Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!tektronix!reed!thalen From: thalen@reed.UUCP (Dr. Paradox) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Me. Summary: Stuff Keywords: On Callahan's? Guess. Message-ID: <14536@reed.UUCP> Date: 27 Mar 90 23:34:08 GMT References: <14499@reed.UUCP> <12842@csli.Stanford.EDU> Reply-To: thalen@reed.UUCP (Dr. Paradox) Organization: Reed College, Portland OR Lines: 34 Chris Pheonix says: }Do all such people have to be conceited? The grey cat, with an apologetic look at the tiger, leaps down from the rafters. He lands on his feet, of course, and changes back into Thalen. Thalen looks a little embarressed "Perhaps I misspoke. Certainly conceit is not a necessary factor. However, the ones who have it are the ones who are most obvious. The ones that can get you *SO* annoyed, because of their confidence. Thalen next looks around the room. "Thenomain, (have I heard that name before? Do you use compuserve?), I believe that you are right. This place does have too much black in it. I guess that is an indication of something, but I am, in my own small way, going to change it." Thalen makes some more complicated finger gestures, and chants "Size 32 waist, size 32 waist, damn it!" In front of him appears a small package, which he opens. It contains a white pair of pants and an orange shirt. He waves his hands once more, and he is abruptly clad in these clothes, with his black pants and his black and green striped shirt sitting neatly folded in front of him. "Anyone else?" He asks. "I make to order. But you have to tell me your size. And I might not get it right the first time... Don't worry, though. I recycle." Thalen looks around expectantly. He really doesn't look bad in these new clothes. "Oh, and Nick," he says, looking slightly embarrassed. "You aren't going to be able to clean out the mop. After all, that is the worst stainer in the known universe. Cranberry juice. I don't drink alchohol. Don't ask why. Thalen, an Inclined Mage Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!tektronix!reed!mojo From: mojo@reed.bitnet (it's alright ma, I'm only bleeding) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Some joy to share Message-ID: <14538@reed.UUCP> Date: 28 Mar 90 02:11:09 GMT References: Sender: news@reed.UUCP Reply-To: mojo@reed.bitnet (it's alright ma, I'm only bleeding) Distribution: alt Organization: Dis- Lines: 50 ["A Case of You"] Somewhere in the humming at the end of the song, the careful listener hears the unmistakable sound of an upright bass harmonizing with Fast Eddie's left hand. It seems to be coming from a nondifferentiable point along the bar. The bass falls silent a split second after the piano does, and somehow the light shifts to reveal the player just a bit. He laughs a bit, embarrassed, and says "Thanks, Gilly." "Oops," he says, a little more confidently. "I think I just blew my cover. Hello, all." Completely visible now, thanks to the wonders of virtual lighting, he is a shade over six feet tall, thin, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans; his brown hair should be shoulder-length, but seems determined to be in his face instead. The bass rests against the bar next to him, balanced against one hand. "Hmm, now that I'm here I'm not sure what to say. I'm not even sure how to introduce myself; the name changes with the mood. For now, let's call me Morpheus." As if seeking approval, he looks around the room. "This is very much not how I planned to come in. Doesn't matter; that will turn up soon enough, I'm sure. You see, I'm not necessarily going to look or act much like this for long; like everyone else, I'm a composite of a host of simple personalities, and I tend to let them switch off in my style. This is me, more or less, honest." The same nervous half-laugh; Morpheus pauses for a moment, obviously not very sure where to go from here. "I sort of feel as if I should bare my soul at this point," he says with a smile. "Don't know what I'd say, though; it'll all come out in conversation, I'm sure. I sort of, well, go up and down emotionally, which I guess is about par for here. One thing: if I ever show up with a cigarette, it means I *really* need support." "Right." On the bar at Morpheus' side is a pint glass half-full of something too dark to see light through; in the moment of half-awkward silence he steps to the line, leaving his bass carefully balanced between bar and stool, and raises the glass. "To the madness that is being alive," he says quietly; drains the opaque liquid with relish and CRASH! hits the fireplace dead on. As the rattling noises of falling glass stop, he looks around, a little bewildered, and sits again. -- "A ginger beer plant is sort of like Azathoth." -James Robinson, Amorphous Mass and drummer extraordinaire Nathan Tenny ...tektronix!reed!mojo mojo@reed.{UUCP, BITNET, probably EDU} or {backbone}!tektronix!robin.WV.TEK.COM!nathant as a last resort Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!tektronix!reed!thalen From: thalen@reed.UUCP (Dr. Paradox) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Morpheus (was Re: Some joy to share) Summary: Hey, there! Keywords: Muzik Message-ID: <14539@reed.UUCP> Date: 28 Mar 90 04:29:00 GMT References: <14538@reed.UUCP> Reply-To: thalen@reed.UUCP (Dr. Paradox) Distribution: alt Organization: Reed College, Portland OR Lines: 67 Thalen stands, stretching, and walks over to Morpheus. "Howdy! Welome the place. Nice to see you here! Didn't know you played upright. Play any jazz?" Thalen then turns to address the entire room. "And, speaking of music, (aren't I always?), I'll buy a drink for the first person to accurately place these three excerpts from songs. Except you, Jake; you know entirely to much of this sort of thing. A hint: they are all by the same artist. If you can name me the artist, album, and name of the song in each case, you win. I would wager more, but this group seems to me to be the type that would know this stuff." Thalen reaches out, waves his fingers, and plucks a Celtic harp out of the air. He says "The first one goes especially well with this instrument, although the original artist used an acoustic guitar." He then starts playing, an intricate picked melody, which after a moment Jake sets to strumming behind. After a second, Thalen begins to sing, echoed softly by Jake: "Oh, who will walk the stony roads of Merlin's time? And keep the watch along the borderline. And who will play the story told in song and rhyme, On shepherd's pipes of Merlin's time." Thale finishes it up with a short restatement of the melody, then stops, and turns around, looking embarassed. "Actually, the second-to-last line's words are an approximations, as I couldn't remember the actual ones. Don't suppose that you would be willing to help, Jake?" Jake grins and says "I guess it's your fault, for jumping in when you don't even know the words. Thalen smiles back ruefully. "Gee, thanks. You're a great help. Anyway, I know the next one better. But I'm gonna need Jake even more for this, since it doesn't work quite as well on the Harp as the last one did. Thalen goes over to confer with Jake, who smiles and nods. He then starts in on another intricate melody, this one even more haunting than the last. "And it's cold and damp, in the transit camp, and the air is still and sullen, And the (?) sun of October whispers 'The snow will soon be coming.' And I wonder when I'll be home again, and the morning answers 'Never.' And the evening sighs, and the steely Russian skies go on Forever." And after a few more chords, the piece trails off. Thalen says "Ok, one more. Eddie, you must know this one." Eddie approaches Thalen, and, well, grins isn't a good word, since he's doing that all the time, but shows his approval. Jake seems ready, and he and Eddie start into an upbeat solo that sounds like the middle of a song. They get a ways before Thalen joins in: "Well, the dawn comes and you're still with her, And the bus and the tourists are gone. And you've thrown away your choice, and lost your ticket, And you have to stay on. But the drumbeat strains of the night remain, and the rhythm of the newborn day. You know some time you're bound to leave her, but for now you're gonna stay, -----------------------------" Thalen hums the last line, like maybe he is afraid that that might give away too much. He smiles, and watches as Jake and Eddie get together, and finish off the song. Then he says, "Eddie, I'm going to have to exclude you, too." Eddie says "Awwww. I had two of 'em already, 'n just needed ta get home to find de udder one." Thalen extracts himself from in front of everybody, and says "Good luck!" Thalen, the Disdained Page Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!tektronix!reed!turner From: turner@reed.bitnet (Your fault anyway) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Some harmony added Message-ID: <14540@reed.UUCP> Date: 28 Mar 90 04:50:16 GMT References: Sender: news@reed.UUCP Reply-To: turner@reed.bitnet (Your fault anyway) Distribution: alt Organization: Reed College, Portland, OR Lines: 80 >(I never >knew how great Joni Mitchell (especially "Case of You" from _Blue_)... {I knew something would get me to enter the conversation, how was I to know it would be a song.} >while, I decided to trust him. And I told him how I felt about him, >but that I realized he had a girlfriend, and that his friendship was >certainly more important than anything else." She notices a few >realistic people cringing, thinking of how great a way that is to >strain a relationship. {It's the only way to go in a relationship. If it isn't honest, I don't think it's worth it. Seriously, I will forgive anything in a friend except dishonesty.} As Gilly begins to sing a female figure steps out of the shadows and joins in trying to add a little harmony to the song. Her voice isn't spectacular but it works. You also get the feeling that she has a lot of emotion tied up in this song. >I met a woman >She had a mouth like yours >She knew your life >She knew your devils and your deeds (? I'm not sure of that word.) {That's the right word.} >And she said, "Go to him, >Stay with him if you can >But be prepared to bleed" >Oh but you are in my blood you are my holy wine >You're so bitter, bitter and so sweet >Oh I could drink a case of you darlin' >Still I'd be on my feet >I would still be on my feet. After Gilly leaves the figure is still leaning against the piano looking sort of lost in thought. Next to her a giant, black head rests on top of the piano. Mindlessly she scratches her friend's ears. He looks content. She looks to Orion. "Hello there old friend. I'm glad you've found some comfort here. Thalen, it's good to see you here also trying to work things out in your head. And Morpheus..." Her smile seems to begin to glow at the sound of his name and the thought of him. Turning she faces the crowd. Beside her you can finally see her companion, a monstruous black Great Dane paces regally beside her. The tiger's tale tickles the Dane's back as he walks under it but he takes no notice. "Hello all, thank you for welcoming my friends here, and I hope you will make me welcome as all. Gilly, thanks for the song. I hope you don't mind me singing along. It's a habit. I sing whenever I can. Even at bus stops. And usually Joni Mitchell, she writes realistic love songs which is why I like her so much, I think. That song is a particular favorite." "Mike, a drink to toast with, a glass of Riesling." Her hand lightly cups the wine glass as she sips and moves towards the center of the room and the chalk line. "To a place that welcomes us all." Bemused she looks at the fine crystal and adds "Seems a shame to break something so pretty. Aw well. Tradition." The last word is song in a voice just barely reminiscient of the man in Fiddler on the Roof. Crash! and it splinters into fine shards which cast rainbows around the room. "I guess that's a fitting end for it." She looks a little apologetic, "In the excitement, I forgot to introduce myself. In this place, I will go by Caithelin, it seems almost magical enough for this place." She walks back to the bar, handing warm fuzzies indescriminately to people as she goes. "Yes I do mean these, even if I don't know you very well. It's part of my nature that I can't deny." "Another drink please, Mike. I think a pint of cider would be nice. Do you have a sugar cube for my horse outside, and perhaps a slice of cheese for my companion?" Digging deep into a jean pocket she pulls out two singls and lays them on the bar. "For the glass of wine." The cheese is fed to the dog who eats it in a surprisingly delicate manner for such a great beast, and outside a horse whickers in approval of the attention as she leaves for a moment and then returns. She then wanders off to find a table at the edge of the center and sit and listen for a while longer. Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!usc!snorkelwacker!bionet!arisia!sgi!shinobu!odin!sgi.com!scotth From: scotth@corp.sgi.com (Scott Henry) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Grenades a la Creme Message-ID: Date: 27 Mar 90 22:30:30 GMT References: <35036@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU> <9066@cbnewsh.ATT.COM> Sender: news@odin.corp.sgi.com Reply-To: scotth@sgi.com (Scott Henry) Distribution: alt Organization: Silicon Graphics Inc, Mountain View, CA Lines: 23 In-reply-to: adam@chaos.chaos.cs.brandeis.edu's message of 22 Mar 90 12:38:14 GMT Dave> Something about a human floating at the exact center of a spherical Dave> mirror, and with a flashlight out. What is seen? Does it matter the Dave> direction of the beam? Dave> Well, any takers? "Oh, no, not again!" comes an anguished cry from a bowl of petunias that mysteriously materializes in one of the pseudo-corners (Callahans is of course a limit polyhedron, ie: a sphere, where all the "corners" aren't really), and just as promptly vanishes. "Is this going to be the third (I think) newsgroup to discuss this subject to death this month?" "Oh, well, I shan't interfere with your 'fun'..." Dave> Traveler In Elephants Dave> Dave Scotty, traveller on Dragon Wings -- Scott Henry | These are my | Tardis Express -- when it Information Services, | Opinions only! | absolutely, positively Silicon Graphics, Inc | Whose else? | has to be there -- yesterday. Path: mit-eddie!bloom-beacon!shelby!lindy!news From: GC.DCW@forsythe.stanford.edu (SPRING FEVER) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: The Cynic tells a story and makes a toast Message-ID: <8708@lindy.Stanford.EDU> Date: 28 Mar 90 13:03:39 GMT Sender: news@lindy.Stanford.EDU (News Service) Distribution: usa Lines: 58 >The Cynic says: > [...] >Cynic then speaks with Spike briefly, and they >nod in agreement. >Cynic goes to the line and begins to ramble: >"First, I wanted to toast Diana, but I will save >that for the day of her return, assuming she does, >so that she can drink with me." >"I discussed my toast with Spike, and he seemed to >think it appropriate." >Cynic raises a glass that he seems to have procured >without describing how. >"To bleeding all over the living room carpet." > >"I would like to thank you, Spike, for seeing the >dark humor of the toast." >"No folks, I am not talking about suicide. I am >just talking about pain." >Cynic. >Hello, is there anybody in there... Spike raises his own glass to the Cynic's toast and says, "To the Cynic with my glass raised I join you in this toast: 'To bleeding all over the living room carpet.' "Cynic, my new found friend, how could the toast have been anything but this?? With the events of the recent past and your unfounded fears of being asked to go away, and then the deluge of posts about emotions and such, it seemed to me to be absolutely perfect. "Springtime comes late in the mountains, and with your state of mind, that would seem to fit your environment well. I'm proud to have joined you in that toast. A double crash of glasses as Cynic and Spike consummate their toast. Cynic trudges off to find his dark corner. "To the NightRider: 'Back at Ya', yourself, dude. Being a relative newcomer, I found pretty easy to raise a toast to someone with such a profound entry. I liked it anyway." Another double crash as the 'Rider and Spike, who is a bit unsteady, dash their glasses into the fireplace. Spike, looking around at the myriad of tables, smiles and says.... "Next??" Path: mit-eddie!wuarchive!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!sol.ctr.columbia.edu!emory!cambridge.apple.com!bloom-beacon!eru!luth!sunic!mcsun!ukc!newcastle.ac.uk!sylvaner!q1aqf From: A.Waterworth@newcastle.ac.uk (A Waterworth) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: The Story which I promised... Message-ID: <1990Mar28.085908.21561@newcastle.ac.uk> Date: 28 Mar 90 08:59:08 GMT Sender: news@newcastle.ac.uk Distribution: alt Organization: University of Newcastle upon Tyne, UK, NE1 7RU Lines: 103 In the midst of all the new arrivals (and dodging Nick's diligent mopping as he tries to remove that peculiar red liquid from the floor), Daarin stands up, stretches and removes his hat. His hair is thinning and he keeps it all brushed back, giving him what would be a sinister appearance were it not for the inherent openness of his face. Placing the hat on the bar, he asks Mike for another drink, handing over a peculiar gold-coloured coin as payment. Mike examines the coin quizzically, but decides that it seems to be acceptable and hands Daarin a glass full of clear amber liquid. Stepping forward a couple of paces, the red-bearded man takes a sip from the glass and clears his throat to speak... "When I first arrived here, I said that I had a story to tell, but that I couldn't tell it just yet. Well, recent events have caused me to change my mind and it seems to me that the right time for my tale has come around somewhat sooner than I expected. For people have been talking a lot about love and friendship and _that_ is what I would like to speak of. Several years ago, I was in love with a very beautiful woman. We had been good friends beforehand and grew to truly enjoy each other's company. Anyway, we had been 'together' for about 14 months when I had to move away from her to attend university. Even then, everything was OK for another month or two. However, she was involved in a car crash - which thankfully left her unhurt, but in shock - and was held in a hospital for observation for a few days. During this time, one of my friends, a guy I had known for about seven years, visited her - just to cheer her up and raise her spirits. Well, the inevitable happened - she dumped me and 'ran off' with him. At the time, I didn't take it very well and got myself gloriously drunk, but I soon came to accept it and didn't even bear the two of them any ill will. In a strange sort of way, I was happy for them both - they were still good friends to me and they _did_ go well together and love one another very much. It seemed to have all worked out for the best, but some other so-called friends of mine had a different idea. I was invited to a New Year's Party by these other friends and I decided that it would be nice to see all of them again, so I went along. It turned out to be an Engagement Party for my ex and her new boyfriend. No-one had let me know, I just walked in expecting to find one standard-issue New Year's eve riot and found myself in the middle of an engagement which I didn't even know had taken place. Hell, that hurt! Mind you, I wasn't mad at the happy couple - in fact I was very happy for them and found myself touched by the thought that they had not invited me personally because they thought that it wouldn't be fair to my feelings. But I was really furious with the thoughtless crocks of sh!t who had invited me along for the sake of their own petty little practical joke. It left me feeling foolish, alone and sad. As I said, that was all quite a few years ago, I told the practical jokers to go screw themselves in the most direct manner possible and I thought that it was all over and done with. I didn't realise at the time just how much it would affect me. For about five years, I simply refused to get involved in another relationship. I made new friends, but I didn't even let myself get too close to _them_, for fear of being hurt in some way. I tried to run and hide, losing myself in my own mind and worshipping solitude as an opportunity to be free of my worries. I was becoming an emotional cripple and revelling in what can only be likened to a mild attack of schizophrenia. I learned to do without close companionship, supporting myself on a crutch of imagined superiority. Cynical in all things, I became contemptuous of the human race as a whole and, although I didn't immediately realise it, of myself in particular. Then, one day, the sensible, logical, intelligent part of my mind starting jumping up and down and screaming to me about how I was acting like a total idiot and dooming myself to an unhappy, and probably very short, life. Or maybe it had been screaming at me all along and I had only just heard it. Like the dawn of a new day, I saw that I needed other people to help me fight my way through things like this. I finally understood that, in those immortal words, 'no man is an island'. Although there are people who can get by without a partner (in the sense of romance/marriage/whatever), we all need friends. People to talk to, people who care about us, people for whom _we_ care. It was as if I had been re-born, or emerging from the Test of Fire had been tempered into something which I could not even have understood beforehand. Now, I still face the ordinary day-to-day problems of life (and some of the not-so-ordinary ones) but I do it with a level head and a degree of hope which I didn't possess before. I don't mind sticking my neck out and getting it savagely whipped now and again, because there are people I can turn to who will help me re-set the broken bones, sew up the cuts and grazes and calm the rattling nerves. And _they_ are my true friends - a small number of people for whom I would dare all, even Death, because I know and they know that they would do the same for me. I am still far from being a complete human being, but I am no longer the infant which I used to be." Coughing nervously, Daarin takes another sip of his drink and looks around the room. Observant watchers will have noticed by now that his hat has moved from its original position on the bar. Suddenly, with a loud "Fweeep!", a small purple fuzzy streaks out from below the wide brim and dashes around the bar like a hyperactive child in a toy shop, saying energetic Hello's to assorted cats, kittens, dogs, pups and less readily identifiable creatures. "Ahem, yes, well...I said that you might find both despair and hope in my story. I am grateful to you all for listening to my ill-formed ramblings and, if I may, would like to say one or two other things before I finally shut up. First, I am also a musician (so there's yet another one to boost the ratio even higher), second I am truly happy that Gilly has found a new friend (may you ever find even more), third a quick hello to Taldin and Maya and finally, a toast... To living and learning, to giving and growing. May we all finally throw off our burdens and come to be truly happy." The glass leaves Daarin's hand, rights itself in flight and lands on its thick base in front of the fireplace. As the pitcher returns to his seat, a certain warm fuzzy beds down beside a green kitten and a milk-lapping puppy and begins to purr contentedly in its sleep. /=====================================\ < Daarin | A.Waterworth@uk.ac.newcastle > \=====================================/ Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!armadillo.cis.ohio-state.edu!james_e_gaynor From: james_e_gaynor@armadillo.cis.ohio-state.edu Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Free the Jects from Slavery! Keywords: Glass, clothes, coffee Message-ID: <78539@tut.cis.ohio-state.edu> Date: 28 Mar 90 15:19:47 GMT References: <14536@reed.UUCP> Sender: usenet_news@tut.cis.ohio-state.edu Reply-To: Taoist Organization: The Theatre of Incoherency Lines: 103 "Seems I've started something with these unbroken glasses in the fireplace," the Taoist muses over his cup of coffee. But his revery is broken by the door bursting open. A young lady walks in, small, petite, dressed in baggy orange/tan pants and a black t-shirt. Elcid rushes over, yipping joyfully. "Cheryl! What are you doing here?" the Taoist asks, standing up. She's kneeled down to pick up Elcid and snuggle with the pup, but Cheryl stands back up. "I just wanted to check up on you two. Um, and there's something I need to tell you..." "Yes?" "She's not Elcid. Erin and I decided we like 'Zoot' better..." "Zoot?" "Yeah, Zoot!" Cheryl grins. "Isn't it neat? Well, I've got to get back, Erin's going to be home any minute now. Take care of Zoot!" With that, she turns and walks out. "Zoot... " The Taoist sits back down and takes a deep swig from his coffee cup, shaking his head, as the newly-renamed Zoot trots over and looks up as him quizzically. In article <14536@reed.UUCP> thalen@reed.UUCP (Dr. Paradox) writes: > Thalen makes some more complicated finger gestures, and chants >"Size 32 waist, size 32 waist, damn it!" In front of him appears a >small package, which he opens. It contains a white pair of pants and >an orange shirt. He waves his hands once more, and he is abruptly >clad in these clothes, with his black pants and his black and green >striped shirt sitting neatly folded in front of him. > "Anyone else?" He asks. "I make to order. But you have to tell >me your size. And I might not get it right the first time... Don't >worry, though. I recycle." Thalen looks around expectantly. He >really doesn't look bad in these new clothes. The Taoist looks at his own clothing. Faded jeans, an oversized black t-shirt, worn canvas sneakers... "Think you could whip me up something, Thalen? Say, tan walking shorts and a red polo? I'll keep my sneakers, thanks." Thalen looks at The Taoist expectantly. "Oh yes," The Taoist says, "32 waist, large shirt, if you please." As Thalen conjures, the discussion of anger and its expression arises. Jiliara speaks of tearing down fences and throwing huge rocks. Others speak of other violent manifestations of anger, and others speak of repressing it. At a lull in the conversation, The Taoist speaks... "I used to have a lot of anger. My father killed himself two days before my 11th birthday, and I just forgave him for that, and the chaos it caused in our household, a couple years ago. Or at least I think I have. In any case, my temper, especially in my late teens, was a horrible thing. My mother exacted a vow from me to never touch my younger sister in anger, so fearful was she of what I might do in my rage. I'm proud to say I kept my vow." "So my anger was vented on inanimate things. Never on people. I made that vow to myself. But even then, it was turned back in, because I could rarely let myself do indiscriminate damage. But when I could find a thing that was valueless, it didn't last very long." "I used to do things like Jiliara talked about. Not quite that extreme, but bending and twisting pipes, making holes in walls, destroying lumber, those things happened. Adrenalin does amazing things." "It's different now. I don't know how or when it changed. But I was able to channel it. I started saving the anger, and using it when I truly needed desperate motivation. Not the best way to handle it, but it worked." "And now, I almost never see it. It's as if I managed to catch up with all the anger I used to have, and I've used it up. And when new anger happens, it's drained out too quickly to do any damage. Most of the time." "A matter of expression, that's what it seems to be. Constructive versus destructive. It's when the constructive methods can't handle the anger, that the destructive forces take over." The Taoist drains his coffee cup, and stands at his table. "Here's to learning how. And remembering..." He tosses the cup in a hig arc, but short of the fireplace. The ceramic mug hits the floor in front of the fireplace, and bounces with a porcelain into the fireplace, where it shatters. The Taoist walks over to the bar, where Mike is cleaning glasses. "Brandy, Mike," he says, placing a dollar on the bar. Zoot barks, and the Taoist looks down to see her there, holding her bowl in her mouth. He gently takes it, and sets it on the bar, with another dollar. "Refill this too, if you would, Mike." "No problem. Nice trick with the cup there, Taoist," Mike says. "There's no trick, Mike. I just let the cup or glass do what it wants to do. I don't force it into fireplace - it just finds its own way there." As Mike makes drinks, the Taoist says to the bar in general, "Has anyone here ever heard of Basia Trzetrzelewska? Jazz singer? She's got two CDs out: 'Time and Tide', and 'London Warsaw New York'. I just recently 'found' her, thanks to the bewitching picture on the front of 'London Warsaw New York', and haven't found anyone else who has heard her music. " "It's rather frustrating." -=- | Jim Gaynor -- The Ohio State University IRCC -- gaynor@cis.ohio-state.edu | | "If one is right while the other is wrong, and the other is right while the | | one is wrong, then the best thing to do is to look beyond right and wrong."| | -Chuang Tsu, "Inner Chapters: The Equality of All Things"| Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!cs.utexas.edu!samsung!uunet!mcsun!ukc!harrier.ukc.ac.uk!raven.ukc.ac.uk!ljgw From: ljgw@ukc.ac.uk (Liam Wickham) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: A visitor arrives from afar. Message-ID: <2477@raven.ukc.ac.uk> Date: 28 Mar 90 14:00:03 GMT Reply-To: ljgw@ukc.ac.uk (Liam Wickham) Distribution: alt Organization: Computing Lab, University of Kent at Canterbury, UK. Lines: 41 For a moment there is silence in Callahan's, as everyone present feels the temperature drop to an almost uncomfortable level. Cats, fuzzies and even a puppy stir from their slumber, or stop their playing, and all stare towards the closed door which is keeping out the night. The roaring fire loses its warmth, although the gleam of its flickering flames still plays in the eyes of those nearby. Suddenly a will-o-wisp darts through the keyhole, out of the night, and floats above an empty corner table. It is at once a misty shadow, a glittering star and a laughing ghost. Foggy arms and finger-less hands form and two blue stars glitter where we guess the eyes of this wispy little creature must be. It places both hands on what could only be called its cheeks and falls to its side, drifting to and fro like a feather until it rests on a beermat. The creature props itself up on both elbows, staring at the bemused (and other- wise) faces in the Bar. Five ruby jewels sparkle in the form of an impish grin and with a *POOF!* the wisp disappears. The room temperature returns to its normal level of comfort and those present contemplate what has occurred. Mike clicks his tongue against his cheek, mumbles something about "don't know what makes him think he's so special", and walks decisively over to the table where the wisp had lain. He picks up a tiny piece of yellow paper and reads it aloud, squinting. "Shape-changing is an illusion useful when applied to therapy and laughter. I shall be back soon enough, but can only stay for a few days. I hope that I will be welcome and not considered showy. A toast - to happiness regained!" Suddenly a sparkling wine-glass, full to the brim with a white wine of sorts, appears over the chalk-line and speeds into the fireplace. With a gentle tinkling and sound of bird-song the glass shatters, the shards transformed into a multitude of daffodils which land, somewhat heavily, on each table, one to each person (and cat) present. The only remnants of this visitation are the reactions of those present, the faint growling of cats expecting bird-song to herald an easy meal, and a dollar note spinning gently onto Mike's tray. The note is signed "Love you all. Liam." -- Soon I shall be gone from here. [ljgw.ukc.ac.uk]: I'm studying Psychology with Computing at Kent University, UK. Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucsd!sdcc6!sdbio2!secbh1 From: secbh1@sdbio2.ucsd.edu (Lori Stahlman) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Too Much Information Summary: brain fry, information overload Message-ID: <9360@sdcc6.ucsd.edu> Date: 28 Mar 90 17:44:32 GMT Sender: news@sdcc6.ucsd.edu Reply-To: secbh1@sdbio2.ucsd.edu (Lori Stahlman) Organization: University of California, San Diego Lines: 60 A flood of sunshine pours through the door as Beezlebub Bob looks into Callahans. Holding the door open with his foot, he reaches outside and gently steers Betsy Bo over the threshold. At first glance, Bets looks fine. She's wearing her another frilly linen dress, and her curly red hair is out of whack, as usual. But today her sharp, handsome features may as well be carved from stone, and a big black pair of sunglasses covers her eyes. Her leather bag is missing from her shoulder; in its place is draped a long, loose Siamese with chocolate markings. Beezlebub Bob takes Betsy Bo's elbow and guides her to her table in the center of the room. He sits her down. Her face is immobile. The cat seems asleep. He ambles over to the bar and leans on it as he addresses the room: "Hi, y'all. Good to see you again. How come there's a piper on the roof? No matter; it perked Bets up a bit to hear him as we drove in. Mike, may I have a Harp Lager for myself, and an unopened bottle of Coca-Cola for my sister? I don't think she'll be drinking it right away." He pays for the drinks and returns to the table. "Bets," he says, "is suffering from information overload. Whenever she gets too much communication aimed at her, she goes catatonic. No, that's not what the cat is for." He chuckles noiselessly at his own humor. "This time, she went away for the weekend to visit a buddy and watched Joe Versus the Volcano and eight episodes of Star Trek in less than twenty-four hours. That, in combination with lots of talk, the Sunday edition of the LA Times and 62 Callahans articles to catch up on, brought on the state in which you now see her. "I dunno what's going on inside of her head right now. I think she's trying to process all the information. Or she could just be recovering, like when you take a really long ride on a motorcycle and when you get off you're so overstimulated from being beaten by the wind that all you can do is sit down and tingle. "Anyway, she came out of it for a few minutes and asked me to bring her here so she could be present spiritually while she's off mending psychically. All systems should be up in a week or two." He reaches over and pets the stretched-out cat whose front legs hang down Betsy Bo's back. The cat's eyes open a few millimeters and then close again. "By the way, this is Buster. He's Buster-Kitty to his pals. He's the castle-cat at the Red Castle Inn, where Bets used to innkeep. Buster heard this place is a real cathouse, so he offered to accompany Bets. What a great guy, eh?" Beezlebub Bob pounds his drink, gives the pint back to Mike and, leaving his sister clutching the cat and staring into the middle distance, he takes his four bits as he jogs out the door.