before work. THIS IS NOT BEING MEAN. Does anyone besides
> me and Jeff know what a capon is? It's a neutered rooster, aka cock.
Just
> a culinary tip of the day from the trained professionals in your local
> food service industry.
Yep, knew that, thank you, and yes, it's been remarked upon and discussed
in my circle of friends, and no, I don't find it mean, and no, it isn't why
I changed my last name.
For a far more scarring childhood experience, though, I have to mention
that my first name was originally intended to be 'Lincoln', a surprisingly
just-off-the-boat kind of name for parents whose families had immigrated
to the United States before they were born.
Malcolm/Peri
From: Malcolm
Date: 6 May 1996
Subject: Re: Rosanne
I think I'd far prefer 'Peri' for a nickname. I'm used to the mis-attributions
associated with that name and don't want yet another nickname to keep track
of, thank you. I do see the humor and applicability in 'Capon' with regard
to me and my RL name and my gendered interests in various realities, but honestly,
I'm preferring sparseness over creativity these days when I organizie myself.
I still don't see the utility in this mailing list beyond a somewhat cozy
gathering of people who know each other and who don't seem to be as crippled
by low intellectual self-esteem as 'normal' people are. I suppose I should
look at your Web pages and see your offerings there as well. I've had my share
of lists like these, though, and I'm wondering what Gabriel's hub-bub is
all about.
From: Malcolm
Date: 6 May 1996
Subject: Names
It looks to me like my 'name' in mail won't change until I exit elm and
restart it, so for all your references, my real name is 'Malcolm X y Z',
where X is my original family Chinese (Cantonese, Hoi-San provice) name [were
I able, I would give you its calligraphy equivalent], and Z is my wife's
name. Oh, and my middle name is still the same, 'K'.
Peri
From: SAGReiss
Date: 6 May 1996
Subject: Re: Rosanne
I don't think anyone except Jeff understands the concept of meanness as
it occurs in my daily life working in a restaurant. To give a small, everyday
example: Yesterday one of the FWBs came in despite a case of hives, which
she saw fit to explain to me and one of the busboys. As we listened sympathetically
(Alright, so I really don't give a fuck about her God-damned skin conditions.
When she calls in one of the fag boys usually says something like: "I guess
her pussy crusted over." whatever that means.) and as soon as she turned her
back (She may or may not have still been within earshot.) the busboy said
to me: "It's probably from all the poison ivy she's been lying down in."
That's not even mean in a restaurant, despite the fact that she's going through
a divorce (mit Kinder) and has a lover etc. That's just considered gentle
needling. I still don't think I know what your name is, Peri, but it doesn't
make that much difference to me. I know I can call you Peri or Malcolm, which
is good enough for me. It may sometimes be confusing whom I refer to because
I use real or nicknames interchangeably. I guess when I finalize the list
of Charter Members I'll create a directory for us. The real reason for nicknames,
aside from my tendency to invent them, is so that you others can protect
yourselves from all the hackers and psychopaths who may come our way once
we get public on the web. My guess is next week. I'll just have to deal with
the fucking psychos on their own terms. I've seen worse and I can handle
it. Besides I've always got Jeff and John, low-rent, white-trash boys who
just don't give a fuck, to back me up. The only thing I'm a little worried
about is that some of these weird punks may try to attack Nichelle's Great
American Rape Text and, if you should choose to put it on, Peri's There's
no such thing as gender. Don't be worried. I will take the heat and I can
spit back more bile than these cunts have ever imagined. I s'pose we'll go
on with just my three texts ("Marie, please kiss me, fuck me", "12000 Virgins"
and that wild and savage e-mail I wrote a year ago and stunned Nichelle when
she read it), Nichelle's Great American Rape Letter, oh also the cybercunnilingus,
and Jeff's calligraphic "real night mare of classical education". You others
need to get orgasmized. I'll just add them as I receive them, unless you
authorize me to orgasmize something I've got. I could do that for Johana
and Peri. Shiiit, I can write small and large in Chinese characters...
From: Malcolm
Date: 7 May 1996
Subject: Organization and Participation
Really. For me, not yet. I'm still not sure of staying with your crew, SAGR,
I don't feel like it's more than an etheric pastime right now, and I still
feel like other issues in my life could take precedence.
This isn't the same as saying that I'll be too busy for you, but a recognition
also of the idea of quality of participation. I don't want to participate
in whatever community is here in some half-assed way. If I'm in, I'm in, but
if I can't be in, I'd rather be out than floundering around without being
able to be fully, consensually, with you all.
As for pyschopaths and hackers, there are plenty of bigger, more tasty targets
on the web, I think, than you all will make yourselves out to be. It sounds
almost as if you want to have trouble. It sounds like you're bored or something.
I think unless you put out some big pink flashing neon Web sign that says
something stupid and insulting about crackers, you won't have much of any
trouble at all.
When I go out on the Web, I prefer to use my real name and my real information.
Why make it harder to find out who I am, when the reason I'm out there is
to take a stand about who I am and what I am? I don't mind making reference
to my nickname/MOO alii, but I'd prefer to be me.
Also, it looks like there's some hidden little property on my account that
insists I'm the old me to the mailers, so I guess I'm stuck, until I bow down
to Netcom and ask them to change it for me. I'd sooner lick a cat's asshole,
so it may be a while.
Love,
Peri
From: SAGReiss
Date: 7 May 1996
Subject: Re: Rosanne
Just back from the bar and had to arm wrestle another bottle of Ricard open.
The French ones one can't open without slicing up one's hand, the American
ones one simply can't open. Lou and Mister Betsy are angry with me, feel I've
abandoned them. Nichelle's going to Colorodo next week, so I'll be able to
do some serious drinking. If you see me on the MOO, please keep in mind that
I may be beyond the point at which Buck (Is that name right? Who's read Cat
on a Hot Tin Roof?) says he hears the click that means peace. Some random
notes on your latest letters, Peri. "etheric" I don't know what this adjective
means, except pertaining to ether alcohol, which I used to sniff in the morning
before eighteen hour days at La Farfalla, Le Funny Burger, Le Commerce et
al. Did you perhaps mean ethereal meaning airy as I once called Stiff Lips'
voice? or perhaps ephemeral, which makes more sense in context? Anyway there
are many ways of participating in this list/MOO whatever. (The sixteen-year-old
geek offered to give me a MOO if I've got a unix machine. Have I?) Writers
need readers, so one way of participating is to read the letters. Corinne
has read a thousand pages of my drunken nonsense and her eyes have fueled
my fire. She has perhaps written me half a dozen letters which all told would
make up about a page. We've never talked about this irl, but her brother Eric
said she was just shy or intimidated or something. I can see no problem with
that, though I sure wish you could see your way to sending me a text for
the Web. This doesn't need to be a major part of anyone's life. Nichelle and
I have chosen to make it so for reasons of our own. How much you write is
entirely up to you, though I will eventually eliminate Murder if he
doesn't say something. Everyone else on here is, so far as I'm concerned,
a charter member and welcome to participate however he wants. I've designed
this to be as democratic and anarchistic as I could. I also think (and I probably
shouldn't say this, but you were so bold as to give me a piece of advice
this morning) you might lighten up, Peri. Don't take everything so seriously.
I know that you are New-Age and PC and whatnot, but who cares about a little
swearing and name-calling from time to time? While I have chosen to live
my life through the medium of words, ce n'est, as the French put it, que
de la litterature... I don't want trouble. That's why I shall use nicknames
for everyone and edit texts to conceal even our (Nichelle, Corinne, Jeff
and my) location. I'm just a little nervous about going public with texts
so powerful and provocative as the ones you shall soon see. I'm just being
careful and preparing myself for the odd weirdo who may come our way. After
all, there IS no such thing as paranoia. Nichelle WAS raped four times, including
by a man possibly still on lambda... I see the scars he inflicted on her
every day. His AIDS virus is possibly infecting me as we speak. Abandon all
hope, ye who enter here, which has been misquoted on IDmoo of late. As for
our apparently high intellectual self-esteem, that depends. At the high end
of the self-esteem spectrum lie Johana, Peri and myself. Johana is a well-educated
bitch, reads a couple of languages aside from English and has more or less
the same cultural references as I. She also thinks she's smarter than I.
Peri seems to be well-educated, but doesn't seem to have learned many languages,
which is a fatal flaw. S/he also thinks s/he's smarter than I. I have a broad
and deep education in virtually every intellectual field, have read more
than two thousand books, learned Greek and Latin, and then French and German
and Alsatian. Since I discovered at the tender age of seven that I was smarter
than my old man I have never entered a room (irl or vr) and felt that I was
not the smartest man in the place. Jeff is probably in the middle (meaning
his seventh-grade history teacher probably did not call him a megalomaniac,
as did mine) a brilliant, well-read, well-educated boy whose French does
not cease to disgust his ex-future French teacher (me). John feels somewhat
self-conscious, being well- or at least not-too-badly read and smart, but
not having the breadth and depth of our education. Corinne is the hardest
nut. While her English is about as good as my French, which means it couldn't
be any better, and her German also about as good, though not so idiomatic,
and despite a depth of reading that occasionally surprizes me (I remember
seeing at their place the French editions of both Under the Volcano and Jean
Giono's magnificent translation of Moby Dick.) she is very self-effacing
and perhaps insecure about her intellectual abilities. Nichelle knows music,
but not much else. She has courageously (She is the bravest soul I have ever
met.) begun a frontal assault on every book I name, exploiting two libraries.
I have suggested to her that we should invite Corinne and Jeff to supper
at our place. The way it works is that we serve drinks and appetizers in
the 'puter room, kick the womens out of the kitchen and me and Jeff go to
work. This, I suggested would give the girls an ideal occasion to chat, away
from our loud, low-pitched voices. I didn't really mean to run on quite so
much. I'm going to MOO. Rectum Vinum.
From: Nichelle
Date: 7 May 1996
Subject: Re: Rosanne
I have tried three times to come up with a decent response to Gabe's latest
e-mail, but it hasn't been easy. When he says 'Nichelle knows music, but not
much else.' I don't really konw how to respond to that. We talked about it
for a long time, before I literally carried Gaby to bed again, but I still
feel a little hurt. Is there anything more to a person than what they've read
and how many languages they speak? Maybe it's all about who has the biggest
dick after all.
Peri, our in-house skeptic, doesn't want to be a part of a list where people
just whip out their brain in the locker room and try to prove it's bigger
than everyone else's, but he still has the balls to claim that he's smarter
than Gabe, or any of us. He doesn't have the time to dedicate to participating,
but he has written more e-mail than any of us lately. You don't want to participate
unless Gaby is nice to you. I guess you weren't around when Tyisha asked him
not to call her a nigger.
Negatron, I'm sure you know your miles and gallons, and I'm sure you know
your inches 'cause all the chicks on the MOO will laugh at you if you tell
them how many centimeters your dick is.
I don't know. I can't deal with this shit. All I know is, I haven't been
wasting my time, and as Gabe admitted, whatever I was doing must have given
me something, or else I wouldn't be able to write my occasional brilliant
letter. Whatever that means. Still, when Gabe has a question about the MOO,
he asks scaredycat, and when he was a question about music, he asks Johanne or
Murder . I usually just grate the parmesan. I don't speak his language (any
of them) which means if he wants a blowjob, he's just going to fucking ask
me in English. I'll just lie on the couch and read Bronte, or Hemmingway,
or whatever.
From: Malcolm
Date: 8 May 1996
Subject: Having to ask for politeness
I think it was yesterday that Gabe called me a Newage PC something or other.
I imagine that's what I look like to the ignorant and the impatient. I think,
in all honesty, that for all Gabe's intelligence (at least at being tested,
if those were truly his GRE scores he quoted at me) and education (self- or
otherwise, it is education), Gabe is terribly, woefully ignorant about a
very important skill in this country. In short, it's called politeness.
No, I'm not claiming that knowing the 'language' of gentleness or being
able to be non-abrasive is better than knowing a half a dozen romance languages
well enough to get confused between them, and to be able to read in them.
I am saying that I do have that talent or education or whatever you may call
it and that by and large, it's important to me that the people I spend a lot
of time with also have that skill.
I'm setting simple rules, and they're not meant as any kind of value judgement.
Those simple rules say: "if Gabe is more rude to me than I feel I want to
put up with, I leave". True to the nature of consent in my personal ethics,
I've informed Gabe of these rules, and I figure he's a big boy; he can make
his own decisions.
As for the volume of my writing, an incidental facet of my life and life's
work is that I type very quickly (70-90 wpm depending on the time of day).
I type well when I'm typing my own free-form thoughts and I type well when
I enjoy what I'm doinng. Since I'm in a lag period at work, I have time and
compunction to contribute, so I'm doing so, but I'm warning you all, especially
Gabe, who may well be the ultimate reason I leave, that this is not permanent.
Things are bound to change, I'm likely to leave.
As for intelligence, I'll be the first to admit that intelligence is hardly
measurable. I would also like to state that I think Gabe thinks he's the brightest
among us, and I find it offensive enough to challenge. Also, being an elitist
intellectual type in my own circles, it's difficult for me to brook a person
who thinks it goes without saying that he's smarter than I am.
I'm sure some of you must understand.
Anyway, it's time for me to leave for the commute home. Good luck with your
life-matters.
Peri
who would prefer to be referred to with Spivak pronouns, even when being
'masculine'
From: SAGReiss
Date: 8 May 1996
Subject: Rosanne
Those gay boys at work are fucking misogynists. (You have to realize, I
don't deal with New-Age, PC, college-educated fairies, but bad-ass, white-trash
queens who take pride in calling themselves mean bitches.) Some woman was
glaring at me on the floor every time she wanted yet another bullshit condiment
or whatever, so I would try to think of every conceivable excuse not to go
to her table. I said to one of the fags: "If that cunt keeps glowering at
me, I'm going to scalp her pussy and mount it on the wall." He thought that
was the height of wit and very funny. We all type fast, Peri, and my GRE scores
really are 770, 770, 640, but what's most impressive is that I took the test
drunk, on no sleep in forty-eight hours and without taking a standardized
test or a math class in fifteen years. If I had tried to do well I'd have
gotten 800, 800, 769, to chose a round number. So, I test well. I don't think
'puter languages challenge basic assumptions about life as human languages
do. We've already talked a lot about gender, but consider this: ancient Greek
has a singular, a dual and a plural, an active, a middle and a passive voice.
Some languages have only two words for color, which may more or less be translated
light and dark. What we think of as biological distinctions between, say,
fruits and vegetables, are in reality purely linguistic in nature. Alsatian
has a way of addressing friends in the vocative, another way for strangers
and a third way for people in between. Linguists all say: "He who speaks but
one language speaks half a language." As to politeness (And I think we may
be belaboring the theme. If you want to leave, just say the word. Wait, perhaps
a few days, until I set up the web site.) I work in the service industry.
I am an extremely polite man, who if pushed will be impolite in ways so obtuse
that the guests are never sure whether I'm serious. Ever since I came back
to the States, I've been tripping over women who don't know how to slow up
so I can open doors. I say: "May I..." I refer to everyone as Sir or Madame
or Mr or M(r)s. (The French have a useful expression we could use for you,
Peri, Messieursdames, but I don't know the Spivak pronouns.) Because I speak
Euro-English I tend to say thank you much more than Americans. I have no idea
what you mean by 'in this country'. Americans are woefully impolite and are
made fun of everywhere in the world. Nichelle can also tell you that I am
a very gentle, tender, thoughtful man, even if my narrator doesn't appear
so. She, apparently, was keen enough to see through some of the bluster. I
also think we may be misunderstanding eachother as to intelligence. I would
never say, nor even think: "I'm smarter than you are, Jeff or John." I just
think I'm the baddest man on Earth. I think there's a difference. It amuses
me when people attack my intelligence, or try to measure theirs to mine. I
just say to myself: "Here I am, Mike Tyson. Have I really got to kick another
ass? I'm tired, why do they provoke me?"
From: Malcolm
Date: 8 May 1996
Subject: A sense of being patronized
> round number. So, I test well. I don't think 'puter languages challenge
> basic assumptions about life as human languages do. We've already talked
Yes, I'd tend to agree, but I feel it important to note that you seem completely
unimpressed by my computer-related and science-related accomplishments, and
if anything, science/math/computers/empiricism represent a set of paradigms
that do challenge the basic assumptions about life. Again, as I've told you,
I've had Latin and I'm learning Japanese, so it matters to me that you understand
this - it makes you look foolish to me that you seem unable to hear that I
have this 'linguist's' experience. Also, please note that we seem to agree
that gender language constructs also challenge basic assumptions. It seems
foolish to me, Gabe, that you so quickly dismiss others' accomplishments in
light of your own. :>
> a lot about gender, but consider this: ancient Greek has a singular,
a
> dual and a plural, an active, a middle and a passive voice. Some languages
> have only two words for color, which may more or less be translated
light
> and dark. What we think of as biological distinctions between, say,
fruits
> and vegetables, are in reality purely linguistic in nature. Alsatian
has a
> way of addressing friends in the vocative, another way for strangers
and a
> third way for people in between. Linguists all say: "He who speaks
but one
> language speaks half a language." As to politeness (And I think we
may be
Uh, if I accepted your linguists' saying, I think I still am exempt from
your judgement. My experience is unlike yours but I think at least similar
in its effects in my ability to break set, leap out of context, and wander
between paradigms.
Also, you Linguists should note that these concepts are taught in ddepth
in other social sciences, including anthropology, sociology, women's studies,
psychology, gender studies and cultural studies. Linguists, unfortunately,
have no monopoly on these concepts..
And guess what: I've taken a total of about 25-30 c ourses in these varied
fields.
> belaboring the theme. If you want to leave, just say the word. Wait,
> perhaps a few days, until I set up the web site.) I work in the service
I may.
> industry. I am an extremely polite man, who if pushed will be impolite
in
> ways so obtuse that the guests are never sure whether I'm serious.
Ever
> since I came back to the States, I've been tripping over women who
don't
> know how to slow up so I can open doors. I say: "May I..." I refer
to
> everyone as Sir or Madame or Mr or M(r)s. (The French have a useful
> expression we could use for you, Peri, Messieursdames, but I don't
know
> the Spivak pronouns.) Because I speak Euro-English I tend to say thank
you
Subject: e
Object: em
Possessive: eir
I'm assuming you can extrapolate.
> much more than Americans. I have no idea what you mean by 'in this
> country'. Americans are woefully impolite and are made fun of everywhere
> in the world. Nichelle can also tell you that I am a very gentle, tender,
Yes, I've noticed. I've lived in Britain and even there they're more polite
than in the U.S.
> thoughtful man, even if my narrator doesn't appear so. She, apparently,
> was keen enough to see through some of the bluster. I also think we
may be
> misunderstanding eachother as to intelligence. I would never say, nor
even
> think: "I'm smarter than you are, Jeff or John." I just think I'm the
> baddest man on Earth. I think there's a difference. It amuses me when
> people attack my intelligence, or try to measure theirs to mine. I
just
> say to myself: "Here I am, Mike Tyson. Have I really got to kick another
> ass? I'm tired, why do they provoke me?"
Okay, then my question is: How can you possibly dream that your arrogance
doesn't bleed through into your rudeness?
This is silly. I think you're aware that you're arrogant, and you're reasonably
well aware of when you're being an offensive bitch. It's further silly for
you to play the wounded narrator. You know what you're doing and it's clear
from how you address people.
As I've said before, Gabe, you are a big boy, and you're informed about
my needing politeness. If you want to argue technicalities, you're aware
that translates, for me, into inaction. If you show improvement and it's
real, I might stay. If you don't, I will probably leave within a week or
two.
I have intelligent friends with whom I share my productivity who know how
to be polite. I'm not starving for attention from arrogant fucks like you,
Gabe, so there's no personally significant reason for me to stay with you
all.
Malcolm/Peri
From: SAGReiss
Date: 9 May 1996
Subject: Arrogant prick/fuck
"Wounded narrator"? If you wish to wound me, Peri, you'll have to do better
than that. I just meant that there is a subtle difference between the I on
the page and the man who sleeps with Nichelle. This difference is what is
called literature, although the internet (and my previous experimentation
[There's a pun hidden in there.] with letter writing) tends to blur this distinction.
As we talked about with Nichelle (a French construction which I hate) is
my relationship with Corinne and Jeff irl or vr? I seldom see them, perhaps
half a dozen times in the last year. I am very impressed by math and computer
skills, which I'm sure you have in abundance. I don't know why you throw
in empiricism. As Big Dave Hume showed many moons ago, math has nothing to
do with empiricism, whence its great charm. Math, as I've told you, is invented,
not discovered, represents and does not describe reality, and is purely tautological.
Indeed I'm so impressed, I'll offer you twenty dollars an hour to come over
here and fix my fucking 'puter and web site and list serv. I'm still arguing
with that boy's mother about whether he is old enough to read the sorry-ass
porn on my screen. Paradigmata (SAGReiss looks very foolish showing off his
elegant Greek plural.) are simply the virticle axis of language, the amo,
amas, amat we learned in school, as opposed to the syntagmatic or horizontal
axis. Saussure (As you know my education leans very strongly towards Euro-fag
structuralism.) was very fond of these so-called binary pairs. Linguistics,
as your friend Claude Levi-Strauss of blue jean fame knows very well, is
the pilot science, so of course the other disciplines must copy us. (SAGReiss
has always wondered what men's studies might be.) (SAGReiss wonders if extrapolate
is some kind of new dance he forgot to learn in high school.) I think I just
won't refer to you in the third person to simplify my life. (SAGReiss thanks
the language gods there's no gender in English second-person pronouns.) You've
now called me both of the names I've used in the title of this letter, and
I'm rude? I don't understand what you mean by "even in Britain". The fucking
Brits are the most polite race on Earth, with the possible exception of the
Japs, whom I don't fucking like anyway, except for Calamity Kate, and I don't
know her e-mail address. I'm also a bitch? Well, you're the first man to
have called me that, though "arrogant prick/fuck" has been said before. Dickhead
seems to be my nickname on lambda. Apparently I've got a rep there. Don't
these cunts have something better to do than talk about me? Why don't they
call John anus-breath or something? You seem quite active to me, Peri. I
wonder you don't take as much shit at home as I do for looking at the screen
more often than my housemate's pussy. Hell, I think John's screen time to
jerking off time ratio is lower than either of our sex life. Is there life
after cybersex?
From: Malcolm
Date: 9 May 1996
Subject: Whatever...
Gabe, I'd prepared an elaborate reply to your last, but my host ate it,
so the simple version is:
It's obvious to me that you're playing power games with this list – an area
for your ranting, you become simply irate and immovable if someone disagrees
with you. It's obvious you're intelligent, but your ability to apply it to
utility in life (like learning how you can attract more flies with honey/politeness)
seems sadly lacking. Whether it be a personal choice, or a simple inability,
I find it will probably be my ultimate reason to decide to leave and enforce
that decision.
All the rest of the argument/dispute/discussion we're having is trash.
It's obvious, too, that this is an intellectual locker room where you compare
the size of your prodigious cerebrum to ours, find us lacking (because it's
your locker room) and feel justified in insulting us over that. Fine. I can
be perfectly happy knowing I"m not participating in that. Again, a reason
to leave.
And again, you've given me precious little reason to stay. I've already
explained to you that I've intellectual resources I find kinder, gentler
AND more compelling than the one you offer. You flippantly offer me money
(far less than I'm worth - for your reference I do hardware/software tech
at $50/hour minimum, Web-related skills rate $100-$200/hour depending on
the complexity of the job - and those are private rates - the rates I'm billing
for on behalf on my company are 2 or 3 times more, up to 5, depending on
the client) to do some insultingly low-tech work for your World. You continually
seem to think that the honor of worshipping your enormous intellect should
be reason enough to stay.
Gabe, you are drunk and rude for the wrong reasons. You seem to assume that
being such will attract the gracious muse of art to the FWP nest you've prepared
in yourself. If you're rude enough and drunk enough, maybe the muse that visited
Dylan Thomas will alight in your cavity and inspire greatness in you. Wrong.
Art brings its own insanity, insanity does not bring art.
You are educated and intelligent, but you cannot grow genius in a garden.
I'd venture even that you have genius, but I don't agree that it's anywhere
near where you think it is. The revelations you've brought me are simply pedestrian
(I've seen it, heard it, done it and thought it all years before you have
- and so has every sufficiently educated intellectual on the planet). Show
me something new. Remember, freakishness is not new, candor is not new. What
would be new would be something from your heart, Gabe, not cloistered in
all the shit you give people. But something real, something honest and something
you... which I've yet to see and don't bet that I will.
Insult is just bluster. You know that and I know that. That's why I ask
for politeness. If you can stop being blustery and show me something real,
I might stay. If you can't, I guarantee I'll be gone soon.
Simple enough?
Malcolm
From: Nichelle
Date: 9 May 1996
Subject: Here E goes again
If you show some improvement, I'll stay. Just be nice to me. Just don't
insult me. Just don't say you're smarter than me. It's not okay for you to
be smarter than me, but it's okay for me to be smarter than the rest of you.
If it keeps up this way, I'll leave. I have all these reasons to go. I'm
going to do it, don't try to stop me. Don't think I won't.
Come in off the ledge, Malcolm. You're not going to jump, and we're not
going to beg you not to.
You're playing this game too, Peri. Coy looks good on those 15 year old
MOO bitches, but on a 27 year old, married, educated person, it is getting
a little stale. Show me something new.
Simple enough?
-Nichelle
From: Loretta
Date: 9 May 1996
Subject: address!
Well guys, I won't be here until the fall....so I need your snail mail....If
you don't mind....I would deeply appreciate it...thanks...
Alpina!
From: SAGReiss
Date: 9 May 1996
Subject: Freude!
Now that, boys and girls, was a mean letter "my Nichelle" wrote, which I
appreciated in the same way I appreciated our polygamous bartender's answering
the hostess' question about whether some bitches had tipped him: "No. They
asked where State street is, so I sent them in the wrong direction. Every
dog has his day." Of course you are both wrong. I'm not playing any game and
particularly not a power game. This is real life, folks, and anything you
say can and will be used against you. We went through this once before during
the so-called first mutiny. I have created a world so devoid of hierarchy,
that you could all depose me at any time, simply by leaving or better yet
by continuing without including my address. So you see, Peri, this isn't even
my room. By the way, Peri, I should perhaps tell you that Nichelle doesn't
like you very much. I don't really give a fuck one way or another. I'm interested
in furthering the possibilities of an electronic collaboration. This is work.
I'm not here to make friends. Does generation X (of which I consider myself
a member) have no sense of humour? Did you really think I was serious about
your coming to Syracuse to help me? The kid will do what I need and he'll
be very happy about an extra couple of hundred bucks and a few cheap thrills.
I am not a wealthy man and can't afford much more than that. De chacun selon
ses dons; a chacun selon ses besoins. Of course it's Brick, not Buck. Here,
then, is my little gift to you:
Oh friends, not this tone! Rather let us raise our voices in cheerful, joyous
song!
Joy, beloved, God-inspired,
Daughter of Elysium,
We set foot in, fire-drunken,
Heavenly, Thy Saintliness!
Thine enchantment binds together
What the times have torn apart;
All mankind will brothers follow
Where Thy gentle wing o'rflies.
Let him whom success has chosen
E'er a friend to friends to be,
Him who a fair wife hath taken,
Join us in Thy Jubilee!
Yea who but one soul his own can
Call upon the rounded Earth!
And who's never known it, he can
Steal away from us in tears.
Joy all beings do partake of
From the breast of Mother Earth;
All the good and all the evil
Follow in her floral path.
Kisses she bestowed and vintage,
And a friend betrothed in death;
Lust for life she gave the leeches,
And the cherub stands with God.
Glad, as fly the suns in orbit
Through the heavens' splendid path,
Run, my brothers, on your way
Joyful as crusading heroes.
Be embraced, ye teeming millions!
With this kiss of all the world!
Brothers, o'er the Milky way
He must dwell, beloved Father.
Do you kneel before him, millions?
Do you know your Maker, world?
Seek him o'er the Milky Way!
He must dwell beyond the starlight.
From: Malcolm
Date: 9 May 1996
Subject: Bad Ass, Heartfelt letters from Nichelles of their own
Fucking goddamn, woman. Very nice reply. First time I've seen _you_ behind
Gabe. Thank you.
> Come in off the ledge, Malcolm. You're not going to jump, and we're
not
> going to beg you not to.
Actually, unfortunately, I still am planning to 'jump'... it seems to be
difficult to get this message across, but I'm in a work-lull and when I stop
being in a work-lull, there's a 'good' (80-100%) chance that I'll ask you
all to stop sending mail to me.
> You're playing this game too, Peri. Coy looks good on those 15 year
old
> MOO bitches, but on a 27 year old, married, educated person, it is
> getting a little stale. Show me something new.
>
> Simple enough?
Quite. thank you for getting angry enough to be real.
Malcolm/Peri
From: Malcolm
Date: 10 May 1996
Subject: Re: Freude!
Gabe, you remind me of a republican.
Oh, by the way, all, I'll be chirping not today if, as I hope, work will
have inundated me. I'm also not bringing my known-functional modem-bearing
laptop. I Have a modem on my desktop, but at last test, it wasn't working.
So there you are. Weekend is busy too, so we'll see about next week. If
it's busy, too, I may be sending my request to drop me RSN (real soon now).
Peri
From: SAGReiss
Date: 10 May 1996
Subject: New motherfucking software
One small step for a man, a giant step for mankind.
From: Nichelle
Date: 10 May 1996
Subject: Pretty Please?
Tears of joy- It works!
From: SAGReiss
Date: 10 May 1996
Subject: Restaurant humour
This is the title of a letter I’ll write later. We’re just testing the new
bad-ass software. This is fucking beautiful. In a week or so we’ll have a
web site.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 10 May 1996
Subject: Restaurant humour
I woke up late this morning, went to work half an hour and a half late.
I cherish my reputation as a steady, punctual worker, so I was in a very
bad mood when I finally got to work. Free, the cook, had been out a couple
of days because his wife was in the hospital. Fred once got court-martialed
for slugging an officer. As he explained it to me: “I just didn’t feel like
dying that day, so I decked him.” They sent him to some squad where he was
sure to be killed. He was shot up and laid bleeding for a fortnight before
someone found him. He said it took him eighteen months to learn to walk again.
I said: “I knew you are a slow learner.” Anyway this morning I walk by and
say: “Morning, Fred. I hope your wife died.” Now I know what you’re thinking
out there, that I learned about as much in sensitivity training as Marge Shott,
but we don’t go for that New-Age bullshit in the food-service industry. Fred
just laughed and said: “I wish she would so I could get her pension and fly
to Bermuda.”
From: Nichelle
Date: 10 May 1996
Subject: Good morning
I forwarded all of the e-mail from the World to this account and saved it
in a folder called ‘Forwarded Messages’.
A little trick I learned: I guess you have to sometimes click on ‘check
host for new mail’ and it downloads anything new. You might try that if you
have no mail. Also, there is a message about the WWW Page in the Main Folder,
which I have printed out for you.
You must have been exhausted. You were snoring by the time I got from the
bedroom to the kitchen. To be honest, it wore me out too. You’re hard work,
love. In music, we call that a ‘hard release’.
-Nichelle
From: RiverMoo Mailer
Date: 11 May 1996
Subject: Re: Roseanne
Seeing that this account has been placed on this mailing list for no particular
reason, I would request for you to stop mailing this account. I'm sending
to everyone who has received messages in the past couple of days so that anyone
who actually cares to respond to know how to remove this address out of the
recipients line.
Thank you
Staff Member at IU, Honors Department.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 13 May 1996
Subject: Coming soon at a theatre near you
I have found the Obscure One and, lo, he is among us. Actually his web site
is one of the more tasteful I have seen, which basically means there's no
cheap pictures of Beavis and Butthead. (Yes, boys, I may be culturally challenged,
but I do know that's some dumb-ass shit on MTV.) There is, however, a picture
of him as a boy that we can all make fun of. He looks exactly the same, but
a lot less ugly. So far, in terms of texts, this is what I've got: 12000 Virgins,
Ronsard, the Ode to Joy, the BABEL letter, the cybereating of the Chinese
doctor, the Great American Rape letters, and Jeff's "real night mare of classical
education". Last night John said he was thinking, so it may take him a while...
In terms of graphics, I was thinking of the constellation Pleiade to go with
Ronsard, the staff with the theme from the last movement of the Nineth and
some other odd shit just so that it doesn't look too bare. Nichelle keeps
trying to look at dirty pictures on the web. Here's an idea. I remember a
porno magazine fifteen years ago with shots of genitalia and faces and the
contest was match the heads to the tails. I think it was called: Mix 'n'
Snatch. I guess we could do that with ourselves. No, maybe that isn't such
a good idea... That was fun last night with Mirage, John. She seemed very
confused. Who the fuck is she anyway? I'm waiting for Nichelle to wake up
so I can make us breakfast. I think I'll e-mail my rotten family and then
MOO. I'm waiting for Rosanne to send me a professional text. I told her her
poem isn't good and she didn't seem hurt, at least I hope not. She's a tough
cunt. She can take it, bitch... Rectum Vinum.
From: Nichelle
Date: 14 May 1996
Subject: Boulder, CO
Well, I'm amost ready to fly to Boulder today, where I will be until Sunday.
I guess you'll just have to beat yourself up on the MOO, negatron, until I
get back. Maybe Gabriel will do it for you. I'll be checking my e-mail regularly,
Murder , so don't think you can get away with putting off this letter you're
writing. I'm not quite sure what to expect in Boulder, but I guess if Jen
and I get bored, we can chain ourselves to a lumberjack or whatever it is
environmentalists do for fun.
God, Gaby, I can't believe you get up at this time. It's awful. And if you're
really drunk and in bed with three girls when I get back on Sunday, please
be kind enough to leave a pillow (not the feather one, it hurts my neck) and
the white blanket I love so much out on the couch. I'll miss you, love.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 14 May 1996
Subject: Nichelle teleports out
There's an empty space in my home, where Stiff Lips has installed herself,
I think, much to the satisfaction of both of us. It's been many moons since
I had last been shacked up, and it still beats living alone. Jude, the Obscure
One, has begged off the list saying he already gets too fucking much e-mail,
but he had words of encouragement, no doubt calculated to make me swallow
his $30 an hour bullshit. I don't care. I'm not going to haggle over pennies.
I would rather Kipp do it because he would enjoy it so much more and appreciate
the financial rewards. Also I've already probably caused some grief in he
and his mother's life... It's also a nice thought that we begin our life on
the web with a monstrously illegal act. The texts for the site are basically
set, along with some ideas for some decoration (I don't really care what.)
but if anyone would still like to contribute something, it's not too late.
On the other hand, it would be so nice to see Jude and have a few drinks together.
Another question, Peri: do you really think there are good and bad reasons
to suffer from the pathological condition known in medical circles as dipsomania?
I'm not feeling very inspired. My muse has left, saying BRB...
From: Nichelle
Date: 14 May 1996
Subject: Re: Nichelle teleports out
I just lost my first resopnse to this letter. The flight here was more or
less painless, though the travel wore me out. I managed to get here even though
I had to pretend to be Jennifer Kolar in order to do it. She mailed me a
wallet filled with her ID, and I showed the man at the counter her social
security card and all. It reminds me of the time (not that I actually remember
this) my parents got some special flight deal for kids 2 and under. (I was
three.) When the stewardess asked my age, I told her "I'm three, but I'm two
on the plane."
We went straight from the airport to lunch, and ate at a small but wonderful
Ethiopian restaurant. We had spinach, lentils, some spicy stuff, some yellow
stuff, potatoes and cabbage, and probably a few other things, all smeared
around on this delicious spongy bread. it's still all over my hands. We came
to the university to check our e-mail (You see, Gabriel? Even though you don't
like my friends, at least they understand the value of e-mail.) and briefly
walked through the art gallery. I think now we're going to Jen's apartment,
and to the grocery store.
(Gaby, I checked IDT and read the message from Lonnie. Also, I sent a letter
this morning, which is in the sent-mail folder. I didn't know if you had read
it.)
From: SAGReiss
Date: 15 May 1996
Subject: New-Age assholes
"Kipp and I have decided that this is not the kind of project he can work
on." The boy is sixteen years old. When I was sixteen I had spent two summers
at Yale and was about to become a freshman at Georgetown university. I had
long since lost my virginity and tried every drug under the sun. The Marquis
de Sade had been my friend for a few years already. What kind of a faggot
is this kid? So I had an overbearing FWB for a mother too. When I said: "Move
out the way, it's big, bad Gabe," what choice did she have? Anyway, the Obscure
One is a man of calibre. I have offered him an honorary membership, which
means he can come to our parties. I hope he's got time this week-end or early
next week. This bullshit is beginning to try my considerable patience, and
has long since exhausted Nichelle's. I just wish I knew whether I should be
converting paper text into word files instead of wasting my time at the bar
or getting into fights on the MOO. Of course once I've got the URL in my
description, I'll have a secret weapon: "Go to my web site and RTFM." Even
scaredycat seems excited about it. Of course she's so weird and paranoid I never
know what to think. If anyone has any thoughts or ideas about graphics or
whatever to add to the site, please tell me what you've got in mind. I don't
see what the point of putting in that stupid picture of me working at my
desk in Strasbourg. We just need some little things so it won't look to weird-stupid...
From: Nichelle
Date: 15 May 1996
Subject: Re: New-Age assholes
Gaby, I'll be online later tonight, about 8 your time. Jen is going to a
meeting, and I'm hanging around. More later.
From: Nichelle
Date: 15 May 1996
Subject: Re: New-Age assholes
Got back late from a drive in the mountains up to Gold Hill. Spent most
of today walking around Boulder, going into little shops, feeling dehydrated
and hot (I didn't believe Jen when she told me how hot it is here.), and driving
in the mountains. It's beautiful here.
Jen does everything fast. If she makes love the way she drives, cooks, walks,
eats, talks, etc. then it can't take longer than 4 minutes. No wonder she
has time for three boyfriends.
Gabriel, I'm going on the MOO to see if I can find you.
From: Nichelle
Date: 15 May 1996
Subject: Re: New-Age assholes
I know what you're thinking, Gabe. "Those two chatterboxes are probably
talking each others ears off." Right? (I can't help it- I always double-space.)
Well, that's more or less true, but it's still good to be here. We went to
the liquor store today to buy brandy. We're making vanilla, though I suspect
we'll end up drinking the rest of the brandy too. And don't laugh at me, and
don't mumble about undergraduates who can't hold their liquor. Vanilla beans
are expensive. ($198.00 per pound.) At that price, I'd be worth millions.
From: Murder
Date: 15 May 1996
Subject: Re: New-Age assholes, Boulder
Well, I must say Boulder is one helluva beautiful town if the weather's
right. I was there last February, and before I left I was listening to their
weather forecast. "Well shit," thought I. "I need to bring all of my warmest
clothes to cope with the frigid temperatures." Bullshit. I got over there
and was greeted with 75 degree temperatures, sun shining brightly. IN FEBRUARY!
IN COLORADO! I was definitely not prepared for that. Have you walked around
the campus there? Feeling particularly ambitious one morning (okay, I was
HORNY, all right??? I admit it. I needed to release some excess energy) I
went for a run at 6:00 A.M. Beautiful campus. And during the day, I strolled
through there drooling at all the luscious babeage, clad in virtually nothing.
Heat waves are cool. Okay, so it's a bit of a granola town, I admit. But it's
kinda refreshing getting away from the goddamn cow stench in this fucking
town.
So much for my first appearance on this list. Maybe next time I'll respond
to some recent postings, if I can survive this week in one piece (seven papers
due).
Murder
From: Malcolm
Date: 15 May 1996
Subject: Okay, kiddies
Please remove me from your mailing list. I got inundated over the weekend
and it isn't letting up, so as I promised, I gotta split. Thank you for your
cooperation, and it's been 'pleasant'.
Gabe, should you get your web site up, drop me a MOOmail with the URL and
I'd be happy to go look at it.
Malcolm
From: Nichelle
Date: 16 May 1996
Subject: Re: Okay, kiddies
Well, I'm roasting here. I guess I thought Jen was lying to me when she
told me to be prepared for warm weather. John, what is babeage? (Did I get
it right?) But yeah, not every town has a fast food chain called Falafel
King. Last night, Jen and I fell asleep to Woody Allen's Love and Death.
I have no idea what is in store for me today.
Peri/Malcolm, I'm 'glad' you got some 'pleausre' from our 'literature'.
Be sure to drink plenty of fluids (I have no doubt that's what Gabe is doing,
and why I haven't heard a word from him.) and get plenty of sleep. I don't
know if I'll be as 'real' without you. Guess I'll have to ask Gabriel if he
thinks I can. Maybe he can show me how.
Gabriel, where are you?
From: Murder
Date: 16 May 1996
Subject: Re: Okay, kiddies
I'm sorry, I guess I should have clarified. "Babeage" is my term for whatever
you want to call hot-looking women. I didn't want to use the words "bitch"
or "cunt," etc. I'm sure you get the point.
Murder
From: Nichelle
Date: 18 May 1996
Subject: Forwarded Messages
Gabriel,
My account is screwing up again, so I forwarded a few messages and deleted
them. I think you must have them already. Still waiting to hear from you,
but I assume you are lying on the floor covered with cool, damp towels and
drinking bottles of water. If it’s as hot there as it has been here, that
is.
See you soon-
Nichelle
From: SAGReiss
Date: 18 May 1996
Subject: The most hated man on the MOO
This morning the mad Greek woman came running at me: "Joey fell off the
front porch and broke his back." He came in anyway. He started explaining:
"The boys painted the porch green and I slipped off." "Don't give me that
shit, Joey. You were all drunk and you took a spill." I've whupped your ass
again, John. I've only had a character for about two weeks and some dude
pages me saying he's making a study and is wondering why I'm on nearly everyone's
hat(r)e(d) list. I can't write much, have no inspiration. It's too fucking
hot and I just want us to go pub(l)ic on the web. No word from Jude, the Obscure
One, yet. If the bastard doesn't e-mail me tomorrow I'll just write up a
few want ads and post them in the clusters and in the Coffee Cave. Some kind
soul will answer our prayers...
From: Nichelle
Date: 19 May 1996
Subject: Coming Home
Gabriel, I haven’t been able to send e-mail to the list for some reason.
I’m having the same problem that I had back at EWU with quota. That’s why
I forwarded all of my saved e-mail to you. Too bad I haven’t been able to
reply to the list… I’ll be back before 9:30 tonight. I can’t wait to see you,
even if you’re snoring or something when I return. Make some room in the
bed for me (you hay have to ask aq few of those girls to sleep on the floor…)
or at least leave the couch open for me. I like the firm pillow (the one
without the feathers). Feel free to wake me up in the morning when you get
up, too… I miss you.
From: Nichelle
Date: 19 May 1996
Subject: Homecoming
I flew into the Syracuse airport for the second time, this time feeling
so happy to be coming home. No doubt I am a much different woman than the
one who flew in two months ago. Gabriel even stayed up to welcome me.
My trip to Colorado was an amazing experience, to say the very least. Jen
and I have gone from two giggling girls skinny-dipping in the Spokane rive
to two giggly women skinny-dipping in Boulder Creek. I guess we've both changed,
because I have flown across the country and started a new life for myself,
and she spends her free time standing in front of guns during hunting season
and heading the environmental groups at her university.
I guess Jen's bf (one of them) brought her to a showing of the 120 Days
of Sodom (he's a graduate art student and film-maker) about a week ago. She
said that she didn't speak to him for the rest of the day. She didn't even
want to talk about it, save to say that she thought things like that shouldn't
exist. I don't know, maybe it's the neighborhood we come from...
Negatron, if you want me to send you my copy of Naked Lunch (I finished
it on the trip home, even though the guy next to me asked me not to read
it while sitting next to him. I'm serious.) then you need to e-mail me your
address. I'll get it off as soon as I hear from you.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 22 May 1996
Subject: Prototype
Behold, The Obscure One parts the waters. I can't believe you motherfuckers
live literally across the street from Jude and never see him nor can get in
touch with him. If you don't know his phone number or e-mail address, why
wouldn't you just knock on his door? Anyway Nichelle and I woke up to the
wonderful surprize of being able to connect to our page, The World According
to Gabe. It's just the first draft, with typos, things we want to change etc,
but it's alive... I have already communicated to Jude the changes, large and
small. He's working on them and he'll come over here (He has no choice. I'm
not carrying a bagful of twenty-dollar bills out to Sumner.) to finish the
job. I'll e-mail you the rendez-vous in case you wish to come too, if for
nothing else to taste the bread I have made. Even you can eat it, Jeff. There's
just water, yeast, salt, whole wheat flour and I used safflower oil to grease
the loaf pan. It shall be served with all the necessary condiments, butter,
cream cheese, Nutella, peanut butter, olives, jam, cheese (whatever I can
find at the farmers' market tomorrow morning), marmalade, wine, Ricard and
scotch whisky. By Sunday night, boys and girls, we shall be on the web. It
may get scary, but I don't give a fuck. I don't care how many psychos I have
to kill. I can deal with it. We had a hundred really fucked-up kids in the
hotel this weekend for the Facilitated Communication conference. You remember
last year? I had them in the dining room and in room service. Their problems
run the gamut of mental, physical and emotional illness and it's not easy
(even for their attendants) to make those distinctions. They are not only
grotesque and disgusting, but deeply disturbing. Unlike Quasimodo, they do
not appear to hide any repressed humanity. Rather they seem a sarcastic and
self-conscious parody of our humanity. They seem to mock our gestures of
society as the obscene and vain caterwaul that they are. For instance: this
pretty Spanisch-type I had on table 15. She wanted coffee bad. (So do most
of my other guests.) She kept twisting her head in an awful way and making
these weird kisses to no one in particular. She also drooled on herself and
the table constantly, using paper napkins to wipe her mouth a postiori when
it made no difference. I gave them, and all the freaks, the best service I
could, but it's not easy 'cause we were extremely busy and it takes them ten
minutes to order on their Ouija typers. As I was clearing the table, she
thrust the last bit of her pickle under my nose. I said: "Thank you, honey,
I don't think I need that," as her parents or attendants grabbed her hand
and pried the half-eaten thing from her. It was worth five bucks to me, but
they really could have picked up the dozen napkins she had drooled on...
From: Nichelle
Date: 23 May 1996
Subject: Kick and Tell
Your future has been decided before you even reach the age of eight. Gabe
was (or so he tells me) kicking his father's ass, a pattern he would follow
(and by this I mean both the ass-kicking and telling us all about it) probably
for the rest of his life. I was already developing a deep understanding of
violence and sex, and those themes seem to be carrying through my life in
an overpowering way. It is more or less why I am here, too. If I hadn't been
in that bizarre and frightening situation, would I have come here?
We joke about rape, Gabe, and I can handle that, but sometimes I wish you
could know what it means, and what it is. It is the same kind of desperation
I felt the night we met, when you didn't believe me. You don't understand
that despite all of my silly whining and weeping I have real pain still, and
I doubt it will ever go away. Can I imagine you as a rapist? I can even imagine
myself as a rapist. Sex and violence are a part of the same thing to me.
I don't honestly know if that is normal or commonly believed. I still dream
about it, I often fear that it will happen again, and because you brought
me here away from that danger you are my hero.
From: Nichelle
Date: 24 May 1996
Subject: 1980
Sometimes I can remember a million details, sometimes almost nothing except
a dull ache, like that paralyzing fear of death in my gut each night when
I try to go to sleep. I started to die when I was seven years old. He stood
there with his pants around his ankles and he lifted up my dress and pulled
down my panties and he touched me and put my hand on him and I didn't want
to touch him but I did it and maybe if I could have said NO right then I wouldn't
have been raped, not ever. Maybe I could have stopped him if I had said that
word, because he was just a young man, and he's human, and he knew it was
wrong, and he wasn't trying to hurt me, he just wanted to know about sex,
and he never knew that what he did when he took my hand and put it on his
penis would change everything.
I didn't know it was rape, because I was seven and I didn't really know
about sex, and I'd heard of rape, but rape was just a nasty grown-up in a
trenchcoat on the playground, a stranger you shouldn't talk to, a villain.
But Jamie (which comes from J.B., and Gabe drinks that shit every night)
was a neighbor and a friend and somebody I trusted and looked up to. I did
know it was wrong, but I didn't say no to him. I was only seven, and maybe
I couldn't have done anything. I didn't like touching it. I didn't want to
touch him, and then he asked if I wanted to touch them together, and I didn't
know he meant put his dick in me, and I said I didn't want to and he told
me it felt good, and I asked him how did he know that, and he said his friends
told him, and maybe I could have run off then, or screamed, or said no don't
do this, or cried, but I didn't, and he hurt me, and I don't know if I'm
responsible or not. I knew it was wrong, and I was only seven.
It was the middle of the day. I don't know for sure what time it was, but
I keep thinking it was three o'clock, even though I could never be sure if
it was three or not now that I look back at it. I liked to visit their house,
and I liked to play with their piano, and I always wanted to play with Jamie
and Whitney, and he took me up to his room and I think it was summer, and
his bedroom was upstairs, and he promised me things, and I didn't want to
go, and he showed me his penis and touched me, and took my hand and put it
on him, and I didn't want to. And there were several times it happened, not
just one day, one night, but a few times. I can't remember how many. One time
I spent the night on his floor, and he told me to come up into his bed, and
I did, and he gave me some candy from a gumball machine on his window sill,
and I ate it in his bed with him, and I loved him, and I didn't know anything
about sex or rape, just that he was my friend. I could have said no. I never
said NO.
In between our houses was a crooked sidewalk and rose beds on either side
and a little stone well to the right, and a garden, and the big tree with
the tire swing, and he used to push me on the swing. I remember once he saw
me in the bathtub. Was that where it all started? Maybe he saw me in the bathtub,
and he got the idea then. Maybe there was a moment, that's what I'm trying
to figure out, a moment when I could have done something to stop all of this,
a moment when it all started and if I could just figure out when that was
maybe I would know if it was my fault. Can there really be such a thing as
a coincidence like this?
People make all of these distinctions, especially these little eighteen
year old cock-tease bitches in the Lambda sex rooms, about making love and
fucking and rape, but it isn't really that easy to draw the line. I don't
even know what the fuck consent is, but I don't think it exists either. I
think it's some crazy idea people have when they have too much time to think
about their fucking virginity. I only had seven years to think about it,
and I don't think I ever knew what that word meant. I lost it before I knew
what it was, so I didn't have time to come up with some crazy fucking theory
about consent. Take it, bitch. (That has become a favorite expression in
the Reiss home.)
Can't say NO. Or didn't. Or you said no and you meant yes, or so he says,
and so he fucked you anyway, and maybe you kind of liked him fucking you but
you didn't want to, or maybe you didn't like him fucking you but you wanted
to like it. Every woman has been raped, or thinks she has, but who the fuck
knows, I can't tell the difference now. You say you've been raped when you
sleep with him and regret it, or when he cheats on you and you want to get
back at him, and you just throw that word around like a cheap insult but
you don't fucking know what it means to be raped. Maybe you think that you
ought to be raped because all of the other women have been raped and that's
just the way it is. Maybe you think you're being raped because you don't
know how to participate in sex, as a partner, or as an assistant. Maybe you
think that your cunt can't do anything but just take it, the penis is the
aggressor, you just swallow it up, you can't fuck, you can only be fucked.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 24 May 1996
Subject: Weirdness
Yesterday was a weird and stupid day of going shopping, waiting for busses,
making fun of our very bad waiter and making strawberry-rhubarb jam that isn't
quite right though we can't figure out why nor even agree on how. This morning
I woke up before four and read those two stunning messages Nichelle wrote
last night. The sentences: "Can I imagine you as a rapist? I can imagine me
as a rapist." took a lot of guts to write. The sentence: "I liked to visit
their house, and I liked to play with their piano, and I always wanted to
play with Jamie and Whitney, and he took me up to his room and I think it
was summer, and his bedroom was upstairs, and he promised me things, and I
didn't want to go, and he showed me his penis and touched me, and he took
my hand and put it on him, and I didn't want to." is simply Falkneresque,
which is as good as anything an American can expect to write. The paragraph
about the cock-tease bitches... The amazing "Every woman has been raped" paragraph...
The "I started to die when I was seven years old." is worthy of Emily Dickinson,
which is as good as it gets. I read these mind-bending texts and went back
to bed, woke Nichelle up and mumbled something about her writing making me
horny. That proved to be a strategic mistake. Let's put it this way, when
the thunder finally stopped and I got to work, I just said: "I didn't get
laid last night and I'm in a really bad fucking mood." The whole kitchen
was trashed, everything, dirty dishes and shit everywhere. No one got laid
last night (except apparently the night dishwasher) and everyone was in a
bad fucking mood. The whole restaurant seethed in anger. Harsh voices screamed
in English and Spanish. The FWB with whom I opened raged about losing both
her husband and her son. I decided it was my turn to whine my way home early
so I could have sex. Not that I expected to be wroth much in bed, but it
turned out I was in pretty good form. Nichelle was in excellent form. I can
see and feel her learning, both physically and mentally about sex and about
each of our bodies. She is already a very good lover. We also had a little
lesson in theology at work. I had said to the FWB that I didn't think I had
ever committed adultery because I've never been married, though I'd fucked
a few guys' wives. We weren't sure if that counted, so I decided to ask Darryl,
a three hundred and fifty pound Baptist to settle it. He said it's adultery
either way and that I'm going to Hell if I don't beg for forgiveness: "I
don't want fucking forgiveness."
From: SAGReiss
Date: 26 May 1996
Subject: Rice, broccoli and Nutella
Friday afternoon I forgot to make the pizza dough for the famous broccoli
calzones which failed to lure the Obscure One into my fetid lair (See? I could
write a dumb-ass MOO description if I wanted to.) so I called Sammy at Win
Hope and ordered tofu and jumbo shrimp and when I had served Nichelle the
rice I served myself and as I was sitting there the plate just exploded sending
shards of glass everywhere and leaving the rice undisturbed on the table
in a neat pile. I did make the calzones yesterday, but it's the first time
I have made them at home and I sorely missed the tools of a professional kitchen.
This morning I was peacefully reading Le Manuscrit trouve a Saragosse when
a powerful lust came over me. I got back into bed and woke up Nichelle. I
couldn't get it up. This has never really happened to me so as I'm laughing
I'm wondering to myself if age or alcoholism are finally catching up to me.
I tried to get her to suck me hard, but I guess she was not awake enough.
I figured all she needed was the right incentive so I went into the kitchen
and put some Nutella on the end of my cock. (No, John and Jeff, I didn't stick
my dick in the jar.) She licked and nibbled, but by that point I was laughing
too hard and worrying about being late for work. Maybe next time I'll just
call in sick: "My prick won't get hard, so I'm going to the doctor's." I
wonder if PHP covers impotence...
From: negatron
Date: 26 May 1996
Subject: Re: Rice, broccoli and Nutella
okay, hopefully this will offer temporary relief from constant nagging…
i don’t know if i told you this, but i put in my application for re-admission
to the university here about two weeks ago, and am waiting for answer. i had
considered applying to some other universities, but a quick look at my transcript
put that idea to rest, though not without disappointment.
i’ve been required to discontinue from two different programs, but i fully
intend to return as a full-time student in september even if it means i have
to break a personal rule against kissing ass.
i’ll put it in the form of a crude baseball metaphor: it’s the last inning
of the big game, two outs, and i’mat bat with two strikes. i have one thing
on my mind: i’m going to hit a home run. not for the fans, not for the love
of the game, but for the money.
or in this case, the paper. i’ve given up on any fancy ideas i may have
once had, i don’t believe there is any chance of getting a quality education.
there are fat too many professors using the classroom as a pulpit to preach
their personal politics to the hordes of unsuspecting fresh-off-the-farm idiots
who make up the majority of the student body here. a particularly nasty example
of this was the english class i just finished taking. the class material
was chosen for its appropriateness to the professor’s feminist agenda. we
had a number of graduate students for small-group tutorial instructors who
also occasionally gave lectures to the entire class. during one of these lectures
by my tutorial leader, the professor cut him off and criticised him for not
discussing gender issues related to the particular text
this isn’t to say that all of the blame is with the professors. the minds
of some of the students must have been poisoned from the days they were born.
one evening in tutorial, we were discussing what was meant by the word Indian
or Native Canadian. i said that it was the name given to a specific race.
one of the girls - er, women - in the class piped up “ew, race, that’s such
an ugly word”, and “i don’t like to label things.”
now, the white trash thing. i won’t say there’s no such thing as white trash,
only that the label has about as much use to me as “toyota drivers.” i reject
the label not because of any reasons of political correctness, but because
people should be treated as individuals. PC has an entirely different effect.
it doesn’t remove labels, it merely sanitizes them so as not to offend, and
promotes hive-mindedness by giving certain perks to the “disadvantaged” groups
and attempting to make the rest of us feel shared guilt.
PC is an attack on individuality and an attack on reason and progress. during
man’s progress from the cave to the metropolis advances have been made by
individuals, not collectives. i hate to think of mankind returning to the
caves to sit around waiting to grow tails so we can swing from the trees better,
but this image comes to mind. maybe i’ve just read to much SF.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 27 May 1996
Subject: Restaurant humour revisited
I boned me an FWB this morning. It's some stupid fucking holiday, so it
was dead beyond despair. This party of ten came in for a birthday party.
The minute I saw them I knew I was adding on the tip. In most restaurrants,
including ours, the gratuity may be added at the waiter's discretion for
parties of six or more. This group had two crabby old grandparents, six adults
and two of the rottenest kids I've ever had the displeasure (Does that word
exist?) to serve. They were all so mean and cheap and rude they even hated
eachother. I served them well, but I did glare at one woman's finger when
she pointed at me. I brought out a piece of pecan pie (the best of our deserts)
with a candle for the birthday boy, a horribly fat asshole. I wrote up a
bill for eight buffets and two child buffets. This cunt of a Jew bitch complained,
saying that one of the kids hadn't eaten: "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I hadn't noticed.
I'll take care of it right away." So I went back and voided one child buffet
($3.95). I then added one apple juice ($1.79) which I had brought for the
offending little monster and one pecan pie ($2.95) which I had comped ("made
complimentary" for those of you in the television audience) on the first check.
By the time I brought back the bill the whole waitstaff was watching the
slut. As we watched and laughed she pondered that check, scratched her head,
started to say something. Finally, realizing she had just been screwed, she
paid my smiling face and left as I wished her a very nice day. I've got a
problem with your use of the word 'individual', John. It's horribly wrong
and out-dated. We are not individuals. On the one hand we are not, literally,
indivisible. We are even more fragmented and shattered than Freud knew when
he divided us into the Es, the Ich and the Ueberich. Je est indeed un autre.
On the other hand we are not discrete members of society. Our own identity
is forced upon us by such terrible constraints as a name and a language. Speaking
in tongues and exploiting all of the names my parents have given me is my
way of fighting my way out of those chains. I guess Peri's way is to confound
his gender. (He really got pissed at me when I said: "I couldn't believe
you didn't jump all over me when I said that the fruit/vegetable distinction
is linguistic and not biological. Why didn't you say that the same as true
of the boy/girl distinction. You could have beaten me at my own game." I
can't help it if I'm smarter than that whiny boy/girl.) If, however, John,
you don't like the title "There's no such thing as white trash." I would
suggest another: "La tolerance est la virtue des faibles."
From: negatron
Date: 27 May 1996
Subject: Re: Restaurant humour revisited
perhaps i should have been more clear, but i was full of caffeine and all
wanderyminded yesterday. i realize that is an oversimplification to try and
view a person outside of the social context. my point was that i have little
respect for people who behave simply as drones, letting their entire world-view
be dictated to them by the loudest voices within the group they are most easily
identified with, or worse, by another group altogether. i consider it a duty
to myself to at least try to understand the various forces at work around
me, and in the absence of verifiable, absolute truths, to devise working models.
i find programmatic indoctrinations offensive, particularly at the university
level. if i was interested in hearing ‘this is how it is…’ i would sit on
my ass and watch tv. what i want to know is why, and how can you tell.
on another note…
every day while driving home from work, i encounter numerous assholes who
seem to have no other aim in mind but to make the drive a stressful experience.
and stupid me, i let them piss me off every time. today it was this prick
driving slowly along in the left lane of the highway into town. there was
a slower car yet in the right lane, so i pulled in behind this asshole until
i was past that one then pulled in the right lane to get by this asshole.
but he had to be a tough guy, keeping right along beside me as i sped up,
until i got caught again behind a truck. i pulled behind him, passed the truck
and back into the right lane. there was a car turning left at the first light
and he was stuck behind it for a second and i finally got ahead of him. but
before i could get back into the left lane, there he was again right beside
me, looking all surly and mean. big tough guy with his wife and daughters.
ugly little girls too. i hope they grow up and become whores.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 29 May 1996
Subject: Our Mutual Friend
Nichelle, my FWB who goes by the name of Petrouchka on IDMOO, tells me you
think you've got what I'm looking for. I've been to your MOO twice now and
I think so too. I know you're a five-foot-seven-inch redhead with green eyes
and big tits and you know I'm whatever the male equivalent is. (I don't usually
read men's descriptions. It's bad enough I have to see them in their underwear
when I do room service.) A lot of things about your MOO make it look more
serious than others. But there's nobody there. Lambda is going through some
turmoil. There's lots of disaffection and I think some people are looking
for a new alternative. IDMOO won't take any new members. The time is ripe.
If you would agree to work with me (and your friend [Defender?] would agree),
I think we could populate your MOO and change the MOO culture into something
meaningful. I would want to make a few changes in the structure of your MOO.
I'm willing to compromise on most of these changes. The goal of all of the
changes would be to make it more user-friendly to the cybernetically challenged
like myself, and to encourage (without coersion) responsible use of the MOO.
I've been on a lot of MOOs and I've had a lot of servers. I've also got a
little stable of badass motherfuckers who would be able to help us. I shall
very soon have the web site from Hell. I can recruit people to your MOO. On
lambda, people I've never spoken to page me and ask when my web site is going
up. Most of the people hate me, but it's stunning the way I can control the
terms of debate in almost any room at almost any time. I think we could do
great things together. SAGReiss platonically licks your pussy and leaves,
saying: "RECTVM VINVM".
From: SAGReiss
Date: 29 May 1996
Subject: SAGReiss looks at Yasmina
Just a short note to introduce a new member, Vicki. I have described her
to herself as a "black Amazon with a Brittish accent". She's a little weird
on the MOO, but so what? She says she writes a lot, which is more than I can
say for the rest of you. She's twenty years old and studies literature in
Reading, UK. What am I s'posed to say, she smells nice? How do I know? I
tried to get into what Nichelle called her "private sector" yesterday afternoon,
but it didn't work too well. We talked about making a career move and taking
up phone sex for pay. Quodlibet made $20 an hour doing it. I've got a beautiful
voice and the proper moral qualities for this job. Shiiit, I'm a cunning linguist...
From: Terry
Date: 29 May 1996
Subject: Re: Our Mutual Friend
I’ve just got a few moments before I have to leave for work, so, I’ll just
hit a few high points that I thought of while reading your Email. :)
ClubMOO is a VIP MOO; an elite MOO. We don’t want it heavily populated,
in that the people that have chars there are hand-picked selectively by the
members already there. :) We’re not looking for a large MOO; just a community
type MOO where sincere adults can come to gether for some conversation, privacy,
whatever. The goal/direction of ClubMOO is practically set in stone.
negatron did take a char there last night; and I think he’ll like it. If
you decide you want one there, just let him know and he can sponsor you. :)
That simple. Just keep in mind that we don’t tell everyone about ClubMOO coz
we don’t want everyone there. Heh. SnobMOO? Maybe. Or perhaps just VeryselectivewhoweallowinMOO.
Catch ya later!
Terry
From: SAGReiss
Date: 29 May 1996
Subject: Do you smell that?
Last night at this stupid fucking staff meeting we saw a training film and
this tall waitress delivers the entrees to a table and this black dude turns
towards her and savors the piping hot aromas. The way its filmed it looks
like he's sniffing her snatch. He says: "Do you smell that?" The whole room
immediately burst out laughing, hooting, hollering: "Don't you ever wash that
thang?" "I scrubbed it just for you, sir." "Smells like strawberry Summer's
Eve." "Can I take that home in a doggy bag?" How could they be so stupid as
to show that to a group of (mainly gay) waiters, cocktail waitresses and bartenders?
Who the fuck makes these stupid training films? Do you have to watch these,
John? The other funny thing at work today is the room service gayboy told
me he's subscribed to a twelve-dollar picture service, where you can see
things like a woman being eaten out by her doggie: "What does she do, put
a bone up her cunt?" "Here, Fido. Come to Mommie." "Woof, woof."
From: SAGReiss
Date: 30 May 1996
Subject: BadassMOO
Your MOO sounds interesting and I shall continue to check it out and perhaps
ask for a character. John couldn’t believe you had allowed me to go there.
He said something about my disturbing the social order… I’m still looking
for a MOO which isn’t doing much and whose wizards would allow me to make
some changes and try a little experiment. I’ll tell you what I’m thinking.
The spoofing, spamming and lack of any meaningful dialogue are what create
lag and drive us all crazy, me more than most. My gf gets sad watching me
rage and weep and bleed as I fight with these idiots to try to get them to
understand that they are wasting a new media of art and learning and communication.
I think that if people had to use their real names, that would be a big change.
Diversity University does that, with mixed results. One could probably eliminate
a lot of the worst spam and spoof by eliminating the features which make this
possible. We could also lead by example. If a geek enters a room where people
are talking quietly and no one’s spamming, how likely would he be to act
like a jerk? If he did and twenty people gagged him at the same time, wouldn’t
he just leave? It would also be a political experiment. We could have no
rules except @gag. No toading guests because you don’t like them, no disputin’,
no arbitration. Just anarchy and absolute freedom of speech. What amazes
me is that people would actually recreate the worst aspects of our society,
political oppression and the criminal justice system, in a world (MOO) where
such structures make absolutely no sense.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 30 May 1996
Subject: Dawn of Man
Thy ways are inscrutible, O Obscure One, but we bow down to thy benevolence.
Jude fucking e-mails us that if we answer this message before it self-destructs
in five seconds he'll be over and we can do the do. I was jerking off or something
in the bathroom, so Stiff Lips wrote him back and offered him food, whisky,
cigarettes and a blow job. I guess God doesn't answer His mail. She wrote
again giving him our phone number and turning on the ringer. No amswer. No
hope. No exit. We even tidied up again (She had done the washing up in anticipation
of his visit.) and I suggested we play the Halleluja chorus when he entered,
but she doesn't have it so she shrewdly suggested Also Sprach Zarathustra,
to which I agreed. Anyway Jude, whenever the fuck you wish to come here is
fine with me. I should be home late morning or early afternoon today and
I'm free all day tomorrow... That piece is inextricably bound to 2001, the
greatest film I have ever seen, except for the dumbass middle part where
they actually speak. The beginning of that film is a clever commentary on
Totem und Tabu. Freud's or Sphocles' inaugural ritual murder of the Father
is set to music by Strauss, a suspected Nazi sympathizer, thus tying old-fashioned
original sin to new-fangled mass murder. Moreover, because of the title of
Strauss' work, the philosophical underpinning of Hitler's (mis)reading of
Nietzsche's Uebermensch also comes to the fore. In our next installment perhaps
I shall explain: "Wo Es war, soll Ich werden," as the theme song from my acte-manque
on the internet. By the way, that phrase could easily be set to music. If
one counts the comma as an unaccented beat, it's four trochees. Any takers...
From: SAGReiss
Date: 31 May 1996
Subject: Site is up
http://www.dreamscape.com/sagreiss
From: Nichelle
Date: 31 May 1996
Subject: Biggest dick on the MOO
I can't believe you assholes. We send you mail with the address of the web
page, and wake up with one e-mail message on the account from my *mother*.
Last night was terrifying and exhilarating, the Obscure One at the keyboard
deleting half of the computer and I don't know what the fuck else. Gabe was
trying out multiple meanings of the word 'tight', his shoulders were practically
in his ears, they were so tense, and the whisky...
When it was all over, we both wanted to go to see it at the lab because
our Netscape is all fucked up, and Gabe kept telling me he would break out
the windows if needed to get into the clusters. I tried to get him to swear
on Tropic Of Capricorn that he wouldn't break anything, and he wouldn't do
it. We swaggered up to the labs, got in immediately, and he still isn't sure
what the fucker looks like. Where are you people? What do you do? Why don't
you look at the web site, or send e-mail?
What's more, we might have a MOO. You see how hard we've been working, seducing
geeks, conquering the internet while you're all still in bed?
From: SAGReiss
Date: 31 May 1996
Subject: BadassMOO
I’m very interested in the idea of having a MOO. I would be pleased and
delighted if you would be its Wizard. It will be a nightmare for me to write
even the minmal amount of legislation necessary, disclaimers and whatnot
to encourage people to act like human beings and tell the fucking truth.
What do you think of our website? We could use it to populate the MOO and
vice versa. Have you any specific ideas about the MOO. One of the unpleasant
things about me is that I’m a fucking drunk and often can’t remember what
was said the night before the day after, every day. In any case, on the page
you see basically the best of me and the worst. I hope to talk to you soon.
RECTVM VINVM.
April 1996
June 1996
vr: 1996
