Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!cs.utexas.edu!mailrus!sharkey!sbcs!akomonc From: akomonc@libserv1.ic.sunysb.edu (Andrew R Komonchak Jr) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: at a loss for words (almost) Keywords: Love, Hope and Good Friends Message-ID: <7020@sbcs.sunysb.edu> Date: 29 Mar 90 07:00:34 GMT Sender: news@sbcs.sunysb.edu Followup-To: Everything I've witnessed Organization: State University of New York at Stony Brook Lines: 64 A large grey moth detaches itself from its erratic orbit around a light fixture above the bar and wings its way towards the floor. After dive-bombing a few green kittens it climbs into a stall and abruptly transforms into a dark-haired young man. "I greet all of you and say that I am truly glad to have found a place where sane (?) people still exist in todays world." As he says this he fishes a fin out of his pocket and exchanges it for the drink which Mike promptly poured upon his arrival. "Thanks Mike, keep the change." To the room at large,"I've been flitting in and out of Callahans for quite some time now basking in the glow of friendly companionship. And I would like to compliment everyone here in turning out to be a rather fine person despite the state of the world today." He downs the drink, a rich amber liquid, and quick-chucks it towards the hearth. "To all relationships, romantic or not, however they may form!" He drifts back in the direction of the bar, rapidly changing shape as he moves. The shapes run a gamut from a large vaguely feline form to a hulking ursine mass to a large wolfish canine. "Sorry about the 'morphing but it's been a while since I could let loose and express myself. I myself have traveled the road of broken hearts and rocky relationships and would share my reede with you, if I may." "I had a romance with a young woman that was a disaster from the start. I came into her life 2 days too late and ended up watching her waste 2 years of her life with a total asshole. I was her confidant, her consort and her companion over this time period and almost the entire time I was hopelessly in love with her. I couldn't be her SO so I became her best friend. This may sound familiar to some of you and I know its nothing new, but the wierd thing is that now I don't mind that I'm her friend and not her lover. I am closer to her now than I probably ever would have been had we gotten involved. And belive me we are perfect for each other. I know this is kinda a rambling gibber but what I'm trying to say is that the friendship I have with her is so special that I no longer regret that it's not the romantic kind. So for all of you out there who are heart- broken because that someone who you felt was your "soulmate" didn't feel the same, take heart. You may have the makings of a lifelong friendship there. And who knows...the best relationships are the ones in which the couple are friends as well as lovers. I'm not saying it doesn't suck to find out that someone doesn't reciprocate your passion but don't throw away the possibility for a truly passionate friend. On a different note I would like any of you who will be visiting ICON at StonyBrook in the virtual world to look me up while you're there. If you can find an on-campus phone (in all elevators for instance) you can reach me at 2-4254. Also I would like to say hiya to the Cynic. I'm from that mountainy area originally and miss it a lot." He picks up what seems to be a large glass of water from Mike and carries it to the end of the bar, placing it in full view of the whole patronage. "Oh, excuse my bad manners, you can all call me Arctic Wolf and I hope to contribute to this fine group for a long time to come. Now if you will pardon me, I'm ever so thirsty after circling those candles for so long." With that he leaps into the air, 'morphs into a small trout and lands in the tall glass of water. -- __ /\_/\ Send email to: akomonc@csserv1.ic.sunysb.edu /| .\ ARKtic Wolf | , , |"Bud, let me tell you something about men and | o\ |A.R.Komonchak Jr. \| |/ women. We're all liars and you're all idiots." \__|/ \-/ -Kelly Bundy Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!rpi!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!psuvax1!psuvm!emd101 From: EMD101@psuvm.psu.edu Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Breezes Message-ID: <90088.011519EMD101@psuvm.psu.edu> Date: 29 Mar 90 06:15:19 GMT References: Organization: Penn State University Lines: 10 In article , naomi@cs.swarthmore.edu (Nao) says: > >Feelings are gray today, laced together with the spring sun. Ambiguities >are purple and red, swirled with the silver gray of confusion. There is a >scent of cherry blossoms, the happiness of a remembered wandering within >the blossom bedecked gardens of paradise, the black of night, or darkness >within a soul. > Oktave looks up. 'You are a haiku,' she states. Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!tektronix!reed!odlin From: odlin@reed.UUCP (Iain Odlin) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: "The Roamin' Dies Hard" Message-ID: <14544@reed.UUCP> Date: 28 Mar 90 15:26:59 GMT Reply-To: odlin@reed.UUCP (Iain Odlin) Organization: The Kobayashi Maru Lines: 114 Spike, in article <8643@lindy.Stanford.EDU>, grandly proclaims: "If I can remain steady on my feet, I'd like to do some toasts with the following folks: "Nick Chopper, Jilara, Orion the bagpipe man, Joelle, Silver, Dani, ...and a host of other names." Orion, hearing his name (somehow) over both his bagpipes and the trilling of his two warm fuzzy `soprano drones,' wraps up the tune he was piping ["The Blackbird" for those who wish to know], excuses himself from anyone being an audience at the moment and descends the spiral staircase, his great highland bagpipes in hand. "Spike," he says as he reaches the bar, "I would be honoured to share a toast with you! And, by association if nothing else, with the rest of the people so indicated! Lemonade, if you please, Mike, and a spot of bag dope for the Robertsons here, if you've any. They're a wee bit leaky." "Sure thing," Mike replies as he sets the lemonade on the bar. He then picks up the pipes and begins pulling the drones off, setting them carefully on the bar. Orion picks up the glass and stands next to Spike. "Hmmm... How about `To Generosity?'" At Spike's nod of ascent, they both drain their respective drinks and fling the resultant empty glasses into the fireplace, from which a splendid double *CRASH* echoes. "Thank you," Orion says as he warmly shakes Spike's hand. Then, Orion turns back to face Mike who is busily putting rubber stoppers in all the empty drone stocks. He reaches into his sporrin and removes a dollar bill which is quickly used to order another lemonade. While Mike busies himself with the drink, Orion removes the pipe's chanter and places it, along with the drones, on top of his cloak which has been sitting on the bar for quite some time. "Here you go," Mike says as he sets both the lemonade and a glass full of a dun-coloured liquid on the bar in front of Orion. Orion sits on a barstool, picks up the non-lemonade filled glass and pours its contents into the bag of the pipes. As he shakes and rubs the bag, he looks around the room and nods to some of the people he sees who helped him through a crisis point in his life a little while ago. He finds Thalen in the crowd and throws a peanut at him, along with the phrase "I'll be zinnia later about those puns that rose through the ceiling a while ago." His eyes then continue to scan the room until he is visibly startled at seeing Morpheus and Caithelin, to whom he waves after he regains his composure. After a while, he stoppers the remaining hole in the bag, blows it full of air and leaves it sitting on the bartop looking for all the world like a bloated, malformed hedgehog. Orion picks up his drink and collars a green kitten as it is about to pounce on his pipes. The kitten gives a protesting "Blert!" and wriggles free of his grasp. To the kitten, Orion says, "I heard...er..." {I heard what you said about having to tell someone that she 'just didn't click' and how you don't know how to feel about it. I have never been in this position, but I have been on the receiving end, so I am going to tell you exactly what I told my ex-girlfriend when she broke up with me and was feeling guilty about it. It is *your* life, and you are the only one who has to live it. You *must* make decisions according to what you see as right for you. It may feel selfish, and perhaps it is, but you have to live your life for your- self. If that means giving yourself completely to someone, then that's what you should do, but if it's not: you shouldn't.} Orion gulps some of his drink, orders a saucer of warm milk for the kitten then continues, a far- away look touching his eyes. {Believe me, you haven't hurt your friend by being honest with her anywhere near as much as it would have hurt her if you stayed with her and lied to yourself.} The saucer arrives and the kitten laps at it eagerly. Orion absently pets the little tiger and mulls over what he just said. After a bit, he gets up from the bar and wanders over to a window. The view outside is a stunning sunset in vivid colours, made even more stunning by the existence of a second sun. Nick comes in with his buckets and some firewood and checks on the kitten and the fuzzy underneath the chair he placed above them. They still haven't moved, purring quietly to each other. Orion picks the orange fuzzy that Nick gave him off his shoulder and pets it until it emits its soothing trill and considers what Nick said about love. Orion stands there, staring out the window until long after the suns set. A single tear winds its way down his cheek, but he quickly brushes it away. Orion then grabs his drink and moves quickly up to the chalk line. He gulps down the (now warm) remainder of his lemonade and says, "To love. It's a bloody hard game, but it seems to be the only one in town," whereupon the glass violently meets its maker in the fireplace. He then moves over to the bar and hurriedly reassembles his pipes. As he does so, he looks at the emerald tiger cub, long since finished with its milk and gone to sleep, and whispers to it, {`There must be no regrets, no tears, no anxieties. Just go forward in all your beliefs, and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine.' --William Hartnell. How easy to say, yet difficult to accomplish.} Orion gently skritches the kitten behind the ears, then he and his pipes swiftly ascend to the roof. Soon, the sound of Bagpipe music fills Callahan's Place just as it has done many times in the past, but this time it sounds different. The tune is not quick, or lively. It is instead slow and thoughtful; Nearly every note is long lived, establishing itself before giving over to the next note. It is a piobareached, the `classical music' of the bagpipe. Slowly, all are drawn into its complex structure as the sound permeates the room. The tune is neither sad nor happy, yet it contains elements of both moods. Some find it haunting, others gladdening. Still others are brought to tears. One such is the piper himself, alone on the roof, silhouetted against the twilight sky; the stars beginning to shine through the darkening blue of day. As he plays, he looks into the heavens and gazes at the constellation that is his namesake. The tears fall freely... -- ----------------------------------Iain Odlin----------------------------------- 4326 SE Woodstock Blvd, Suite 378, Portland OR, 97206 odlin@reed -or- {ogicse,tektronix}!reed!odlin "I am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me..." Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!tektronix!reed!thalen From: thalen@reed.UUCP (Thalen, son of chaos) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: anger and what Summary: Wanna fence? Keywords: I sing you the logic of steel - Heinlein Message-ID: <14548@reed.UUCP> Date: 28 Mar 90 23:45:10 GMT References: <9003271419.AA12102@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Reply-To: thalen@reed.UUCP (Thalen, son of chaos) Organization: Reed College, Portland OR Lines: 28 >Jilara stands up, draws her rapier (well, it's a fencing foil, for now...) >puts it to her forehead, kisses the blade, and salutes Thalen, the blade >whistling appropriately on the downstroke. "Greetings, brother-by-the- >sword. There seem to be many of us, here, who touch on this pointed topic >and are masters of the ripost." Grinning wickedly, she sheaths her blade >and sits down again. Thalen stands, interest showing plainly in his eyes. "So, you fence? Would you care to try a few points? I warn you, I'm not quite as good as I think I am, but, well, I have a very large ego in some ways, so this doesn't handicap me too much. Rapier your weapon of choice?. I fence foil and sabre, but can handle a rapier in an emergency." Thalen looks to Mike, who grins hugely, and says "Well now, if I let those rascals light a seat cushion on fire, just to see which way the wind was blowing, I guess you guys can duel, if you want to. Remember, you pay for all property damage, virutal or not." Thalen, always ready to try his (sadly limited) repertiore of moves on someone new, moves some tables out of the way, until he has a strip about the size of a normal fencing strip clear. He then reaches into the air (actually a room in his basement, through an n-dimentional nexus) and pulls out an ornate practice sabre, with a real basket hilt. He stares at it and concentrates, and it straightens slightly, the balance changes subtilly, and the result is an ornate practice rapier. He snaps his fingers, and is immediatly clad in a padded fencing outfit. Orion looks over and says "What happened to the finger- waving, and incantations?" Thalen says "Hmm? Oh, I made a macro for that one. Now, Jilara, care to fence? If not, anyone else? I can supply you with appropriate equipment, if necessary." Thalen, the Fencing Mage Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!tektronix!reed!mojo From: mojo@reed.bitnet (Marx Marvelous) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Nightside Message-ID: <14551@reed.UUCP> Date: 29 Mar 90 04:27:17 GMT References: <9003271530.AA12765@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Sender: news@reed.UUCP Reply-To: mojo@reed.bitnet (Marx Marvelous) Organization: Earth Coincidence Control Office Lines: 31 >[Jilara on "Nightsiding"] Morpheus rises slowly from his chair. His jeans seem somewhat more tattered, his hair longer, and his jacket has fallen open to reveal an Iron Maiden t-shirt. With his left hand he plays nervously with some small reflective object. "Like I said, the people in here play havoc with my style. Topics like this bring out the Black Angel... "Jilara, everything you said rings a bell. I can't say I've ever had the nerve to act on it in the same way you do; I envy you that strength, and I wouldn't trade places with you for the world. "I never claimed to make sense." He downs a shot glass of amber liquid from the bar next to him. "I think I've run out of momentum here. Jilara, if you want to pursue this conversation I'd like to; I'm interested in the mindset we share and the ways we play off it respectively. At the moment, I think I'm saying "I" more than I want to and should rework my thoughts a bit." "Mike, a pint of soft cider, if you would," he says, passing a single across the bar, with a hand from which the reflective object seems to have vanished. -- ------------------------------------------------ |Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream,/ Nathan Tenny| |It is not dying... / ...tektronix!reed!mojo| ------------------------------- Path: mit-eddie!bu.edu!lll-winken!uunet!mcsun!ukc!harrier.ukc.ac.uk!raven.ukc.ac.uk!ljgw From: ljgw@ukc.ac.uk (Liam Wickham) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: The Hollow Wisp. Message-ID: <2478@raven.ukc.ac.uk> Date: 29 Mar 90 14:15:33 GMT Reply-To: ljgw@ukc.ac.uk (Liam Wickham) Distribution: alt Organization: Computing Lab, University of Kent at Canterbury, UK. Lines: 71 The next time the wisp appears in Callahan's there is not the same effect as before. It comes through the key-hole, speeds as only fog can to the nearest bar-stool, and transforms into a young man of average proportions. Nothing extroadinary apart from the glasses and dark, blue, eyes. He wears faded jeans and a short-sleeved shirt of non-descript design. He is obviously not too conscious of his appearance as his mass of blonde hair is unbrushed and unwieldy. However, there is a certain lack of humour about him, a feeling that he is easily hurt, a certain ability of shutting-out those around him. "Pint of Woodpecker, Mike.", he says in a clear English accent, looking around at all the faces staring at him or at each other. He turns back when his cider arrives, passing the dollar bill across and sipping luxuriously at the froth. Obviously he hasn't tasted cider this good for a long time, but then again where are drinks ever as good as they are at Callahan's? It goes with the hospitality. He speaks again, to Mike. "Mike, am I supposed to announce who I am or something?". Mike shrugs, smiles, and turns to another customer. The young man sips some more at his cider and stares at its rim. He has come here for a purpose, but doesn't quite know where to begin. He lets the smell of the place work its magic on his senses before moving again. When he does his glass is nigh on empty. He walks steadily to the chalk line, looking humourlessly at all of those who are watching him, not ready to show what he's thinking (although a few of us know it anyway). He self-consciously lines up his feet with the line and stares at the fireplace. "Excuse me for interrupting you. My name is Liam. I'm here for a short time and I want to make the most of it. Last night I was thinking of why people talk to each other so openly here and I came across a part in a book I wanted to share with you. It's part of my toast, so that's a good excuse to ignore the pretensiousness. I've brought the book with me. Hold on." Appearing in Liam's hands is a copy of Jonathan Carroll's book 'A Child Across the Sky'. It is open near the beginning. He begins to read it out. "'There are some people in the world who aren't saints, but almost unconsciously put themselves second to those they love. They don't do it as a sacrifice or for credit, but simply because they love. What is all the more heartbreaking is their surprise when some of that love or consideration is returned. I don't think they feel unworthy of other's concern; only astonished that another would think of giving it back to them. Most beneficient people are startled (as well as touched) by others' generosity towards them.'" The book closes and disappears. "I think this sums up what a lot of us feel here: we help others sometimes, but we don't accept their praise or acknowledgement. I guess that I am willing to accept now that I've helped a lot of people and they've thanked me a lot of times, but it's taken an awfully long time to come to terms with it. Isn't it weird how easily we accept nastiness and how hard we find it to accept kindness? Don't be fooled you people; there are a lot of people out there who listen in to the chatter going on it this bar and it helps them more than you know. I have been looking in for only a short time, but already I know that every one of you who pours your heart out or offers advice is a beautiful person. I want to thank you now sincerely. When I was feeling down, and you know how bad feeling down can be, I started looking into this bar, listening to the conversations and wondering what you were doing here. Now I know - you're helping each other and you're helping people like me, who need help but can't express what we feel. As long as there is Callahan's there is company for those who feel alone. And as long as there are people who feel alone there is a need for Callahan's. "A toast then. A child's innocence is the ability to see nothing as mundane. An adult's innocence is the ability to realise that we could die in two second's time. Both are the same thing. To innocence!" A toss, a lazy arc, a smashing. When we look up from the fireplace Liam has gone, a wisp floating in his place. It bows, grins its sapphire grin, and speeds through the keyhole once more. -- Soon I shall be gone from here. "When confronted with wonder we usually lie or shut-up." Jonathan Carroll ('A Child Across the Sky'). Will and Vibrations. Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!apple!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!att!dptg!pegasus!psrc From: psrc@pegasus.ATT.COM (Paul S. Chisholm) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: God Is An Iron and a SOB Too Summary: and what have you committed to here? Keywords: Bloody Hell Message-ID: <4581@pegasus.ATT.COM> Date: 29 Mar 90 05:19:37 GMT References: <14822@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> Organization: AT&T Bell Laboratories Lines: 55 In article <14822@phoenix.Princeton.EDU>, jwbirdsa@phoenix.Princeton.EDU (James Webster Birdsall) writes: > {A couple months ago, I made a posting titled "Boom!" In it I > related the sad tale of a female friend who was forced to tell me > that I just didn't click.} > {So guess what I've just had to tell somebody.} . . . > {I guess what it boils down to is that I'm not willing to give up my > life to make her happy. And maybe that's the ultimate test of > whether you actually love someone or not. But it feels like I'm > being selfish.} In other newsgroups, the "let's just be friends" phenomenon is so common, it's abbreviated to LJBF. (I always look at that and say, "light julb boke . . . something".) The only time I LJBF'ed someone is when a young woman had told me she wanted to see other guys . . . well, one other guy in particular . . . and we had effectively broken up anyway. It was still hard. Soon afterward, I realized we'd had so little in common, I wouldn't even miss her friendship much. (We were never close again, but we were still friends . . . not close, but two people who'd had *something* in common.) Yours was harder. You want very much not to lose her friendship, and I hope you haven't. (How're you doing with the women who LJBF'ed you, by the way?) But I think your comment shows that you really understand what's going on. Yes, you're being selfish; but it works for her, too. If you'd led her on, she could have gotten in deeper. She would have had less time to "get over you" as a potential S.O. She might have daydreamed less and less realistic ideas about Where The Two Of You Were Going. (Maybe I'm just projecting that last, based on what I did when I was at that stage in a [non]relationship.) Face it; you *couldn't* "give up your life for her". Unless (maybe even if) you had eventually been able to truly return her feelings, your resentment probably would have grown . . . and grown . . . until it was large than the place you carried it in, and you exploded at her. Anyway, you have made a commitment to her: A commitment that, as much as you can, you'll be honest with her, even when it hurts. That's a good thing to have in a friend, whether the friend is a lover or not. My gut reaction? You, or she, ought to talk to the woman who told *you* that she could never be more than a friend. Maybe something helpful will occur. I dunno, just a thought. > James W. Birdsall jwbirdsa@phoenix.Princeton.EDU jwbirdsa@pucc.BITNET > ...allegra!princeton!phoenix!jwbirdsa Compu$erve: 71261,1731 Paul S. R. Chisholm, the guy with half an ale att!pegasus!psrc, psrc@pegasus.att.com, AT&T Mail !psrchisholm I'm not speaking for the company, I'm just speaking from my heart. Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!wuarchive!decwrl!shelby!lindy!news From: GC.DCW@forsythe.stanford.edu (SPRING FEVER) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: A shoulder to cry on.... Message-ID: <8726@lindy.Stanford.EDU> Date: 29 Mar 90 17:47:31 GMT Sender: news@lindy.Stanford.EDU (News Service) Lines: 59 Spike joins Orion in a toast, allowing Orion to lob his glass first. He echos the post of Orion: "To generosity..." and claps Orion on the back, before heading back to his table. While listening to the haunting lilt of Orion's latest playing, Spike ponders some of the latest ups and downs in the lives of the people he knows. "It must be Spring, because I've been spontaneously approached by several women of late, whom I had not met before, and while I have no idea whether things will come of either of these encounters, it really surprises me. I am a rather large guy, about 350 lbs worth, and these women are rather slim ladies, so that is doubly surprising to me." "I was talking to my sister the other day, and we were talking about her life, and she is both excited because she is getting married in October to a really good guy, and depressed bacause her cat (and my favorite animal) had to be put to sleep. We talked a lot about that, even though it was three weeks ago, she still has it fresh in her mind. So, even though his buddy is still around, she loved 'Herb' alot. Very sad state of affairs. He liked me quite a bit, knowing that I was allergic to him, and I returned the affection to him, spending hours with him in my lap on visits and then using my inhaler later on. Sigh....... "One of the women I met was telling me how I had improved her day by just being there. She had had a friend commit suicide in her house in August and was still having problems sleeping. Not much I could tell her, but I reiterated the things she already knew, and when I left her she was feeling better. "So, while these are just two instances, I seem to be doing this more and more lately. I have always had that big brother complex about me and people seem to be able to confide in me or talk to me about the things that bother them, or just to seek a little advise. I don't know why I am not able to do it for myself, but as of now, it doesn't work too well on myself. "The B.B. King concert was outrageous, I am always amazed by how well the man can play, and he gets the audience so involved that one leaves feeling as if one were an integral part of that concert's success. Of course, my guitar playing friend swears that he is a guitar playing GOD. This comes from a guy who was raised on heavy metal (blecch). "Well, here it is, my latest chalk line excursion, Mike! how about a good English drink, some draft Blackthorne cider! Yummy stuff, and here is the toast: 'To a good ear and a sturdy shoulder, that is what friendships are made of'." With a nod to the Cynic, Spike walks slowly to a window, blindly stares through the glass and listens to the haunting tones of the bagpipes. He rests the pint of cider on the sill, slowly moving his body to the lilt of the bagpipe. Sigh....... Spike Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucsd!sdcc6!sdbio2!secbh1 From: secbh1@sdbio2.ucsd.edu (Lori Stahlman) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Life on Fast Forward Message-ID: <9385@sdcc6.ucsd.edu> Date: 29 Mar 90 19:19:59 GMT References: <14820@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> <4580@pegasus.ATT.COM> Sender: news@sdcc6.ucsd.edu Reply-To: secbh1@sdbio2.ucsd.edu (Lori Stahlman) Organization: University of California, San Diego Lines: 15 In article <4580@pegasus.ATT.COM> psrc@pegasus.ATT.COM (Paul S. R. Chisholm) writes: >In article <14820@phoenix.Princeton.EDU>, jwbirdsa@phoenix.Princeton.EDU (James Webster Birdsall) writes: >> {Next topic: I wish I could remember which one of you was talking >> about the Pre-Post-Baccalaurate-Oh-My-Gods. It's a wonderful name. >I was talking about it, but someone else (maybe Ellen or Jilara) came >up with the name. It's a nicely turned phrase. Betsy Bo opens an eye. "It's mine," she says mechanically. "The Pre-Post-Baccalaureate-Oh-My-Gods are followed by the Post-Baccalaureate-Oh-My-Gods and are followed (and often overlapped) by the Is-This-All-There-Is-To-Life-Anxiety-Attack. And then things get normal." The eye closes. Buster purrs audibly. Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!yale!husc6!m2c!wpi!cmoir From: cmoir@wpi.wpi.edu (C-More) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: A toast... Message-ID: <10387@wpi.wpi.edu> Date: 29 Mar 90 18:58:50 GMT Organization: W.P.I. Office of Higher Insanity Lines: 30 SilverSinger gets up from his seat and approaches the bar. Tyg starts to get up. "No, love. Stay here." He slaps a single on the bar. "I think milk would be appropriate for this one. Thanks, Mike." He carries the glass to the chalk line. Silver looks drained. Something about his eyes shows that his pain is great, but that he wishes it to be left behind him... "I'm not going to be very long. In fact, there's really very little I can say..." He drains the glass. "To John Christopher, wherever he may be..." The last words barely come out...and are choked... **CRASH** The glass shatters into sparkling shards, those shards become hazy, indistinct. They start to float upwards, then vanish. Silver moves back to his fireside table. The tears are starting to flow as he moves into the darkness. Tyg is there for him...telling him everything will be alright... He rests his head on his arms...he doesn't raise it for a long, long time... SilverSinger === Regret is one of the human emotions I wish I could do without...