Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!apple!usc!cs.utexas.edu!hp-sdd!hplabs!hplred!egly From: egly@hplred.HP.COM (Diana Egly) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: grenades Message-ID: <20940047@hplred.HP.COM> Date: 18 Mar 90 22:31:54 GMT References: <9003141124.AA04873@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Organization: Hewlett Packard Labs, Palo Alto CA Lines: 19 / hplred:alt.callahans / goldfarb@ocf.berkeley.edu (David Goldfarb) / 6:26 am Mar 17, 1990 / In article <21780006@hpcndjdz.HP.COM> jason@hpcndjdz.HP.COM (Jason Zions) writes: > and suddenly the air is alive with > cream pies piling themselves on him from all directions amid general > laughter. In the midst of the pie fight a lone figure walks towards the door. Actually shuffles more than walks, as if she'd aged a century over night. And perhaps she has. When a pie hits her, she doesn't seem to notice. It is, as Jilara said, cold and rainy out, but again she doesn't seem to notice. The rain cleans the pie from her, but she doesn't much care one way or the other. As she disappears into the dark she mumbles, "must keep callahan's fun. mustn't let it get gloomy. lighten up. lighten up. gotta keep it light. mustn't really *feel* anything." And she is gone. Path: mit-eddie!bu.edu!lll-winken!uwm.edu!cs.utexas.edu!hp-sdd!hplabs!hplred!egly From: egly@hplred.HP.COM (Diana Egly) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: A New Topic! (was Re: Soulmates?!) Message-ID: <20940044@hplred.HP.COM> Date: 12 Mar 90 17:59:42 GMT References: <9846@spool.cs.wisc.edu> Organization: Hewlett Packard Labs, Palo Alto CA Lines: 15 Which author? Hmmmm.... I thought about Harlan Ellison because he captures the nightmares in his works. But no. I would not want to carry only the nightmares into the future, but also some of the Light as well. And so... Jan de Hartog. His fiction is based on real events, real nightmares, and yet speaks clearly of the power of the individual (or sometimes small group) to face those nightmares, and tame them. He writes from his experiences - of ships, of concentration camp survivors, of nations (and individuals) torn by war, of people needing medical care where there is no equipment. He writes with power, not sheilding the reader from the horrors, yet always showing that goodness can overcome. He writes complex stories with complex characters. Yes, I'll choose Jan de Hartog for my author. Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!cogsci.berkeley.edu!kmo From: kmo@cogsci.berkeley.edu (Kathy O'Connell) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: The fencers discover someone new Keywords: I sing you the logic of steel - Heinlein Message-ID: <35194@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU> Date: 30 Mar 90 05:56:05 GMT References: <9003271419.AA12102@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> <14548@reed.UUCP> Sender: usenet@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Reply-To: kmo@cogsci.berkeley.edu.UUCP (Kathy O'Connell) Organization: University of California, Berkeley Lines: 42 In article <14548@reed.UUCP> thalen@reed.UUCP (Thalen, son of chaos) writes: > 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 "Oh, sorry, I didn't know I was in the way," says Kathy, a tall blonde who had been very quietly sipping Coke at one of the tables which Thalen had just shoved aside. The glass tipped over, but it had been almost empty, anyway. Several people nearby turned to look at the owner of the unfamiliar voice; they had thought (as had Thalen!) that the table was unoccupied. It's a funny thing about Callahan's Place. You can't *see* someone until they speak. Kathy was a bit embarrassed to suddenly have the attention of so many folks. She had been thinking of speaking up for quite some time, but hadn't quite gotten up the nerve. She's been coming here regularly for two months now, and has even been mentioned by others here a few times. A number of regulars have even met her outside the bar at the realspace gathering in Boston that Sir Robin organized and invited her to, and at the SF area "It's Green" party a few weeks ago. But even they could not see her here until she spoke. Mike was the only one who knew of her presence. "Well, since I have your attention anyway, and my glass has been emptied for me, I suppose I should make a toast." She nervously walked to the chalk line. "To worldviews!" she says, a bit louder. She then throws the glass, hoping that even with her normally terrible aim it will land in the fireplace. A sigh of relief, as it does. "My world has fallen apart this year, and I'm trying to put it back together. But to live a reasonably happy life under my new circumstances, I must change some fundamental aspects of my worldview. And that means significantly changing who I *am*. It took me years to learn to like who I am, and now it seems I have to become somebody else. What's it all for, anyway?" She has more to tell, and those listening sense that she wants to tell it. But, like others here, that is not easy for her. They know it will come, in time. Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!psuvax1!psuvm!emd101 From: EMD101@psuvm.psu.edu Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: again?! Message-ID: <90088.233938EMD101@psuvm.psu.edu> Date: 30 Mar 90 04:39:38 GMT Organization: Penn State University Lines: 7 Oktave walks up to the bar, buys a ginger ale, and then turns around to face the room. She's grinning. "I don't want to bore you people, but, well... I'm going to come visit Stanford next weekend. That's April 6thish." So Oktave goes back to her table. What did you expect, a parade? Path: mit-eddie!bloom-beacon!bu.edu!ncsuvx!ncsuvm!ucf1vm!popovich From: POPOVICH@UCF1VM.BITNET (Peter Edward Popovich) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Now who? Message-ID: <90088.044652POPOVICH@UCF1VM.BITNET> Date: 29 Mar 90 09:46:52 GMT Organization: University Of Central Florida Lines: 28 The door opens and in walks a tall young man. He removes his gray trench-coat and hangs it on a hook near the entrance. He is dressed in faded blue jeans and a white cotton shirt. His top-siders are lace-less and the careful observer may notice a distinct lack of socks or the three-day-old stubble on his face. His dark hair might be said by some to be in need of a comb. All in all, he is best descibed as 'disheveled'. His stride is firm, however, and his features are somewhat striking. As he moves, it becomes apparent that although he may not be well-dressed, he is comfortable with what he wears. He seats himslef at the bar, places a bill on the counter, and takes a long drink from the unmistakeable I.B.C. bottle that he is given in return. He then procedes to look carefully around the room, being sure to make eye contact with everyone. (At least with everyone he can.) After nursing the root beer for a moment longer, he reaches down to one of the kittens walking on the floor and tenderly scratches it behind the ears. Upon hearing a purring reply, he smiles slightly. He stands, and the attention of the room seems to flow to him naturally. "Hi. I'm Peter. Formal types tend towards longer names, but then again, this isn't exactly a formal place, and as you may have guessed, I'm not really a formal kind of person. So, assuming there's no other Peter around, just call me Peter. I'm not going to make a speech; I have no reason to, but I thought I should at least introduce myself." As he sits, attention flows back the way it came. The cat jumps lightly in his lap and he pets it for a while... Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!hp-sdd!hplabs!hplred!egly From: egly@hplred.HP.COM (Diana Egly) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: cynics, singles, and social skills Message-ID: <20940046@hplred.HP.COM> Date: 17 Mar 90 16:50:27 GMT References: <854@sarc.UUCP> Organization: Hewlett Packard Labs, Palo Alto CA Lines: 25 / hplred:alt.callahans / steve@arc.uucp (Steve Savitzky) / 11:26 am Mar 16, 1990 / > "Something like that... To Corners -- there's one here for everyone > who wants one!" Is there a corner for me? Is there a corner *anywhere* for me? Yesterday I was enormous. The walls moved out of my way as I passed by. And they were glad to for they loved me. Everything loved me. Flowers bloomed at my feet. My car rocked and rolled under my feet, dancing down the highway. It was glorious. But that was yesterday. Today I've shrunk so small that a spring breeze might carry me off. The walls loom over me menacingly. I need a corner somewhere where the ceiling won't fall in and the walls won't crumble around me. I think I can endure this if I can find a little corner -- a totem of safety that I can hold on to. Is there a corner that expands and shrinks to suit this Alice-in-wonderland existance? Why have I never found one? OK. Bring on the Procrustean bed. Stretch me out and chop me off and make me fit for human society. What choice do I have? Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!apple!arc!steve From: steve@arc.UUCP (Steve Savitzky) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Life on Fast Forward Summary: Miao! Keywords: Lots of Stuff Message-ID: <882@arc.Advansoft.COM> Date: 30 Mar 90 08:12:47 GMT References: <14820@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> Sender: news@Advansoft.COM Organization: Advansoft Research Corp, Santa Clara, CA Lines: 23 In article <14820@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> jwbirdsa@phoenix.Princeton.EDU (James Webster Birdsall) writes: > {Miss Tabbifli, I let somebody tape a sign to my tail. I'm hardly >going to be bothered by a friendly pat. It's good to see you back and >doing better than before.} > {Speaking of tails and that to which they are attached, has anybody >noticed the drastic rise in the cat population here? It seems just about >everybody here has brought in a cat with them. But only Melissa and I >have chosen to actually *be* cats. Opinions, anybody? What does this >mean?} A large, reddish-brown cat of the Cheshire variety materializes inches from the tiger's nose, grin first. Still grinning, she purrs, "Ahem. Just because I let my Bear do all my typing doesn't mean I'm not a real person! Just ask anyone who was at the West Coast Gathering at our house two weeks ago. I've *always* been a cat. But the Bear can spell better than me. "Be careful or I'll teach one of those kittens to play with your tail!" -- \ Steve Savitzky \ Grand Central Starport \ REAL hackers use an AXE! \ steve@arc.UUCP \ 343 Leigh Avenue \ #include \ arc!steve@apple.COM \ San Jose, CA 95128 \ h:408-294-6492 w:727-3357 \__________________________________________________________________________ Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!mcsun!ukc!harrier.ukc.ac.uk!raven.ukc.ac.uk!ljgw From: ljgw@ukc.ac.uk (Liam Wickham) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: A note to Maya Message-ID: <2482@raven.ukc.ac.uk> Date: 30 Mar 90 14:18:07 GMT Reply-To: ljgw@ukc.ac.uk (Liam Wickham) Distribution: alt Organization: Computing Lab, University of Kent at Canterbury, UK. Lines: 5 Liam sticks a note up on the board. It is addressed to Maya. It reads: "Maya - I can't reach you. Try again please." -- 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!mintaka!yale!cs.utexas.edu!uwm.edu!psuvax1!xavier!news From: nap92@campus.swarthmore.edu Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: grey day Message-ID: Date: 30 Mar 90 16:42:17 GMT Sender: news@xavier.swarthmore.edu (USENET News System) Organization: Swarthmore College Lines: 38 Nao wakes up with a start, and looks at the green tiger kitten that is snoozing in her lap. "I hope things are going better for you, my friend. I hate to displace you, but I have to get up now." She stands up, scooping the kitten up out of her lap first. She considers the catling, which has barely even opened one eye, and puts him carefully in the corner of her armchair. Today she is wearing dark blue jean, a dark blue shirt, a dark blue sweater, and hiking boots. Her hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail, and her eyes are kind of sad. She looks over at alex. "Don't worry; I'll be all right. I'm just in kind of a mood. I'll see you later today...." She walks over to the bar, leans on it, asks Mike for a ginger beer, and sips at it for awhile, contemplating. Then she looks up and walks over to the chalk line. A few people look up from their intense conversations, and the tiger kitten comes over and winds between her feet, asking be picked up and have its ears skritched. Nao picks him up and absently pets it. "First, just to avoid confusion, that last post of mine (title Breezes)wasn't mine. A friend of mine had a text file to post, and we couldn't figure out how to do it from the VAX. I'm not really good at using emacs, so it came out funny... it belongs to Eretria (HRR91@campus.swarthmore.edu). "Now that that's out of the way. I guess I don't really have much I can articulate at the moment. I"m feeling kind of down, and it has a lot to do with rain and too much work and figuring out what's going on with my relationship. I'm thiking of going for a walk this afternoon, in hopes of the rain washing this away. I dunno. I guess this isn't being much help, but I'll post it anyway. Perhaps this emptiness that I"m feeling at the moment will be filled by friendship....." "No toast as yet." And she walks back to her chair, hugging Eretria along the way. She puts the empty bottle on the table, and sits down, stroking the kitten. She stares straight ahead for a long time. -Nao ------------------------------------------------------------------------- | Nao Parkhurst |"Light is the left hand of darkness | | NAP92@campus.swarthmore.edu | and darkness the right hand of light." | | NAP92@swarthmr.bitnet | -Ursula K. LeGuin | Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!cs.utexas.edu!swrinde!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!uwm.edu!psuvax1!xavier!news From: hrr91@campus.swarthmore.edu Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Blueness Message-ID: <8MZG7ZS@xavier.swarthmore.edu> Date: 30 Mar 90 16:59:50 GMT Sender: news@xavier.swarthmore.edu (USENET News System) Organization: Swarthmore College Lines: 48 I'm reposting this because I don't think it made it onto the nets yesterday. With the night comes the quiet peace of the stars. The blue light between Eretria's eyes glows. She rises, moves in silken rustlings to the window. The starlight in her cloak catches the radience above. She listens a beat to the music of the bagpiper. Two tears cascade down her cheek. She catches them in a lover's hand, holds them a moment; throws one to the stars where it takes it's place in the brilliance; hands the other, now a diamond, to Nao, who accepts with an almost imperceptable nod. /Thank you for posting that last piece for me/ Sadness and peace are both blue; historically, mysteriously. Of different shades, of differing hues. One is the blue of the ocean, deep as the eyes. The other is the blue of the tossled hair streaming down the back, into the thrown hood. They run together, watercolors on a wet ground. They move, there are no clear boundaries. / Sometimes I want to dance with the stars, to feel their power in my blood, to feel their beauty. Sometimes I want to leave this all behind, this love of mankind, this desire to be. I want to dance with the stars and be free. Last night I made a choice. I called a loved one and asked for my freedom, said you have given me a gift, but lose us both in the giving. You need part of it back. Please take it. Please give only part to me so that we can be free. And he did. And I am sad, and I am at peace that it needed to happen. There are people, I have found, who can live surrounded by another; I cannot/ Ambiguities are red and purple, swirled with the gray of confusion; they are a burnt-out city, ashes littering the lifeless ground. Freedom is limitless, immense as the sky, a new life, a song. /Oktave, I am a poem and so are you, though I thank you for noticing. That is what keeps me here; the interest in movement of life within itself. There isn't a person here who hasn't inspired poetry/ Pain in memories is blood red, fading like old velvets as time passes on, the tapestries are hung upon the stone walls for viewers to pass by, thinking: "what art, what love inspired this?" Love is a diamond, hard, but clear. If it is cloudy, cannot be seen through, there is a flaw of communication, of character. It becomes all the harder for dishonesty, and the shape becomes fixed. Eretria walks over to the bar, picks up the sleeping green kitten and holds it a moment in her hands before placing it in the hood of her cloak. /There are people who can live surrounded by another, who can submurse themselves in another's life. And yet there are people who cannot, though they need to give to others to exist/ The kitten settles into silken folds, green fur, blue hair, blue-black of the cloak stay in separate textures. A silver-blue coin appears next to the prepared margarita. /To freedom... and those who understand it's need/ And there is the rattle of diamonds as the glass shatters in the hearth.